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

by Trisha Ashley

  I’d quite have liked a rummage in there myself: who knew what other garden-related treasures might lie within?

  Luke looked at his watch and said perhaps he and Treena had better be heading back.

  ‘I’m taking the evening surgery at the clinic,’ Treena explained. ‘I’ve got Good Friday off, so I can come to the opening of the garden, but then I’m on call for twenty-four hours over Easter Sunday.’

  We donned our coats again in the hall, where we’d piled them onto an old oak settle, and Luke and Treena thanked Ned for letting them see the house.

  ‘And me,’ I said. ‘I was expecting it to be in a much worse state than it is, but it only really needs some redecoration and a lot of TLC.’

  ‘Shabby chic is in!’ Treena said with a grin.

  ‘See you later, Marnie,’ Ned said to me, as I left with the other two, and for a minute I was flummoxed, until I remembered I’d said I’d go to the family Sunday dinner at Lavender Cottage that evening.

  I said goodbye to Treena and Luke by the bridge. There were still lots of visitors about, mostly coming out of the River Walk, rather than going in, for it was less than an hour till closing time.

  Several people were still sitting at the tables outside the café, too, despite the chilliness of the air, eating ice-cream and drinking coffee. The main road through the village looked quite busy, as well, which all gave me some idea of what the place would be like in summer!

  Not, perhaps, quite the quiet little hideaway I’d originally envisaged.

  At least today it wasn’t me picking litter up on the River Walk, so I went back to the flat, where a familiar bubbling snore alerted me to the fact that Caspar was there, asleep on the sofa. He opened his eyes when I went in and changed the snore to a throaty purring noise.

  I started sorting and unpacking some more of the things I’d brought over from Treena’s and found my box of childhood treasures – a shell box from some long-ago seaside holiday, a packet of photographs of me growing up, taken by Mum, and one or two of us both together. She was tall and vibrantly glowing, Titian-haired and full of life. It was so cruel that it had been taken away from her in that way.

  There were no pictures of her earlier than a few snaps taken when she was a student nurse, looking younger and more serious. There were pictures of me with Aunt Em and a baby Treena. They’d become fast friends at antenatal classes and Aunt Em had looked after me with Treena when Mum had gone back to work. And then, once Mum was facing her final battle and knew she wasn’t going to win it, they arranged between them that the Ellwoods should adopt me …

  For the first few months after Mum died, I’d repaid them by being the teenager from hell. The hurt, angry child I’d been stayed hidden inside me long after, stirred up again when the family had moved to France, which had seemed like another abandonment, however illogical I knew that to be.

  Then Mike had come along and so skilfully worked on and exploited that inner insecurity …

  I shook off the past resolutely: understanding meant I could move on. I had moved on. I put the photos back in the envelope and into the chest I was using as a coffee table.

  Then I found a few of Mum’s ornaments in the next box, though she hadn’t been one for clutter, and arranged them on top of the bookshelf.

  Time had passed and at some point, unnoticed, Caspar had vanished. He was probably in the kitchen next door, eating his dinner … and now I was conscious that the celestial chimes of the café door had ceased to ring out a considerable time before, and when I looked out of the front window, no one was to be seen. It was time to freshen up and go next door for Sunday dinner. By then I was ravenous and looking forward to it.

  20

  By the Book

  Dinner proved to be fun, with good food and interesting conversation, as you’d expect with such a mix of individual characters.

  Jacob had returned the ball-bearing clock, now restored to working order, so Elf was appeased. She and Gerald had cooked the dinner between them, which they seemed to enjoy doing. Myfy wandered in late, with a smear of ochre paint on one cheekbone that no one mentioned. It sort of suited her, though after a while, Jacob went out and came back with a rag that smelled rather pleasantly of linseed oil and, without a word, tilted up her face and removed the daub gently, then kissed the place where it had been.

  Jacob told Ned that now he’d seen the new waterfall feature in the Grace Garden, he was going to give him a small, kinetic installation that would look very well there.

