Page 11 of An Enchanted Moment on Ever After Street
‘Not that part. Just the monster part. A hideous, growling beast who’d throw an old man in a cell just for picking a rose, that’s me.’
Says the man whose attitude towards being stolen from is ‘they need it more than I do’. Something doesn’t add up in the difference between his words and his actions.
‘Thank you for this.’ It sounds like he’s got an entire Custard Cream in his mouth. ‘I can’t remember the last time someone made me a cuppa.’
Really? Is he reallysoalone that he doesn’t have anyone to make him a hot drink? I mean, I can’t remember the last time anyone made me one either, other than Lilith. Does it count if you pay for it and the person owns a tearoom? Probably not.
‘Thank you for the stuff on my gatepost this morning.’ The words don’t get across how touched I am.
‘Ah, it was nothing. I kept thinking about you last night and thought of a few bits that might help.’
‘The rose is beautiful.’
‘Still alive?’
‘Your faith in my ability to keep plants alive is inspiring. I’ve only had it for a day; it would have been pretty difficult to kill it in that time.’
‘Difficult, butnotimpossible.’ He’s laughing as he says it and I end up laughing too, even though I’m sure there’s an insult in there somewhere. He’s got a nice laugh, a deep rumble that wraps around you and makes you want to laugh in response.
‘You seemed daunted by my chainsaw suggestion, so I thought the shears might be less intimidating for a beginner, and we can graduate onto big scary power tools later.’
We. That word warms me to the core, despite the fact there’s a nip in the October air that makes me wish I’d stopped to shrug my coat on in the hurry to get out here. He obviously only means it in a general sense, but it’s the first time in years that I haven’t felt as alone as I do usually.
‘I thought about coming in to make a start last night, but your gate was locked, presumably in case the garden getsoutand terrorises the local population.’
He’s good at unexpected laughs. He seems like quite a serious person, and yet his sense of humour is sarcastic and deadpan, and I never expected him to be as funny as he is. Andthisis exactly why I spent most of the afternoon clock-watching. This weird little connection I feel to this unseen man on the other side of the hedge. ‘It does feel like the garden could eat me alive if it wanted to. It’s a bit like a vampire. I satisfied it with a taste of blood last night, but it won’t be long until it needs more.’
‘Ah yes, vampiric gardens are all the rage these days. It started with Audrey II inLittle Shop of Horrorsand just got worse from there.’
Every conversation with him leaves me wondering how we ended up here, and yet it feels good-natured and teasing. ‘I always thought it fed on the pulled threads of jumpers and the snagged ladders of new tights.’
There’s something so satisfying about getting him to laugh. There’s an essence of surprise in it, like he isn’t used to laughing and it surprises him every time one pops out.
In the quiet, I hear his footsteps approaching the gatepost again and the clink as he puts his empty mug down, and then the rustle of the biscuit packet as he takes another. ‘You make a good cup of tea.’
‘Now that’s a top-tier compliment right there. Most girls would appreciate a comment on their hair, make-up, or style, but not me. I think tea-making skills are sorely underappreciated in this world.’
‘If it helps, I also think your hair looks pretty.’
I finger my short brown hair self-consciously, twisting a few strands around my index finger. Short at the back, longer and straight-ish at the front so it falls over my forehead like a fringe, the kind of dull-brown that doesn’t stand out in any way and has been in the same style for decades, and every time I’ve tried to do something different with it, the promised ‘warm blonde’ highlights have come out neon orange, and the in-between stage of growing it out once made a scarecrow look at me with envy. ‘I didn’t think you’d ever even seen my hair, much less taken any notice of it.’
‘I see you around. Not in a creepy way. Just that youdosee your neighbours, don’t you? You can’t really avoid seeing them from time to time, even if you’re not looking, they’re just there.’He huffs out a long breath. ‘Sorry, I’m useless at talking to people. I hadn’t realised how out of practice I was until today.’
‘Me too. Conversations arehard, right?’
‘Right,’ he agrees. He’s got a local Herefordshire accent in his gruff voice that can be equal parts growly or cheerful, and it makes me want to carry on talking to him.
We’re both lingering. I need to make a start with the shears, and it sounded like he was pruning his flowers before I came out, and yet even though the tea is long gone, we’re both just standing here, next to each other, with a giant overgrown hedge between us.
‘Can I ask you something that’s been bothering me all day?’ I blurt out.
He grunts. ‘Oh, here we go. Let me guess. What’s wrong with you? Why are you such a loner? A weirdo? Why do you wear a scarf even in the summer?’
His voice is harsh, but there’s a sadness in the words that makes me wonder how many times he’s been asked similar inconsiderate questions. ‘How old are you?’
‘Of all the things people want to know about me, that’s never been one of them.’ The sharpness of his laughter is edged with a sigh of resignation, like he knows he’s about to say something he might regret. ‘How old do you think I am?’
‘Flattering or insulting?’
