The Secrets of Ivy Garden

by Catherine Ferguson

  Then I remember Selena is sure to be with him and my heart plummets. She never misses a chance to monopolise him – and truthfully, I really can’t blame her.

  We actually have something in common, Selena and I …

  As I clean my teeth and pull on my ‘best’ gardening gear, I once more analyse the exchange I had with Jack at my door.

  We were walking through the woods, talking about Layla, and Jack confessed he hated having to be so hard on his sister but that he worried about her constantly. She was so bright and could do anything she put her mind to, he said, but he felt the kids she hung around with were a bad influence.

  ‘She’s a teenager, Jack,’ I told him gently. ‘It’s her job to be bolshy! But she’ll work through it and she’ll be fine.’

  I wanted to tell him about her ambition to be a writer. I had a feeling he’d be amazed in a really good way. But of course I couldn’t, because I’d promised Layla it was our secret.

  At my gate, I turned to say goodnight but, to my surprise, Jack walked up the path with me.

  ‘So you’re really leaving us soon?’ he demanded suddenly. ‘Going home?’

  ‘Well, yes.’ I stared up at him. His face was in darkness and I couldn’t quite make out his expression. ‘It was always my intention to get the cottage on the market as soon as possible so I could get back to Manchester.’

  ‘It’s not exactly a great time to be selling a property.’

  He sounded brusque and I laughed in surprise. ‘Isn’t it? I thought houses were snapped up around here as soon as they went on the market.’

  ‘If you’re very lucky.’

  ‘Well, here’s hoping I will be … lucky.’

  He nodded and looked down, stuffing his hands in his pockets. ‘Right, well, I’d better go and find Layla. Goodnight, Holly.’

  He walked off, clicking the gate shut and raising his hand.

  ‘Goodnight,’ I called, taken aback by Jack’s sudden mood change.

  I’d thought he must be more worried about Layla than I realised. It didn’t help that his work routine was so punishing, it left him little time to be with his family – and not for the first time, I wondered why he didn’t make the leap to selling bespoke furniture. It was obvious that was where his heart lay. Not in the City.

  I’m so distracted thinking about the strangeness of that conversation with Jack that I manage to leave the house wearing my smart loafers, and have to return a minute later for my scruffy gardening shoes.

  But soon – less than an hour after Prue’s phone call – I’m over at Rushbrooke House, hard at work in the garden.

  After a while, Layla comes out of the house to say hello as I’m kneeling on the grass, attempting to do right by a rose bed. I look up, shading my eyes from the glare. It isn’t quite nine-thirty, but already the July sun is hot.

  Layla grins down at me. ‘Just pluck out green things and you’ll be fine.’

  ‘Oh, ha-ha!’

  ‘And by the way, roses like being pruned. But tomatoes aren’t so keen.’

  I bark a laugh. ‘Crikey, the wit is in full flood this morning. What on earth did you have for breakfast?’

  ‘Funny you should say that. It was Wit-abix.’ She crosses her eyes at the corny joke.

  I sit back and groan. ‘So I take it Jack told you. About the tomato pruning?’

  ‘Easy mistake to make,’ Layla says seriously.

  I give her a disbelieving look and we both burst out laughing.

  ‘I’ve just got to tidy the kitchen, then I’ll come out and help,’ she offers, and I give her a thumbs up.

  She turns. ‘By the way, I was thinking, Mum could be the dance judge.’

  I frown, taking a minute to understand what she means.

  ‘The summer fete,’ she says. ‘Ben’s desperate for someone to judge the dancing and Mum’s a dancer.’

  ‘Was a dancer,’ I say slowly, mulling it over. It’s a great idea in principle, but I’m fairly certain Prue would refuse point blank to do it.

  Watching her walk off across the grass, I find myself wishing Layla would offer to help Prue as readily as she volunteered to assist me in the garden. By all accounts, she’s pretty lazy around the house – in common with most teenagers, granted – and I’m certainly not fooled by this sudden willingness to tidy up the kitchen. She’s probably hoping to get into Prue’s good books, to soften the blow when the truth is revealed – that it was actually Layla who ‘kidnapped’ Charlie and Dimmock …

  By the time I hear Jack’s car draw up at the front of the house, soon after three, I’m hot and sweaty and desperate for a shower. But at least the garden is looking well groomed.

