The Garden of Forgotten Wishes - Trisha Ashley Page 0,113

as I’d stopped being on Facebook, though I’d hardly posted on there for ages before I left for France anyway, because I knew Mike read it.’

‘I’m not on it any more, either. Lois used to check up on me that way, too, though she’s long since moved on to another man now – and your ex has remarried.’

‘Yes, and he didn’t seem to be trying to find me after the first few months anyway, so I was being paranoid too.’

‘Well, there’s no need for any paranoia now. We can just get on with our lives,’ he said, getting up. ‘Right – back to work, Ellwood.’

‘Yes, Boss,’ I said with mock meekness, following suit.

‘Between us, we should have time to put the rest of these bushes in and plant the new quince in one of the tall beds, before the others turn up and we have to get ready to open.’

‘James thinks we should spread the mulch on the roses early on a Tuesday, when there are no visitors, because of the ripe pong,’ I told him, picking up my spade.

‘Nonsense, it’s a good country smell and the stuff has been rotting nicely for about five years now, so it’s … delicious.’

‘I know exactly what you mean, but only gardeners would appreciate it.’

We worked on, mostly in silence, but occasionally exchanging comments about which new types of lavender would do well in the garden and when we’d have a chance to try and source the roses that had died out … if we could match the old names with something recognizable, where they didn’t presently exist.

The sun shone, fluffy white puffs of clouds chased each other across the baby-blue sky, the birds sang, and Caspar appeared and watched us, occasionally making a brief and indecipherable comment.

‘There, that’s everything in, until we get another consignment,’ Ned said at last. ‘I want more plants for round the pond and I seriously underestimated how many blue iris I’d need. I’ll leave opening this area till the gazebo’s up, anyway, and we won’t open the paths in the rose garden until we’ve mulched it, either.’

‘There are a couple of sections of the tile borders broken and in need of replacing, if you can get hold of any.’

‘I think I’ve seen a few stacked in one of the outbuildings; I’ll have a look.’

As we walked back, I said, ‘The visitors are going to love the little temple in the rose garden, and enjoy spotting the names of the old roses.’

‘You worked amazingly hard to get it to this stage in so short a time.’

‘It was a labour of love. But now I’m going to have loads of fun throwing myself into helping you with the Grace Garden.’

‘You might change your mind when we start marking out the long vegetable-style plots in the overgrown quarter of the mid-level garden,’ he said. ‘And Gertie’s got loads more herbs in her greenhouse, ready for planting out.’

‘A gardener’s work is never done,’ I said. ‘Those big pots will want planting up too, when they arrive, won’t they?’

‘They might come on Thursday, but we’ll just put them in position first: they’re a statement on their own.’

We’d replaced the rope barriers across the entrances to the paths where we were working, so really, only the gravel needed freshly raking before the visitors came.

James and Gertie had arrived, though Steve would be in later. He’d come and go around his other part-time jobs, but it should all fit in quite well. I suspected that, like the rest of us, he’d end up spending a lot more time in the garden than he was paid for, simply because he enjoyed it.

When we opened up, although there wasn’t the initial rush through the gates, like yesterday, it seemed just as busy whenever I looked up. Ned and I had started marking out those long narrow beds at the bottom of the garden.

Gertie, going past with pots of rosemary and tarragon, offered advice: mostly pointing out that nobody spray-painted grass in her day.

‘I wonder where she’s going with that tarragon?’ Ned said.

‘Where did you tell her to plant it?’

‘I didn’t,’ he said with a grin. ‘It’s easier to just let her put it in where she wants to.’

‘Coward,’ I said, and he spray-painted a neat red line across the toes of my work boots, though at least it was biodegradable and would wash off under the tap.

At twelve and two, Ned reluctantly led a guided tour around the garden. So many people had asked if there