The Garden of Forgotten Wishes - Trisha Ashley Page 0,154
I could stop myself.
37
Blast from the Past
For some reason, Elf broke out two bottles of elderflower champagne after dinner, though none of the revelations seemed the kind of thing to celebrate.
But it was lovely, even if the alcohol did finish me off – too little sleep, too much excitement and quite a bit of digging in the garden.
Though Ned came up to my flat for coffee … and a snuggle on the sofa – or maybe that should be a struggle on the sofa, since a large, hairy and disgruntled cat kept trying to insert itself between us – he could see I was practically asleep on my feet and didn’t stay late.
‘Tomorrow, we’ll get the ground round the long beds ready for the new turf,’ he promised, as if offering me a treat.
‘I can hardly wait,’ I said. ‘But if any of those old roses turn up, you’ve had it till I’ve put them in.’
‘It’s a deal,’ he said, and, kissing me again, went off home.
Caspar seemed delighted to have me all to himself once more, but he was going to have to learn to share.
A good night’s sleep worked wonders and the next day I was so full of euphoria born of relief and happiness that after a morning’s digging and raking, I practically floated across the courtyard towards the Potting Shed in search of lunch, wondering what Gertie would have put in the sandwiches.
The inner woman was unromantically ravenous: preparing the ground around the new long plots had been hard work, especially since Ned had had to go back to the office an hour or so earlier.
I’d sort of half noticed a knot of people at the ticket office window, but it was only when a hand grabbed my arm and swung me round that I realized I knew one of them. Enclosed in my bubble of joy, it took me a moment to register who it was.
‘Oh, it’s you, Mike,’ I said disinterestedly, because he’d receded into the past like a bad dream and now not only did he seem a total and unwelcome irrelevance, but I found I felt no trace of the fear he’d once held for me. This didn’t stop me wishing I had those butter paddles handy, though … He’d changed, too – his once-skinny frame now looked stringy, his spiky hair more grey than black and the skin of his face as sharply folded as origami.
‘Well, Marnie, long time no see,’ he said tritely, and gave me the smile that had once seemed so charming … I couldn’t imagine why. And his dark, bright eyes looked as cold as a hunting stoat’s.
I shook off his detaining hand. ‘What are you doing here? Decided to deliver your letters personally, this time?’
My attack seemed to take him by surprise. ‘I just wanted to see you. When I knew you were so near, I thought it would be good to … catch up. Somewhere more private, perhaps – maybe in that shed you were making for?’
His smile this time was chilling, but no longer had any power over me.
‘No, thanks, we’ve nothing to talk about.’
‘Oh, I don’t know, there might be a few things you don’t want your boss to overhear … though since you’re still here, he mustn’t have taken any notice of the letter I sent him. Did you spin him some story?’
‘You’re the spinner of stories,’ I said coldly.
‘So I am – and a better one than you. So perhaps you ought to have that little talk with me – here, or maybe later, wherever it is you’re living now?’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Mike!’ I snapped as he reached out to grab my arm again. ‘Haven’t you got the message yet that your threats don’t work any more? Just go away and leave me alone!’
‘Having trouble?’ asked a deep voice as Ned emerged from the office in time to hear this. He came and put an arm around me and it was only then that I saw we had an audience: the visitors might have moved on into the garden, but Steve had come out of the shop and James was leaning over the ticket counter, to watch. Roddy hovered uncertainly in the open office doorway.
‘It’s Mike,’ I explained succinctly.
‘I thought it might be,’ Ned said, looking him over with disfavour and I was pleased to see Mike back off a bit.
‘You write a nice line in slimy anonymous letters,’ Ned told him.