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

by Trisha Ashley

  ‘Roddy, this is the new gardener, Marnie Ellwood. Roddy and I used to know each other as children; we rode our ponies together,’ Cress said, faintly pink and glowing. ‘He’s taken early retirement and bought a house on the other side of Thorstane – and he’s going to volunteer to help in the garden.’

  ‘Great,’ I said. ‘There’s a married couple who emailed about volunteering too, so the more the merrier. I expect they’re here somewhere.’

  ‘I won’t be up to hard manual work,’ Roddy explained apologetically, ‘but I’m a historian and a keen gardener, so perhaps I could be a guide and take tours around, something like that.’

  ‘That would be great, because Ned’s really the only one who can do it at the moment and he’d rather garden,’ I said.

  ‘What about yourself?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, I’d hate it. I’m just a gardener.’

  ‘Well, I’d enjoy it and I could do office work too, anything like that.’

  ‘You know, you really are exactly what Ned needs,’ I told him.

  From the way Cress was looking at him, he might be exactly what she needed, too. Ned had a rival for her affections!

  ‘I’ll try to have a word with him before I go,’ Roddy said. ‘I’m hoping Cress will have enough time to spare to join me for a late bread and cheese lunch at the pub.’

  Cress went even pinker, if possible, and said she’d love to. Treena and I looked at each other, and she winked.

  ‘I should really go home and smooth Mummy down a bit. She ran into Wayne and his father right after she’d tried to speak to Professor Mayhem Doome, so that didn’t help, after he cheeked her the other day.’

  ‘Wayne and his father are here?’ I exclaimed.

  ‘Yes – it surprised me that they’d paid to see the garden. I mean, Wayne used to work here and Saul’s not one to part with his money for something like this.’

  ‘That is odd,’ Treena said. ‘Perhaps curiosity was just too much for them.’

  I didn’t much feel like another one-to-one with Wayne, though a glimpse of his father would be interesting … my uncle.

  But I was sure I’d have other opportunities, so when Luke appeared and it looked like the four of them were heading to the pub together, I left them and went back to the Potting Shed for my tools.

  A working gardener is just so much wallpaper to visitors, as I’d learned while working for the Heritage Homes Trust, so I wasn’t surprised no one took any notice of me as I unhooked the rope on one side of the path by the pond in the rose garden, pushed the barrow through and turned to replace it.

  ‘There she is, Dad!’ said the all-too-familiar voice of Wayne Vane. ‘That’s the girl I was telling you about.’

  Lizzie

  I was born at Cross Ways Farm, on the furthest outskirts of the village of Jericho’s End, in 1794, the last of twelve children and, as such, neither welcomed nor wanted.

  Being small and puny, I was considered by my father to be the weakest of the litter, besides having committed the sin of being female. I suspect he would have preferred to drown me in a bucket of water soon after birth, like an unwanted kitten, but since he was an Elder in that strict religious sect called the Strange Brethren, who believed in completely immersing a baby in a deep font of icy water at baptism, I expect he thought this would carry me off, without his assistance.

  I was given the name of Elizabeth, though always known as Lizzie. Since our farm was situated some way outside the village, I had no playmates among the local children – indeed, I had little idea of play, for my father considered that the Devil would find occupation for idle hands, so that toil from dawn to dusk was the only way to avert this.

  One of the main tenets of the Brethren’s faith seemed to be that all ills stemmed from the Daughters of Eve and thus her female descendants should be made to suffer for it in perpetuity.

  Unlike my tall, strapping and red-haired siblings, I remained small and delicate, and my hair a dark chestnut colour. I had been so confidently expected to rid the world of my presence due to some illness before I reached my fifth birthday that I think it came as a surprise to everyone to find me still there. However, I survived and, being deemed fit for nothing else, almost as soon as I could walk was given charge of feeding the hens and collecting the eggs.

  25

  Relatively Speaking

  The man who had walked into the rose garden with Wayne was not unhandsome, if you liked the elderly St John the Baptist look. As well as the head of a slightly mad prophet, he had a huge barrel of a torso and very short legs. He somehow reminded me of the Minotaur in the maze, possibly because there was something bullish about his stance as he drew closer and then stood, looking me over.

