The Secrets of Ivy Garden

by Catherine Ferguson

  It’s good to meet some of the other fete organisers, though. Some of them even promise to get their baking skills out of mothballs and contribute to our stall. When we get back in the car, Layla says, ‘I know you’re disappointed you couldn’t talk to Ben. But there is some good news.’

  ‘Oh?’ I manoeuvre the car off the pavement and drive away. ‘What’s that, then?’

  ‘Guess who’ll be at the fete?’

  ‘Who?’ My heart is hammering even though I haven’t a clue what she’s going to say.

  She pauses dramatically. ‘Only Ben’s old girlfriend, who was at Ivy’s dinner party with him that night. Lucy Feathers!’

  ‘So we might be able to talk to her. That’s brilliant!’

  Layla sighs as if she couldn’t care one way or another.

  ‘Oh, Layla, I wish I could help.’

  She barks out a laugh. ‘Help? There’s not much chance of that. Unless you can hire a contract killer to take out Anne-Marie.’

  I grimace at the thought.

  ‘Joke,’ she says. ‘Just an outbreak of raging acne would be fine.’

  ‘What about Josh?’

  She laughs harshly. ‘What about him? That excuse for a human being is not even worth using up my brain power on.’

  I nod admiringly at her. ‘Hey, good for you.’

  THIRTY-ONE

  The day of the August summer fete dawns cool and overcast.

  I set my alarm for seven and I’m showered and dressed in my newest jeans and a bubblegum pink T-shirt by the time Layla’s distinctive knock sounds on the front door.

  As I pass through the hall, I catch my reflection in the mirror.

  I’ll see Jack later, at the fete.

  This thought fills me with a sort of breathless anticipation, mixed with the anguish of knowing that he’ll be with Selena. I’m going to just put on a brave face and get on with selling cakes. And with Layla on the stall with me, it certainly won’t be boring.

  I paste on a smile in the mirror. And what I see gives me hope. I look nothing like the sad, frightened person I was when I first arrived in Appleton. My skin glows from being outside in the sun and fresh air and I’ve spent time twisting my hair up and adding a touch of lipstick. The pink T-shirt sets off my gardener’s tan very well. I’ve come a long way in a short time. I’ve made friends and grown to actually enjoy living in Moonbeam Cottage. And now I’m entering into the community spirit of the village by manning a stall at the summer fete!

  I will have to return to Manchester at some point soon because my life is there – my flat, my friends and my job, which Patty is so generously holding open for me,

  But I get a weird sinking feeling in my gut these days when I think about leaving Appleton.

  Today, I brush it determinedly aside. I’ve got too much to do …

  Layla and I have spent the last few days baking up a storm. She’s really cut up about Josh, and I think losing her best friend, Anne-Marie, is proving even harder to bear. I suppose it will just take time …

  Anyway, she’s been pouring all her hurt and aggression into whipping up cake mix with the result that twenty large Tupperware containers – on loan from the village hall kitchen – are sitting on the worktop, filled to the brim with goodies, waiting for us to bear them off in Florence to the village green.

  Layla comes into the kitchen and starts peering into the containers. ‘Double chocolate cookies. Yum.’ This seems like a good sign. Perhaps she’s on the road to recovery.

  ‘Don’t start on them yet,’ I warn. ‘Right, let’s get going!’

  Loaded up with boxes, we head out to the car and the nerves in my tummy ratchet up a level. They’re not just over Jack and Selena. I’m also feeling very nervous about speaking to Ben and Lucy Feathers. I haven’t been able to face breakfast – although as I’ll be stationed behind a cake stall all day, there’ll be no shortage of food if I get hungry later.

  ‘Are you all right?’ demands Layla. ‘You were miles away. Are you worried the cakes aren’t going to sell?’

  I shake my head. ‘I was thinking about Lucy Feathers.’

  ‘Ooh, yes, I can’t wait to talk to her about Ben.’ Her eyes shine at the prospect. ‘She might provide exactly the clue we’ve been looking for.’

  I glance sideways. ‘Er, I’ll be doing the talking if you don’t mind!’

  She makes a sheepish face and I grin at her, glad of her company.

  Her determination to uncover a happy ending for me is touching and I don’t want to quash her excitement – but Layla’s optimistic approach is led by youthful enthusiasm and a very vivid writer’s imagination.

