Page 121 of The Garden of Forgotten Wishes
‘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’rethe 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.
Mike seemed to rally and pulled the remnants of his old, practised charm around him. ‘I can’t imagine what stories Marnie’s been telling you, but she was always a convincing liar. I could tell you a few—’
That was as far as he got before Ned, without any warning at all, punched him straight on the nose.
Mike didn’t so much fall as folded up onto the cobbles and lay there, making gibbering noises, so I knew he wasn’t dead.
It must have relieved Ned, too, because he said ruefully, ‘Whoops! I don’t often lose my temper like that.’
Lancelot and Guinevere walked slowly through the arch and approached Mike, looking down at him in a puzzled way. Guinevere pecked experimentally at his jacket, as if she hoped he was concealing something edible in the pockets and he pushed her aside and staggered to his feet, his nose bleeding copiously.
‘I’ll sue you for assault! You’ll be sorry for this,’ he threatened Ned, thickly.
‘What, because you weren’t looking where you were going and walked into that notice board by the arch?’ said Steve. ‘We all saw you.’
‘Yes,whatan unfortunate accident,’ agreed Roddy in his frightfully posh voice and Mike swung round to look at him.
‘It’s a conspiracy!’ he yelled.
‘I do think, you know, that you might find a charge of assault difficult to prove,’ Ned said. ‘However …’ he looked at the results of his handiwork, and said reluctantly, ‘you need a bit of first aid before youleave. You’d better come into the office so we can stop that nosebleed. You can’t walk about like a bloody Niagara.’
‘Nicely phrased,’ I said as he put a hand under Mike’s arm and propelled him, willing or not, up the office steps.
I followed and Roddy suggested Mike sit down and put his head back, then pinch the bridge of his nose.
‘That usually works.’
I passed Mike a wad of tissues and he leaned back with a theatrical groan, though the flow of blood had already begun to cease.
‘Sorry about youraccident,’ said Ned. ‘But you shouldn’t have said that about Marnie.’
‘He got off a lot lighter than he’d have done if I’d had my butter paddles handy,’ I said, and he grinned at me.
