The garden-lady led them across the billiard table lawn, chatting amiably about the weather, the unconscionable vigour of weeds and the choice of pesticides for soft fruit. Although she spoke mainly to Loofah, she did ask Georgette the occasional question about boyfriends or her favourite popular music singing groups, and was totally unfazed by the surly monosyllables she got in reply.
What a delightful lady, thought Loofah. And the day was warm but not too warm, the flower beds were alive with the gentle buzz of insects, the fluorescent colours glowed and swam like melting wax, and the turf swirled about his feet in languid eddies—he had stumbled across an oasis of normality and niceness, and in Synge Green of all places.
'The herbaceous border—my pride and joy,' said their hostess, leading them to the first bed, 'Although some do say that the Garden of Remembrance offers a finer display.'
'I'm sure it's not a patch on this,' said Loofah, genuinely impressed by the incandescent bank of colour, ground-hugging close to the lawn then sweeping up to vigorous stands of delphinium and lupin at the back, these undulating and swaying like oriental dancers in the warm sunlight.
He bent to look more closely at a plant with dark waxy leaves; its flowers were opening and closing like coral polyps, each flashing a different colour at every opening, whereas on the next the bright red flowers were spinning slowly, clockwise then anticlockwise like indecisive Catherine-wheels, at each spin showering the nearby foliage with sparks of scarlet that glowed briefly on contact then faded to nothing. A tall plant at the back of the border had huge, extravagant blooms of sky blue, which turned first to turquoise, then green—matching its leaves—then to the purest white. Why not orange?—and no sooner had this thought, vague as a wisp of mist, drifted across his mind than the eager-to-please blossoms were glowing with brilliant orangeness. Loofah smiled—or blue, he thought, and there it was, a subtle cyan, more delightful than he could have ever imagined.
'Just look at the flowers, Georgette,' he said, 'Aren't they lovely?'
But the girl ignored him, kicking disinterestedly at a lone daisy in the turf.
There were flowers that were mirrors, reflecting his entire face in every petal; there were flowers that blazed with light, a splinter of the sun nestling at the heart of each; there were little white flowers, unimpressive to look at, but that wrapped him in sheet after sheet of strange aromas, carrying him through a series of weird and poignant emotions, each accompanied by traces of memory which dissolved to nothing as he grasped at them.
Loofah moved slowly along the bed, mesmerised and delighted, with his hostess at his side, occasionally muttering a Latin name or giving a few words of horticultural explanation, though mainly just basking quietly in his appreciation.
'Oh, look, what's this?' he said, pointing to a little clump of greenery, conspicuous in its ordinariness, which crouched under the lower branches of a large shrub, 'Is it a weed?'
The garden-lady stiffened and immediately Loofah regretted his lack of tact.
'A weed? Certainly not,' she said firmly, 'But it doesn't belong in my shrubbery—and it knows it!'
She reached down with a gloved hand to seize the plant, but as she did so, it edged away from her, slipping under the shrub and out of sight.
'Silly thing!' she said, pulling the shrub branches aside, 'It lives beside the compost heap and has no business being in the main garden.'
The errant plant was now cowering beside the shrub's stem. Again she reached down for it and again it dodged, but this time darting forward—and before either of them knew what had happened, the plant had scuttled out from under the shrub, between her legs, and was away across the lawn as fast as its roots would carry it.
'A runner bean—of an unusually vigorous variety,' said his hostess by way of explanation, 'A sweet little thing really, but a vegetable is a vegetable and shouldn't go getting ideas above its station. You'd think it would want be with its own kind rather than trying to hobnob with all these flowering perennials and ornamental shrubs.' She sighed with restrained exasperation. 'Sometimes I wonder how much I really understand about plants. I know one shouldn't take it personally, but one does feel a little let down by this sort of thing. Will you excuse me? I think I know where the little scamp will be hiding.'
Loofah watched her stride away towards a greenhouse on the opposite side of the lawn and then turned back to the shrub, wondering what delights this had to offer. In fact he was disappointed. The leaves were nice enough—pale and rather fleshy, covered in light down—but the shrub was not in flower, its large green buds being tightly closed.
Just as he was about to pass on to the next plant, however, he thought he saw one of the buds twitch. He leaned forward for a closer look when suddenly the bud burst open and a tiny Rottweiler's head lunged out at him with a snarl, eyes blazing and teeth glinting, its wet red mouth thirsting for blood. Instinctively covering his throat with his hand, Loofah leapt back—but the dog was gone, pulled back into the bud which snapped tight shut. He stood catching his breath for a moment and then laughed out loud.
Another bud twitched and Loofah leaned closer, though tentatively this time. When the bud burst open a little cobra struck out at him with a savage hiss, its hood flared in anger, its fangs tinged with venom. Next it was miniature lion, shaking its mane and roaring death, then a great white shark, bursting out in a tiny spray of brine.
'Do come and look, Georgette. You'll like this one, it's brilliant!'
The girl was standing a few yards away with her hands stuck in her pockets, digging divots out of the velvet lawn with the heel of her trainer.
