The Secrets of Ivy Garden

by Catherine Ferguson

  We collide at one stage, as I reach over to the rack for a serving spoon, and I feel his hand at my waist. A little shiver runs right through me, tingling all the way down my spine. I try to say a polite, ‘Sorry.’ But my throat seems suddenly as dry as the desert and all that comes out is an odd grunt.

  Jack flicks on the music and Frank Sinatra fills the room at high volume.

  ‘Mum’s favourite,’ he grins, turning it right down. ‘Is it okay as background?’

  I smile, bringing the food to the table. ‘Yeah, great. Ivy loved Frank as well. I’m rather partial to a bit of “Moon River”.’

  Jack pulls out a chair for me. ‘“I’ve Got You Under My Skin”,’ he murmurs, close to my ear, as I sit down.

  ‘Sorry?’ I stare up at him, my heart suddenly hammering like a drum solo.

  ‘One of Sinatra’s best, I think. Along with “I Get a Kick Out of You”,’ Jack says, taking a seat opposite. He laughs softly. ‘Sorry, does that make me sound very uncool?’

  ‘No! No, not at all.’ Flustered, I rise to my feet. ‘Napkins! Do you have any?’

  ‘Top drawer. I’ll get them.’

  I scurry over before he has a chance to get up, hiding my flushed face in the drawer.

  What’s wrong with me?

  You’d think I’d never been alone with a man in a kitchen my entire life!

  I take some calming breaths as I sort out matching napkins with hands that tremble slightly. Then I turn and say brightly, ‘I’ll go and get Layla, shall I?’

  Jack is lolling back in the chair, arms folded, long legs stretched out. He nods, grinning lazily at me, and I get the distinct impression he’s been taking his time, studying my back view. Thank goodness I have on my best blue jeans and the pale green close-fitting top that always seems to attract compliments.

  As another wave of heat sweeps over me, I resort to a bit of sweeping myself – out of the room …

  Hurrying up the stairs and wafting cool air down my top, I call for Layla and she yells, ‘Door straight ahead of you.’

  I go in and she’s sitting on her bed, the black and white photos spread out around her, staring at the one in her hands.

  ‘Dinner’s on the table,’ I tell her, but she ignores me and leaps to her feet, her usual cool abandoned.

  ‘Look at this.’ She thrusts the photo into my hands.

  It’s a colour print this time of a slim woman in her mid-thirties. Wearing little more than a G-string and sparkly, plunging bra, she’s wrapped around a silvery metal pole, head flung back in a posture of careless abandonment, which means I can see her face only in profile.

  I look closer and my eyebrows shoot up.

  ‘Bloody hell, it’s Prue,’ I murmur. Then I remember Layla’s seeing this for the first time, too. ‘Wow, your mum looked – erm – hot when she was younger.’

  As soon as I say it, I realise it probably wasn’t the best thing to point out to a teenager. Hey, your mum was proper raunchy back in the day!

  But Layla doesn’t even flicker. She’s too busy staring at the photo herself with an expression of utter bewilderment on her face.

  ‘Holly? Layla? Are you coming down? I can’t wait to try this world-class cheese sauce.’

  At the sound of Jack approaching, we glance at each other in shock.

  ‘Hide them,’ I hiss, wanting to avoid another scene. ‘Quick.’ I gather up the other photos and, pulling open the wardrobe door nearby, I virtually throw the photos inside.

  ‘No!’ shrieks Layla, and it flashes across my mind that maybe the wardrobe is broken and about to collapse.

  A second later, the reason for her panicked response becomes very clear.

  Out of the wardrobe tumbles a kaleidoscope of colourful objects, all roughly the same size and apparently people-shaped. They bounce on to the floor and land in a heap at my feet.

  I stare at them, frozen with shock.

  The locals, including Prue, have been exclaiming for weeks about their missing gnomes. And now we know where their beloved garden ornaments have been enjoying their vacation.

  In Layla’s wardrobe.

  ‘Layla, what’s been going on?’ I find my voice. ‘What on earth possessed you?’

  ‘It wasn’t me,’ she says quickly. ‘At least, it wasn’t only me. We all did it just for a laugh. It was Josh’s idea …’

  ‘Oh, Josh. Well, that makes sense.’ I shake my head wearily at her. ‘And I suppose he sweet-talked you into hiding the spoils?’

