‘How are you settling in to Meredith House?’

‘Fine. Yeah, I feel right at home.’ She doesn’t say she can’t bring herself to sit in the TV room, or that most of her possessions are still in her bag.

‘Good,’ Sally Hildred says. ‘I expect you’re looking forward to getting into work.’

Smile. Meet her eyes. Don’t fiddle with your hands. Sound convincing.

‘Yes.’

It’s warm in the room and Mrs Hildred takes her cardigan off. The eczema on her hands has reached up her arms and formed livid patches on the insides of her elbows. It must be so tempting to scratch at it and exhausting not to give in. She must be the queen of self-control.

‘Now, I’m sure Taheera has explained; I’m here to help you with your job search.’ Sally is frowning. Chloe pulls her gaze away from the sore skin and tries to look as if she’s been listening. ‘It’s not always possible to get exactly what you want, not straight away. You may have to compromise.’

‘I want to work in a garden.’

‘What I’m saying is, you may have to cut your cloth.’

It’s a phrase she’s heard so many times before. It goes along with you’ve made your bed, now you have to lie in it. Those were her mum’s words. Cut. Don’t go there. Rewind. You may have to cut your cloth. The truth is, Chloe is forever cutting her cloth. There are great holes cut out of the fabric of her life. Chloe unfolds the CV she’s had in her back pocket and hands it over.

‘Oh, how lovely,’ Mrs Hildred opens it on her lap. ‘You have got a lot of gardening experience.’

‘And qualifications.’ She begins to list them, but Sally holds up a hand to stop her. Her fingers are soft and one of them is pinched by a gold wedding ring. Chloe wonders what Mr Hildred looks like and whether he minds the eczema.

‘Great, yes, great,’ Mrs Hildred says. ‘It’s all on here. You don’t have to, you know, prove yourself. Don’t worry, Chloe, I’m on your side.’

On her side of the fence, her side of the wall. She’s still getting used to being on the same side as people like Mrs Hildred. Would Mr Hildred think they were all on the same side? She wonders if they talk in bed at night about the special clients his wife sees at work.

I met a girl today. Interesting case. She’d been away a long time, I was wondering if she’s that one who …

Sally Hildred is reaching into a folder and shuffling through sheets of paper. Chloe’s CV slides off her lap and lands on the carpet. She hesitates to pick it up in case she collides with Mrs Hildred’s knees.

‘Perhaps, as you’re a little further along the journey than some of our clients, if there’s something available … Yes, here we are. Right up your street.’

Chloe reads the page upside down.

Halsworth Grange, Trainee Gardener, full-time.

She’s looking for a pound sign and some numbers to go with it. She can’t wait to be earning her own money, but Mrs Hildred has moved on to an application form and is telling her that the closing date is very soon, so if she’s interested they’ll need to be quick.

‘How much are they paying?’ she asks.

‘It’s an apprenticeship, Chloe. It’s just £2.73 an hour while you’re training.’

‘That’s not even minimum wage. And I’m already trained. I’ve got …’

‘Yes. No. Ah, well, I mean, I know you have your certificates but with you being’ – she runs a finger up the inside of her arm and pulls it away – ‘out of the job market for such a long time.’

The eczema rash has deepened to a livid scarlet and the rest of her skin is pink. Chloe wonders why Mrs Hildred is so embarrassed. She might as well say it. It’s clear she knows exactly where Chloe’s been.

‘It’s OK,’ Chloe says. She can’t watch the poor woman suffer any longer. She dodges the knees to pick up her CV and gives it back to Mrs Hildred. ‘I’ll apply.’

‘Wonderful! I’ll go and scan this and we can get an email off to them straight away.’

The next morning Chloe stands under the shower. She’s been awake since six, to be sure of getting in the bathroom first. Mrs Hildred phoned the hostel shortly after Chloe got back and said she needed to be at Halsworth Grange the next day for an interview. Taheera has offered to take her in the car. It’s tiny, like a creamy white toy car with a burgundy roof and seats to match. It’s beautiful and Chloe doesn’t want to stink it out, so she scrubs herself hard and when she’s dry, she sprays herself all over with Icy Mist.

She stands in the lobby of Meredith House waiting for Taheera to finish her handover to Darren, the assistant residential officer. Taheera’s got a few days’ leave and is going to see her family. She says Halsworth Grange is on her way and at least Chloe won’t have to worry about being late. She’s helped her to look up her return journey: bus, train, bus. It’s going to take a while, but it’s OK. Chloe is looking forward to the ride. The times and numbers are all printed out and she’s grateful for that. She’s no good with computers.

The office door opens and Taheera’s there. There’s no sign that she’s done a night shift. Her make-up is perfect. The black kohl around her eyes rings the green like pools of water. She’s wearing pale pink leggings and a green tunic with a pattern of peacock feathers. Chloe can’t get over how beautiful she looks.

‘Come on, then!’ Taheera laughs as she speaks. ‘Are we going?’

Chloe nods. She holds her carrier bag tightly in her hands. Inside is a folder with all her documents, including a letter sealed in a brown envelope, which she must not lose. As they head towards the door, Emma comes out of the TV room.

‘Good luck, pet. Knock ’em dead!’

Chloe manages half a smile but she can’t speak.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Halsworth Grange

Halsworth Grange is up a long drive. She asks Taheera to drop her at the gate. She wants the last few moments to clear her head, to think a little. In the car they listened to the radio. Taheera was happy to be going home and Chloe tried to be happy for her. There’s a mum and a dad and a brother there, Taheera said, and an older sister who’s left home but who comes back all the time with her baby son. Every now and then, Taheera gave her little pieces of advice about how to answer questions and to remember to smile and look interested.

Chloe practises the smile as she walks up the hill, but it feels strained. She is wondering if Taheera will be seeing Mo, the young man with the tag on his ankle. It’s none of her business, she knows that, but it doesn’t seem right. She stops at the top of the drive where a car park drops away to her left. There’s a grey-haired woman in a little hut selling tickets and brochures. Chloe looks back at the way she’s come taking in the sweep of lawns, dotted with trees, like something from a TV drama.

Her appointment is with a Mr William Coldacre. He’s a big man, both tall and wide. He looks old, but she can see he’s still strong. They sit opposite one another across a table. There’s not much to look at in the small brick potting shed, except a newspaper with a crossword half done and a screwed up paper bag. Someone has scattered flaky crumbs on the table. Mr Coldacre doesn’t meet her eye and she realises that he’s almost as nervous as she is.

‘So, um, Miss Toms,’ he looks at her CV and her application form. She has taken her folder out of the carrier bag and fingers the envelope on her lap, waiting for the right time to hand it over, to practise the lines she’s been learning for this moment.

‘I don’t usually do the interviews. I’m more of a plantsman myself, but Giles, he’s the land manager, he’s off with the flu, so he’s left it up to me.’ He runs a large forefinger round the top of his ear. ‘Tell you what, Miss, uh – can I call you Chloe?’