  Yet this is no fairytale. This is real life.

  And in real life, getting your hopes up so often leads to crushing disappointment.

  ‘It’s a big day for your mum.’ I glance across at her, keeping my eyes peeled for a parking space by the village green. ‘Is she okay?’

  ‘Not sure.’ Layla pulls a worried face. ‘She keeps saying she wants to go on the helter skelter.’

  ‘Well, that’s a good sign, isn’t it?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I think she might chicken out and then she’ll feel worse.’

  I pull up alongside the green, which has been transformed over the past few days into a truly magical scene.

  Dominating the view is Prue’s old-fashioned helter skelter, painted in glorious reds, blues and golds. It towers over the roundabout rides, which range from the sedate giant teacups to the rather more bone-shaking rides that will appeal to the older children. Stalls are ranged around the edge of the green, and already, the delicious aromas of the fairground – toffee apples, hot dogs and candy floss – are drifting over, mingling together on the breeze.

  We unload the boot and plate up the scrumptious-looking contents of the Tupperware boxes, adding our creations to the cakes and cookies that have already been brought over by villagers who promised to bake for the stall.

  As we work, I keep sneaking a look around for Jack, my heart beating uncomfortably fast. Selena’s sure to look stunning, as usual. But it’s still quite early – not even nine yet. A whole hour before the fete kicks off. All the same, my eyes seem irritatingly programmed to flick around the green every few minutes.

  The dancing competition is scheduled to start at one-thirty, so Prue probably won’t make an appearance until after midday.

  ‘Is Jack bringing your mum over later?’ I ask Layla.

  ‘Yes, he is. Mum was having a big wobbly about the whole thing when I left. I could swear she’d had a whisky, although obviously she denied it.’

  ‘Oh, poor Prue,’ I murmur. ‘I wonder if we’re doing the right thing, encouraging her to be brave? It takes real guts for her to do this.’

  ‘I know.’ Layla frowns. ‘But I’m frightened, Holly. Honestly, if that bloody Ribena just dares to upset Mum today …’

  I smile encouragingly. ‘With you fighting Prue’s corner, she’s sure to be fine.’ I look around, half-expecting to see a scary, wart-nosed hag hovering close by. ‘Is Robina here?’

  Layla glowers over at the far side of the green. ‘Over there with her scabby dog. She’s due to work on the refreshments stall with Lucy Feathers apparently, according to Ben. Although Lucy’s obviously not here yet.’

  I glance over and see a tall, thin woman with slate grey hair straggling down her back, wrapped in an enormous purple mohair cardigan. She seems to be trying to get to grips with the coffee urn. Her dog, a chocolate brown Labrador with a lovely shiny coat, looks far from scabby.

  ‘I’m sure Jack will make sure your mum’s okay.’

  Layla grunts, still glaring over. If looks could kill, Ribena would be stretched out cold under the refreshments table. ‘It’s hard to believe that she was Mum’s rival in love.’

  I stare at her in surprise. ‘Robina was in love with your dad?’

  Layla nods. ‘She was going out with Dad, but then he met Mum in New York and that was it. She’s had the knives out for Mum ever since
.’

  ‘But that was over thirty years ago.’

  ‘I know. Talk about bitter and twisted and bearing a grudge. She’s never married and she obviously blames Mum for stealing the love of her life. Which she absolutely didn’t, by the way. Jack says Dad finished with Ribena long before he got together with Mum.’

  ‘And she’s the reason Prue won’t venture into the village?’ I murmur, trying to fathom how an inoffensive-looking woman in a fluffy, hand-knitted cardigan could possibly account for Prue feeling she had to cut herself off from the community for years. ‘What on earth did Robina do?’

  Layla shook her head. ‘No-one will talk about it to me, especially not Mum. Even Jack won’t tell me anything. But I know it was something horrible that Mum can’t forgive.’

  We exchange an anxious look.

  ‘Mum only agreed to be a judge today because Jack said he’d be by her side all the time.’ She grins. ‘He also said she could pass for a glamorous forty-nine-year-old in the dress she was wearing, which I think might have swung it.’

  I smile, thinking how clever of Jack.

  ‘Ooh, that’s an interesting look.’ Layla grins broadly at me. ‘Do you fancy my brother by any chance?’

  My heart gives a huge jolt.