  She shrugs miserably. ‘You’re going to tell Jack, aren’t you?’

  I sigh heavily, not at all sure what I’m going to do. Perhaps if I make her promise to return them all to their rightful homes, I could keep it quiet …?

  ‘Honestly, Layla, why on earth you think that loser Josh is so great, I’ll never know.’

  Well, that’s not exactly true, I think to myself. I had teenage crushes on unsuitable boys at school so I know what it’s like.

  ‘Yes, yes, okay,’ says Layla grumpily. ‘Look, if I promise to take them all back—’

  ‘Layla? Holly?’ Jack knocks and enters the room.

  He takes in the scene, Layla looking red-faced and guilty, the floor covered in small, bearded men.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Layla bursts out. ‘It was my friend’s idea of a joke. It was stupid. I’ll take them all back.’

  Jack continues to stare at the gnomes.

  Then he walks over and picks up two of them. He brandishes them at Layla. ‘These belong to Mum. She’s been distraught over their disappearance. You do realise they were the last gift Dad ever bought her?’

  Layla’s mouth drops open in horror. ‘No! I never knew that. Honestly, I didn’t. If I had, I’d never have dreamed of taking her garden gnomes.’

  She looks so distraught, it’s obvious she’s telling the truth.

  ‘You shouldn’t have taken any of them,’ starts Jack angrily, but Layla, fighting back tears, slides off the bed and flees out of the room.

  ‘Layla?’ Jack strides out on to the landing. ‘Come back here.’

  ‘Sorry. I really am,’ she calls. ‘I’ll be at Anne-Marie’s.’ And the front door slams.

  When Jack walks slowly into the bedroom, I’m picking the motley collection of garden gnomes off the floor and – for want of something better to do with them – arranging them on top of a chest of drawers by Layla’s bed.

  Jack stares at them for a moment, shaking his head. I catch his eye and feel a smile start to tickle at the corners of my mouth. I suppress it, though, because obviously, this is a grave matter and I’m not sure what Jack’s approach will be.

  At last, he heaves a sigh. ‘Bloody teenagers. Her mother’s going to flip when she finds out her own daughter is the mystery garden plunderer.’ He comes over and picks up one of the garish newcomers – a cheery little chappy with rosy cheeks, a battered red hat and a grin that borders on the lascivious.

  ‘Hideous things,’ he murmurs. ‘But they don’t deserve the kidnap treatment. Or at least, their owners don’t.’ He frowns. ‘She’ll be taking every single one of them back with a big apology. If they can remember where they came from.’

  ‘They?’

  ‘I’ve no doubt it was a group effort. Layla probably just agreed to hide the stolen goods, more fool her.’

  He looks at me, his mouth twitching up at one corner.

  ‘Are you laughing?’ I ask.

  ‘No, no. This is serious.’

  I eye him, not sure if he’s joking. Or at least half-joking. ‘It is quite funny. She does have a sense of humour, your sister.’

  ‘Yeah, she does. But she has to learn that thoughtless “jokes” like this have consequences. She’ll wish she’d never embarked on it by the time I’ve finished with her.’

  I grimace. ‘Will the punishment be harsh?’

  Jack grins. ‘No, but I’ll be going with her when she humbly apologises to all of our neighbours – and being embarrassed by your relatives is the worst thing ever for a teenager
.’

  He puts the leery gnome back and picks up another two.

  ‘Mum’s,’ he explains, as we go downstairs. ‘She’ll be so relieved to have them back.’

  Jack returns the gnomes to their rightful place in the back garden, then we sit down opposite each other at the table and I serve the food while he pours me a glass of wine.

  ‘She shouldn’t have taken our gnomes.’ He shakes his head wearily. ‘Dad gave them to Mum as a joke. She hasn’t exactly got green fingers. She likes to think she’s a gardening expert but we all know better.’ He grins. ‘Dad bought her the gnomes the Christmas before he died, saying he thought a bit of help in the garden from those guys might improve matters. She pretended to be offended but those gnomes always had pride of place at the back door. She named them Charlie and Dimmock.’

  I smile sadly. No wonder she’s been so upset, thinking Charlie and Dimmock had been stolen.

