The Garden of Forgotten Wishes: The heartwarming and uplifting new rom-com from the Sunday Times bestseller

by Trisha Ashley

  ‘You have rhubarb in the apothecary garden?’

  ‘It’s in one of the central mid-level beds. It has lots of medicinal properties, as well as the more culinary uses – and wine. Gertie does all sorts of things, though. She’s been great at propagating plants and cuttings and growing things from seed, ready to go into the garden this year. Luckily, I still have lots of friends who’ve been sending them to me, once they found out what I was doing.’

  ‘That must be saving quite a bit of money.’

  ‘It is, though with some slower-growing shrubs and trees, I buy the biggest I can afford, for instant effect. Gertie’s planning to sell the excess herbs in the shop when we open.’

  ‘Great idea,’ I said. ‘People love going home with plants. Just make sure none of them are baby rosary pea vines,’ I said, and he grinned.

  ‘I want our visitors to come back again, not turn their toes up.’

  I drained my coffee and said, ‘If you definitely want me to start on the rose garden, there’s no time like the present.’

  ‘OK, I’ll give you a key to the Potting Shed and show you where everything is kept. Keep an eye open for Victorian metal plant tags in the beds, while you’re working. We’ve found quite a lot in the walled garden, so you might find some for the roses, too. We’re replacing them with temporary plastic ones, so they can be restored and put back, so if you do come across any, leave them in the Potting Shed, for James.’

  ‘OK,’ I agreed, though I thought it might be some time before I could even see any of the beds, under that mass of tangled thorny branches. ‘Did you say you were going to be opening the garden to the public every afternoon except Tuesdays?’

  ‘Yes, twelve till four. There’ll be an opening ceremony on Good Friday and then, we’re off. It means we’ll be doing a lot of our work under the eyes of the visitors.’

  ‘I got used to that, working for the Heritage Homes Trust,’ I said unthinkingly, and saw a wary shadow cross his face that showed he still had some lingering doubts about me.

  But all he said was, ‘I’m charging them four pounds a head, so I hope they’ll feel they’re getting their money’s worth. When Uncle Theo used to open it a couple of afternoons a week in summer, it was a pound, which was barely worth the effort.’

  ‘I think they’ll all be riveted by what you’re doing and happy to contribute to saving such a wonderful garden. Have you got a website?’

  ‘Yes, and it’s up and running, so I can keep updating what we’re doing and our future plans.’

  ‘Good, and I think I’d develop that museum area sooner rather than later. Shops can be very lucrative, if you stock the right things.’

  ‘I have to prioritize, because there isn’t much money. I’m spending what I made from the sale of my house and it’s stretched as it is,’ he said, and I thought he must have stretched it quite a bit to create his Poison Garden and wetland area.

  The Potting Shed proved to be as big as his office, a long, low building that served several purposes. The end near the door was set out like a mini staffroom, with chairs, a little stove, a kettle and a fridge.

  Beyond this were long wooden workbenches, with racks of tools and shelves of packets, tins and jam jars full of odds and ends, then at the further end were the garden tools, a couple of wheelbarrows and a big heap of those woven green garden waste bags.

  ‘We’ll have to keep the door locked all the time when we open, because people are so nosy, even when there’s a “Private” sign on the door. Gertie and James like to have their lunch in here and I sometimes join them … but if I forget, Gert brings something over to the office, or wherever I am in the garden. I suppose we’ll need to rearrange things a bit when we’re open, though. I’ll need someone to take over from James on the ticket hatch while he has lunch or a break.’

  ‘More expense?’

  ‘Yes, but necessary, and I’ve got someone in mind who might do a few hours when needed – Gertie’s husband, Steve. I’ll see.’

  He showed me some of the spiked metal plant markers James was treating for rust, before repainting, then found me long leather gauntlets and two different sizes of secateurs, though probably a machete would be more use in the first instance. He put them in a wheelbarrow and topped them with several of the green bags.

  ‘There we are: all ready to go,’ he said. ‘Bring the tools back here at the end of the working day, but leave any bags of cuttings and I’ll take them away later.’

