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

by Trisha Ashley

  When we found someone actually singing it on YouTube, Caspar gave up in disgust and went to sleep on my bed.

  Ned didn’t stay late, because it suddenly hit him again that the garden would be opening only the day after tomorrow! From being relaxed and chilled, the weight of the world instantly fell again across his (admittedly broad) shoulders.

  But I was sure he’d feel better tomorrow. I gave him the remains of the bag of jelly babies we’d been sharing to take back with him, suggesting he save them for the morning, to keep his blood sugar high.

  However, either he forgot to eat them, or it didn’t work, because he was inclined to be a bit terse and bossy again next morning, handing out orders to his troops … or to me, Gertie and James, who were the only ones there that early. We all understood that it was just the pressure of the rapidly approaching opening day making him tense, though, and hoped the more laid-back and easy-going Ned would re-emerge after that.

  My first job of the day was to clean off the brick paths in the rose garden, especially the one round the fish pond, using lots of water, a stiff yard brush and elbow grease, so I was hot and sweaty when I took the bucket and brush back. In my absence, the garden had turned into a hive of activity: the gravel paths were being raked by Charlie, the borders hoed by Steve, Ned was placing the freestanding posts and ropes at the side of the paths that would be closed off tomorrow and even Jacob was there, putting up the information board that had been missing from the original consignment.

  In the courtyard, the freshly washed windows and paintwork of the outbuildings gleamed. James had finished the flat bed barrow and it now stood next to the display stand near the shop door, where Gertie was arranging on it the serried ranks of potted plants that would be for sale.

  She’d stuck hand-written descriptions on the pots and was about to price-sticker them … when she and James had finished arguing about what price they should charge.

  ‘Let’s have a tea break and decide afterwards,’ Gertie suggested, and I went to fill the kettle while she called the others.

  Ned, who had a huge new list of things that had to be done today, none of them tea breaks, didn’t answer the summons, but Gertie made him come and have lunch with us later.

  Steve had been sent to the Hut on an errand by Gertie and returned bearing a huge bundle of bunting, most of it printed with faded Union Jacks. It must have been left over from the Coronation, or something like that, though there were also a couple of long rolls of newer and brighter bunting made from cotton triangles in vivid colours.

  ‘We keep it in the storage room at the Hut and use it for all the fêtes and celebrations,’ Gert explained. ‘It’ll be just the thing in the courtyard to brighten it up for the ceremony.’

  Ned was a bit dubious, but once it was draped around the courtyard and fluttering in the slight breeze, it did look very festive.

  Steve and Ned moved two tall, thin, Italian cypress trees in pots to stand on either side of the archway leading into the garden and then stood back to admire the effect.

  ‘I think … we’re almost ready,’ Ned said, sounding surprised. ‘Or as ready as we’ll ever be!’

  He crossed something off the bottom of the list on his clipboard, probably: ‘Move cypress trees’.

  ‘Yes … unless I think of anything else. Elf and Myfy will bring Clara Mayhem Doome through to the office at about half past eleven tomorrow, so she’s ready on the spot for the opening. James, we’d better put the float into the shop till before then and you can get yourself ready to open.’

  ‘You’ve got the change all bagged up, so that won’t take a mo,’ James agreed. ‘It’s just putting it in the till and opening the ticket hatch.’

  ‘Good – and I’ve put the boxes of glossy brochures, which have arrived at last, in the shop, so those need to go out on the shelves.’

  ‘Then I open the gate at twelve,’ Steve said.

  ‘Yes, though there might be someone coming to film the opening ceremony and a local journalist or two, so you can let them in early.’

  ‘Right you are,’ said Steve.

  ‘When everyone has gathered in the courtyard,’ Ned said, ‘Clara will come out of the office and say a few words, before cutting the ribbon and declaring the garden open.’

  ‘Which ribbon?’ I asked.

  There was a small silence before Ned said: ‘The one I haven’t got. I knew I’d forgotten something! Where can I get several metres of wide ribbon before tomorrow? And how am I going to fix it up, ready to cut?’