'Don't want to,' she muttered, not looking up.
Silly girl, thought Loofah, and turned back to the plant. What next? he wondered. A tiger perhaps, or maybe a dinosaur—that would be jolly. A bud quivered; he leaned closer, tense with anticipation—and with a pop it was open.
'Boo!' squeaked the little brown head and then burst into titters. 'Tee-hee-hee! I bet that scared you, didn't it?'
In the terror stakes a stunted weasel with oversized ears was not quite in the same league as a Rottweiler or a killer shark, thought Loofah, but was too polite to say so.
'It certainly did scare me,' is what he actually said, 'Although I am very glad you're back—you see there's a lot I've been wanting to ask you about.'
'Sorry, mate, can't stop, not this time.'
'What? Surely you can spare a couple of minutes—I won't keep you long.'
The little head shook slowly in a firm negative. 'Nothing personal, my son. I just don't like crowds, if you get my drift.'
'You mean the garden-lady? But she's not here.'
'No, not her—the old bird's cool.' It leaned out of its flower and lowered its voice. 'But lose the chick, eh?'
'Are you talking to somebody?'
Loofah jumped and spun round; Georgette was standing right behind him, watching him suspiciously.
'Me? Talking to someone?' he said, screening the bush with his body.
'What is it?' She tried to peer round him. 'Let me see.'
'You won't like it, it's really very dull.'
'You just said it was brilliant,' she said and stepped quickly to the side, outflanking his shield.
But the shrub was as it had been, its green buds tightly closed, its furry leaves shimmering in the sunlight.
'You see,' said Loofah, 'Dull as ditch-water.'
Loofah passed swiftly along the shrubbery, glancing with half an eye at the floral pyrotechnics that were exploding before him. Sadly he had lost a bit of interest in the garden since the appearance of the little animal. He urgently wanted to speak to it again, but he didn't know how he was going to get away from the girl. She was no less sulky than before, but now hovered close beside him, dogging his every step, and showed no sign of being willing to be got away from.
At a plant with distinctive oval flowers of a rather dull pink, however, he paused rather than hurrying past—for there was something unpleasantly familiar about this specimen. Its heart-shaped leaves appeared to be made out green patent leather, its flowers had thick fleshy petals held in a vertical calyx, and its trailing tendrils writhed and twisted in the sunshine like acrobatic grass snakes. Several excessively large insects were buzzing around the plant; with blurred bee wings and tiger-striped bodies, each was as big as his forefinger.
As if responding to Loofah's attention, the tendrils writhed more vigorously and reached out to him across the bed, and the petals began to tremble and swell, the turgid flowers slowly opening to reveal their glistening slippery throats. He now became aware of a sticky warmth trickling down his spine, as unwelcome as it was familiar.
One of the insects landed on a flower, clinging to the lower petals with tiny suckered feet. At first the elongated body appeared soft and wrinkled, like a queen termite, but as the creature began to probe its bulbous proboscis into the wet orifice of the flower, it seemed to stiffen and swell. Though the warmth rapidly pooling in Loofah's stomach was now transforming itself into a kind of sticky-sweet nausea, he was unable to look away.
The flower was responding to the insect's attentions, the petals quivering and opening still wider, with a clear nectar flowing from its orifice in a drooling stream. After a few seconds of agitated probing the insect seemed to pause, allowing the petals to open to full spread, and then thrust itself into the heart of the flower, plunging its entire body down the slippery throat and sending a trembling flurry through the turgid petals. Great wet globs of nectar dripped onto the leaves below and the tendrils writhed in a blind frenzy.
'Pollination—such perfect harmony of design. Isn't Mother Nature wonderful?'
Loofah started—the garden-lady was now standing beside him. She smiled benignly and a hot wave of shame broke over him, blending unpleasantly with the sweet stickiness.
'I can see you're a man who really appreciates plants.'
'Er… yes… I…' He felt his cheeks flare crimson as if to compete with her more gaudy specimens.
'Of course this only the dwarf version. I have a standard at the front—would you like to see it? To be frank it's not doing as well as it should—hasn't had the care it needs since my dear Geoffrey passed on. Perhaps you might be able to—?'
'This one looks interesting,' interrupted Loofah, jumping forward to the next shrub, 'The flowers are just—like…' and his voice trailed lamely away.
The new plant's blossoms were predominantly dark green, each a tight calyx of dark petals with two strange bulbous seed pods hanging below. The only colour was provided by the stamen, a purple finger-like polypus hanging from the centre of each flower. At first these drooped limply, but as he looked they began to distend and tighten, gradually raising themselves from recumbency and pushing up into the air.
'I grow the two side by side,' said the garden-lady brightly, 'I do think they compliment each other so beautifully, don't you?'
Loofah watched with a growing sense of despair as, one by one, the little stamens quivered and swelled to firmness, displaying themselves in their full tumescent glory. Each was now tipped with a shiny blue bulbosity like a ripe plum, slippery with a clear gel that oozed from its rind.
