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

by Trisha Ashley

  I skipped the first part of the chapter, about the beginnings of Jericho’s End, and skimmed the bit about the monastic settlement, which was much as Ned had described it, and then finally arrived at the Brethren.

  And really, after reading a description of their beliefs – mainly that we were all doomed, but some, i.e., women, were more doomed than others – it seemed amazing that the Brethren had gone on for so long!

  The Vanes had been a prominent local family in the sect and, after the Thorstane meeting house was closed, my grandfather had continued to hold meetings to a rapidly dwindling congregation, in one of the barns at Cross Ways Farm, until his death.

  Poor Mum, what a childhood that must have been! Except, of course, when she slipped off to her favourite places in the valley, or escaped to school. It would have been a revelation when she went off to train as a nurse and entered into a whole new world she could only have dreamed of before.

  Thinking about Mum had made me cry a little: she had been so bright, kind and sweet-natured, yet with an inner strength and toughness. And being so tall and Titian-haired, she’d had an imposing physical presence, too.

  Caspar, seeming to divine that I needed comfort, had decided to climb onto my lap – or place the half of him that fitted onto my lap – and face-bump me.

  I closed the book in order to stroke him, which met with his approval, and decided that at the first opportunity I’d try to discover a little more about the current members of the Vane family at Cross Ways Farm. Perhaps some of them weren’t as awful as Wayne. But still, they hadn’t sounded like the kind of family I’d want to claim kinship with, and it certainly wouldn’t go down well with Ned if he found out about them, just when I hoped we might be becoming friends again.

  I spent another early morning hour on the Lavender Cottage garden, cutting back the first of the three overgrown and woody rosemary bushes.

  The last thick branches I removed as near to the ground as possible, using a handsaw of my own – one of those things like a giant penknife, with a tough, serrated blade. I’d made good progress and was just starting to dig around the roots to loosen them, when Elf appeared, bearing a steaming beaker of frothy coffee and a large biscotti.

  ‘I saw you from the kitchen window – I got up early to make a new batch of ice-cream – mint with dark chocolate chips. But we really don’t expect you to start work this early, Marnie! You mustn’t overdo it.’

  I took the cup and dipped the biscotti into it. ‘Lovely – thank you! And I wanted to make another early start on the rosemary, because I keep losing track of time in the rose garden. The best kind of job is the one you’d do for love, even if you didn’t get paid for it, isn’t it?’

  ‘Very true – which is why I’m up with the larks, making ice-cream, and Myfy and Jacob so often vanish into their studios and forget to come out for food.’

  I looked down at the half-exposed root ball of the rosemary and said, ‘I’ve nearly finished with this one now, but I’ll ask Ned if I can borrow one of the pickaxes from the Potting Shed for the other two. I’ve seen a couple of them in there and it would make it easier.’

  ‘No rush,’ she said, taking the empty cup.

  ‘No, but I’m looking forward to having this garden trim again. I’ll have a go at the Rambling Rector at the first opportunity, too! It won’t take much effort to keep it all in hand after that.’

  ‘Myfy will be delighted to have more places to put new lavender,’ Elf said. ‘She did her best with the gardening, but only when her Muse hadn’t claimed her. Or Jacob,’ she added.

  ‘I’d better just finish off here and then I can start on the roses, again,’ I said, seizing the spade and driving it deep beneath the root ball. Then I stood on the edge and up rose the dense mass, with a wrenching noise. I tossed it into one of the green bags.

  ‘You’re a lot stronger than you look,’ Elf said thoughtfully.

  ‘Muscles of steel, after everything I’ve been doing the last few years,’ I said. ‘But what I did just now was more technique.’ I shoved the hand tools into the trug and prepared to put everything away in the shed.

  ‘I must fetch my flask of coffee from the flat, but I don’t seem to need to take packed lunches,’ I said, and told Elf about Gertie’s insisting on sharing her sandwiches and cake.