  ‘The power of the water will be enough to very slowly open and close small metal flowers among the rocks,’ he said, illustrating what he meant on a Post-it note block he’d removed from one slightly saggy pocket.

  ‘It’s very kind of you,’ began Ned, looking taken aback, ‘but—’

  ‘Now, don’t try and tell me you’re restoring the garden to the absolute original, because you know very well that the layout of the main paths is really the only truly original part of it,’ Jacob said.

  ‘Some of the planting will be original, too, where there are notes,’ Ned said.

  ‘But you’re keeping some later additions and introducing new ones,’ Myfy said. ‘Even a garden must evolve and change to survive. Your new wetland area can only be enhanced by Jacob’s sculpture.’

  ‘I think it’s a lovely idea,’ I said. ‘It’ll give a magical quality to that corner and really intrigue the visitors.’

  ‘When they spot it, because it will be quite subtle, the flowers small and of delicately coloured metal,’ Jacob said dreamily. ‘Trust me, it will look right, as if it’s always been there.’

  ‘I’d let him do it and then, if you don’t like it, he can take it away again,’ suggested Gerald practically.

  ‘And sell it – he’s very well known, you know,’ Elf said to me. ‘His works fetch a fortune.’

  ‘The ones he’ll part with, anyway,’ said Myfanwy with a grin, and then, to me: ‘You must go up and see all the water-powered sculptures around the barn, when you have time – Jacob won’t mind.’

  ‘If I’m working I won’t even notice,’ he agreed. ‘And that clock has inspired a lot of ideas, so I think I’m going to be very busy for quite some time. I do prefer kinetic sculpture that relies on natural and renewable methods of movement.’

  ‘I rely on a natural and renewable method of movement too,’ said Ned, then sighed. ‘This will probably be the last relaxing moment I get for a long time. There’s so much to do between now and Friday, when we open.’

  ‘It’ll get there,’ Elf assured him. ‘And I’m certain Friday will be pure fun! We’ll all come, and our friends, and loads of villagers, and the vicar …’

  ‘And someone from the local newspaper, who rang me just after you’d been down for a look round the garden this afternoon, Jacob,’ Ned said, his face darkening slightly.

  I suppose he was thinking that once the connection was made between him and the Grace Garden, there might be a bit more than local news coverage.

  As for me, I’d be staying well out of any publicity, the incognito gardener in the background.

  I told Myfy how much I liked her design for the tote bags and souvenirs in the shop and then said perhaps there should be a line of things particularly aimed at children, possibly using a ship logo – the galleon of the buccaneering Nathaniel.

  ‘Something bold, but not Blue Peter,’ I explained. ‘We could put it on the donations box, too.’

  ‘Which donations box?’ asked Ned.

  ‘The one I keep telling you to put on your to-do list,’ I said patiently.

  Back at the flat with Caspar, I made a cup of cocoa and read a little more of Elf’s book – the account of that first little girl who’d seen the angel by the waterfall – but waves of sleep kept trying to crash over my head and in the end, I gave up and went to bed.

  On the whole it had been a lovely day, with only that brief descent into sadness and regret while I was sorting those photographs, though even that had been cathar
tic: it showed me how I’d understood the past and learned from it.

  I rose with the start of dawn, a silver-pink ripple along the hills, but not to work. Instead, I let myself out of the gate at the bottom of the garden and, as the light slowly grew brighter, headed upriver to the waterfall.

  I thought of all the others over the centuries that had made their way up this path. Our human presence here inhabited not so much a fold, but a mere pucker in the fabric of time.

  Up by the source of the falls, although I had that feeling that there might be another world close by, behind an invisible curtain, I had no sense that winged creatures of any kind kept me company, not even birds …

  All was quiet, except for the sighing of the trees in the breeze.

  It was a good moment for thinking things through and coming to terms with the past – and recognizing my hopes for the future. I realized then that I wanted always to be here, in Jericho’s End, where I knew I belonged.

  Back at the flat I had toast and honey, having finished the last of the pain au chocolat. I wondered if Toller’s stocked them; I wouldn’t put it past them.

