Chapter Eight
I don’t know what I was hoping to find when I typed Rosemary Grey Artist into the search engine on my laptop, but I at least expected to find something . Instead, the internet, in all its infinite wisdom, spits out nothing, not even one crumb of information. Well, I do find a link to a website that’s under construction, but what little text on there is in a language I can’t understand, so I quickly click off.
My email inbox is bursting with unread messages, but I minimise the window, unable to bear reading them. I’ve been avoiding work since I arrived in Lily Vale, and I don’t see that changing any time soon. As far as I’m concerned, they can remain unread, at least until I make some headway on my Rosemary Grey research.
Giving up on the internet, I flick futilely through the pages of the library book I borrowed, as if the words might have magically changed and tell me something new. But nope, the short bio about Rosemary Grey and her work remains the same, offering me no further clues than I already had.
Sighing, I pick up the journal, the old, leather-bound one I unearthed from the garden’s shed. My fingers trail along the textured spine, searching for an inscription, a monogram, anything that might reveal the owner’s identity. There’s nothing but an intricate gilded pattern and a lock without a key.
Carefully, I tug at the cover, trying to break the lock open without serious damage to the journal itself. It’s no use, the lock won’t budge, and I’d hate to wreck the book by ripping it off. I guess I’ll just have to find the key, wherever it is. A good place to start looking would be the shed, it wasn’t immediately obvious last time, but perhaps I just didn’t look properly.
Maybe I can conduct a proper search later, but right now, I fancy a coffee, and not the instant kind my cupboards have to offer. A quick glance out the window tells me I don’t need a coat, the sun is high in the sky and there’s not a cloud in sight, so I head out the door dressed in a simple pale pink t-shirt, jeans and my trainers (though they are still a bit muddy from my last foray to the garden).
Birdsong narrating my way, I stroll down the cobblestone streets of Lily Vale, still quite unable to believe that I’m really here. Just over a week ago, I was packing my whole life into suitcases and boxes, sobbing into one of Nathan’s ratty old t-shirts as I prepared to move back home to my parents. Then I got the call, the one from Lucy.
Well, video call to be specific. Though I’d wiped my tears away and plastered on a brave face, she could tell I’d been crying. Since we started collaborating over a year ago - when I began freelance work for her publishers - we’ve grown very close. Thanks to my perpetual need to overshare, she was somewhat aware of my marital issues, so when she saw me on camera that afternoon, all puffy-eyed and blotchy cheeks, she put two and two together.
That’s when she told me about her neighbour’s rental property, how it was a great deal and I’d love living in Lily Vale. Naturally, I was hesitant, but when I thought about how awful I’d feel going back to my parents, just a stone’s throw away from the townhouse that my husband and I used to share, I said, screw it, why not?
And now I’m here, officially a resident of Lily Vale Village … for the time being, at least.
Who knows how long I’ll stay here - I came with no plan, and I still haven’t got one in development. One thing’s for sure though, if I don’t pull myself together and start getting on with my work, I won’t have a choice but to beg for my old room at Mum and Dad’s, because I won’t be able to pay my rent.
Oh well, perhaps I’ll have a bash at that children’s book this afternoon, but for now, I need coffee.
As I turn down the road, a dirty old wheelbarrow piled high with terracotta plant pots comes into view, and it’s pushed by none other than a certain dour-faced gardener.
Ugh, him.
Shaun is dressed in a grubby pair of grey work trousers and a dark blue t-shirt that pulls taut over his broad chest, showcasing each pectoral muscle in distracting detail. There’s a smear of mud across his cheek, blending almost seamlessly with the dark stubble that shadows his jaw.
My head raised high, I decide to sweep past with a lofty air of nonchalance, stubbornly refusing to divert from my path. As Shaun attempts to manoeuvre the wheelbarrow out of the way to allow us both room on the pavement, one of the plant pots topples and tumbles out - right onto my foot.
‘Ouch!’
‘Oh, I’m sorry!’
Snapping out of his usual stoic, moody manner in an instant, Shaun hurries to apologise, although the whole debacle was kind of my fault. I could have easily stepped off the path to give his wheelbarrow some space, and now look where my pettiness has landed me.
‘Are you okay?’
I wiggle my sore toes, and shockingly, they are still functional. ‘Hm, no thanks to you . And look, your stupid plant pot stained my trainers!’
I point to a dirty smear on the toe of my shoe, though I’m fairly certain it was already there as a result of my failed gardening attempt.
‘They look pretty stained already, if you ask me.’
Ah, there’s that grumpy, rude attitude I’ve become accustomed to. And okay, I know I’m not being Miss Manners right now, but what can I say? This guy just gets on my wick!
‘Well, I didn’t ask you, did I?’
Annoyingly, Shaun can’t be baited, and he simply shrugs his shoulders and carries on his merry way.
