I never even knew broad beans came from pods like this. I become a little calmer as I immerse myself in my task.
Meekly, I follow Iris into the house, then collect a big bowl of broad beans and start splitting the pods as she shows me. “You’re going to help me shell the beans for lunch.” She’s so matter-of-fact that I half smile in spite of myself. “And what am I going to do next?” I say at last, with a hopeless shrug. Sometimes it’s enough just to know what you’re going to do next.”įor a while I let her words run through my head, like cool water on a headache. You don’t have to have the big picture, or know where you’re heading. You don’t always have to know who you are. “Don’t beat yourself up for not knowing all the answers. “It doesn’t matter,” she says, her voice soft. A few moments later Iris comes and squats down beside me. My energy’s gone and I sink down on the dry grass. “Or what my goal is … or where I’m headed in life. “I don’t know who I am.” I exhale, more calmly.
I have no bloody idea.”Ī single tear rolls down my cheek and I wipe it away roughly. I’m not a bread maker, OK? I’m not a domestic goddess.” I look around the garden desperately, as though searching for clues. “I haven’t had a trauma!” I wheel away, out of her grasp. “Samantha, you’ve had a trauma,” she says in kind, even tones.
The next moment she’s in front of me, placing her two hands on my shoulders, looking at me with her penetrating blue eyes. “Don’t leave.” Iris’s voice is surprisingly firm. “You don’t understand anything,” I say, close to tears. It’s OK for her, with her hens and her apron and no wrecked career on the Internet. “What’s more constructive than making bread?” I glance at Iris, but she doesn’t seem offended. OK?” I walk to the apple tree and back again, unable to keep still. “What do you think we should be doing instead?” she asks with interest. “Because it’s such a waste of time!” I clutch my head in frustration. “I can’t just … just sit around patiently, waiting for yeast to get its act together.” “What?” Iris comes after me, wiping her hands on her apron. “I can’t do it.” I head for the kitchen door and out into the garden.
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