  We’re silent a moment in the gathering gloom, sampling our moussaka.

  ‘Layla can’t have known that story,’ I point out. ‘Otherwise she would never have taken the gnomes.’

  Jack’s blue eyes are velvety dark in the pool of candlelight. ‘I’m sure you’re right.’

  ‘I am. She’d never deliberately upset her mum like that, I’m certain of it.’ I cross my fingers in my lap, determined to speak to her myself.

  Jack nods. ‘Maybe she forgot that Dad had given them as a present. It was way before she was born, after all. Layla’s a pain in the arse these days,’ he chuckles. ‘But she’s never nasty.’

  ‘She’s got a really good heart. And she’s been an incredible help to me in the garden,’ I tell him. And with other things, too. ‘Your sister is a girl of hidden depths,’ I add, thinking of her ‘cosy mystery’ stories, which apparently only Sylvian and I know about.

  Jack nods. ‘She’s extremely bright. But she wasn’t diagnosed with dyslexia until she was eleven.’

  ‘I know.’

  He looks surprised. ‘She told you? That she’s dyslexic?’

  When I nod, he says it has to be a first because she doesn’t normally tell people.

  His comment makes me ridiculously pleased. ‘We talked about it. I’ve a feeling the dyslexia won’t hold her back any more.’

  He raises an eyebrow. ‘You two seem to be getting along incredibly well. I’ve noticed. She seems to have really taken to you.’ He smiles and a delicious warmth steals over me. ‘Not that I’m surprised,’ he murmurs, his eyes searching my face. ‘Not at all.’

  The compliment – and the way he says it – throws me completely. Colour surges into my cheeks and I swallow, hardly able to meet his eye. When I do manage a quick, shy glance, he’s sitting back in his chair, arms folded, smiling at me in a way that makes my heart beat faster.

  My insides quiver. How am I supposed to force down even a mouthful of this food now? My throat feels so dry, it would probably get stuck.

  What the hell is going on with me?

  I take a deep breath.

  Pull yourself together, girl!

  He’s grateful you’ve managed to get through to his bolshy, adolescent sister. That’s all …

  I paste on a bright smile. ‘I like Layla very much. She talks to me, I guess because I’m not family. She’s a credit to you.’

  ‘That’s good to hear.’ He leans forward and I feel his warm hand close over mine. A million shivers hurtle up my spine. Our eyes meet and hold, and my body starts pulsing with long-forgotten but delicious feelings that make me move slightly forward in an unconscious desire to close the gap between us … inching me nearer to those magnetic eyes and that beautiful mouth that I suddenly realise I so badly want to feel against mine.

  An image of the candle glows in the dark depths of his pupils as we slowly drink each other in. My heart is slamming against my ribcage.

  If it weren’t for the table separating us …

  Without warning, a deep ‘clunk’ sounds out, and suddenly lights are blazing all around us. We blink at each other in surprise. The power cut is over.

  I give an awkward laugh and withdraw my hand from his to run it through my hair.

  Jack does the same. Then he rises to his feet, scraping back the chair with a sound like nails down a blackboard. ‘We need dessert.’

  I watch him as he brings the apple crumble out of the oven. Tonight, talking and sharing a meal with Jack, has been so lovely. I don’t want it to end.

  Then I remember Selena and a cold hand grips my heart. However I feel about Jack, nothing can ever happen between us. He’s already spoken for.

  And that’s when it hits me with such force, my heart practically leaps out of my chest.

  I’m in love with Jack!

  He turns with the crumble. ‘Shall I just bring it to the table and we can help ourselves?’

  I stare up at him, shell-shocked.

  ‘Okay?’ he asks with a little frown.

  I rally myself. ‘Yes, yes.’ Then I lurch to my feet and start clearing away the plates with trembling hands. My head is whirling with the glorious shock of it, and I’m in such a daze, I end up trying to wrestle the huge marble chopping board into the dishwasher.

  Smiling, he reaches down and gently takes the cumbersome board out of my hands, and the contact sends a little ripple of pleasure through my entire body,

  Did he feel it, too?

  Then I have a horrible thought. Maybe getting dessert was just an excuse to move away from me? Were my feelings written right across my face? When, just for a moment, I imagined a heat between us?