Something buzzed past Loofah's face; more oversized insects were flying in to hover over the now fully upright stamens. He recognised this species at once from old Mr Wilson's living room—the same oval of heavy folds ringed by a border of dark setae, carried under a blur of diaphanous wings. The insects quickly began to settle, working their abdominal folds over the bulbous tips of the stamens, sucking at the sweet gel.
'I can see you like the more responsive species,' said garden-lady, taking his arm, 'You're going to adore my succulents—they were my Geoffrey's pride and joy.'
'Actually, it's getting rather late,' Loofah stammered, 'I think we ought to be going.'
'Must you? That's a shame—just when your niece was beginning to show an interest.'
'Interest? My niece?' he said, looking around quickly.
And indeed his hostess appeared to be correct; Georgette had apparently stopped sulking and was now standing in front of the first plant, staring at it in rapt fascination.
'Come on, my dear, don't get left behind,' said the garden-lady, at which the girl came to like a waking sleep-walker, giggled to herself, and then drifted after them.
The succulent border was a profusion of thick waxy foliage and exotic flowers: ovals of folded petals, some as big as dish plates, that began to quiver and open as soon they arrived, and thrusting spikes in green and purple, some single, some in clusters, but all trembling with vegetal excitement. And everywhere the frenzied buzzing of the pollination insects, some plunging their tumid proboscises between turgid petals, others sucking maniacally at the fluid-oozing spikes.
'Marvellous, isn't it?' said the garden-lady, sweeping her arm over the unbridled vegetable Saturnalia, 'Don't you just adore the exuberance of those blooms.'
'Um Saturnalia very nice,' he said, 'But we really should be—.'
'And I knew the young lady would like it.'
The girl was ambling slowly along the edge of the lawn, gazing wide-eyed and open-mouthed across the seething bed.
'I do think it's nice when young people take a real interest in nature.' Their hostess beamed benevolently at the drooling girl, then took her gently by the arm. 'You like the pretty flowers, don't you, my dear?'
Georgette nodded enthusiastically.
'Well, let me show you this one,' the garden-lady went on, leading the girl to the largest plant in the bed, 'I think you'll like it best of all.'
This was a frankly unpleasant specimen: nothing but a mass huge leathery leaves, dark and waxy like green bat-wings, draped with pale corkscrew tendrils, and—strangely—with no sign of any floral offerings.
At first the girl seemed nonplussed, but as she stared at the unappealing foliage with an expression of growing disappointment the plant seemed to sense her presence—and responded.
The tendrils began to twist and writhe, and the leaves parted one by one like the fans of an exotic dancer. As the last two moved aside they revealed, at the very heart of the plant, the hidden flower. This was an open shell of waxy green, its inner surface glossy with slippery wetness. At the bottom of the horn was a pool of clear liquid out of which jutted the stamen, a huge spike of dark blue with a scarlet tip which was flared open and curled back on itself, resembling a particularly brutal species of medieval weapon. Two of the pollination insects were sliding slowly down the wet sides of the shell, struggling helplessly, while several more were suspended in the liquid, some in the last feeble throes of death, others already dead and half-digested.
When she saw the flower Georgette gasped quietly. The plant seemed to sense her presence and shivered all over as if ruffled by a light breeze, with the stamen shuddering in its bath of stickiness. Then it reached out to her, coiling wiry tendrils around her calves and knees, sliding leathery leaves over her thighs. She giggled and started making half-hearted efforts to pull back, but the plant stroked her gently with its leaves to soothe her and pulled her closer still. Taut green spirals now coiled up each thigh, clasping the flesh, and strong leaves gripped her buttocks to carry her in towards the waiting flower.
Loofah swallowed, now aware of a slight savoury tang of guilt that was blending with the sweet sickness in his belly.
'You know I really think we should be going, Georgette,' he said.
'Oh, don't spoil her fun!' protested the garden-lady, 'It would be such a shame to drag her away just when she's started to enjoy herself.'
The girl soon stopped all pretence of resistance and lay back, eyes closed and moaning quietly to herself, in the strong cradle of leaves. Tendrils were now coiling across her shorts and tee-shirt, worming into the material, splitting seams and tearing cloth. The stamen quivered with excitement, throbbing like an over-ripe fruit, and more foliage curled around to envelop her trembling body. Loofah now saw that that plant was gradually fusing itself into her, its tendrils actually growing into her flesh, its leathery leaves blending with her skin. He began to ponder whether he must pull her free but it was too late; the girl had already reached the flower and a curtain of leaves closed discretely over her, sealing her within the mass of foliage.
For a few moments the plant trembled and convulsed, then—after one final muffled moan from the girl—it became still. As the final tremors died away, the foliage relaxed and returned to normal. There was no sign of Georgette.
Loofah turned to his hostess, who was absently snipping dead flower heads from a nearby stand of gladioli.
'Um—did you manage to catch the bean?'
'Oh, yes,' she said, 'And I've put the little rascal in the cold frame. A few days solitary confinement should give it time to reflect on its behaviour. I do think one must be firm with plants, don't you?'
'Otherwise they walk all over you,' he said, smiling weakly.
'Quite. Now, how about a nice cup of tea?'