  ‘No!’ I exclaim in horror, silently cursing Layla’s sharp observation skills. ‘He’s really nice, though,’ I add quickly, hoping Layla will put my very red face down to the shocking nature of her question.

  There’s a hint of smugness in her smile. ‘Sorry. My mistake. It’s just your face went all sort of soppy for a second there.’

  I make various grunts of disbelief to assure her she’s got it completely wrong, and bury myself in yet another box of cookies.

  ‘It’s a shame, though,’ she says pensively. ‘Because I’m fed up with that annoying drip, Semolina-what’s-her-face, being at the house all the time. I can’t wait for Jack to give her the old heave-ho.’

  ‘Maybe he won’t,’ I say carefully, pretending to search through a bag.

  Layla snorts. ‘Look, that woman smells of complete desperation. Not an attractive scent. She won’t last, believe me.’

  ‘He might be in love with her, though,’ I argue, while at the same time feeling ridiculously heartened by the knowledge that Layla would rather I was Jack’s girlfriend than Selena. ‘And if that’s the case, you’ll just have to get used to her.’

  She looks at me as if I know nothing. ‘Jack might fancy her but he’s not in love with her. Have you seen the way she minces across the grass in her sky-scraper heels? She keeps banging on and on about how she simply adores the countryside, but I think it’s all a load of bullshit to keep Jack.’ She shakes her head firmly. ‘No, he’ll twig and then she’ll be history.’

  I don’t say a word, but my foolish heart soars with hope that she might be right.

  ‘Oh God, speak of the devil, she’s actually here.’ Layla nods over to the far side of the green. And sure enough, there’s Selena ensconced behind a stall, chatting up a couple of customers. I can hear her high-pitched squeal of a laugh from here.

  At ten, people start to pour in through the entry gate, and immediately we’re doing a roaring trade in Victoria sponges, raspberry and white chocolate cupcakes, and iced gingerbread men. Layla keeps looking over at the refreshments stall.

  ‘Robina’s ears must be burning,’ I laugh, trying to lighten the mood. ‘Does she know you’ve got your evil eye on her?’

  ‘Actually, I’m looking at Lucy. When the queue dies down, I could go and talk to her if you want?’ She flashes me an innocent look, knowing fine well my response would be, Like hell you will!

  ‘Lucy Feathers?’ I swing round towards the refreshments stall, and manage to lock eyes not with Lucy but with the scary Robina. I’ve no idea how long she’s been looking over, but it’s fairly obvious she has either me or Layla firmly in her sights. There’s a brooding intensity to her stare. No wonder poor Prue is spooked by her. I swallow hard and look away.

  Ben appears, rubbing his hands together and greets us both warmly. He has that slightly detached, adrenalin-pumped look of one who’s ultimately responsible for the event’s success.

  ‘Hello, girls. Doing a roaring trade, I see. Brilliant! The village hall roof will be all the better for your efforts.’

  ‘Double chocolate cookie on the house?’ Layla holds out a paper plate.

  ‘Better not.’ He pats his stomach. ‘Got to think of your health and your waistline when you get to seventy-two – and I plan to make it to ninety and beyond!’

  I smile, thinking how energetic and lively he is for someone of his age. I can certainly see what Ivy might have seen in Ben. Anyone would be proud to have his genes …

  Catching myself daydreaming, I quickly rein myself in. Okay, Ivy liked Ben. I know that from reading her diary and from things Ben has told me about her. But being lovers is a very long way from being friends, as I know only too well …

  Ben takes my hand. ‘So glad to see you becoming part of our little community here, Holly, even if it is just for a little while. Although to tell you the truth, I’m secretly hoping you’ll decide to stay for good in Moonbeam Cottage. What do you say, Layla?’

  Layla grins. ‘Yes. She has to stay. If she leaves, I’ll have to look after Ivy Garden all by myself.’

  We laugh and I glance at her in surprise. It was just a throwaway remark, of course, but I’m almost sure she meant it. It gives me a warm feeling inside. When I leave, it will make all the difference in the world knowing Ivy Garden will be in Layla’s safe hands.

  ‘So, Layla,’ says Ben. ‘You wanted to meet my friend, Lucy?’

  Layla glances guiltily at me. ‘Er, yes, that would be great.’

  He peers over at the refreshments stall, rubbing his hands together. ‘Right, well, she’s due a break at twelve so I’ll get her to come over.’