  Oh God, what if I’ve embarrassed him! What if he thinks I’ve developed a crush on him? I couldn’t bear it if Jack felt sorry for me.

  We sit down for apple crumble and there’s a touch of awkwardness between us that wasn’t there before.

  Think of something to say!

  We both start talking at once. Then there’s a splash as something plops into his wine.

  He laughs and looks up. ‘What the …?’

  It seems a lump of plaster has fallen from the ceiling.

  Grinning, Jack fishes it out. ‘The whole bloody place is literally falling down around our ears.’

  We look at each other and burst out laughing, which dispels the awkward atmosphere perfectly.

  ‘Do you think Layla’s okay?’ I ask after a while.

  Jack glances out of the window at the darkening sky and frowns. ‘If you don’t mind, once we’ve eaten, I’ll walk you home then go and collect her from her friend’s house.’

  I nod, unable to help the swoop of disappointment inside at the thought that the night is ending. ‘Of course.’ I put down my spoon. ‘Let’s go now. I’m not really hungry, to be honest, and you can heat this up and have it with Layla when you get back.’

  ‘You sure?’ His eyes on me are full of concern, as if above all else, he doesn’t want to let me down.

  ‘Of course,’ I say lightly. ‘I’d feel much happier knowing Layla’s all right.’

  Minutes later, we’re crunching along the path through the woods, the light from our torches giving the trees a bleached and rather eerie appearance. I’m very glad Jack is with me. He makes me feel safe.

  Then I reflect that, depending on what happens with Ben, Moonbeam Cottage will likely be on the market soon and I’ll be returning to my life in Manchester. I’ll probably never see Jack again …

  And it isn’t just Jack I’ll miss.

  It’s now early August. I arrived here in April – just four months ago – and yet there are people in this village I’ve already grown very fond of. The thought of leaving and never coming back makes me feel surprisingly heavy-hearted.

  I’m even growing more used to the countryside.

  When I first arrived, everything about it jarred, particularly the fear that I might find myself isolated and in danger, in the middle of nowhere. But since my chat with Connie, when I poured out all my grief over the horrible way my parents died, I’ve made a sort of peace with the tragedy. I
no longer feel so haunted by it. Talking about everything was something I should have done long, long ago, instead of bottling it all up in the hope I could contain it, which of course was impossible.

  In any case, it’s all fairly immaterial because soon I’ll be back in Manchester, where such a situation is never likely to arise. Wrapped in the cocoon of my little flat, surrounded by neighbours on all sides, I’ll feel safe again, buffered by the solidity of the buildings and reassured by the constant hum and bustle in the streets down below me.

  City life has always been in my blood.

  But with a shock, I realise that things have changed.

  Leaving Appleton for the last tme will be nowhere near as easy as I thought it would be, back in April …

  TWENTY-NINE

  Woken from a deep sleep, I fumble for the phone.

  At the sound of Prue’s staccato voice, I sit up straight in bed. She has that effect. ‘Good morning, Holly. How is the garden?’

  ‘The garden?’ I squeak. ‘Oh, the garden is in great shape. Don’t worry about that.’

  I rub my eyes with my free hand. Honestly, how did it happen that the morning Prue decides to phone me is the one morning I manage to sleep in?

  I glance at the clock. Six-forty-five.

  Six-forty-five? Is she having a laugh?

  ‘It’s just I’m coming back later today and I wanted to give you some warning,’ she adds, her directness proving more effective than a bucket of cold water at dragging me fully to my senses.

  ‘So no problems, then?’ she asks.

  ’No problems at all. It’s – um – looking marvellous.’

  At least, it will be by this afternoon!

  Mentally, I started ticking off jobs already done and listing those still to do.

  ‘Excellent, Polly. Well, I’ll see you later. Jack will be collecting me later this morning. Will you be at Rushbrooke House when I arrive, around three?’

  ‘Yes, I will.’

  She hangs up, and I dive out of bed and head for the shower. That gives me roughly eight hours to get the garden looking decent for her return.

  Weeds, beware! I’m on to you!

  Later, rubbing steam from the mirror, I stare at my pink-faced reflection, thinking about Jack and recalling the previous night with a little shiver of pleasure. Perhaps I’ll see him later, when he arrives at Rushbrooke House after collecting Prue from Kent?