  Elf laughed. ‘Gertie feeds everyone. I’d just go with it! She used to take in lunch for Ned’s great-uncle Theo, too – and he always came here for dinner with us every Sunday as well. We’re hoping you’ll join us this Sunday. It’s such fun, having a crowd round the table.’

  ‘It’s very kind of you …’ I began, but she seemed to assume it was a given, because she beamed at me.

  ‘Don’t forget it’s quiz night every Friday at the pub, dear,’ she reminded me. ‘You must walk across with us – scampi and chips in a basket, very retro, and then the quiz.’

  ‘I’m not sure I—’

  ‘Oh, you must come, Marnie! Everyone goes. You’ll meet lots of the locals all at once, so it’ll be very useful.’

  I hesitated, long habit making me feel uneasy at the thought of mixing with a lot of people, but there was no need to live as a recluse any more – and probably hadn’t been for several years. The phone lines weren’t going to be hot between Jericho’s End and Merchester, telling Mike I’d been sighted!

  ‘That would be fun, thank you,’ I said resolutely. I was going to meet all the locals at some time in the near future, anyway. It was not the sort of place where you could avoid it, even if you wanted to. I might as well, as Elf said, meet most of them at once.

  ‘Half past six – come through to the kitchen when you’re ready and we’ll walk over together. Jacob usually comes, too; he’s great at quizzes. And my friend Gerald will be there.’

  With that, she returned to the cottage, bearing the empty cup, and I finished clearing up, then popped upstairs to fetch my rucksack.

  I was eager to get back to the path clearing, because yesterday I was sure I’d been close to that tantalizing glimpse of white and was longing to know if it was a statue, or some other garden feature.

  And I was close, because in no time, I’d broken through into a small, circular space that would have been open to the air had the roses not almost roofed it over.

  Trails of ivy covered the ground where a path must once have circled an elegant white marble urn on a pedestal.

  It wasn’t this that stopped my breath, however, but the small building so incongruously set against the back wall of the garden. Enshrouded in the thorny stems of a climbing rose was a tiny, open-fronted and pillared Grecian temple, in the same white marble as the urn.

  The steps up to it were mossy and the columns streaked with green slime. But it was perfect. I felt as explorers must have done in the jungles of South America, when they suddenly realized that the green-shrouded shapes around them were ancient buildings.

  Inside, I could see there was a bench along the back, but no Sleeping Beauty reclined there, unless of the spidery variety.

  I was so excited by my discovery that when I’d cleared enough of the encroaching growth to see it properly, I went and fetched Ned, who was equally amazed.

  ‘I’d absolutely no idea that was there. I’ve never seen or heard any mention of it!’ he said, untangling a rose briar from his tawny hair, having not ducked low enough through the opening from the path I’d made.

  ‘Even with all the rose beds trimmed back, I don’t think you’ll be able to see it, or the urn, from the other end of the path: the central beds will be in the way,’ I said.

  Ned began pulling away huge swathes of ivy that were creeping from the circle of the path round the urn and up the steps, and flung them aside in a heap.

  ‘The urn’s very Grecian,’ he said, dragging more ivy from the plinth. ‘It would look pretty, set with trailing flowering plants …’

  But I was still riveted by the folly. ‘I think that rose was intentionally trained up one side of the temple. I’ve no idea what it is �
� It’s been squeezed by that huge bush behind it, but it’s alive and I’ll give it a good cut back and feed and see if it recovers.’

  I longed to start on that then and there, but with a sigh I said, ‘I suppose I’d better clear the other side of the path back to the pond first, though.’

  ‘It would make access easier,’ Ned agreed. ‘When you’ve done that, I’ll be able to wash down all that marble. I’ve got one of those wheeled pressure water barrels I can bring in. If the green marks are stubborn, there’s probably some kind of special solution I can get, but hopefully, water will do it.’

  ‘I should think so, with maybe a bit of scrubbing,’ I agreed. ‘Perhaps you should install a standpipe in the rose garden at some point. I can see you have them in the Grace Garden.’

  ‘Yes, not so many, but there’s a system of pipes and sprinklers I’ve put in that I can move about as needed.’