  He looked at his watch. ‘Both Gertie and James are much later than usual today, but you can meet them in a bit. In fact, if they need you to help with anything heavy, they’ll come and find you anyway, once they know you’re here.’

  ‘Oh, I’m used to being bossed about by elderly gardeners,’ I said resignedly. ‘Do you have a cunning plan for how you’d like me to deal with the rose garden, or shall I just go for it?’

  ‘Well, I know it’s wedge-shaped – a narrow triangle – so it’ll be much wider near the back. I assume the brick path goes right around it – there seems to be the start of two paths at either end of the fish pond. The top part is much smaller and narrows towards the road, but Wen told me once that she could just remember being able to walk around it and that there was a small marble bench at the top.’

  ‘How about if I simply clear a way round all the paths first, for access, before tackling the actual rose beds?’ I suggested. ‘That way, we’ll have an idea of what’s there, too, and maybe I’ll have spotted some helpful plant markers.’

  ‘OK,’ he agreed rather grudgingly, as if he’d have liked to order me to do something else, just to assert his authority, if mine hadn’t been such a sensible suggestion. He said nothing more as I trundled my barrow past him and out of the Potting Shed.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ I asked him as he locked the door behind us.

  ‘Me?’ He seemed surprised to be asked. ‘I’m going to put in some time on my pond – I want to get the liner in soon and finish any hard landscaping – and then I’ve got a commission for a garden design to make a start on.’

  I thought there was a good chance he’d be so engrossed in his pond that he’d entirely forget the garden design, though at least that was something that could be done in the evenings.

  I parked my wheelbarrow by the fish pond and contemplated my task. I could see the entrances to the paths, two on each side of the pond, now I knew they were there, but they vanished after about a foot into an almost impenetrable-looking thicket of entwined thorny branches. I wondered if I might indeed find Sleeping Beauty in there, but not the Beast, because Wayne was already perfectly cast for the role.

  I decided to begin with the bigger task and hack my way to the back of the garden – Marnie of the Jungle.

  Time flies when you’re enjoying yourself.

  I started on the path nearest the gate to Lavender Cottage, not pruning carefully, which would come later, just clearing a way through.

  The old, handmade bricks of the path were laid in a herringbone pattern and slippery with algae and moss. Under their heavy mulch of dead leaves, I’d discovered the beds had been edged with those wavy-topped terracotta border tiles, probably a late-Victorian addition.

  I’d filled several of the huge garden bags and was making good progress up one side of the path – though perhaps a machete really might have been better for the first cut – when Ned’s deep voice somewhere behind me startled me so much I dropped the large secateurs. I’d been totally off in a world of my own.

  ‘Marnie, where are you?’ he repeated, and I turned to find him standing at the entrance to the path, a huge, dark, but unthreatening shape against the light.

  ‘Wow! I really didn’t think you’d have got more than a few feet in by now, though I suppose you have actually been at it for quite a while,’ he said. ‘Did you have some lunch?’

  ‘No! Is it that late already?’

  ‘It’s well past one.’ He walked cautiously towards me, ducking where tall brambles reached out over
head. ‘This path is really slippery.’

  ‘I know, it needs the moss scraping off and then, once the light can get to it, it should all dry off.’

  ‘The public won’t be coming down here until it’s safe, anyway. I’ll rope it off, so they can only walk around the fish pond, and goggle at you while you’re working.’

  ‘I think watching me lop briars might soon pall,’ I said.

  ‘I’d better order another information board for in here, though there isn’t a lot to say about it yet.’

  ‘You were right about the old metal plant tags – I’ve spotted a few at the front of the beds already.’

  I took my long gauntlets off and pushed my hair behind my ears.

  ‘I’d really like to completely clear each bed and properly prune the roses as I get to them,’ I confessed. ‘I think we’ll find some interesting old varieties in here. But I’ll resist until I’ve cut a way round the paths.’

  ‘If we have the tags, we should be able to replace any roses that have died off, though they might have changed names over the years.’

