My Jarrold Short Story
All I really needed
Shopping can sometimes feel like a chore especially if time is tight (always) and your lunch hour feels more like a lunch half-hour (every day), but as I was in Jarrold’s anyway it would be silly not to mooch around in the glorious indoor garden section by The Bay. Just a couple of minutes to take my mind off the general humdrum ‘meh’ of work. That is always a pleasure.
All I really needed was a new pair of gardening gloves and I was sure I’d noticed some last time. Were they next to the scented candles or on the wooden trolley with the strange little pots on bird feet? Ah. There, just behind those baskets in a wirework crate. Only one pair left looking lonely and almost hidden away. Just as I thought — soft inside but feeling nicely tough and grippy across the palms and fingers in a stunning sea green. The word ‘verdazurine’ popped into my mind. Perfect.
I took them along to the till, noticing as I went the delicate gold thread of the tiny flower motif embroidered on the wrists.
“Oh these are beautiful — we sell so few pairs though!” the assistant exclaimed chattily when I handed them over. “Perhaps it’s because of their special conditions of sale.”
She explained that they had to be taken to the other Garden Department for purchase. To get there I needed to use the lift and press the flower button, rather than a floor number, and that would take me straight to the proper place. Now I’ve shopped at Jarrold’s for more years than I like to admit and I’d never seen a flower button in the lift but as I stepped in and looked at the panel there it was. I pressed it and the doors closed.
It felt as if the journey ‘up’ took just a few seconds longer than it should have. As the lift doors opened I stepped back as warm, fresh air rolled in and the sun fell on my face. Something about the air and the angle of the sun seemed strange too. It must have been all of quarter past one but the sun was too low, more like time for elevenses than lunch. I would love to say that at this point I thought I should just put the gloves down, push the Ground button and get back to work before anyone realised I was late, but I didn’t. The lush, vibrant planting in copper-clad raised beds throughout the stunning roof terrace laid out in front of me easily put paid to any ideas of going back to my desk.
“Welcome to the Jarrold Secret Garden. My name is Jean and I’ll be your guide” said a familiar voice. I was sure this was the same assistant I’d seen down by the scented candles who sent me up here. But how?
She smiled with a cheerful glint in her eye and asked “would you like to try your gloves in the floral beds or veg?”
“Veg please!” I replied without hesitation.
“Excellent. If you wouldn’t mind following me…”
We crisscrossed through the roof terrace. It was laid out with such care. The paths between the raised beds felt like a familiar maze although even saying that in my mind now seems so odd. There were giant planters each almost the size of a little courtyard garden filled with cannas; gorgeous, pungent ginger lilies; bananas and even small palm trees. Around these were smaller raised beds laid out at various angles so that sometimes as we walked there was a glimpse of a recognisable landmark, albeit from a strange perspective. Between stems of gladioli and dahlias and swaying geums the view emerged. The spire of the Cathedral (I wondered how could I see that from here) and the castle seemingly stretching towards the apex of the bright sky. The roofs of the market stalls looked as if they were perched on a steep hill and the clock of City Hall all blurry and with its hands missing.
Everything was at once strange but also very ordinary.
“The veg beds are just over here” Jean gestured towards a play on a Tudor knot garden where the frame was alternately lavender and rosemary enclosing carpets of herbs around the edge and larger plots inside where tomatoes, cucumbers and peas were all supported by delicate ironwork trellis.
I pulled on my new gloves and made my way to the very centre. Just a little weeding and, well, a hoe would be useful right now. Oh how didn’t I see that one leaning against the pea support? The soil felt rich and easy to work and the sun on my back and soft breeze all the way up here in the sky made tending this plot a complete joy. I laughed to myself “try before you buy!” and felt nothing but calm, mindful pleasure as I watched my hands working in my beautiful new gardening gloves.
Looking across the knot garden after what seemed to be either minutes or a few hours I felt quite happy with my endeavours and leant the hoe back against the frame where I’d found it. I couldn’t see Jean and realised that I hadn’t actually seen anyone else at all up here, on Jarrold’s roof, on the top of the Norwich skyline. A small flock of swifts flew easily around and about catching flies before heading off back to their African home. Butterflies, bees and hoverflies were like flickering pixels, flitting from verbena to cosmos in a particularly beautiful art deco style planter near the edge of the terrace. As I wandered through the garden, half looking for Jean, I took off the gloves and felt totally at peace. These moments, however long they were, were all I really needed.
Around the largest planter was a small table with a till on it and Jean, smiling, standing alongside.
“I hope you liked the gloves?” she said and without waiting for a verbal answer (I do not have a poker face) “they’re £7.77 if that’s ok?”
“Absolutely” I replied. “Thank you, I’ve enjoyed myself so much!”
Jean put the magical gloves in a paper bag and folded the top over before handing it to me with a gentle nod. “Have a great afternoon.”
As I turned away I realised the lift doors were right there next to me but before I could press the call button they opened with a smooth swish.
“Wow! Erm. Err. Ah. Am I in the right place?” said the bright-eyed woman in the lift, half dazzled by the unexpected daylight.
I looked down and saw the beautiful, verdazurine gloves in her left hand.
“Yes, yes you are.” I said quietly. “Enjoy yourself.”
Epilogue (not originally included)
For dramatic purposes my story really ought to end right there but in reality I got into the lift as the new gardener left it and travelled down to the Lower Ground where I made my way to The Exchange, ordered a smoked salmon and avocado pizza and a large glass of Pinot Grigio, wrote my resignation letter on my iPhone and pressed ‘send’, put the gloves on the bar in front of me and planned my future as a garden designer with a biro on my Jarrold’s paper bag.
From August 2020