Topiary and The Great Perhaps

“I am here to seek a great perhaps.”

The words came out mechanical, as if read from a script. But Clarice stood sure of herself with her hands on her hips and her stubborn chin held high. She was standing at the gates of Farmer Bill's estate. He had come running to the gate - at a snails pace - when he had heard a small voice calling his name. And it's where he stood now, in the only break of the white picket fence that surrounded the perimeter.

“-You what?”

"I have come-" she repeated, but the words fell short, losing their intent as she manoeuvred past Famer Bills large silhouette, trying to peer past him and into the gardens behind. When she failed to catch a peek she looked him directly in the eye, "to seek a great perhaps."

Farmer Bill let out an appreciative chuckle. “Well, I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong place." He said, "where are your parents, Clair?"

“Fighting” she said, digging her white shoes into the dirt.

It wasn’t totally true. Her Mum and Dad had stopped fighting days ago. They'd been chatting over a glass of wine when her Mum had suddenly risen, scraping her chair against the floor boards, and said "I can't do this anymore." Clair - who had been colouring at the time - paused, and looked up just in time to catch the confusion on her fathers face.

She didn't know what that meant either, but she wasn't surprised to hear it... Claire's Mum had existed in the peripheral for some time, but she never imagined that her peripheral would develop into completely out of sight. She'd heard her mother muttering strange things... tales of distant longing... and each passing day had her looking more like a store-front mannequin than her Mum.

On the night she left, she left only a phrase, "I go to seek a great perhaps".

When Clair considered what this might mean her musings turned-up short. She mulled over the things her Mum had wished for in the weeks before she disappeared; a jetty extending over the sea, a place where the champagne was always free, and most strangely of all, a house scattered with animals that were made from trees.

When Clair had typed it into the search engine she stumbled upon the word 'Topiary'.

"Hmm" she thought, "animals made from trees... I wonder what they eat". So Clair had filled her backpack with crackers and cheese and set off to the only place she knew would be luxurious enough to house such oddities.

Looking up at Farmer Bill's face, Clair could see weathered lines from where his skin had soaked in sun for half a century, but under his heavy brows were eyes that tinkled with humour, like a flowing river.

"Is your champagne free, Mr. Bill?"

Farmer Bill felt another chuckle tumble from his lips, "No Clair, I pay for my drinks just like the rest of you," he said. Bill noticed the backpack on Clair's shoulders, and realised that she must have walked all the way from the quarry on her own, and that the bright red glow in her cheeks was from exhaustion. He frowned, "would you like to come in-".

He had barely finished his offer when Clair sung over him with a lilting, "yes please," and plummeted through the gate.

Her eyes grew like moons as she took in the breadth of the gardens. "I can't believe it" she gasped. She had always pictured it, trying to squint through the lines in the picket fence as her parents drove by. She'd caught snippets of blush, marigold yellow, and pale-mint like stills from a film reel. As she stood, confronting a stone water feature and fingers stretched to a bed of Iris's, she realised that the garden's were finally hers to explore. Before Bill could stop her, Clair was rushing down the perimeter of the garden, and weaving waywardly through the decorative garden-beds.

"Clair, let's call your father first!" Bill called after her.

"Not yet, Mr. Bill!" she called back. The stiffness in Farmer Bill's legs protested as he broke into a slow jog, his joints aching like a rusty tin-man.

"Clair!"

Clair had paused to stoop over a wooden wagon wheel overgrown with daisies. "Is this from your carriage?" She asked him as he approached.

"How old do you think I am?" He joked, offering his hand. Clair took it, and let him guide her through the garden. As they approached the back of the estate Clair was stunned to see a further acreage of land, speckled with mango trees. Between the trees was a red barn, surrounded by stale and teetering stacks of hay. She gasped, and squeezed her fingers tighter round Farmer Bills hand.

"Are the topiaries in the barn?"

Her voice rattled with a sense of hope that Farmer Bill could only attribute to the fantastical mind of a child, yet, he couldn't untangle the sense of her question. "The... what?" He furrowed his brow, "never mind...". He'd have a new set of lines between his brows by the time Clair had finished exploring, so he offered her a gentle tug towards the house. "Let's get you inside, I'll give you a proper tour when your Dad gets here."

"-But" she started, turning over her shoulder.

"Soon" Farmer Bill interjected.

Clair sat at the French coffee table, picking at a slice of homemade cake, and sipping rose tisane from a delicate tea-cup. She inspected the gold trimming around the brim as Farmer Bill talked to her Dad over the phone. Farmer Bill laughed, "Yes, yes I have her here with me." He cast her a glance. "Yes, walked all the way... No, no she's fine, just drinking some tea..."

Farmer Bill listened. Clair could hear the muffled tones from her Father on the other end.

"...She said she'd come.." Bill paused for a moment, trying to recollect the exact words, "...to seek a great perhaps".

There was a pause on both ends. The silence seemed to stretch to every corner of the estate, as if Farmer Bill's dining room and her loungeroom at home had entered into an isolated stasis. The clink of china as Clair placed her cup on a saucer caused a ripple, bringing movement back to the room.

Her fathers voice broke through the silence, and Farmer Bill nodded, solemnly.

"Yep,"

"yeah..."

"uh-huh... okay."

Farm Bill placed the receiver down and stood straight-backed by the counter. He inhaled deeply, and on the exhale he turned to face Clair. "Your Father will be here soon", he said. Clair perked up; excitement sent a jolt of energy through her legs, causing the pink tea to slosh onto the lounge. Her mouth dropped in horror. "Never fear, never fear," Farmer Bill said, hurrying over with a cloth.

"Sorry" Clair sulked.

Farmer Bill dabbed at the stain, "nothing a bit of elbow-grease won't fix."

Clair planted herself on a rug by the coffee table, "is Dad coming on the tour?" She asked.

"Yes, I suppose he can come, if he likes"

"Can we show him the barn?"

Farmer Bill didn't know what Clair expected to find in that barn. It hadn't seen use since the passing of his horse; she'd find nothing in there but old garden supplies and trinkets collected over the years. The entrance by the double doors hadn't even seen sunlight, aside from what managed to seep it's way through the paned-glass windows.

Looking at her now he realised that a rusty, old watering-can wouldn't be enough to satiate her search for a 'great perhaps'. He pondered the question for a moment.

"Why don't we show you the barn another day" he suggested, picturing the barn as it was last season. Last season... when it had been teeming with warm sun, and a pair of gentle eyes had followed him through his labours. He smiled to himself,

"Give me some time to tidy it up."