Then Layla murmurs in my ear, ‘Let’s go and talk to Lucy again.’
So, with legs as weak as water at the prospect, I leave Prue to get ready for the judging in the marquee, with Jack for support, and follow Layla over to our cake stall.
And Lucy.
She beams at us. ‘I saw your mum come down the helter skelter, Layla, so I’m assuming she’s okay now?’
We assure her that she is. Then Layla, wincingly direct as ever, says, ‘So you were telling us about Ben that night at Ivy’s dinner party?’
Lucy looks confused for a second. Then she laughs. ‘Oh yes, you thought we were going out together?’
‘And you weren’t?’ asks Layla.
‘No, just really good friends. We still are.’ She leans closer, her eyes full of mirth. ‘Actually, I’ll let you into a little secret. All this happened years ago, and I’ve been happily married to Terry for over thirty years now. But way back then, I thought Ben was lovely, and at Ivy’s that night, I was half hoping something might happen between us.’ She gave an odd little laugh. ‘But then he made his big announcement, which sort of put paid to any romantic hopes I might have had. You can maybe guess what it was?’
Layla and I shake our heads.
My heart is beating so fast I can hear it drumming in my ears.
‘That was the night he chose to come out,’ she says, lowering her voice confidentially. ‘He’d been hiding his sexuality for a long time and it was a really emotional night. For everyone.’ She smiles fondly over at Ben. ‘Yes, that was quite an evening. A great deal of alcohol was consumed and I remember Ivy going in search of more supplies at one point.’ She smiles, remembering. ‘She was convinced there was a magnum of champagne in the garage so she went off to find it and didn’t reappear for ages. We all kidded her that she must have conked out and had a little sleep somewhere. Mind you, we were all pretty much out of it. I remember my hangover lasted the best part of three days!’
THIRTY-FOUR
‘But I mean it, Holly. You can’t give up the search. Just because it turns out your granddad isn’t Ben.’
Layla is adamant we have to continue looking for Bee.
And me? I think I’ve had quite enough of having my hopes raised then seeing them crash to the ground, thank you very much.
Layla sighs, her frustration rising at my lack of response during the short drive back to Moonbeam Cottage. ‘We need to read the diary again and hunt for more clues. There has to be something in there that we’ve missed. Something that would crack the case!’
‘Fine.’
The fete is over and we’ve packed up the stall, Layla keeping up a constant stream of cheerful chatter, obviously intended to buoy up my spirits.
But it isn’t working.
I feel strangely dead inside. And hopeless. Like there’s no point to anything any more.
Our hunt has led us up a blind alley. All along, I’ve been trying to protect myself from the inevitability of being crushed by telling myself: Of course Ben isn’t likely to be my granddad! I’m being swept along by Layla’s enthusiasm, that’s all! But underneath the surface bravado, my subconscious was clearly entertaining a different idea. I’d been pinning all my hopes on Ben without even realising it.
The numbness I’m feeling is weird.
Since Ivy died, I’ve felt a whole exhausting array of emotions: shock, grief, fear, hope, despair. And anger. It’s been simmering away inside me ever since I found the diary and realised Ivy had kept so much from me.
But I haven’t experienced this odd numb feeling since the days immediately after Ivy died. It’s probably my body protecting me from the stab of disappointment I felt when Lucy Feathers made it clear Ben could never have been Ivy’s secret lover.
I suppose it’s a bit like an anaesthetic. But what will happen when the numb feeling wears off?
We reach the gate of Moonbeam Cottage.
‘Shall I come in and we can start reading through the diary again?’ persists Layla. ‘At least, you can read it. Out loud. My stupid dyslexic brain would be stumbling on forever trying to decipher it.’
Dazed, I vaguely register that she’s branded her brain stupid, but I haven’t the energy to correct her.
‘I’m tired, Layla. I just want to go to sleep.’
She opens her mouth, presumably to suggest another line of attack. But the look on my face silences her.
‘Okay.’ She hesitates. ‘See you tomorrow, then?’