  ‘There’s a lot more than that on the big spool of yellow satin ribbon left over from when I brightened up Widow Twankey’s dress for last year’s panto,’ Gertie said. ‘Don’t you remember? We covered an old dress from the storage room in yellow ruffles.’

  ‘It was fairly unforgettable,’ Ned agreed. ‘Especially since Jacob was wearing it. I didn’t know there was any ribbon left, though.’

  ‘Tons,’ Gertie said, and Steve was sent back to the Hut to fetch it. It was a very lurid saffron colour, which would stand out well.

  ‘You don’t have to fix it to the wall, you can just tie it loosely round the tops of the cypress trees on either side,’ Charlie suddenly suggested, so we tried that and it seemed to work well.

  Ned wound it up again. ‘I’d better put it in the office tonight, in case it rains and we can drape it across last thing tomorrow morning once Clara’s arrived.’

  ‘Then all we have to do is remember the big pair of scissors from your office,’ I said. ‘They’re very shiny and new.’

  ‘The forecast’s good for the whole weekend, if they’ve got it right,’ James said.

  ‘That’ll bring even more visitors out,’ Charlie said. ‘But I don’t think you’ll really need me any more after today, so I’ve promised to help out in the café over the weekend, and then that’s it for work. I’ll be a volunteer on the archaeological dig from Tuesday.’

  ‘I think you’ll find that’s work, too – quite hard work,’ Ned pointed out.

  ‘Yes, but not paid,’ Charlie said. ‘Well, I’ll get off now if you don’t want me for anything else.’

  ‘And I must go and check the River Walk,’ I said. ‘I’ll come back afterwards, just to see if there’s anything last minute that wants doing, though, Ned,’ I promised, before I went.

  But when I returned, he was alone in the courtyard, looking bemusedly at a metal sculpture of a galleon on a white wooden plinth.

  ‘Where did that come from?’ I asked, then guessed as I came nearer and realized that the effect of a ship in full sail had been cleverly constructed from bits of curved and wavy scrap metal, welded together. ‘Did Jacob make it? It doesn’t move, does it?’

  ‘No, it’s static and it is a present from Jacob and Myfy. They remembered you mentioning we could do with a donations box at Sunday dinner and Jacob whipped this one up out of bits of odds and ends he had lying about. There’s a coin slot on top of the wooden base.’

  There was, too, and a little door in the back for emptying out the loot.

  ‘It’s lovely. It just needs a sign on it to encourage people to put money in.’

  And when I’d popped into the office and carefully lettered ‘Captain Nathaniel Grace’s Collecting Box: help restore the Grace Gardens’ on a bit of card, we stuck that on and then carried the ship into the shop.

  ‘The finishing touch,’ I said as we placed it in the middle of the floor.

  ‘Captain Nathaniel seems to be taking over – and he wasn’t even the one who began the garden!’ Ned said.

  ‘I know, but his descendants did, and everyone loves a pirate, especially children. We should order that range of promotional items for the shop with the galleon logo on, now, too.’

  ‘You’re probably right,’ Ned admitted, and ran a nervous, exhausted hand through his hair, which made it stick out even more. ‘That damned phone’s ringing again, but I’m not answering any more calls tonight.’

  For the first time, he seemed to become aware
of my slightly shattered and dishevelled appearance.

  ‘Look, Marnie, we’re both tired – why don’t we meet in the pub in an hour and I’ll buy you dinner, in return for last night?’

  ‘Sounds good to me,’ I agreed, and I thought that once he’d got some food and a couple of pints of Gillyflower’s Best Bitter inside him, the old enthusiastic and optimistic Ned would probably re-emerge.

  24

  Fêted

  I think the food and beer, over which we slumped in exhausted but not unamicable silence, followed by an early night, must have done the trick for both of us. Next morning I woke up full of bounce and although naturally a little tense, Ned was much more his usual self again.

  While he was pulling the rope barriers across the paths, I washed away a copious amount of peacock poop from right under the arch, where the ribbon was to be tied. It wouldn’t exactly have created the look we wanted to achieve.