  I turned to look back at the temple. ‘It’s going to look beautiful in summer and it’ll be a perfect spot to sit and admire the roses.’

  ‘You don’t think it has a touch of the mausoleum about it?’ he asked, tentatively.

  ‘No, it only looks gloomy because of all those branches closing in on either side and shutting out the light,’ I said firmly. ‘It’s a fairy-tale thing, perfect. This is going to enchant the visitors when they see it.’

  When he’d gone, dragging two bags of ivy behind him, I began jungle-hacking my way down the path on the other side of the garden, rather faster this time. I don’t know if that was impatience to get it done, so I could uncover the temple, or just my technique getting into its stride, but I made good progress.

  At some point either Ned or Gertie must have come round the path behind me, because several full bags of clippings vanished from the clearing round the urn and a heap of empty ones had taken their place.

  About half past one, James came to have a look at my discovery.

  ‘Gert’s already seen it,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, was it Gertie who took the full bags away? That was kind.’

  ‘It was, and she says you’ve just got time to come and eat something before Elf gets here.’

  ‘What’s Elf coming for?’

  ‘She’s going to teach me how to use the new electric till in the ticket office, isn’t she?’ he said, as if this should have been blindingly obvious. ‘And Steve, too, because he’s going to spell me in there. Ned said you and Gertie ought to know how to do it too, just in case.’

  ‘I’m the kiss of death to most electronic machinery,’ I said, putting down my secateurs and taking off the long leather gauntlets. I felt reluctant to leave the garden, but then I was ravenous!

  ‘So, what do you think about the folly I found?’

  ‘It’s a bit fancy for my taste and sitting on cold stone gives you piles,’ he observed, dourly, and stumped off again.

  I don’t think he has a romantic soul.

  In the Potting Shed was Gertie, who poured me a cup of tea and said she was off to join Ned, James and Steve in the ticket office, because Elf would be arriving any minute, and I was to join them as soon as I’d eaten.

  So I wolfed down a sandwich – corned beef and bright yellow piccalilli – before following her.

  The ticket office hatch was set in the end of a long outbuilding abutting the wall, next to the visitors’ gate.

  There was a door to the courtyard, which stood open, and I followed the sound of voices inside and found myself in a long, narrow room with whitewashed walls.

  The overhead lights looked newly installed and wooden shelves and racks stood ready to receive the contents of the boxes piled against one wall.

  James was sitting behind a wooden counter in front of the closed hatch, with a new and shiny electric till in front of him. An open box of garden leaflets stood at the other end, as well as a small wire rack of faded and elderly looking postcards, presumably relics of the occasional opening days of previous summers.

  He was arguing with Ned, who was saying, in the voice of sorely tried sweet reason, ‘No, we can’t sell these old postcards, even at reduced prices, James. But I’ve ordered new ones. They should be here any day.’

  ‘It’s a waste of money, just to throw them out,’ James said stubbornly.

  Ned ran his hands through his mane of tawny hair and said, resignedly, ‘Well, if it’ll make you happy, you can put them in a box marked “Old Stock” and sell them for ten pence each, or something.’

  James brightened and said, ‘Right you are, then.’

  The portly elderly man I’d seen the previous day, with a round, rosy face, bunchy cheeks and a white beard suddenly bobbed up from behind the counter, a dusty box in his hands. He could have been Father Christmas, but I’d guessed he was Gertie’s husband even before she introduced us.

  ‘Steve, this is Marnie, the new gardener.’

  ‘How do?’ he said, which didn’t really seem to need an answer.

  ‘What’s in the box?’ asked Gertie.

  ‘Old rolls of entrance tickets, but I think the mice have been at them.’

  ‘Some of them might be all right,’ began James, but Ned firmly removed the box outside and came back, rubbing the dust off his hands.

  ‘What are you going to sell in the shop?’ I asked Gertie.

  ‘Well … this rack is for packets of seeds … and then there’ll be gardening books on this shelf,’ she began.