I nod, just so I can escape.
Inside, I go through the motions of making tea, then I sit staring into space in the living room, until the contents of my mug are cold and the room grows dark. The numbness is starting to wear off and a weight of grief has settled over me.
I tried to pretend otherwise, but I’d really bought into the idea of a lovely granddad I’d never known existed becoming part of my life and being over the moon to find out he had a granddaughter he never knew about.
And I’d so wanted it to be Ben.
His kindness and gentleness, I’d thought, would surely mean he wouldn’t reject me when I broke the news that I was his granddaughter.
I even kidded myself at one point that I felt a connection with Ben at a deeper level. But in the end, it had been my imagination playing tricks on me. Ben was, after all, a red herring. A lovely man. But at best, a nice friend.
I climb the stairs on autopilot, undress slowly and lie in bed curled on my side, staring at the bedside clock. Time will ease the ache of disappointment. But right now, the feeling of alone-ness has never felt so raw …
Next morning, a rap on the door arouses me from a half-slumber.
I squint at the clock. It’s just after nine-thirty. Who would be up and about at this time on a Sunday morning?
The events of the day before at the fete start barrelling into my head, one image after another, in quick succession. Layla and I finally chatting to Lucy Feathers. Prue bolting from the event and me running after her. Our heart to heart in the secret garden. And finally, the crushing realisation that we’ve been way off the mark thinking Ben could be Ivy’s mystery lover.
A dull lethargy settles over me. It’s sure to be Layla at the door. She’s not going to give up on the mystery until she’s finally cracked it, but do I really have the energy to face her right now? She’ll be on at me to read through Ivy’s diary all over again, looking for more clues. But I’ve been through it with a fine-tooth comb plenty of times already, and I’m certain I haven’t missed a thing.
I collapse back on the pillows, wondering if I can perhaps not answer the door. But then, knowing Layla, she’ll just keep on knocking in her youthful enthusiasm, and I’m not sure my aching head can stand it.
So I pull on my short summer robe and run downstairs barefoot. When I pull open the door, my heart leaps into my mouth.
Jack.
Pulling the skimpy robe tighter, I try to smile while fervently wishing I’d at least pulled a comb through my hair. I feel vulnerable enough this morning without having to face Jack looking as if I’ve spent the night in a hedge.
In contrast, Jack looks groomed and business-like in a charcoal grey suit, white shirt and pale blue tie. I breathe in his familiar cologne and my insides roll over. The man is utterly gorgeous. All I want to do is sag against the doorpost and just gape at him.
Does Selena know how lucky she is?
What a bloody idiot I am to have fallen for a man who is so out of reach and unavailable!
He says hello, his eyes sweeping briefly over my half-dressed form. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you,’ he murmurs in the deep, velvety voice that does seriously disturbing things to my person. He glances at his watch as I blush to the roots of my haystack hair. ‘I’m doing a day at the office and I’d forgotten that most normal people don’t actually get up at the crack of dawn on a Sunday.’ He smiles lazily.
‘It’s fine. Honestly,’ I mumble, my brain having turned into marshmallow. ‘I – er – was about to have breakfast. Would
you like some?’
He looks a bit surprised. ‘No, thanks. I’ll grab a Danish on the way.’
I feel my blush deepen. ‘What I meant was, would you like to come in?’ In a rush, I add, ‘I’ll just slip out of these things and I’ll be with you.’
A second later, I realise how that must have sounded.
Oh God, I’ve just invited him in for a naked fry-up. No wonder he seems lost for words.
In the brief silence that follows, his eyes lock on to mine and the air between us seems suddenly super-charged with emotion. He takes half a step towards me, gazing at my mouth, and my knees turn to cotton wool.
His blue eyes are hypnotic, and the way he’s looking at me is causing my heart to bound around in my chest like a novice trampolinist.
And then I gulp.
It’s a dismayingly loud, cartoon-style gulp – like Sylvester dreaming he’s swallowing Tweety Pie – and my nervous laugh breaks the spell between us.