  ‘That tag over there is for an Eglantine Briar … which I think is a Regency name. But the tags are Victorian, aren’t they?’ I said. ‘The name had probably changed by then, so that’s odd.’

  ‘Perhaps they found the original planting list,’ he said. ‘I haven’t come across it, but the family papers are well and truly jumbled up, so it might be in there somewhere.’

  ‘It would be handy,’ I agreed. ‘But it’ll be a while before we can put in replacement roses anyway, because even once I’ve cleared the beds, we’ll need to feed them up with a good rich mulch.’

  It sounded like I was going to cook them a big dinner, rather than provide a lovely thick layer of well-rotted manure, if I could find some.

  Ned dragged the bag of clippings I’d just filled back to join the others near the gate to the Grace Garden, while I started filling a new one, but after a few minutes he took the larger pair of secateurs from the barrow and began clipping away the higher branches that tangled over my head and made the paths such a tunnel.

  ‘Yer office phone’s been ringing off the hook this last half-hour, lad,’ said a dour voice behind us. ‘Gert and me could hear it from the shed while we were having a bite and a brew.’

  ‘Oh – thanks, James,’ Ned said guiltily. He patted his pocket. ‘I think I must have left my mobile there, too … and I only came to make sure Marnie’d had some lunch. Marnie, this is James Hyde,’ he added.

  ‘Hi,’ I said, to the somewhat wizened and bent elderly man, who was actually smaller than me and wearing a red knitted bobble hat and an indescribably filthy overcoat, which seemed to be minus its buttons, for it had been tied round his waist with a bit of frayed rope.

  His rheumy pale grey eyes examined me, then looked at the path I’d cleared and seemed to arrive at some measure of approval.

  ‘Pleased, I’m sure,’ he said. ‘And Gertie says if you’ve not had a bite yet, there’s a cuppa and a spare cheese and pickle sandwich going.’

  ‘I meant to pop back to the flat for something – I’ll have to get more organized,’ I said. ‘But I got carried away.’

  ‘Looks like it,’ he said. ‘Ned, hadn’t you better go and see who’s been ringing you? It might be a job.’

  ‘I suppose I had better get back to the office,’ he said reluctantly.

  ‘And I’d be very glad of that sandwich,’ I said to James, so we returned to the Potting Shed, to be greeted by Gertie, who was boiling up a kettle over the paraffin stove.

  Despite their being twins, Gertie didn’t resemble her brother in the least, being tall, raw-boned and sturdy. Her iron-grey hair was cropped and her unadorned complexion sallow, seamed and rayed into sun-lines around her eyes.

  Ned left us to it and we all bonded over stewed tea, the spare doorstep sandwich and slabs of lardy cake, which was apparently Gert’s speciality and fuel of choice. It was just as well I was burning off so many calories.

  The boundaries were set and I made it clear I had no intention of encroaching on James’s preserve of the bedding out front, or Gertie’s vegetable garden domain, beyond the wall at the bottom of the Grace Garden.

  ‘And I can manage the herb beds round that sundial on my own, too – been doing it all my life,’ she said. ‘But then, you’ll have more than enough work, helping Ned with the rest of it.’

  ‘He seems to want me to sort out the rose garden first, while it’s still early in the year, and I love roses, so I don’t mind. But if you need me to help with anything else, just shout.’

  ‘I’ll mostly be manning the ticket office when we open at Easter,’ James said. ‘And the bit of a shop, too, I suppose.’

  ‘Ned’s got great plans for getting the visitors in and parting them from their brass,’ Gertie agreed. ‘I wouldn’t have thought they’d pay much to see a half-overgrown garden, but he says watching the restoration is a selling point.’

  ‘I think he’s right. He’s got several information boards coming too, hasn’t he?’

  ‘New plant labelling, information everywhere, a leaflet with a map of the garden – that’ll be free, but there’ll be a glossy brochure, too,’ said James.

  ‘And now the visitors will be able see the rose garden being cleared. Ned said I’d already got further than he expected in one morning.’

  ‘And part of the afternoon,’ Gertie pointed out.