  ‘And all kinds of Grace Garden tat, like rulers and rubbers and mugs and stuff,’ said Ned. ‘I thought we’d start out small and see what sells. And I’ve only just realized we’re opening a week today!’

  ‘That’s plenty of time for everything you need to do,’ said Elf calmly, arriving just in time to hear this despairing exclamation. ‘Once I’ve shown you how the till works, a couple of hours of setting up the shop and price ticketing the stock, and it will be ready for opening. What more must be done to get the garden ready to open on Good Friday?’

  ‘Loads of things!’ said Ned. ‘All the information boards probably won’t arrive until early next week and they’ll need putting up. Then the paths and areas not open to the public need roping off … a good tidy up and the paths raking … and more information added to the website.’ He searched his pockets. ‘There’s more. I’ve got an urgent to-do list here somewhere.’

  ‘All those are minor things,’ Elf said comfortably. ‘Now, gather round and I’ll explain the till. It’s dead simple.’

  She demonstrated and then everyone had a go, though I was the only one who repeatedly jammed it. The instructions on inserting a new paper till roll were also beyond my understanding.

  James and Steve didn’t have any problem with any of it, and nor did Gertie, when her mind could be dragged away from pondering what cuttings and plants in her greenhouse were surplus to requirements and could be sold in the shop.

  ‘I think we’ll only put Marnie on the till if some plague wipes out the rest of us,’ Ned said drily. ‘Now, James is used to putting the float in the till and then cashing up when we close, from previous open days. There will, I hope, be a lot more money than before, so at the end of the day, Steve or James can print out the till roll, put in the float again and bring the rest to the office.’

  ‘I’ll show Steve all that as we go,’ James said.

  ‘Good, and I should think when it’s fairly quiet, one person could sell the tickets and handle the shop, but you and James can work it to suit yourselves. I know you’ll have to dash out from time to time, Steve, to open or close the Village Hut, or to your other jobs.’

  ‘They don’t take up much time and I can always clean the Hut first thing in the mornings and the conveniences in the car park after the garden’s shut.’

  ‘Fine,’ Ned said. He’d found a little notebook now and was scribbling in it.

  ‘Did you order paper bags?’ Gertie asked suddenly.

  ‘Yes, brown paper ones, but also some inexpensive cotton totes printed on the side with a design Myfy did for me: a circle of f
lowers and foliage with little angel or fairy faces peeping out and “Grace Garden” written across the middle. They’re supposed to arrive tomorrow.’

  ‘They sound lovely,’ I said. It all seemed like a good start, but quite low key, as if Ned was unsure how many people would actually turn up to visit a partly restored old herb garden, but I thought he’d be surprised. People would go a long way to look at an unusual garden, and this was certainly that. Then during the school holidays and the tourist season a lot of visitors to the valley would visit it just because it was another thing to do. He could well soon find himself radically expanding the stock of the shop, if he wanted to make more money.

  And I’d have to train him not to call the souvenirs ‘tat’!

  ‘There’ll be a glossy guidebook,’ Ned said. ‘I’ll have to update it regularly, as parts of the garden are restored. The rose garden will have to be included in the next one – it’s amazing how much difference you’ve made to it already, Marnie. You’re a one-woman powerhouse.’

  ‘The thought of cleaning up the temple folly certainly speeded up the path clearing today,’ I said. ‘And I keep wondering what other varieties of roses we’ll find in the beds when I start actually working on them.’

  I remembered the latest metal tags I’d found and fished them out of the big pocket inside my anorak, along with a generous amount of ripe leaf mould.

  ‘You give those to me,’ James said, taking them. ‘They’ll come up a treat, like the others.’

  ‘How much are you charging people to come in?’ asked Steve. ‘It used to be a pound on open days, didn’t it?’

  ‘Four quid,’ said James. ‘But concessions for geriatrics like us, and the disabled.’

  ‘Who are you calling a geriatric?’ demanded Gertie. ‘I’m in my prime.’

  I grinned, but Ned’s mind was on more serious matters. ‘Maybe when people know how much it costs to get in, they won’t bother,’ he said gloomily.