She tried to imagine, as she did so often, what it would be like to be married to him and have the pleasure of his gently cheerful, loving company all the time. They’d discussed where they’d live. Albert and Nancy had said they could live at the farmhouse – there was plenty of room and Ed’s parents could not have been kinder to her – but Ellen really wanted a place of their own. The obvious home for them would be Highview Cottage, but that would mean Dora having to move out, and Ellen would not make her mother homeless, especially after she’d worked so hard to make it beautiful. The cottage belonged to the Beveridges, though, so ultimately it must be their decision. Then Edward had had the idea of building another little cottage on Highview land, but that would take time and effort, and the farm itself took as much time and effort as any man could give in a working day. Well, she would just have to see … There was plenty of time. They hadn’t even set a date for the wedding yet, although Edward had bought her a pretty little ring with three sapphires set in gold. She didn’t wear it often, though, because her work in the garden was not a place for delicate jewellery. She loved Ed with all her heart, but she didn’t want to rush into marriage. After all, the garden needed so much attention. The deadheading alone was an almost full-time occupation in June …

She sighed to see so many of the rose heads falling into the wheelbarrow as she snipped away. If only the best of the roses could last for ever; if only the best of life could last for ever, too: happy moments she never wanted to forget, always bright and complete in every detail instead of fading into the past. So much of her time lately she wanted to remember all her life: not just that magical evening when Ed had proposed beneath the shooting stars in the dark lane, but simple things, like finishing the decorating with Dora and celebrating with a well-earned cup of tea; the bookish conversations with Mr Shepherd; jokes with Sally on their walks to see him and back; the day Uncle Tom had first allowed her to set some new annuals in the herbaceous border entirely to her own planting scheme …

Then there was the little garden at the cottage, all tidy and flourishing now, with a new climbing rose, a present from Tom to Dora, growing beside the back door, and rows of flowers and vegetables. There was always a pretty jug of flowers on the table these days and Ellen knew her mother was happier now than she’d been for years. She’d put on a bit of weight, which suited her, and she was smiling much more, and singing as they cooked their tea together or pottered about in the garden.