Alfresco

The house is open; light spills into the rooms from more than one angle. The rooms flow into each other. There are no passageways, the smaller rooms lead to the larger ones. You walk through the house, not into rooms. Each room has a singular view of the garden and the garden speaks differently to each room of the house. The garden and house are partners. 

But something is missing. There is no place specially set aside, in the open air, to eat, sit and talk. 

One of them wants to add to the house, not touch the garden. The other wants to leave the house alone and build a retreat in the garden. Their needs are different. Their visions differ.

They work on separate plans, unconnected ideas. They are secretive, each doing their research away from the other. Both of them refuse to seriously consider costs. Each of them focus only on presenting a compelling, undeniable and brilliant solution.

Without intending to they become distant with each other. Each unobtrusively lays claim to parts of the house. Unexplainably neither of them feels free to wander from room to room anymore; they are uncomfortable in the other’s space. They devise ways to block off rooms and begin to go out one door and in again by another. This is troublesome when the weather is bad and so they close in the outside walkways. Rooms are now darker, smaller, meaner.

The garden near the walkways suffers ruinously from lack of light and rain. They reluctantly pave the area around the house. The garden is further away; there is a tangible detachment now between the garden and the house.

An outside space seems more imperative than ever now that the garden has retreated. For one of them it is to escape the enclosing house. For the other it is to be close again to the now aloof garden. Both of them continue with their plans. 

Each of them have honest intentions, there is no spitefulness or selfishness involved. They are both convinced of the correctness of their wishes. They each believe that the other will be grateful.

One talks with a landscape gardener. It is a friendly chat, walking around the garden, cup of coffee in hand. No possible harm in that. The landscape gardener points out many opportunities for improvement. It seems wise to extend the breadth of the garden while developing a new space within it. Time is precious, so that the garden is not stressed by adverse weather while the work is undertaken. The landscape gardener is contracted to begin the work. 

The other one talks with an architect. They meet and brainstorm some ideas for the troublesome outdoor area. The possibilities are enthralling. The architect is asked to draw up plans. 

The time never seems right to open up a conversation with the other about what each is up to. They are both so busy with their projects. Best to leave it until the entire picture comes together, that way they won’t be misunderstood.

They both agree to take a holiday. Each is surprised that the other is so ready to go. Each hope that their project will be past the point of no return by the time they come home. 

They are not home when the machinery turns up. 

The architect's demolition crew arrives first. They have directions to remove the eastern end of the house. This is necessary for the sympathetic incorporation of the new outside living space.

The landscaper’s bulldozer and gang roll in a few days later. They are tasked with reshaping the western part of the garden. The outside retreat will be stunning but major earthworks and replanting of the garden are needed.

They planned to be away for some months but they must return home sooner than anticipated. They have run out of money. How could that be they both wonder?

As they come up their once tree lined drive the enormity of the works in progress becomes ominously clear. They look at each other in disbelief, look to the house and its surrounds, look back at each other. Not a word is said. 

They cannot stay there. The quiet between them is too deafening, the state of the house and garden too much of a wound. 

The sale happens quickly, surprisingly quickly. They are grateful to be able to pay their debts.

They settle with the architect and the landscape gardener. They thank them for the work done; they apologise for their hubris and wish both professionals well. Neither of them have the heart to quibble over the extraordinarily large accounts that were submitted to them.

With what funds they have left they move into a small townhouse. The only alfresco area is a small patio under the roofline. It is pleasant enough but they hardly ever use it. They tend to sit inside and read, enjoying home improvement and gardening magazines in particular. 

Their life settles back down. They work hard at conversation, do everything together that they can, try to mend. Then that magazine issue arrives.

Their old house and garden is on the front cover. The alfresco area at the East end is magnificent. It is light, open, it flows and it beckons. It belongs. The stingy changes they had made to the house are gone. 

The garden has a size and generosity of scale they had never dreamed of. The retreat area, a sanctuary, has bought harmony and purpose back to the garden. Again the house and garden are partners.

They each rejoice in the outcome. Each feels some vindication and regret hovers over them only momentarily. Then, as their emotions clear, they read on further. Now they both come to understand the extent of the betrayal.

It is the architect and landscape gardener who now own their house and garden. They are the mystery buyers who bought it from them for a bargain price. 

The magazine article tells how the architect and landscape gardener found the property. How they saw the property's potential from the first and how disappointed they were when they missed out on it the last time it was sold; how they took it on undaunted by the unloved, unappreciated condition it was left in after the owners overcommitted themselves. How thrilled they are that they rescued the property, how much they enjoy living there. 

An uneasy silence exists for a few moments as they put the magazine down. Without prompting, without plan, they look at each other and mouth the same word slowly, deliberately - Alfresco.

It is all truly out in the open now.