Paula Hillman, author

What I have found really interesting about the reviews coming in for my second novel, The Cottage, is how much expectations of the story differ from the reality. The novel is emotive and character-driven and quite dark at times, and is definitely NOT about a cottage in the country with ‘roses around the door’. That is not the sort of thing I write! I have got about 50,000 words of scenes I cut, in the end. I did this because they were not needed for forward propulsion of the story, but they did help me clarify. If you have read the book, you will know that there is a reference to one of the main characters working at Kew Gardens. There were a few chapters/ snippets of his time there, that I cut: here is one of them:

              By the time he gets to Euston, Jay is all for buying another ticket and returning home. Liz would be happy with that, but like the foul-tasting yellow medicine she once gave him for earache, the move is for his own good. With a swing of his rucksack, and an emptying of his mind, he steps onto the metallic smelling platform and lets himself become caught up in the moment.

              He stands in front of a map of the stations and tries to work out how to get to Kew Gardens. From what he can gather, one underground line, from Euston to Paddington then a change, will take him directly to Kew.

           The station is steamy with activity and more people than Jay has seen in his whole lifetime. Not one of them knows him. Or even sees him. This, he finds strangely liberating, as though he has been born again, a clean page to fill with any story he cares to tell. In this moment, he decides. His old self will be left where it belongs; in the past. He will use Liz’s names, her surname and the one she calls him when she wants a favour. Liz Elliot will become his mother, and he will simply be a young adult taking his first steps away from her, towards a life of his own.

          When he finally climbs out of the underground carriage at Kew Gardens, it is almost seven o’clock in the evening. The air tastes of disinfectant and fried food, and Jay’s stomach gurgles as he inhales. A studio flat awaits him, on Ennerdale Road, according to the documents stuffed in the pocket of his rucksack: a map, a contract of work, directions and the four-digit code that will let him into the building which will become his new home. And tomorrow, he’s to show up at Kew, ready to work.

           As he walks the roads that will lead him to what Liz has called his digs, Jay is surprised at the amount of traffic, and the transient feel of the place. Like he’s strolling along a motorway; no one catches his eye, everyone has somewhere to be, shops have a pop-up air, with dirty windows and shuttered doors.

           Ennerdale Road itself, despite its pretty Lakeland name, is wide and anonymous. Not somewhere that a person would live. He wonders how the most famous parkland in London can lie parallel to this chaos. But according to the map, it does.

           His building, comically named The Ellers, is a block made from cheap red-brick, with a flat roof and windows blanked by sagging net curtains. A group of alders stand together on a piece of grass in front of a glass entrance. Jay puts his rucksack down for a moment and lays a hand on one of the grey tree trunks. It is soot-covered, with none of the silvery sheen he knows a mature alder should have. But the canopy of leaves above his head brings a certain coolness, a clarity, despite the frenetic zoom of traffic. With a sigh, he sets off towards the doorway, and tries out the code he’s been given.

           His flat is really just one room. It is full of magnolia light and simple furniture: a soft grey sofa, white bookshelf, whiter kitchenette and an alcove with a bed that wouldn’t be out of place in a modern hospital. Behind a pale oak door is the tiniest bathroom Jay has ever seen. Not that he’s seen many. But this one he will struggle with, simply because of his height.

           Liz has sent him on his way with a Tupperware box full of sandwiches and cake, and a thermos of coffee. When he’s unpacked his clothing and few toiletries, he stands at the window, eating and drinking and wondering what on earth he’s done.

                                                         ***

           ‘Hi. I’m Taylor.’ A bearded man wearing an emerald-green polo shirt, holds out his hand. ‘You must be Jay?’

           ‘That’s me.’ Jay reaches for the hand.

Taylor turns to the three other people who are gathered around an area of the room where there is a sink and a kettle, and a tray full of mugs and Nescafe jars. The staffroom, he has been told. A place of refuge and continuous hot drinks, boxes of biscuits and the occasional cream cake. ‘Let me introduce the other members of your team.’

           He takes a tall dark-haired man by the elbow. ‘This is Vasil.’ A nod. ‘And this is Sue.’ He opens his hand to a brassy-haired lady, tanned and muscular. ‘We call her Sue Blonde. Mainly because there’s a different Sue, around somewhere.’ Taylor smiles at another man who is slurping from a huge mug. ‘That’s Gaz. Known as Calor Gaz, as he’s always ready to explode.’

They all laugh at that. Even Gaz. Who has the gentlest smile Jay has ever seen.

           ‘I manage all the woodland teams,’ Taylor is saying. ‘And that’s where you’ll be starting. Six days a week, hard graft, twelve-hour shifts. But the money’s pretty good. I guess you’ll know that already.’

Jay nods and smiles at his three co-workers. Then accepts a mug of coffee, while they scan through some sheets of paper with Taylor.

           ‘Vasil’s in your building, Jay,’ Taylor says. ‘Off the Ennerdale Road? Long way from Turkey, isn’t it, mate?’

           Vasil raises his eyebrows. ‘Not far enough, in my opinion,’ he mutters in an English so sharp that Jay can’t help but grin.

           ‘Finish up, and we’ll take Jay on a tour.’ Taylor again. ‘And I’ll need to find you some staff shirts. Apart from wearing those, we don’t really have a dress code. Just come prepared.’ He casts an eye over Jay’s jeans and walking boots. ‘And we’ll give you a set of oilskins. For when the weather’s bad; the work gets done regardless of the weather.’

           Sue Blonde shoots him a wink. ‘Taylor’s favourite saying. Gorgeous today though, isn’t it?’

           Taylor leads them out of the staffroom, and through a maze of corridors that remind John of his secondary school: shiny lemon paintwork and wood covered in thick royal-blue gloss. Their footsteps slap and echo in the cool silence. At the bottom of a flight of stairs, he pushes open double fire-doors, and they step out into the soft heat of early morning.

           Leaving the offices and staff area behind them, Jay and his new colleagues make their way along a path lined with a mix of tall birch trees and delicate Japanese maples. A breeze, light and fresh, pulls at the overhead foliage, shifting its colour from silver to scarlet and back again. What might look like incredibly relaxed and random planting, is in fact the work of someone with a highly artistic knowledge of nature. And as the tour progresses, John realises that this is true of everything he sees. Even the formal planting looks natural, and the glasshouses, with their exotic mix of giant species and the most intricate forms he has ever seen, almost brings him to weeping.

           ‘You’re very quiet, mate.’ Gaz hangs back and matches John’s hesitant steps. ‘Lot to take in, isn’t there?’

           ‘There is. I can’t imagine the number of people it takes to keep this place ticking over.’

           ‘Not far off a thousand, I reckon.’ Gaz is wearing a peaked cap emblazoned with the Kew logo, and a pair of mirrored sunglasses. ‘And there’s not one of ‘em who doesn’t love their job.’

           ‘I can’t wait to get stuck in,’ Jay says suddenly. ‘I’m feeling the love already.’

           ‘Easy tiger,’ laughs Gaz. ‘Give yourself a few days before you get totally obsessed.’

           The rest of the tour takes the best part of an hour, and Jay can’t envision a time when he’ll be able to find his way around without the help of a map and the comprehensive system of signposting. But he knows, with absolute certainty, that this place will transform him.