Jack clears his throat. ‘I need to get on. But actually, the reason I’m here is to invite you to dinner.’ He names a day the following week. ‘Are you free?’
Dinner?
With Jack?
My heart beats a little faster. ‘Er, yes. Absolutely.’ I give a self-conscious laugh. ‘Although I probably should have said, “Let me check my diary,” so you’d think I was leading a really exciting life, going out every night, instead of …’ I trail off.
‘Instead of living in the tedious back of beyond where the sheep outnumber the humans?’ He’s smiling but there’s a slight edge to his tone. ‘I guess we still haven’t convinced you that the countryside is the best place to be.’
‘Have you been trying, then? To convince me?’ I ask, boldly.
He glances down at his shoes, saying nothing, and something leaps inside me.
But when he looks up again, he’s smiling. ‘Anyway, if your diary permits, Prue would love to see you on that night. It’s a special occasion, apparently, but she’s being very mysterious. She says she has an announcement to make.’
‘Oh. Right. How intriguing.’ I try to match his broad smile, even though my heart just did a disappointed dive when it became apparent this wasn’t dinner-for-two he was suggesting, but a family occasion. Still, at least I’ll get to spend an evening in Jack’s company. Perhaps Selena is busy that night.
‘Yes, of course, I’d love to come.’ I pause, then enquire airily, ‘Who else will be there?’
‘Mum, obviously. Layla, if we can pin her down. And Selena.’
Marvellous!
Frowning, he murmurs, ‘Actually, Mum specifically asked if Selena could be there.’
Better and better!
Instead of glowering and gnashing my teeth, I force a sweet smile. ‘How lovely.’
When he’s gone, I wander through to the living room and flump down. My phone, on the sofa next to me, is far too tempting. Picking it up, I dial Ivy’s number.
I can’t pour my heart out to my grandma the way I always used to.
But hearing her voice is the next best thing …
Autumn
‘An autumn garden has a sadness when the sun is not shining’
– Francis Brett Young (Cold Harbour)
THIRTY-FIVE
The day of Prue’s dinner party rolls around.
I stare at my outfit laid out on the bed.
I’m really conflicted about going – and it’s nothing to do with the streaks of paint I’ve managed to get in my hair from giving the living room a final coat of magnolia. On the one hand, I will get to see Jack. And poor pathetic no-hoper that I am, I can’t stop the butterflies at the very thought – even though I know Selena will be there, lording it over me, pouting her bee-stung lips at Jack and feeling him up at every available opportunity. And no doubt declaring her undying love for cow dung.
I know I can’t compete with Selena in the catwalk stakes, so I’ve decided to dress down in my skinny jeans and a fine black sleeveless polo neck, which showcases my sun-tanned arms and shoulders but not much else.
I’ve spent the time since the fete finishing the painting in the cottage. I phoned Prue and told her I had flu and was too unwell to garden, which served a dual function: it meant I had a good excuse to avoid Layla and her irritating inability to let things lie, and it made me focus on the practicalities.
For the past few months, I’ve been in cloud cuckoo land, imagining I was about to discover family I never knew about.
But after the fete, I realised what an idiot I’d been. This sort of thing – a granddad emerging from the woodwork – only ever happened in fairytales. I’d allowed myself to get completely carried away by Layla’s naïve optimism – but the truth was, we’d got precisely nowhere.
In fact, I was even worse off than I was before I found the diary.
I’d allowed myself to hope and now that hope had been utterly dashed.
The only glimpse of sunshine this week, funnily enough, was Sylvian calling round the previous day.
After our disastrous ‘date’, I hadn’t seen him at all, so when he showed up at the cottage, my first thought was that he might be there to try and talk me into a threesome or something equally dubious.
But the news he had was amazing.
He’d had an email from the organisers of the short story competition, saying that Layla had been short-listed! As I’d been so encouraging of her writing, Sylvian thought I should be the one to break the good news to her. He gave me a copy of the email and it’s now tucked in my bag, ready to take over to Prue’s. The thought of sharing the news with Layla is the one thing that’s stopping me from phoning Prue and pretending I still have flu.