  I took an involuntary step back, behind the frail barrier of the twisted rope.

  ‘Dunno why you wanted to see her, anyway, Dad,’ said Wayne, hovering at his elbow. ‘I know I said she looked kind of familiar, but foreign with it, so I’d have remembered her if I’d seen her before, wouldn’t I?’

  ‘You shut your mouth, boy,’ Saul Vane growled menacingly, like the teddy bear from hell. Wayne flinched, as if his father might actually smite him one, but Saul’s attention was now all on me and my throat went dry.

  Could he possibly have even the faintest suspicion of my identity? But if not, why this interest in me?

  I didn’t see how he could know and, though I knew him to be Mum’s older brother, I felt no sense of connection between us, any more than I did with Wayne. They were an alien species and it was hard to accept that my vibrant, clever and lovely mother was related to them.

  Not, of course, that I was expecting instant rapport, after the way they had disowned Mum.

  ‘What’s your name, lass?’ Saul barked at me.

  ‘I told you, Dad, it’s Marnie—’ began Wayne.

  ‘Shut it,’ his father said succinctly and Wayne backed away.

  ‘It’s Marianne Ellwood, and you must be Wayne’s father, Saul Vane,’ I said, facing up to him. ‘People have told me about you.’

  ‘What they been saying?’ he snapped out.

  ‘That you breed the best pigs in the county,’ I said.

  He gave me another long, cold, searching look from grey-blue eyes that were the same colour as mine, though without the dark-ringed iris. ‘That I do – and built the organic pig side of the farm up from nowt to what it is today.’

  ‘Brilliant,’ I said, trying to infuse some enthusiasm into my voice, but thinking it was all getting a bit too Cold Comfort Farm and any moment now, he’d tell me he’d been scranleting his mangelwurzels, or something.

  ‘Yes, pigs,’ he said, with a depth of meaning I couldn’t understand. ‘You’d best bear that in mind, if you were thinking of coming calling.’

  Wayne was looking as baffled as I felt – and I still wasn’t sure if Saul was always like this, or really did have some suspicion about who I was, despite my being so dark and looking nothing like a Vane. He’d certainly had some reason for searching me out …

  The crazy voice in my head chose this moment to start singing ‘There is nothing like a Vane’ to the tune of a song from an old musical.

  ‘Well, it’s been lovely chatting to you, but I must get back to work,’ I said, summoning a brisk smile and starting to turn away.

  ‘Not before you tell me, lass—’ Saul began, his hand reaching out as if he meant to grip my arm and keep me there, except by then I’d grabbed the wheelbarrow handles and was off.

  I heard Wayne say timidly, ‘Best come away, Dad. There’s people looking at us,’ and I glanced over my shoulder, half-expecting Saul to have followed me, but he was still standing there, staring.

  Then, in a low, carrying hiss that raised the hairs on the back of my neck, he said, ‘You stay away from me and mine, if you know what’s good for you.’

  He stomped off, his son hurrying in his wake.

  I escaped round the corner, out of sight of visitors, and sat on the marble bench in the temple, feeling sha
ky.

  I went over everything he’d said and it seemed clear that something Wayne had told him had made him suspect who I was – but he couldn’t know for sure. That warning must have been to prevent me from attempting to claim any relationship to him, if he was right. Not that anyone in their right mind would want to, of course.

  But then, suddenly, an alternative and almost as disagreeable explanation for the scene struck me: Wayne had obviously talked about me a lot, so what if his father thought he was romantically interested in me and I’d encouraged him, because I knew he was the son of a wealthy pig farmer?

  That scenario would fit his warnings, just as well as the other did – or perhaps, I thought, hopefully, he carried on like that all the time, especially to foreign-looking interlopers?

  But whichever it was, he’d warned me off, so that was presumably the end of it. I began to feel a little calmer, and after a while I unwrapped the sandwiches and got my flask of coffee out of my rucksack.