  I’m not really sure about gardeners’ etiquette. Do I carry on working and let Prue come and find me? Or should I pop my head round and say hello?

  In the end, I plaster on a smile and walk round the side of the house, attempting a discreet brow wipe with the back of my hand.

  My heart sinks.

  Selena is there, sucking up to Prue, helping her with the smaller bags. She must have gone to Kent with Jack to collect Prue. Either that or she got the train up and Jack collected her at the station.

  Whatever, it’s obvious they’re still an item.

  When Selena sees me, she makes a great show of linking her arm flirtatiously through Jack’s and whispering in his ear. I pretend I haven’t noticed them walking off, round the side of the house. As Jack opens the gate for her, he turns back to look at me, and I quickly flick my eyes away and follow Prue into the house.

  She seems pleased to see me. ‘Polly! I do hope you’ve been keeping a tally of your hours. I can’t wait to do a tour of the garden.’

  ‘Oh, good grief. Someone’s been cleaning,’ she says when we enter the kitchen. She stares around her in amazement.

  I smile. ‘That was Layla.’

  Prue looks around her, amazed, and Layla bursts in at that moment.

  ‘What do you think?’ She beams at Prue.

  ‘It looks lovely, darling. Now, I’m absolutely desperate for a proper cup of tea. My sister is so thrifty, she uses teabags twice.’

  Grinning, Layla fills the kettle a little too enthusiastically, managing to spray water everywhere.

  ‘Dear, dear, nothing changes. Welcome home, me.’ Prue clips over to help with the mopping process, but she’s smiling as she puts her arm round Layla’s shoulders.

  ‘So what’s this about a cake stall?’ she asks, as we sit down to drink tea at the freshly cleared kitchen table. The flowers still sit in the centre in their glass vase, reminding me, with a little stab of emotion, of sitting here with Jack the night before in the glow of the candlelight. I’m trying hard not to think about what Selena and he are up to in the garden.

  ‘It was Layla’s idea,’ I tell Prue, hoping to encourage this fragile mother–daughter bond that her absence appears to have engendered.

  It’s not a lie. Not entirely. It was Layla’s idea to turn detective and help me find my grandfather, and then, of course, she suggested we get closer to Ben by becoming involved in preparations for the summer fete.

  We chat about our ideas for the cake stall and then I start bringing the topic of conversation round to other aspects of the fete. ‘Ben’s desperately in need of someone to judge the dancing competition,’ I add, busying myself freshening the teapot. ‘Layla and I think the perfect person for the job would be you.’

  You could cut the stunned silence with a knife. Even Layla is quiet. I bring the teapot back to the table.

  Prue is staring at me in alarm. She’s gone chalk white.

  ‘So what do you think?’ I ask lightly, pouring her more tea.

  Layla leans forward eagerly. ‘Go on, Mum. You’ll be brilliant.’

  Prue manages to find her voice. ‘I think you’ve both gone mad,’ she says bluntly, before pushing back her chair and walking out of the kitchen. We stare at each other nervously, listening to the back door open and Prue’s footsteps on the terrace beyond.

>   ‘Well, that went well,’ I comment.

  Layla makes a face. ‘I might have known. She won’t do it in case she bumps into that bloody Ribena. I’d like to deck that witch, I really would.’

  ‘Violence isn’t the way,’ I say automatically.

  ‘Well, yes, I know that.’ Layla flicks her eyes at the ceiling. Her lips are pressed together and I can tell she’s furious on Prue’s behalf. I feel pretty annoyed myself.

  ‘I can totally understand you wanting to protect your mum. And of course I know you wouldn’t do anything silly,’ I tell her. ‘You’re far too intelligent for that.’

  She groans. ‘Except when it comes to kidnapping garden gnomes.’

  ‘You’re regretting that?’

  She nod gloomily. ‘Of course I am. Mum’s going to go frigging apeshit when she finds out.’

  As if on cue, there’s a squeal from outside and the back door bursts open. ‘Charlie and Dimmock are back!’ Prue practically dances into the room, her eyes shining like an eight-year-old waking up on Christmas morning. She holds the gnomes aloft, one in each hand, like a victory salute. Then she clasps them both to her chest.