  Caspar wandered in from the bedroom while I was drinking my second cup of coffee, said something that sounded distinctly like, ‘Where have you been?’ and then exited in search of breakfast.

  I’m sure Treena’s cats never try to talk to her.

  I left soon after, mentally gearing up to make an early onslaught on the narrow blunt tip of the rose garden, which I hadn’t even touched yet. It couldn’t extend very far, so I hoped at least to get the paths cleared all the way round today.

  I was increasingly eager to get involved in the apothecary garden itself, now, but torn because a) I like to finish a job properly, once I start it, b) I love roses, and c) Ned was my boss and this is what he’d told me to do.

  No one was about as I collected the tools I’d need from the Potting Shed, though when I came out with them, Guinevere the peahen was squatting on the shop roof, like a drab and badly constructed tea cosy. Then, as I looked up at her, wondering where Lancelot had got to, I heard voices from beyond the entrance gate, which I now noticed was ajar.

  Curiosity killed the cat and would probably be my downfall too. I moved closer and unashamedly listened when I caught the unmistakable rumble of Ned’s voice and the higher and indefinably shifty tones of Wayne Vane. He sounded as if he was trying to be ingratiating.

  ‘I wasn’t doing no harm, just looking for a bit of chain I remembered seeing in one of the stables. Thought it would do for the gate across the track up past Jacob’s house. I was doing a spot of work on the hinges yesterday and the old chain’s broke and the padlock hanging.’

  ‘You were certainly having a good rummage round when I heard the barn door squeal and came out to see who was there,’ Ned said.

  ‘I’m interested in old buildings, aren’t I?’ Wayne said, sounding aggrieved. ‘And I’d have OK’d it with you before I took this chain away.’ Something clinked. ‘I knew you was usually in that office of yours early.’

  ‘Right,’ Ned said disbelievingly. ‘Well, you can take your bit of chain and get off my property. And don’t let me …’

  Whatever else he said, I didn’t linger to hear, in case he came back and caught me listening. He didn’t sound in too good a mood, so I removed myself and my tools to the rose garden.

  Time passed and I’d soon cleared the short stretch of path to the outer wall. I guessed it just curved back to the pond on the other side of a central bed, but there was another small marble bench here, too, entwined with variegated ivy.

  The bushes at this end were much less rampant and overgrown, as if someone had paid them a little attention at some more recent point. Through a small gap behind the bench, I could see a bit of the wall, with railings set into it like a series of blunt and twisted pokers.

  I leaned the rake against it, then after pulling off some of the ivy, sat on the marble seat to drink my flask of coffee.

  A cheeky robin came and sat on the other end, but I hadn’t got any crumbs to share.

  When I’d finished the coffee I spotted the edge of a fallen metal name tag in the middle bed and retrieved it, brushing off the layer of leaf mould. ‘The Apple Rose’, it said, which wasn’t a name I’d heard of, but it was certainly flourishing.

  Then, as I began to turn back, I saw out of the corner of my eye a long-fingered, freckled hand reach through the railings and grasp the handle of the rake I’d leaned against the wall. With a certain fascination, I watched it slowly withdraw, pulling the rake with it, then stop when it finally occurred to the owner of the hand, as it already had to me, that the rake head would not fit between the rails.

  A head bobbed up, the face with its slightly weaselly features familiar under a khaki forage cap, from which wisps of bright orange-red hair stuck out. I saw the shallow, pale blue eyes spot me and widen … and then, very, very slowly, the rake slid back down again.

  Wayne brazened it out. ‘Morning! Hard at it already?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said shortly. ‘Did you want something?’ Other than my rake, I added silently.

  ‘No, just passing. I’ve been finishing a job off for the farm up the track by the Village Hut. Anyway,’ he added cockily, ‘it’s a free country, ain’t it?’

  Wayne obviously considered everything in it to be free to him, that was for sure.

  ‘How you getting on? Saw you and old Ned being chummy in the pub the other night, so he’s probably going easy on you for now. But you watch your step. He’s got previous form for dumping his women when he’s had enough of them.’

