The Garden of Forgotten Wishes - Trisha Ashley Page 0,102

us now. Just as well, really, because Caspar was a useless chaperon. He was disgruntled because he wanted all my attention – preferably while lying across my lap.

Instead, I sat at the table for ages with Ned, then made coffee, before we looked up on the laptop the words to that ‘English Country Garden’ song that had lodged in my head.

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,