  ‘Yes, and I’d better get back to it now,’ I said, getting up and thanking them for the food.

  ‘No problem, I always bring enough for a coachload,’ Gertie said. ‘Ned would forget if I didn’t put food under his nose and there’s no point in you bringing any, when there’s extra going spare here.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you,’ I said. ‘But can I put something in the kitty, towards that and tea and stuff?’

  That offer went down well, so at least I’d be contributing to the daily feast.

  Ned had said he’d remove the bags of clippings, but I thought he had enough to do, so I asked James where they should go and he said to take them down through the gate at the bottom of the walled garden, where they had a bark chipper, several compost heaps and a bonfire, and he’d sort them out when he got round to it.

  So I dragged the ones I’d already filled down there and left them by the outer wall, scuffing away the tracks I’d left on the gravel paths as I went back. I’d at least got a glimpse of Gert’s veg plot and rows of fruit bushes, plus the front of a very large greenhouse against the garden wall.

  I returned to hacking my path through the roses, though the next time I looked at my watch, which felt like five minutes later, it was just before four, so I had to dash off to put away my tools before I set out for the River Walk.

  As I followed the path down the lavender garden to the sentry hut to collect my bag and spiked stick, I felt guilty that I hadn’t yet made a start on tidying it up – for after all, Elf and Myfy were the ones letting me live in their flat and paying part of my wages! But the Grace Garden was opening next week and there wasn’t a moment to lose there.

  It was well after four by then, so presumably the entrance gate would be locked, though when I came out onto the River Walk I could see a few visitors making their way towards the exit.

  I spotted one or two bits of rubbish on the way up – why will people throw things away like that, especially when there are litter bins? What are they thinking? Or maybe, since most of it seemed to be bags of gummy bears and the like, sugar rots your brain to the point where you can’t think.

  There were a couple of the inevitable plastic water bottles too, with the little sippy teat tops, because obviously adults can’t drink out of ordinary bottles without tipping water down their fronts.

  It’s a strange world.

  The sun was getting low now and intermittently disappeared behind lilac-grey clouds and, as the valley narrowed, it seemed to get quieter and quieter, until it was just me and the birds singing.

  I climbed
the waterfall path and stopped to look at the river emerging in a rush from the rock face, the sun, now out again, filtering magically through the trees.

  There was the entrance to the cave, or crevice, half-hidden by the falls, which Myfy’d said had a legend about it: an ancient warrior had been laid to rest in there with his treasure – though looking at the ledge below it, I’d be surprised if anything other than a goat could get along there.

  I remembered there was a chapter on treasure in Elf’s book, so perhaps I’d skip to that one. The subject would be interesting, even if Elf’s writing style wasn’t.

  The water and the flickering light might be magical, but this time I didn’t feel the presence of anyone – or anything – else. It was just … tranquil.

  My mother must often have stood on this very spot, which was a strange but oddly comforting thought.

  After a bit, I finished the climb up to the top turnstile, finding nothing more than an empty drinks can, placed carefully in the middle of a large slab of grey stone. I added that to my collection and then went down again and back to the turnstile, emptying the bins on the way.

  As I sorted it into the various recycling containers behind the café, I felt physically weary, but very happy: this had to be the most perfect job ever!

  Ned was already relaxing his guard and soon he’d realize that all I wanted was to work hard and help him attain his goal of making the Grace Garden a thing of beauty and wonder. A miniature Chelsea Physic Garden, in fact, but with added roses and extra poison.

  The rubbish sorted, I took stock of the lavender garden – and thought I’d get up extra early tomorrow and put in an hour on it, before going over to Ned’s. While I was still pondering what there was to do, Elf popped out of the back door and handed me a cone of ice-cream.

  ‘Lemon, very refreshing,’ she said. ‘We’d just about finished cleaning down for the day and there was just a little bit of this one left in a tub, so we’ve all had a cone.’

  ‘Lovely,’ I said gratefully, making short work of it.

  ‘You’re not going to do any more work today, are you?’ she asked. ‘Ned came in earlier and he said you’d already made a huge clearance in the rose garden.’