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

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      ‘The cow.’ Connie throws her a murderous look, which makes me feel a whole lot better. ‘Does she mean the shortcut through Ivy Garden?’

      I nod. ‘You should see it. It’s a disaster after the storms.’

      ‘Really? Oh, what a shame.’

      ‘Does everyone call it Ivy Garden now?’

      ‘Oh, yes. It’s well known in the village. People still pop in there, mainly to remember Ivy and have a quiet moment on the bench.’

      My heart swells with emotion at this.

      Connie touches my arm. ‘Listen, I fancy a hot chocolate with whipped cream. Why not make one for each of us while I wipe those tables? If you can’t work the machine out, give me a shout.’

      I nod gratefully and go over to investigate.

      ‘I’m sure you’ll have Ivy Garden looking gorgeous again in no time,’ she calls.

      I shake my head sadly. ‘I’ve never gardened in my life. I wouldn’t know where to start.’

      ‘Then you’ll just have to learn,’ smiles Connie. She turns to the two women and says pleasantly. ‘Can I get you anything else? No? Oh, and by the way, there’s loads of interesting things going on in the countryside.’

      I swivel round with interest.

      Moira snorts at Selena and murmurs, ‘I thought we all made our own entertainment around here.’

      Connie puts her hands on her hips. ‘I bet you didn’t know that the Women’s Institute organise a film night once a month. With a DVD and a really big TV.’

      I realise she’s joking, but the two women just stare at her in amazement as if she’s one of the woolly zombies.

      Connie turns and winks at me. Then she bustles back behind the counter. ‘Let me know what you think of this shortbread. I baked it this morning; it’s so full of butter, it’s probably against the law. Go on, you know you want to!’

      Moira and Selena leave soon after, but Connie and I linger over our hot chocolates. By the time we’ve finished, I’ve found out all about Connie’s desire to become an infant school teacher – she’s very excited about starting her course in September – and she knows all about my disastrous relationship with my ex, Adam.

      A car draws up outside just as I’m thinking about leaving.

      Connie peers out. ‘It’s Dad. He’s going to be looking after the shop while Mum and I are in Spain.’

      ‘You’re going on holiday?’

      ‘Day after tomorrow.’ She grins. ‘A bit of sun will set me up nicely. Even better, Mum’s paying!’

      ‘You lucky thing!’

      ‘I know. It’s for my granddad, really. He used to go off on walking holidays all the time but he’s been feeling a bit under the weather recently, so this is Mum’s plan to revitalise him.’

      ‘What about your grandma? Does she go, too?’

      Connie looks sad. ‘Oh, she died years ago when Mum was really tiny. I never actually knew her.’

      My heart swells in sympathy. I know how that feels …

      ‘So it’s the three of you?’ I paste on a smile. ‘In Spain for a family holiday? How lovely.’

      Connie laughs. ‘Sharing a room with Mum who likes to be lights out and asleep by ten won’t exactly make for a riotous time – and then there’s all the walks we’ll have to go on to keep Granddad company. But yes, I’m looking forward to it.’

      ‘It sounds like heaven to me,’ I admit, hoping I don’t sound too wistful.

      I’m smiling so hard to show I’m pleased for her that my jaw is starting to ache. It’s just I can’t help thinking about my holidays with Ivy in Blackpool. We could never afford to go abroad but it didn’t really matter. We had fun anyway.

      I knew she also loved the times she spent with her old school friend, Olive, who lived in London. They’d arrange a weekend break somewhere at least once a year, but it was never any more exotic than Bournemouth. Ivy had simple tastes …

       How amazing to be able to take a family holiday totally for granted, the way Connie can …

      The door opens as I’m putting my cup in the dishwasher and three people walk in.

      ‘Hi, folks,’ smiles Connie. After introducing us all, she grabs her mum and granddad, linking her arms through both of theirs and doing a smiley pose for my benefit. ‘Now you can see exactly where I get the, er, handsome nose from.’

      ‘Fortunately, she gets the rest of her good looks from me,’ quips Martin, her dad, who’s over doing something technical with the coffee machine.

      Connie’s mum, a pretty, dark-haired woman called Helen, pretends to be annoyed at their remarks but I can tell she’s not put out at all. Connie’s granddad, who’s tall and rather distinguished-looking, is a bit more reserved. But when Connie says, ‘Holly is Ivy’s granddaughter. She’s staying at Moonbeam Cottage,’ he immediately steps forward to shake my hand warmly and murmur his condolences.

      As I leave, Connie and her mum are chatting about their holiday wardrobes and planning a girls-only shopping trip, and Martin is groaning good-naturedly at the bashing their credit cards are likely to take.

      I walk slowly back to the silence of Moonbeam Cottage, thinking what lovely people they are, and trying to shrug off the weight of sadness that has descended on me after listening to their happy family banter. It was lovely to meet them all, but paradoxically, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so totally alone in my life …

      I glance at my watch. Five hours to while away before I can sensibly go to bed. Food is my usual time-filler these days, but I’m too full of shortbread and hot chocolate to face dinner.

      There’s nothing else for it.

      With a sigh, I switch on the TV and slip Slasher Santa’s Coming to Town into the DVD machine. It will provide welcome background noise, if nothing else – because Moonbeam Cottage suddenly seems more deathly silent than an undiscovered Egyptian tomb.

      Then something weird happens. One of those great big ironies in life.

      No sooner have I had this thought – about the Egyptian tomb – but the air is suddenly split with a great cracking sound that makes me jump a foot in the air.

      It happens again.

      And again.

      I go to the window and look out. It sounds like someone is chopping down a tree – and the noise appears to be coming from the woods over the road.

       Ivy Garden!

      Quick as a flash, I’m over the road to investigate, and as I squeeze through the gap in СКАЧАТЬ