one morning.’
‘And part of the afternoon,’ Gertie pointed out.
‘Yes, and I’d better get back to it now,’ I said, getting up and thanking them for the food.
‘No problem, I always bring enough for a coachload,’ Gertie said. ‘Ned would forget if I didn’t put food under his nose and there’s no point in you bringing any, when there’s extra going spare here.’
‘That’s very kind of you,’ I said. ‘But can I put something in the kitty, towards that and tea and stuff?’
That offer went down well, so at least I’d be contributing to the daily feast.
Ned had said he’d remove the bags of clippings, but I thought he had enough to do, so I asked James where they should go and he said to take them down through the gate at the bottom of the walled garden, where they had a bark chipper, several compost heaps and a bonfire, and he’d sort them out when he got round to it.
So I dragged the ones I’d already filled down there and left them by the outer wall, scuffing away the tracks I’d left on the gravel paths as I went back. I’d at least got a glimpse of Gert’s veg plot and rows of fruit bushes, plus the front of a very large greenhouse against the garden wall.
I returned to hacking my path through the roses, though the next time I looked at my watch, which felt like five minutes later, it was just before four, so I had to dash off to put away my tools before I set out for the River Walk.
As I followed the path down the lavender garden to the sentry hut to collect my bag and spiked stick, I felt guilty that I hadn’t yet made a start on tidying it up – for after all, Elf and Myfy were the ones letting me live in their flat and paying part of my wages! But the Grace Garden was opening next week and there wasn’t a moment to lose there.
It was well after four by then, so presumably the entrance gate would be locked, though when I came out onto the River Walk I could see a few visitors making their way towards the exit.
I spotted one or two bits of rubbish on the way up – why will people throw things away like that, especially when there are litter bins? What are they thinking? Or maybe, since most of it seemed to be bags of gummy bears and the like, sugar rots your brain to the point where you can’t think.
There were a couple of the inevitable plastic water bottles too, with the little sippy teat tops, because obviously adults can’t drink out of ordinary bottles without tipping water down their fronts.
It’s a strange world.
The sun was getting low now and intermittently disappeared behind lilac-grey clouds and, as the valley narrowed, it seemed to get quieter and quieter, until it was just me and the birds singing.
I climbed the waterfall path and stopped to look at the river emerging in a rush from the rock face, the sun, now out again, filtering magically through the trees.
There was the entrance to the cave, or crevice, half-hidden by the falls, which Myfy’d said had a legend about it: an ancient warrior had been laid to rest in there with his treasure – though looking at the ledge below it, I’d be surprised if anything other than a goat could get along there.
I remembered there was a chapter on treasure in Elf’s book, so perhaps I’d skip to that one. The subject would be interesting, even if Elf’s writing style wasn’t.
The water and the flickering light might be magical, but this time I didn’t feel the presence of anyone – or anything – else. It was just … tranquil.
My mother must often have stood on this very spot, which was a strange but oddly comforting thought.
After a bit, I finished the climb up to the top turnstile, finding nothing more than an empty drinks can, placed carefully in the middle of a large slab of grey stone. I added that to my collection and then went down again and back to the turnstile, emptying the bins on the way.
As I sorted it into the various recycling containers behind the café, I felt physically weary, but very happy: this had to be the most perfect job ever!
Ned was already relaxing his guard and soon he’d realize that all I wanted was to work hard and help him attain