  I could hear the voices of the visitors from the other side of the big central rose bed – ‘Great Maiden’s Blush’, according to its tag. Life was going on as if that disturbing little scene had never taken place.

  I put away my flask and carried on preparing the beds for the mulching, until everything in the garden was rosy again.

  When I took my barrow back to the Potting Shed later, I found Gert on her way out, but she changed her mind and came in with me for another cuppa.

  ‘Only just had a bite to eat. We’ve been taking it in turns, so there’s always a couple of people in the garden or shop,’ she explained.

  ‘You should have fetched me, so I could spell one of you.’

  ‘That’s all right, we managed fine, and after today I expect it’ll all quieten down and be more steady, like.’

  ‘It all seems to be going very well, though, doesn’t it?’ I said. ‘It was practically standing room only in the garden just after we opened, and I see there are still visitors coming in.’

  ‘It’s what Ned needs, I understand that, but I like my garden to myself, really.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ I said sympathetically, ‘but you can always escape into the vegetable patch and the greenhouses on quieter days, can’t you? I’ve worked in gardens open to the public before and the visitors don’t seem to see the staff, so they don’t get in the way of the work.’

  ‘Ned said the same,’ she admitted grudgingly. ‘He says after this weekend me, you and him can carry on much as usual and leave the shop to Steve and James to sort between them. They’re happy as pigs in muck, those two, playing shop.’

  The pig reference was unfortunate, since it reminded me of Saul Vane. I told her that I’d run into him and Wayne in the rose garden and he’d ranted on a bit at me, then asked her, was he quite sane?

  ‘He’s surly and not much liked, is Saul, but shrewd as they come with the pig farming,’ she said judiciously. ‘He doesn’t like foreigners and he’s a bit too ready to tell anyone who looks as if they’re enjoying themselves that they’re sinners heading for hell. He found a courting couple on his land last summer,’ she added. ‘Backpackers, they were. He set the dogs on them and they’re vicious brutes, those dogs, so there was quite a fuss about it.’

  ‘He sounds delightful! I think I’ll give Cross Ways Farm a wide berth,’ I said, then changed the subject. ‘Ned will have to give guided tours of the garden. When he was showing Clara round, loads of other visitors were hanging on every word.’

  ‘I don’t know … He says he’s had enough of that kind of thing and just wants to work in the garden now,’ she said doubtfully.

  ‘I realize he doesn’t want to be in the limelight any more, but once he gets going, he forgets he has an audience, he’s so enthusiastic.’

  Then I remembered Cress’s friend Roddy Lightower, and told her about him and his offer to work in the garden as a volunteer. ‘He sounded perfect, because he can take on a lot of the things Ned doesn’t want to do, like the guided tours and office work.’

  ‘A few volunteers would be a godsend,’ Gertie agreed. ‘There was a couple I was talking to who wanted to help in the garden, too. They’re going to come back another day and I’ll show them the vegetable patch then.’

  I didn’t think her vegetable patch was that high on Ned’s list of things he’d like more help with, but I smiled encouragingly and said many hands made light work, and if they were free, that was even better.

  ‘James heard someone asking Ned about a garden design too,’ Gertie said. ‘So maybe he’ll get more of those and he can go and hide in his office in the afternoons, when it all gets too much for him.’

  She gave a grin and went off again, and I finished my tea and a large chunk of Bakewell tart (the lardy cake put out for the visitors had vanished down to the last crumb and the empty plate stood on the end of the nearest workbench), and went back to work, this time to tie up that honeysuckle I’d found and a vigorous rambling rose near the little temple.

  And this time, no one took a bit of notice of me.

  I still felt uneasy about my encounter with Saul Vane.

  Ned and I were back on the old terms of trust and friendship, so what would he think if he found out I’d kept something like that a secret from him?

  I really, really didn’t want him to find out …

  It was after four when I went back to the courtyard to put my tools away before setting off for the River Walk. The last stragglers were coming out of the shop, past the depleted plant stands, clutching their purchases. Steve was waiting by the gate to let them out and then lock it behind them.