  James, Gertie and Steve all arrived together later and had the shop ready to open long before the Clara Mayhem Doome party were escorted through the rose garden and up to the office by Myfy and Elf. At least I’d ensured they’d be offered decent coffee there!

  Gerald and Jacob followed them, bearing the big, covered jugs of lemonade and paper cups, which they set on the small table to one side of the courtyard, next to Gert’s lardy cake, while James looped the yellow ribbon across the archway.

  I was interested by my first glimpse of Clara, who was a very tall, strongly built elderly woman, with a bold Roman nose, bright dark eyes and a lot of curling dark grey and silver hair. She was dressed in a long, quilted scarlet velvet coat that had a sort of Old Russian vibe going for it and her earrings were wooden matryoshka dolls. I’d seen photos of her on the book jackets, of course, but they didn’t do the reality much justice – or reflect the impression that she was almost crackling with energy.

  Gertie told me that the angular, middle-aged woman with short, pepper-and-salt hair who’d accompanied her was Tottie Gillyflower, last of the brewing family.

  ‘Friend of Elf’s and runs the Thorstane Bee Group,’ she added.

  When Steve opened the visitor gate briefly, to let in the TV cameraman and a businesslike-looking young woman who might as well have had ‘Reporter’ stamped on her forehead, I could see visitors queuing outside.

  I moved back behind Gertie, out of sight of any filming. Gertie was humming that ‘Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Ole Oak Tree’ song, though in this case it wasn’t a person coming back, but a garden.

  The sun shone with surprising warmth, the ribbon and all the bunting fluttered gaily, the cameraman placed himself for a good angle and Steve came out of the shop and swung open the entrance gate.

  A steady stream of people flowed past the ticket window, until the courtyard was almost full and Lancelot, over-excitedly displaying himself on the Potting Shed roof, had had his photograph taken a thousand times.

  Then everyone fell quiet as Clara, escorted by Ned, came out of the office. A path cleared like magic in front of her and she made her way to the allotted spot at one side of the arch.

  I was glad to see that Ned had remembered the large pair of scissors, which he now handed to her, before making a short speech welcoming everyone and hoping they would be as interested in the ongoing restoration of this important apothecary garden, as he was.

  ‘Now, I’m delighted to hand over to the renowned epigrapher and crime novelist, Clara Mayhem Doome,’ he finished, and there was a lot of enthusiastic clapping.

  ‘Our big local celebrity,’ whispered Myfy in my ear, making me start, since I hadn’t noticed her come up behind me. ‘Opens everything within about a twenty-mile radius, so we all know her.’

  Clara beamed at the audience, showing a lot of strong white teeth.

  ‘This is a fascinating project and I hope you’ll all continue to support it, by visiting again to see the progress they’ve made – I certainly will,’ she said. Then, turning slightly so that the cameraman got a full view of her profile with that strong Roman nose, she added: ‘It gives me great pleasure to declare the Grace Garden open.’

  She snipped the yellow satin with a satisfying scrunch and stepped back as everyone clapped again.

  Then there was a general surge forward through the arch into the garden – except for the journalist, who made a beeline for Clara.

  The cameraman seemed to have vanished the moment he’d filmed the opening ceremony, which was a relief. Mind you, I thought they probably wouldn’t use any of the footage they’d shot in the garden at all if something more important or interesting turned up. It was very much in the nature of a quirky filler.

  A few bold autograph seekers presented themselves, too, but were elbowed out of the way by a woman with an enormous bust atop a thin body and skinny legs under a too-short skirt. When she reached the front, she held out her hand.

  ‘We meet again, Professor Mayhem Doome,’ she said with an ingratiating social smile. ‘I’m Audrey Lordly-Grace, you know?’ Clara looked blankly at her and she added, ‘Surely you remember me? We met last year, when you opened the new community centre in Great Mumming and—’

  ‘Oh, did we?’ Clara said vaguely. ‘Is attending openings your hobby?’

  ‘My hobby? No, of course not! I—’

  But at this point, the impatient queue of fans behind her, some of whom had brought copies of Clara’s latest novel for her to sign, jostled her out of the way.