  When he’s gone, Layla gives me an excited thumbs up.

  I don’t feel quite so upbeat. How on earth am I supposed to broach the subject of Ivy and Ben? Lucy was Ben’s girlfriend when they attended Ivy and Peter’s dinner party, and even though they probably split up years ago, no-one ever wants to find out that a former boyfriend had been at it with someone else while he was going out with you.

  When Lucy comes over, I’ll just have to play it by ear, but I already feel a bit nauseous at the very thought. If it was up to me, I might have chickened out. But I know Layla won’t let the opportunity pass.

  Lucy comes over soon after twelve.

  ‘Hi, I’m Lucy Feathers,’ she says with a pretty, dimpled smile, running her hands through her mane of springy blonde-grey hair. Her blue eyes are kind, etched with fine lines, and I guess she’s maybe a decade younger than Ben, in her early sixties. ‘And you must be Layla. And Holly?’ She smiles sadly. ‘I was so sorry to hear about Ivy,’ she says, touching my arm. ‘How are you coping?’

  She looks genuinely upset, which makes me quite emotional. I smile and tell her I’m getting there.

  ‘I hadn’t seen Ivy for years,’ she says. ‘We lost touch when I got married and moved away to Cirencester. But I have such fond memories from when I lived here all those years ago.’

  I swallow and take my courage in both hands. ‘Ivy actually mentioned you in her diary.’

  ‘Really? Oh, wow.’ She laughs. ‘I hope it’s flattering.’

  ‘It is.’ I glance at Layla who’s watching us intently. ‘She describes the night you and Ben went to a dinner party at her house, when Peter was still alive. There was another couple there … Mr H and Penelope?’

  Lucy frowns, thinking back.

  Then she laughs. ‘That would be Hamish Hornchurch and his wife, Penny. Gosh, I haven’t thought about them for years. Lovely couple. Scottish. They’d only just moved down to live in Appleton the week before the dinner party. I remember Ivy made a point of inviting them along that night, to make them feel welcome. They’d moved in next-door to the Chickens, so the four of them arrived at Ivy’s
together, I remember. We all got on really well. It ended up being a great night.’

  I exchange a quick look with Layla.

  Ivy’s mystery man definitely wasn’t Mr H, then.

  According to Lucy, Ivy hadn’t even met Hamish Hornchurch until the night of the dinner party, so he could hardly have been her mysterious lover.

  So that was both Henry Chicken and Mr H crossed off Ivy’s dinner party guest list.

  That just left Ben …

  ‘I remember Ivy really pushed the boat out with the menu that night,’ Lucy recalls. ‘What was it, now? Venison? No, quail! That’s right. We had quail and a glorious dessert.’

  I smile. ‘Crêpes Suzette.’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘Had you and Ben been going out for very long?’ Layla asks, and I shoot her a warning look.

  ‘Me and Ben?’ Lucy laughs. ‘Oh no, we were never boyfriend and girlfriend.’

  ‘Really?’ Layla inches slightly forward in her excitement at this news. ‘So did Ben have his eye on someone else, then?’

  ‘Layla!’ I jump in, alarmed. ‘That’s a bit too personal.’ I glance apologetically at Lucy, shaking my head as if to say, Teenagers!

  But Lucy smiles broadly. ‘Funny you should say that but—’

  ‘Oh my God, what’s wrong with Mum?’ gasps Layla, staring past me.

  I swing round to look. With all our focus on Lucy, I hadn’t even noticed Prue’s arrival.

  I spot her hurrying towards the fete entrance, making much better progress than Selena, who’s in hot pursuit a yard or two behind but hampered by her spindly heels digging into the grass.

  Selena sees us and veers over, arriving at the cake stall pink-faced and out of breath.

  ‘Jack just arrived with Prue,’ she pants, ‘but she’d forgotten her anxiety tablets so he had to go back to the house, and he left me in charge.’ She breaks off and takes a huge breath, grasping her heaving chest. ‘But then that lanky grey-haired woman came over and Prue got all upset and ran off. Can you go after her, Layla?’

  Layla glances at me in alarm. ‘Mum will never talk to me. Will you go, Holly? She likes you.’

  We all stare over. Prue’s at the entrance, battling through a small crowd to get out, obviously desperate to put as much distance as possible between her and the public, but particularly Robina.