The Secrets of Ivy Garden: A heartwarming tale perfect for relaxing on the grass. Catherine Ferguson

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СКАЧАТЬ chocolate orange cakes. Every time I go home to Cirencester I have to take her half a dozen.’

      I try to smile, but tears well up.

      ‘Oh, what’s wrong?’ She looks horrified. ‘Have I put my foot in it again?’

      ‘No, no, not at all. It’s me. It’s the cake.’ I stop and force myself to take a slow breath in and out. ‘Memories,’ I say eventually, in a calmer voice.

      ‘Ah, yes.’ She nods. ‘They can pounce at the most inopportune moment.’ She glances across at the only occupied table, where a dark-haired woman in a gold jumpsuit and heels sits nursing a cup, glancing from time to time at the door. ‘Listen, I’ll be closing up in twenty minutes or so. Why not have a cup of tea? On the house.’ She holds out her hand. ‘I’m Connie, by the way.’

      ‘Holly.’ We shake hands rather formally then, for some reason, we both laugh.

      Frankly, I’m all tea-d out. It’ll probably be a decade from now and we’ll have had five new prime ministers before I have my next real urge for a cuppa. But I’m sensing the tea is not the point.

      ‘That would be lovely, thank you.’ I smile at Connie and she ushers me through a panel on hinges to her side of the counter. ‘Is this your shop?’

      She nods. ‘Sort of. It’s a family business that my granddad started up about – ooh, a million years ago.’ She grins. ‘And now my mum and dad manage it. They’ve left me in charge while they tackle the tax return.’

      ‘Well, I think it’s lovely.’ I glance around, admiring the décor. ‘So cosy and welcoming.’

      Connie looks pleased. ‘Thank you. You’ve just moved into Moonbeam Cottage, haven’t you?’ She hands me a cup of tea and a little jug of milk. ‘I’m so sorry about Ivy. She was such a lovely woman.’

      ‘Thank you. Yes, she was. I’m only staying in the cottage temporarily.’ Then I grin. ‘The grapevine’s certainly alive and well, then. Does the whole village know who I am and when I moved in?’

      She laughs. ‘Absolutely everyone.’

      I assume she’s joking. At least, I hope she is. The door opens and we both turn.

      A woman in a cute pink dress with long, shiny chestnut hair and enviably slim, tanned legs steps daintily over the threshold and glances around her. She spots her friend, breaks into a relieved smile and clacks over in her cream skyscraper shoes.

      ‘Selena? Are you all right?’ The gold jumpsuit woman peers up at her. ‘You look … harassed, if you don’t mind me saying?’

      ‘It’s Selena. Emphasis on the first syllable, remember?’ She gives a little tinkly laugh, as if it doesn’t really matter.

      ‘Oh God, of course. Selena. Sorry. I’ve been calling you Seleena for ages. You should have said.’

      ‘No matter.’

      ‘What’s her name?’ whispers Connie in my ear.

      I grin. ‘Plain old Selena, I think, but pronounced differently?’

      Selena brushes something off the chair and sits down gingerly, as if it might be about to fall apart. ‘Moira, you just wouldn’t believe the nightmare I’ve had.’

      Moira groans and crosses her eyes comically. ‘I have nightmares every day living in cute-village-land. The boredom levels – God! I said to Roger the other night, As soon as the smalls have buggered off, we’re upping sticks and moving back to civilisation! I mean, it’s all right for him, escaping to bloody London every weekday, but it’s me who’s stuck in this hellhole twenty-four-seven.’ She pats her perfectly teased and lacquered hair-do. ‘Anyway, you were saying. Nightmare …?’

      Selena nods. ‘Well, I was told there was a shortcut through the park -– via someone’s makeshift garden, weirdly.’ She glances frostily back at us, and Connie and I – standing at the end of the counter – instantly become fascinated by the dregs in our cups.

      ‘But with my sense of direction being so appalling, I ended up in a bloody field, didn’t I? In these shoes. So then I was chased by a herd of frigging sheep!’ The last word comes out as an exasperated squeak. ‘Had an entire field of the little woolly fuckers running at me, baa-ing.’

      ‘God. Yes. Been there.’ Moira shakes her head. ‘It’s not “baa”, you know. It’s more like “brains”, if you really listen.’

      ‘Is it?’ Selena cocks her head to one side. ‘Oh yes, I see what you mean. Brai-ai-ains. Ha! And they all look the same, don’t they? Like little woolly zombies. Had to kick my shoes off and run like hell.’

      Moira sighs. ‘I don’t mind the sheep so much. But the cows.’ She shakes her head. ‘They are evil bastards.’

      Beside me, Connie snorts and quickly turns it into a cough. I dig her in the ribs and she picks up her notepad and pen and goes over to take their order.

      As she assembles a tray of peppermint teas, she motions to me to top up our cups. ‘Then we can hear what else they think of the village,’ she murmurs with a wicked grin, glancing over at Selena, who’s examining her nails while her friend is in the Ladies.

      I raise my eyebrows in mock disapproval. ‘Do you listen in to all the customers’ gossip, then?’

      ‘Oh, absolutely.’ She points at her nose. ‘I blame this for my nosy tendencies. What’s the point of having a big one if you can’t make it work for you?’

      I laugh and study her as she stands at the drinks machine, watching boiling water hiss into a white teapot. She’s about mid-twenties with huge expressive brown eyes and an impish smile. The nose in question is what some people might term ‘handsome’.

      ‘It suits you,’ I say truthfully. ‘Your nose, I mean.’

      ‘Thanks.’ She flares her nostrils and gives me a profile pose. ‘There’s a fair few hooters like this in my family. We got them from my darling granddad, who still gets “Beaky” from his friends, bless him. Actually, we like to call them “strong” noses.’

      Laughing, I point at a small mole just below my breastbone. ‘I got this from Ivy. Apparently my mum had one in exactly the same place. We like to call them “beauty spots”.’

      Connie laughs and carries the tray of drinks over.

      I touch my ‘beauty spot’ wistfully. My family might be gone, but it’s a sort of comfort to know that in hundreds of little ways, they still live on in me. They will always be a part of me.

      Moira bursts out of the Ladies. ‘So whose garden is this shortcut through?’ she asks Selena, continuing the conversation where she left off. ‘I must say, I’ve never heard of it and we’ve lived here – ooh, nearly a whole sodding year now.’

      Selena shrugs. ‘No idea. Never found it. Belongs to some old biddy with a gap in her hedge, apparently.’

      My heart misses a beat.

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