It’s early September and there’s a definite chill in the air, so I put on a belted wool jacket and knee-length boots for my scurry through the woods to Rushbrooke House.
At the cottage door, I glance down at my plain outfit.
Then on an impulse, I throw off the jacket, run upstairs and ditch the black polo neck in favour of a plunging lace-effect top in palest pink.
Watch out, Selena! I might be down but I’m not out!
Taking the short cut to Rushbrooke House through Ivy Garden, I squeeze through the hedge and make for the path through the woods. Then my eye catches something that makes me stop in amazement. The love seat – which the storms had broken in two – has been mended and is now back in its old place over by the hedge.
A lump rises in my throat as I brush off some leaves and sit down on it. Jack must have fixed it for me. I can’t think who else could have done it so beautifully. He’s such a lovely man …
With my eyes misted over, my progress along the narrow path through the woods is a little hazardous. But finally, I arrive at Rushbrooke House.
Layla greets me at the door. ‘Wow. I didn’t know you actually had boobs,’ she says really loudly, just as Jack walks into the hall.
Colour races into my cheeks. ‘Thanks, Layla. I think.’
I exchange a slightly awkward grin with Jack.
‘My little sis is nothing if not direct,’ he says. ‘You look lovely, Holly.’
My stomach swoops deliciously at the warmth in his tone. He looks utterly gorgeous in slim black jeans and a pale shirt that brings out the blue of his eyes. And for a long moment, as we look at each other, it’s as if no-one else exists apart from the two of us …
‘Jack? Where are you, darling?’ Selena clatters into the hall on her sparkly heels, and the spell is broken. She drags him off into the kitchen to open the champagne, while I pull myself together and take the opportunity to talk to Layla.
After Josh’s horrible betrayal and her fall-out with Anne-Marie, she’s been looking peaky and under the weather, while trying to pretend that she’s fine. But when I tell her that her story has been short-listed and she’s in with a good chance of winning the competition, her face lights up in sheer wonder. A happy tear rolls down her cheek and she doesn’t even dash it away.
‘I can’t believe it, Holly.
Is it really true?’ She grabs the email and reads it, her eyes round with excitement.
‘It’s really true. You’ve got talent, Layla.’ I smile at her fondly. ‘Didn’t I tell you?’
She laughs. ‘And me who can’t even spell properly!’
‘Dyslexia doesn’t have to hold you back. You’ve proved that a hundred times over.’ I pause. ‘Can I have a hug, please?’
She laughs and flings her arms around me, and I’m crying happy tears myself over her shoulder, knowing how much she deserves this.
‘When are you going to tell your mum and Jack?’ I say as we repair our eye make-up before joining the others.
She looks anguished. ‘What will they think?’
‘They’ll think you’re amazing,’ I laugh. ‘And if you don’t tell them, I will.’
Prue greets me with a big hug, which takes me completely by surprise. In fact, she seems like a different person. She’s more relaxed than I’ve ever seen her, her eyes shining, the life and soul of the party and pouring drinks for everyone.
‘Telling that Robina to fuck off is the best thing she ever did,’ murmurs Layla, watching me observing Prue.
‘Layla! Wash your mouth out,’ I hiss. But I can’t help smiling because she’s right. The transformation is incredible.
‘Attention, please!’ Prue tinkles a knife against her glass and everyone turns. ‘I have an exciting announcement to make.’
‘You’re having a helter skelter installed in the garden!’ shouts Layla, and everyone laughs.
Prue smiles and pulls Layla close. ‘No, my darling daughter, although it’s a lovely idea! And speaking of lovely ideas –’ She glances around the table and holds her glass up in a toast. ‘Here’s to Rushbrooke House Luxury B&B!’
‘Yay!’ calls Selena, also raising her glass.
I look at Prue, along with everyone else, waiting for an explanation.
The Secrets of Ivy Garden Page 27
