Page 26 of The Garden of Forgotten Wishes
I said briskly, ‘Which is where the idea to share a gardener with Elf and Myfy comes in – I’m cheap, hardworking and on the spot, even if not cheerful,’ I said. ‘I’m fascinated by the apothecary garden and dying to sort out that jungle of rose briars, too.’
Ned grinned suddenly, which took years off him, and said, holding out his hand, ‘Yes, I think youareexactly what I need, Marnie Ellwood. Pax?’
‘Pax,’ I agreed, taking his hand. His strong fingers closed warmly around mine for a moment and then let go.
‘Right, that’s settled then,’ I said, more briskly, getting up. ‘I’ll have to go now, because I’ve got loads of things to organize in Great Mumming and I won’t get the chance again till next week. But I’ll come here first thing in the morning and then make a start on the LavenderCottage garden later. I have to go up the River Walk after four every day, anyway.’
‘OK and then I can show you round the garden and fill you in on our plans,’ he agreed, following me to the door. ‘I’ll introduce you to James and Gertie then, too.’
‘I’m looking forward to it,’ I lied, though it would at least be a nice change to have elderly gardeners barking commands at me in English instead of French.
The pheasant had vanished, but the peacock was now squatting on the wall and his lost-soul wail followed me all the way back through the gardens.
9
Hot Beds
I didn’t go back to the flat, since I had with me the small rucksack which did duty as a handbag. I skirted round the end of Lavender Cottage and drove off over the humpbacked bridge. There were few people about and luckily I met no other traffic on the narrow lane to the main road. This time, opposite the layby near the end of it with the bus stop, I noticed a sign for Cross Ways Farm …
I was in Great Mumming before ten and, feeling a little jangled by my talk with Ned and having to drag up the past again, I had coffee and a giant apple and custard Danish pastry in a teashop in the market square, where I’d parked. The coffee was good and I felt better for the sugar rush, even if a bit sticky.
I needed to stock up my larder with a few basics that had become indispensable to me since I moved to France. I’d learned to cook quite a lot of French recipes, though mostly not Cordon Bleu. I was more of a bean-rich cassoulet kind of girl than a Boeuf Bourguignon one. Just as well, because I wouldn’t be able to whip up anything lavish in the kitchenette of the flat, with its mini oven/grill, microwave and two hotplates.
I’d checked my list of things to do while eating the last of the pastry and the first stop was to pop in and see my solicitor, to thank her for all she’d done for me in the last few years and give her my new address, which Elf had included in her email after I’d accepted the job: The Flat, 1 Lavender Row, Jericho’s End. I’d email her with my mobile phonenumber once the SIM card arrived, which it might have done today. It would be odd to have a permanent mobile phone number again.
I’d written it all down in case she wasn’t free, but luckily she had ten minutes before her next client and we could have a chat.
After that I tackled the banking situation. I’d closed my account before I left for France, giving most of what was in it to Treena, so she could pay any solicitor’s bills that came up.
There hadn’t been a huge amount in my bank account, since I’d been transferring most of my wages into Mike’s, to help with the household bills, while he was supposed to be paying money into a building society account ready for when we bought our first house together.
But that was the past, and another country, one I didn’t want to revisit. I decided to open a Post Office bank account instead.
That settled, I went to the supermarket and bought a basic and rugged phone, nothing fancy, and a cheap digital watch. I was just as deadly to watches as I was to phones, maybe even more so, forever dropping them into things, or plunging my arms deep into wet earth or leaf mould before remembering I was wearing one.
I drove the short distance to Treena’s cottage in sunshine, my spirits lifting a little. She’d said she would bring lunch, and I’d bought two gigantic cream horns for afterwards, the kind with buttery crisp flaky pastry cones, filled with thick cream and delicious dark jam at the bottom, a cornucopia of confectionary decadence. We both had a sweet tooth and I hadn’t eaten one of those foryears.
When I’d bought them, that weird kink in my imagination had shown me another of those odd little visions (just as well Ned didn’t know about those …), in which I was wearing one on each side of my head, like Brunhilde in a horned helmet, only stickier.
Flaky.
Treena had only just arrived when I got there and was unwrapping two traditional Lancashire hotpot pies in foil cases, fresh from the bakery oven.
We ate them while they were still hot, peppery and delicious, watched avidly by all the animals, then guzzled the cream horns, too (I didn’tconfess to my earlier giant Danish pastry; it seemed a Miss Piggyness too far), before settling down with a pot of Earl Grey to sort out the laptop and phone.
Treena had transferred everything she wanted from her old laptop to the new and cleaned her stuff off it.
My sim card had arrived too, so after that we unpacked my new phone.
‘I didn’t know they still made phones that basic,’ she said disparagingly.
‘It’s all I need, and I’ve got the laptop now for anything else,’ I said, watching her deft fingers inserting the new sim card. ‘It’ll be great to have a permanent phone number again.’
I’d been a bit paranoid about changing numbers with my phones, but there was no way Mike could find this one out, even if he wanted to. And I certainly wasn’t ever going on social media again. It made me too easy to track down.
‘And I suppose I’ll have to try and get my poor old car through the MOT soon,’ I sighed.
‘There’s a small garage in one of the backstreets here that’s reasonable and they don’t give you that “Oh God, there’s a woman in my workshop” look when you go in.’
