Page 90 of The Garden of Forgotten Wishes
I stomped out into the garden, observed only by a puzzled Japanese couple, who took a million long-distance snaps as I obeyed Elf’s instruction to: ‘Hop, dear,hop!’
Carrying the big basket of chocolate eggs, I half-heartedly lolloped off, followed by Elf with the little paper flags, while Ned took a few photos before dashing off back to his office to print them out on A4.
The grounds of the Hut weren’t extensive and just tussocky grass andsmall bushes, so the eggs were not really hidden, just laid down in clutches, or singly if large, marked by a flag.
It seemed to take ages, but finally the basket was empty, and by that time Ned had returned with the pictures of the Easter Bunny printed out in glorious colour. He and Steve fixed them to the fence by the gate, over which now rose a wire arch, covered in yellow tissue paper flowers. A sign had been put out, announcing that the annual Easter egg hunt would open at eleven, for children of eight and under, and a small table covered in a white cloth now stood just inside the garden.
On it was a stack of small plastic baskets, borrowed from the pub, a heap of triangular cellophane bags (completely biodegradable, according to Elf), and a collecting box for the fifty pence admission charge. Under the table, hidden by the cloth, stood an open box of small chocolate eggs, ready for the less successful hunters.
With relief, I went back into the Hut to change and left the bunny costume draped over the back of a chair, like a very peculiar empty chrysalis. But when I attempted to remove the whiskers in the cloakroom, they proved surprisingly resistant. Elf must use waterproof eyeliner pencil. I managed to scrub them off eventually, though, leaving temporarily rosy cheeks.
Outside, there were now more people about and Elf went back to the café to open up, while Ned and I retired to the garden office for a well-deserved cup of coffee.
‘There’s plenty of time before we open. I expect James will be in soon, so you could pop over to the Hut just before eleven and watch the egg hunt start,’ Ned suggested. ‘I’ve seen it a million times so I’ll stay here and give the gravel paths an extra rake, then we can carry on digging out the long beds when you get back.’
I was curious enough to agree and found Gertie there with Steve, and also the vicar.
The Reverend Jojo Micklejohn was a small, plump woman who might have been in her late sixties or early seventies, with short, silvery blond curls, bunchy pink cheeks and shrewd dark blue eyes.
On being introduced she said, rather alarmingly, that she’d heard alot about me and that I would always be welcome at St Gabriel’s, if Ned ever allowed me any time off.
‘I’ve been told about your lovely angel window and I’m going to visit the church as soon as I get the chance, so I can see it,’ I told her.
‘It’s a very old church, well worth seeing,’ she assured me.
Apparently, she was semi-retired, and St Gabriel’s, Jericho’s End and a couple of remote moorland hamlets comprised her whole parish.
Elf, who’d reappeared, whispered in my ear, ‘There’s a big monster of a Victorian church in the middle of Thorstane. The vicar there has a much bigger parish to look after, but St Gabriel’s has always been the Jericho’s End church, even if it is only just outside the Thorstane boundary.’
She glanced back at the café, where I could see customers already sitting outside at the small tables and the stripy awning pulled out. It looked like another bumper day for ice-cream.
‘I’ve left Charlie holding the fort, and Daisy’s coming in shortly, but I must dash back after the hunt gets going.’
A queue of children and parents formed at the gate and the vicar stepped forward and gave a brief address, exhorting everyone not to forget the true meaning of Easter in a chocolate feeding frenzy.
‘But Easter also heralds spring, time of rebirth and renewal, old traditions and new: and in that spirit, let us commence the Easter egg hunt!’ she finished, to much applause.
Then the excited children rushed in through the gate, at which point I went back to the garden with Gertie, where James was already setting up the shop and ticket office.
After that, it was a day much like the two preceding ones, except that Ned and I were so engrossed in digging out our new long beds, which were laid out in a fan shape, that Steve had to come down and remind Ned to go and do his tours of the garden.
Paradise was proving popular.
That evening I ate my Sunday dinner in Lavender Cottage again, with Elf, Myfy, Jacob, Gerald and, of course, Ned. As before, the conversation was wide-ranging and entertaining. The only fly in theointment was Ned’s tendency to keep making bad rabbit jokes and puns. I suppose it was hard to resist, but eventually I rather snappily told him to stop rabbiting on and he took the hint.
Hare today, and gone tomorrow …
Replete and sleepy, I made my way back to the flat through the café, although Caspar had raced right through the cottage and beaten me to it.
I woke feeling an urge to walk up to the falls and see if anything there would like to communicate with me – perhaps even give me a small hint as to what Ned’s reaction would be if I finally confessed to my Vane connection.
As I climbed up by the falls, however, I saw that Myfy and Jacob were already there, standing hand in hand on the railed flat rock next to the source.
They had the appearance of mythical beings, clothed in magic: both tall, robed in black and with long silver hair lifting gently in the breeze.
I turned and crept quietly away.
The day grew cloudier, the sun intermittent, but it didn’t seem to stop the visitors who, interested in gardens or not, appeared determined to drain every last drop of entertainment from Jericho’s End that they could.