  ‘Your dad bought them for me one Christmas.’ She smiles at Layla, her eyes shiny with happy tears. ‘I honestly never thought I’d see them again.’

  Layla has slid so far down in her seat, she’s almost under the table. She looks thoroughly wretched.

  ‘Gosh, that’s brilliant,’ I smile.

  ‘I know. Layla, isn’t it wonderful? I actually don’t care who took them, I’m just so delighted they’ve brought Charlie and Dimmock back again!’

  ‘You really don’t care who took them?’ Hope sparks in Layla’s eyes.

  ‘No, my love, I don’t. I’m just so happy to have them back.’ She sets the gnomes on the table, and to Layla’s obvious surprise, gives her a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

  I watch in amazement. It’s the happiest and most relaxed I’ve ever seen Prue. Even Layla seems encouraged by this display of affection. She’s smiling at her mum, although I couldn’t help wondering how much of it is relief that Prue doesn’t seem to care about the identity of the kidnap culprit.

  The door opens and Jack strides into the kitchen, his face thunderous.

  ‘Layla, haven’t you got something to tell Mum?’ he demands, with a breathtaking lack of preamble.

  Still smiling, Prue turns to her daughter. ‘Something to tell me?’

  The room falls silent, except for Layla’s audible gulp.

  She glances at me with the desperate look of someone who’s well and truly cornered.

  ‘Well?’ prompts Jack.

  THIRTY

  Prue lays her hand on Jack’s arm. ‘What is it? You’re scaring me.’

  ‘It was me, Mum,’ confesses Layla in a small voice. ‘I kidnapped the gnomes. I’d forgotten Dad bought them for you, otherwise I would never have …’ She trails off miserably.

  Prue’s face falls.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Mum.’

  Prue says nothing. She just calmly picks up the gnomes and walks out.

  ‘It’s not so hilarious now, is it?’ barks Jack, and Layla gives a strangled sob before fleeing from the kitchen.

  ‘She’s really sorry,’ I say softly. ‘You could tell she was horrified that she’d upset her mum like that.’

  ‘Yes, well, it’s a bit late for sorry. I had to make sure she could see the devastation her stupid, unthinking actions have caused.’ He glares at me. ‘You think I was wrong?’

  ‘No, of course not. She shouldn’t have done what she did. It’s just I don’t think yelling is the answer.’ I shrug. ‘It’s obvious she was already aware she’d messed up big time.’

  ‘Damn right, she did. And listen, I’d very much like to have the time to pussyfoot around being all diplomatic and considerate with her, but unfortunately, I don’t. It’s a full-time job trying to keep this bloody roof from falling down on our heads – quite literally. Is it too much to expect Layla to start pulling her weight around here, instead of behaving like a spoilt brat with no consideration at all for her family? And by that I mean her mother.’

  He’s glowering at me, challenging me to argue.

  ‘Perhaps the problem is you.’ I’m struggling to keep my voice calm. ‘If you gave up the job you so clearly hate and started doing the work you enjoy, you’d not only be a less stressed, nicer person to live with, but you might also have a family life. I mean, do you ever actually talk to Layla? Really talk?’

  ‘She’s a teenager,’ he barks. ‘Teenagers won’t talk.’

  ‘Well, she talks to me.’ To my great astonishment, I find there’s actually a lump in my throat. ‘You never know, Jack. If you tried, you might be surprised.’

  ‘She said yes.’

  ‘Who said yes?’ I glance across at Layla, who’s slumped in the passenger seat, staring glumly ahead. She won’t tell me what’s wrong, but clearly something bad has happened.

  ‘Mum,’ she says. ‘She’s agreed to judge the dancing competition.’

  We’re on our way to Ben’s house to talk about the summer fete and, aside from worrying about Layla, I’m desperately trying to keep Florence from stalling every time I slow down. Ben lives a little way out of Appleton but he still feels very much a part of the village community.

  ‘Wow, well done you. How on earth did you manage to persuade her?’