  And it must have been an equally busy day for the River Walk, for the litter bins were full to overflowing and my haul from under the bushes, or stuffed behind rocks, was three plastic bottles, two cans and a pair of socks, one with a large hole in it.

  The last, faint echoes of chattering holidaymakers, screaming children and crying babies seemed still to linger and the only atmosphere detectable up by the falls was one of hope that silence and peace would fall upon it some time soon, if it held its breath …

  The litter picking and sorting had taken longer than usual, and by the time I’d returned to the Grace Garden, the shop had been cashed up and closed and Ned was just returning from a circuit of the garden.

  Apparently even in the Grace Garden itself, one or two chocolate bar wrappers had been planted among the herbs and an empty Coke bottle placed on the sundial.

  Perhaps someone had given it a libation?

  Everyone except Ned had long since gone and I accepted his suggestion that we have a cup of coffee in the office, because he was obviously dying to go over the whole afternoon in exhaustive detail.

  But it was good to sit down for a bit and chill after the eventful day. I assured him everything had gone wonderfully well and we discussed the volunteers. Roddy had talked to him and, as I had expected, Ned was delighted at the prospect of unloading most of the jobs he didn’t like onto him.

  ‘And he’s an old friend of Cress’s, so I know he’s OK,’ he added. ‘She was so pleased to see him again, she could hardly take her eyes off him!’

  I had wondered if Ned was aware of Cress’s blind adoration. I knew he was fond of her, but he didn’t seem to mind her sudden switch of affections in the least!

  ‘Well,’ he said finally, putting down his cup, ‘there’s nothing more to do tonight, except feed the peacocks and the fish, so you get off now, Marnie, and I’ll see you later at the pub for the quiz.’

  I stared at him. ‘It’s Good Friday – they won’t hold the quiz tonight, will they? Won’t they be too busy?’

  ‘They will be busy, but most of the visitors will be in the new bar, or the restaurant.’

  ‘But … won’t everyone be too tired to go, anyway? Elf must have been rushed off her feet in the café too, and Gert, James and Steve must be exhausted!’

  ‘Oh, I doubt it,’ he said, surprised. ‘In fact, Elf said earlier that she’d see me there. Cress has a f
ull house of B&B guests, but they all arrived yesterday, so she’ll be able to come. Her old nanny usually holds the fort in the evenings when she’s out, anyway.’

  ‘She has an old nanny?’

  ‘The madwoman in the attic; every home should have one,’ he said with a grin. ‘She was Audrey’s nanny really, I think, and she’s ancient, but she keeps a beady eye on things and rings Cress if anything crops up. The pub’s only minutes from Risings, after all.’

  With a mother like Audrey and a house full of guests, Cress was probably keen to sneak away whenever she could and I hoped she’d managed to have a nice, quiet lunch earlier, with Roddy, Treena and Luke.

  Ned had been quite right: everyone seemed to be there for the quiz just as usual and, if many of us were tired, there was also a buzz of satisfaction that the café and garden, the pub, the guesthouses and the shops were doing such good business.

  I’m not entirely sure we were all awake enough at our table to concentrate on the quiz, though, because we came third, and even that by the skin of our teeth.

  Cress hadn’t joined us this evening, but was sitting in a far corner at a small table with Roddy and, so far as I could see, took no part in the quiz at all …

  Relaxed by a couple of halves of bitter shandy and a basket of scampi and chips, I’d almost managed to forget that strange little scene with Saul and Wayne, when the latter came into the bar, so late I was just thinking of going back to my flat and a peeved cat.

  He looked his usual slightly shifty self, but grubbier, as if he’d been working since I saw him earlier. He cast one furtive glance in our direction, then took his pint of beer round the corner into the darts room, leaving me feeling unsettled all over again.

  I walked back in the cool darkness with Ned, Myfy and Jacob.

  Jacob was quiet – he’d spent most of the evening scribbling something in a small, battered sketchbook he’d pulled out of a pocket, so I assumed he was working out a new installation. I can’t say any of it made sense, viewed upside down from the other side of the table.