  She stood undecidedly on the edge of the group, looking disgruntled and affronted, then finally turned and tottered off through the arch on stilt-like stiletto heels. The gravel wouldn’t do them a lot of good.

  I’d spotted Treena and Luke during the speech, as well as lots of other familiar faces from the village. Cress had been there too, though she hadn’t waited for her mother, but instead vanished with the rest of the crowd into the garden.

  ‘A good turnout,’ said Tottie Gillyflower to Ned.

  ‘Yes, and they’re still coming in,’ he agreed.

  ‘Of course they are, it’s going to be a huge success,’ Clara said, disposing of the last book offered to her with a flourish and handing it back. ‘There we are, duty done and now you can show me round this garden of yours, Ned. Henry is going to slip in quietly later for a look – you know how he hates crowds.’

  I supposed she meant her famous poet husband, Henry Doome. The local community seemed rife with celebrities – real ones, who’d actually done something meaningful, not TV reality show stars.

  We were all still gathered around her, but now suddenly recalled where we should be and the group broke up. Elf went back to the café and Gert into the garden to keep, as she explained, an eye on what the visitors were up to.

  ‘You can’t trust any gardeners among them. It’ll be out with the snippers and a plastic bag and away with a cutting or even a small plant, if you don’t watch them,’ she said darkly.

  Lacking their audience, Lancelot and Guinevere jumped down from the roof and followed the official party into the garden, while I removed the pieces of yellow ribbon, coiled it up and put it in the Potting Shed. Then I took James and Steve a cup of tea each and found that, oddly, some people had made a beeline for the plants for sale before even seeing the garden, and their selections were being put to one side by Steve, for collection as they left.

  James and Steve were glad of the tea and said they’d take it in turns to go and have a sandwich later, unless it was too busy, in which case one of them would fetch some over.

  ‘I’m going to take mine with me now. I thought I’d go and have a good session on the roses in the central beds at the back of the garden. They’re the last ones that need pruning, really; most of the rest are done. Then just a few beds to rake and we can feed and mulch.’

  ‘If that’s going to be with Gert’s special five-year-rotted manure compost, maybe do it on a day we’re closed,’ suggested James.

  But before I went back to work, I simply couldn’t resist a quick walk round the gard
en to see how it was all going, which seemed to be very well. Groups of people were reading the information boards or wandering round the paths, Jacob’s flowers were drawing a crowd of fascinated visitors and Gertie was near the Poison Garden, keeping an eye on one or two small children whose parents barely seemed in control of them, despite the warnings on the leaflet they’d been given, the information board in front of them and the skull and crossbones on the gate.

  ‘Some of these parents are so daft, we might need a moat full of piranhas round the Poison Garden, too,’ Gert muttered darkly to me, as I passed.

  Over the usually quiet garden hung a bee-like buzz of conversation and although it still felt magical, like all walled gardens, it had lost its air of secrecy.

  Ned, who was taking Clara round, was waving his arms about excitedly and his amber eyes were glowing as he enthused about his plans for the garden. I’m sure he had, as usual, entirely forgotten who he was talking to.

  I bumped into Treena and Cress as I finally headed back and Cress asked me slightly despairingly if I’d seen her mother in the courtyard.

  ‘She would insist on going to talk to Professor Mayhem Doome, so I slipped away.’

  ‘Does she like gardens?’ I asked.

  Cress sighed. ‘No, but she insisted on coming, because she wanted to invite the Doomes to dinner, or bridge … or really, anything at all they’d agree to come to. She’d like to be in their circle, though they’re not remotely on the same wavelength.’

  ‘I think she was trying to talk to Clara, but got elbowed out by the autograph hunters,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, we did see her after that and she was very cross about it. She also said the gravel had ruined her heels and she was going home.’

  Cress turned and smiled at a man who was standing nearby and introduced him to me as Roddy Lightower. He looked a few years older than Cress, but was handsome in a thin-faced, horsy kind of way. I could see he would appeal to her.