  She shrugs. ‘We had a big discussion and I told her I was really sorry for taking Charlie and Dimmock. So then I admitted I’d been in the cabin looking for candles—’

  I glance sideways. ‘Gosh, you really were confessing everything.’

  She snorts. ‘I know. I thought I might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. So anyway, I told her I’d found the photos of when she was a dancer and I was really proud of her, which actually, I am. She said no, I wasn’t. And I said of course I was, because, let’s face it, no other person I knew had a mother who’d lived in New York and danced in Broadway shows.’

  I nod admiringly. ‘Well played.’

  ‘Yeah,’ she says, rallying slightly. ‘So then I said it would be one in the eye for that horrible Robina if Mum was to take charge of the dance competition and show her she didn’t care two hoots about the witch.’ She makes a face. ‘Mind you, she didn’t seem too sure about that. In fact, I thought I’d ruined it at that point.’

  ‘So what happened?’

  ‘Well, I told Mum I’d be there with her at the fete and I’d give the witch a black eye if she as much as looked at Mum the wrong way.’ She turns and glares at me. ‘I will, too.’

  I smile encouragingly, recognising this is all just her bad mood coming out.

  ‘I think that last part was the clincher,’ she adds, ‘because she said yes after that and she even cried with relief that I was offering to sort out the enemy.’

  I laugh. ‘Layla, that’s brilliant. Well done. But I don’t think the clincher was you offering to knock Robina’s lights out.’

  She frowns. ‘No?’

  I shake my head. ‘I’d say she liked that you said you were proud of her and that you’d be there to support her.’

  ‘Oh.’ She’s silent for a moment. ‘Anyway, whatever, she’s going to do it.’

  ‘Ben will be pleased. Unless he’s already got someone, of course.’

  ‘No-one’s better qualified than Mum, though.’

  ‘Very true.’

  I’ve got butterflies in my stomach at the thought of talking to Ben again. Mainly because I’ve made up my mind to ask him if he and Ivy were ever really close romantically. I’ve already briefed Layla on going to the bathroom for an extended visit to give me the chance to talk to him alone. I’m not quite sure how I’ll phrase my question. I’m just going to play it by ear.

  I’ve prepared myself for a negative result. I’ve told myself a hundred times that it’s too good to be true that a man as nice as Ben would turn out to be my granddad. (My motto recently has been: expect little and then there’s the
chance you might be pleasantly surprised.)

  ‘How long do I have to stay in the bathroom?’ asks Layla. ‘I don’t want him thinking I’ve got some horrible disease.’

  I laugh and try to swallow down the slightly sick feeling caused by my shredded nerves. ‘Just use your common sense.’

  ‘Okay. Are you nervous?’

  ‘Just a bit.’

  ‘Don’t be. It’ll be fine. You’re far too nice not to have everything work out perfectly.’

  I smile across at her, grateful for the sentiment, even if it is ridiculously naïve, but she’s staring glumly ahead.

  ‘Layla, what’s the matter? Has something happened?’

  She heaves a sigh and slumps lower in her seat, turning away from me to stare out of the window. To my alarm, I notice her chin trembling.

  ‘Layla?’ I say softly. ‘Tell me what’s wrong. I might be able to help.

  ‘No-one can help,’ she says savagely. Then she turns and gives me a sheepish glance. ‘But thank you for the offer.’ She sighs again. ‘Josh is going out with Anne-Marie but neither of them bothered to inform me. They just went behind my back.’

  ‘The bloody little toe-rag!’ I burst out, indignant on Layla’s behalf.

  ‘Which one?’ she snarls.

  ‘Well, there’s not much to choose between them, by the sound of it,’ I murmur, my heart going out to her. I remember how terrible it was the first time I had my heart broken. I thought the world had ended. ‘Perhaps you’re better off without them.’

  Layla turns back to the window and doesn’t bother answering.

  ‘Hey, what’s going on?’ she asks a moment later, when we turn into Ben’s street.

  My heart sinks. About a dozen cars are parked half on the pavement around number nine. This is clearly a meeting for everyone concerned with the fete, not just Layla and me. And as we walk up the short driveway, squeezing alongside the cars parked there, I realise the chances of me getting Ben alone to chat are practically zero.

  We exchange a disappointed look, although part of me actually feels relieved.