Page 5 of An Enchanted Moment on Ever After Street
‘You can’t blame Mr Rowbotham for being angry about the garden,’ he says when I’ve finished. ‘Anyone can see it’s a disaster zone. Apart from the total chaos of brambles, stinging nettles and giant hogweed, which is invasiveanddangerous if you cut it, you’ve got that ever-increasing patch of Japanese knotweed. If that spreads outside of your property boundary, you’ll be prosecuted and fined, and you’ll need a professional removal expert to get rid of it. Trying to do it yourself will spread it further.’
Why does it seem like I’m the only person in the universe who doesn’t know what Japanese-sodding-knotweed is?
‘Aside from that, you’ve got willowherb spreading in such a quantity that it could be termed a biohazard, and ivy climbing up the walls.’
‘Ivy is pretty. Who wouldn’t want to live in a little cottage covered by ivy?’
‘Ivy sends out roots that drill into cracks in the mortar and cause structural damage to the building.’
‘Oh. Right.’
‘Not to be a killjoy or anything.’ He laughs at how desolate I must sound.
This day just gets better. Although, since he appeared, it inexplicablyhasgot better. There’s something about the way he’s pragmatic and sensible, and clearly knowledgeable about plants. Without realising it, he’s exactly the kind of person I needed to talk to today.
‘I’m sorry about the rest of it though. It’s unfair that they’ve dragged the shop into things. It should’ve just been about the garden.’
‘They’re not wrong,’ I admit eventually. ‘Trade has been quiet lately. I barely earn enough to cover the rent most months. The amount of disposable income customers have got is going down and the price of books is going up, apart from on the big retail websites who can afford to sell them for much cheaper than I can. If I cut prices any more, I’m going to be paying the customer to take books away.’
He laughs. ‘A memorable but rather ineffective marketing strategy.’
I laugh too, but it quickly turns to a groan of hopelessness. ‘I need to make a change. My mum and I used to run the shop together. We had all these plans for marketing and advertising but now it’s just me and it’s all been a bit much. I tweet pictures of my cat into a social media void and hope customers will stumble upon my shop. I do a rotating selection of heavily discounted books every week and most of my sales come from those. My customers are people who are visiting Ever After Street anyway – no one comestovisit the bookshop, I think that’s what the letter is getting at – I don’t pull my weight when it comes to dragging in visitors. I’ve been buried by the grief and I’ve let everything slide, and this letter shows that other people have noticed too. I have to do something about it.’
He’s quiet before he speaks again. ‘May I see the letter?’
The letter is now a scrunched-up ball where I fell on it, and I fish it out of the bramble bush and clamber to my feet and… thehedge separating us is about nine-feet high and so thick that you can’t see through it. Handing a piece of paper over it isn’t going to be easy. ‘Paper aeroplane?’
‘Put it on the gatepost and then walk away.’
The gates at the bottom of our gardens are attached to a shared gatepost, except my gate is at waist height and his is six-feet high, ensuring no one can see into his garden from anywhere. I put the crumpled letter on the flat-topped square post, and then take a couple of steps back, hovering close by, hoping to catch a glimpse of him.
‘That’s not walking away.’
How does he even know? The hedge towers above my head, and although I’m sure it’s neatly trimmed on his side, on my side… well, you could park a couple of double-decker buses in there and no one would be any the wiser. The unruly green branches spring out in every direction, and the whole thing has bowed outwards so it takes up a good chunk of the garden. The gaps between branches are small enough for only the tiniest birds to take refuge in. There’s no way he can actually see through, but I dutifully traipse up the path, and when I look back at the gatepost, the letter is gone.
‘Wow. You really wereangryat this letter.’
I stay quiet, listening to the rustle of paper while he flattens it and reads it.
‘I’m sorry, this is hideously unfair.’ There’s silence for a moment, and the letter reappears on the gatepost without me seeing even so much as a flash of him. ‘Mr Rowbotham always was a dingbat.’
‘Is he your landlord too?’
‘No, I own outright. I bought the building – that was more than enough contact with him for one lifetime.’
‘Must be nice,’ I mutter as I walk down to collect the letter. The thought of being my own boss, of not living a life whereletters like this can turn up at any given moment and knock you totally off course… I wish I could afford that. ‘People say you’re also a gardener at the castle?’
He doesn’t answer. Too personal a question, maybe? I go for something simpler. ‘I’m Marnie, by the way.’
I expect him to introduce himself in return, but he doesn’t. ‘Do you have a name?’
‘Yes.’
Again, I wait for him to do the traditional thing of actually telling me what it is, but he doesn’t.
‘Would you like to share it with the rest of the class?’
He lets out a sharp bark of laughter and then quickly cuts it off as though it wasn’t intended. ‘I see no reason to. We are not friends. I should have gone inside long ago and left you making the elephant seal in labour nois—’
