The Garden of Forgotten Wishes - Trisha Ashley Page 0,41
I said gratefully. ‘It would have taken me ages to do it on my own.’
‘Not at all. I could hear that insane cat on the other side of the door to the cottage, Myfy,’ he added. ‘I think it was swearing and the door handle kept rattling.’
‘I found the door to the landing was open first thing this morning,’ said Myfy, ‘and shut it again. Was he bothering you last night, Marnie?’
‘I went to bed late and heard him trying to get in,’ I said, ‘and I thought he might disturb you, so I opened it. And then I decided I’d better leave the door ajar in case he needed his litter tray, or anything.’
‘He must have taken a fancy to you, which is more than he seems to have done to us!’ she said.
‘I don’t know, but I don’t mind him coming into the flat, if you don’t object to the door on the landing staying open.’
‘Not at all, but if he’s going to make a habit of it, maybe Jacob should put a cat flap in the door instead, so you can shut it and have a bit of privacy.’
‘A big cat flap,’ agreed Jacob. ‘I’ll get one. You wanted me to make a wall-mounted pigeonhole for Marnie’s post at the bottom of the stairs anyway, didn’t you?’
‘But won’t a big cat flap spoil the door?’ I asked. I mean, Caspar was practically the size of a tiger.
‘It’s not one of the original old ones. Father had it put there when we knocked through to the flat, so it doesn’t matter,’ Myfy said.
Jacob wrapped her in her cloak. ‘You mustn’t get cold, my darling,’ he said. ‘There’s still a chill in the air.’
They smiled fondly at each other and I felt as if I was intruding on a private moment.
Then Myfy turned to me and said: ‘Well, we’ll leave you to it – we’re going out to see friends.’
They went off, Jacob’s arm around Myfy’s shoulders, and I climbed the stairs and made some coffee, contemplating the now much larger mountain of stuff to be sorted. I suspected an awful lot of it would be heading for the bin, the recycling or the charity shops. I’d make a start that evening. But first of all, I needed to stretch my legs and get some fresh air.
Outside, the sun had vanished and dark lavender-grey clouds had begun to gather. It was colder, too, and although I could see one or two cars and several people on the main street, there was no one on my side of the river.
I could imagine that on hot days there would be tourists all over the Green, though, picnicking and eating ice-cream, or rattling through the turnstile to the River Walk and the Fairy Falls.
I paused to look at the Victorian turnstile, which was practically a work of art, heavily embossed with leafy foliage and clearly built to last for ever. It was painted a dark royal blue and freshly gilded on the lettering and embellishments.
A more modern metal shutter had been pulled down over the entrance side and secured with a large padlock.
There was a public viewing point between the high wall around the turnstile and the bridge and I stood there for a few moments, watching the dark water slide by in a deep channel, before cascading down into the pool on the other side.
Water, especially any kind of waterfall, is always magical and mesmerizing, but eventually I tore myself away and headed for the bridge.
There was someone standing in the embrasure at the highest point, a man with his back to me, leaning over to drop pebbles into the Devil’s Cauldron.
He straightened and turned as I approached and I recognized the wiry figure of Wayne Vane, his hair, the colour of scraped carrots, blown into elf locks around a freckled face that should have been pleasant, but was instead lit with a kind of smouldering malevolence that took me aback.
For a moment, I wondered if he could know who I was – though why that should make him angry, I had no idea – but from what Elf and Myfy had said, he didn’t sound a pleasant character, so perhaps he just hated everyone.
I quickened my pace and would have gone past with just a nod of the head, if he hadn’t stepped directly into my path.
His head lowered like that of an angry bull and he said, in a voice that grated like a rusty gate, ‘I want a