The Garden of Forgotten Wishes - Trisha Ashley Page 0,43

houses, like the ones in a child’s picture book. Several had the shut-up look of out-of-season holiday lets and, as I got further down, I came to a couple of more substantial Victorian or Edwardian guesthouses, also closed, and a row of three shops in what the sign proclaimed to be The Old Stables.

The art and craft gallery wasn’t open, and the paintings in the window were not of Myfy’s calibre, but the type of views that can only be described as competent wallpaper.

Next to it was a small gift shop, where there were actually customers – a youngish couple and a little girl, who seemed to be selecting a pair of fairy wings from a display.

In fact, the whole shop was awash with angel- and fairy-inspired souvenirs and gifts of every conceivable type, and some I never would have thought of. On the whole, the fairies seemed to be winning out over the angels.

I wandered down the display of fairy figurines, picked up a fat little hardback book from a stack on a shelf and found it was the one Myfy had told me about that her sister had written. Embossed on the cover were the words:

A Short History of the Village of Jericho’s End

Elfrida Price-Jones

I flicked through it, finding a whole section of fascinating old black-and-white photographs of the village, the falls and local characters. The list of contents looked interesting, too, so I bought it … and then, at the till, succumbed to an impulse buy: one of those small crystal stars, made to hang in a window and cast a rainbow prism over your world. A lucky star.

The last shop in the row and the largest was the village store, Toller’s, set out like a mini-supermarket and selling a wide range of goods, from a well-stocked deli counter to a good selection of fresh fruit and vegetables, cakes, bread, sandwiches and hot pasties and pies … except that this late in the day, the locusts had already cleaned the place out and the cabinets had been cleaned, ready for tomorrow. It obviously catered for everyone: staples for the villagers, food for hungry hikers, snacks and drinks for the daytrippers and more exotic items for the holiday cottage contingent.

I bought a couple of bags of jelly babies – one of my weaknesses – a block of mature Cheddar, a small jar of pickled onions, some tomatoes and a pot of Marmite, and went out again, my little rucksack now bulging.

I rounded the bend in the road and there was the bridge again, happily now a Wayne-free zone, with the pub sitting opposite.

It had a porch supported by wooden pillars and the main part of the building looked ancient, though you could see where there had been later extensions in both directions. A painted board fixed next to the porch advertised coffee and bar snacks … though perhaps not at that moment, for the door was firmly shut.

On the far side was a restaurant with its own entrance, the windows overlooking a cobbled yard and outbuildings. Inside were lights and signs of activity, even if it wasn’t yet open.

Darkness was falling over the valley now that the sun had sunk below the surrounding hills, and I decided the delights of the ancient ruins could wait for another day, especially since Wayne had vanished in that direction and I didn’t much fancy running into him again, should he be still roaming in the gloaming.

Returning over the bridge was a little like stepping back in time, with the half-moon of the Green, the intricate black and white Tudor façade of Old Grace Hall and the long, low shape of Lavender Cottage. Though the café, with the ice-cream vendor’s tricycle parked outside it, was a bit out of step.

I wandered across the grass to peer through the pointed iron rails on the wall that prevented the unwary from the dangerous drop down to the river below and then crossed to look at the Village Hall – or Hut, as my employers had called it. I thought it might have started out as a hut, but was now much more substantial.

By the gate there was one of those notice boards behind glass, and peering closely I discovered that the Friends of Jericho’s End met every Tuesday evening at seven, new members always welcome. They would be holding an Easter egg hunt in the garden (by which I supposed they meant the enclosed stretch of turf with a few bushes that surrounded the