  I felt a flame of anger. ‘I’m not interested in old gossip, I’m just here to do the gardening – and all those stupid stories about Ned were disproved. I’d advise you not to go spreading slander about him, or you might find yourself in trouble.’

  ‘There’s no need to get all uppity, when I was just dropping a hint in case you had any idea he meant something serious, like,’ he said, digging himself further into his unsavoury little hole.

  ‘Well, I haven’t! Ned is just my employer – or one of them, because I’m working for Elf and Myfy too. Excuse me,’ I added brusquely, ‘I want to get on with my work.’

  I removed the rake from his reach, but he said quickly, in the ingratiating tone I’d heard him use to Ned earlier that day, ‘No offence meant – and no rush to get on, is there? I’m interested in what you’re doing with the garden. We’re in the same line of business, aren’t we?’

  ‘After a fashion,’ I agreed. ‘You’re a handyman too, though, aren’t you?’

  ‘Gardening, mostly, but I’ll turn my hand to anything for a bit of cash. It beats working with Dad and our Sam on the pig farm, that’s for sure.’

  ‘I’ve heard you have an organic pig farm,’ I said, interested despite myself. ‘Is Sam your brother?’

  ‘Yeah, eldest. And the Vanes are noted for our pork,’ he agreed. ‘Dad works the farm with our Sam, but I had other ideas, didn’t I?’

  Getting no response to this he added, on a note of disgust, ‘Pigs!’ But whether this was meant for his family or the animals, I’d no idea.

  ‘There’s a few mentions of your family in a book about local history I bought the other day,’ I said on impulse. ‘They were members of a strict religious sect, weren’t they?’

  ‘Yeah, Strange Brethren, and our Dad’s still pretty strange, if you ask me – him and some of his friends. All that old “hell and damnation” mumbo jumbo’s pretty much died out, and a good thing, too.’

  I thought he was right about that one.

  ‘They even christened me Esau,’ he said in an aggrieved voice, as if it was a personal insult, ‘but I wasn’t having that. Christened myself Wayne later, and no dunking in cold water to do it.’

  For a second time, I thought Esau had an unusual distinction that the name Wayne lacked. But then, Wayne himself didn’t have any unusual distinction.

  ‘Someone already told me my family was in that book the ol
d Price-Jones bat with the funny-coloured hair wrote.’

  ‘Nature seems to have given you funny-coloured hair, too,’ I said, for the wisps escaping from under his hat were so orange they almost fluoresced.

  He frowned, puzzled, then said, ‘Mine’s natural, not dyed.’ Then he gave me a closer scrutiny, as if really seeing me for the first time, which I didn’t like in the least.

  ‘You’re so dark, you could be foreign. Where you from?’

  ‘Merchester,’ I said coldly. ‘It’s noted for the dark Latin good looks of its inhabitants.’

  He gave me another baffled look and abandoned this tack. If there were any brains left in the Vane family, he hadn’t inherited much of a share of them.

  ‘I got a copy of that book, though I’ve not read all of it yet – I don’t do much reading.’

  ‘You astonish me.’

  I remembered what the shopkeeper had said when Treena bought hers and was dying to ask him if he’d paid for his copy or not. I had to clamp my lips together.

  ‘There’s a whole chapter on treasure that’s hidden in the valley, there for the taking, if you can find it,’ he said with more enthusiasm. ‘’Course, everyone knows those daft tales about fairy gold hidden up by the waterfall, but maybe there’s more to it.’

  ‘There wasn’t much more to the one about hidden gold at Sixpenny Cottage, though, was there? It was just a few silver sixpences and some old copper coins.’

  ‘Well, more fool them for thinking an old skinflint living in a hovel up in the woods would have any gold to hide,’ he said. ‘But these days, with metal detectors, people are turning up good stuff all the time. Me and my mates have got them, but we haven’t found much yet except rusty nails and the like. I might try those old ruins, before they start to dig it all up.’

  ‘The monastic ruins?’ I exclaimed, startled. ‘I really wouldn’t, because you’ll be caught and prosecuted. Anyway, the monks moved to another monastery after only a couple of years, so they’ll have taken anything of value with them.’