Arms folded, I scowl at his back as he walks off, his stupid wheelbarrow in tow. Then it hits me - inspiration like a sharp bolt of lightning … as well as a dose of crippling doubt.
I can’t ask Shaun to help me, can I? I’m pretty sure he hates my guts, and I’m not exactly captain of his fan club, either. But he is a professional gardener, and if ever I needed one of those, well, the time is now.
‘Hey, wait!’ I call after him before I lose my nerve.
Shaun takes one defiant step forward before pausing and glancing over his shoulder. ‘Yes?’
‘I - I need your help.’ The words catch in my throat, and it’s a struggle to get them out. ‘With a garden.’
‘I’ve already mowed your lawn this week,’ he sighs, rubbing wearily at his forehead. ‘If you want something special doing, you’ll have to take it up with Victor -’
‘No, not my garden, it’s a different one.’ I draw a deep breath, glancing around to make sure no one is within earshot. ‘A secret one.’
I expected him to laugh at me, but intrigue washes over Shaun’s face. ‘What do you mean?’
Suddenly bold, I grab hold of his wrist. ‘Let me show you.’
After hauling the wheelbarrow into his van, Shaun agrees to my proposal with predictable resistance. Still, to his credit, he doesn’t protest when I drag him up the Heather Hills and through the chaos of the trees, he seems perfectly content to go along for the ride. In fact, he seems pretty invested in our journey, asking questions all the way.
‘Did you come up here on your own?’
‘Yes,’ I reply, breathless from the steep climb. ‘Spare me the lecture about how it’s not safe up here, I’ve heard it from Victor already.’
But when we stop by the walled garden, shrouded in its blanket of thick, verdant foliage, Shaun falls silent. That is, until he ventures forward and reaches his hand through the leaves to touch the old gate. He turns to me, eyes bright and wide.
‘This is it, then?’ he asks, his voice low with reverence. ‘Your secret garden?’
‘It’s not mine, it’s Rosemary Grey’s. At least, I think it’s hers.’
‘Who?’
‘Never mind, I’ll tell you later. Let me show you inside.’
The rusted gate squeals and creaks as I push it hard, finding it even stiffer than last time. More weeds have grown over it again, but I persevere, despite the splinters of sharp paint that flake off into my hands. Behind me, I sense Shaun step forward but before he can offer to help, I try one last shove and the grip of the weeds finally gives, allowing the gate to swing open.
The sickly sweet scent of flowers and rotted leaves hits me in a humid cloud. It looks more decrepit than I remembered, despite the fact it’s only been a week or so since I was here last. At my side, I hear Shaun’s breath hitch.
‘I see.’ He sucks his teeth and ventures further into the wilderness of the garden. ‘Now I understand why you needed my help so badly.’
‘Do you think it’s beyond help, though?’ I watch him anxiously as he picks his way through the masses of foliage, stooping to examine the greenery and yank out a handful of weeds. ‘Is it dead?’
‘Nope, it’s still very much alive.’ A single rose head pokes through the knot of weeds and he cradles it gently between his fingers. ‘It just needs some tender loving care. A lot of tender loving care, actually, and a hell of a lot of man hours.’
Hands behind my back, I coyly sidle up to him, chewing at my bottom lip. ‘Well, will you help me?’
Shaun is silent as he surveys the garden, hands on his hips while he inhales deeply. Then he brings his attention to me, the subtlest hint of a smile dancing across his lips.
‘Yeah, I’ll help you.’ He looks back at the ruined garden again and a bark of laughter escapes him. ‘I’ve lived in Lily Vale my entire life and I never knew this was here. How did I not know?’
‘I don’t think anyone does, or at least, no one I’ve spoken to,’ I tell him. ‘I believe it might have belonged to a woman called Rosemary Grey.’
Unexpectedly, his eyes sparkle like magic in the golden sunlight as he nods eagerly. ‘Rosemary Grey, you mentioned her earlier. So who was she?’
‘She was an artist, I read about her in a book I borrowed from the library.’
‘Okay, but what makes you think this place was hers?’
‘I found some artwork in the shed over there.’ I point to the wooden structure at the other end of the garden, past the stone arbour. ‘It looked just like a piece I saw on the wall of the bakery, and Mr Jenkins told me it was an original Rosemary Grey, a local artist.’
‘Wait, if she’s a local artist, can’t we just look her up and get in touch with her?’ Shaun asks excitedly, invested in the mystery. ‘I’m sure she’d be thrilled to hear we’re so eager to fix it up. It would be an awful shame to leave a magnificent garden in such a sorry condition, after all.’
Solemnly, I shake my head. ‘We can’t reach her. Apparently, she just left Lily Vale without a trace, no one knows what happened to her.’ I hold my arms out, gesturing to our surroundings. ‘Which would explain the state of this place.’
Once again, Shaun looks around in silence, the only sound the soft rustle of wind through the leaves and a gentle chirping of birds.
‘Well, it’s not going to be an easy feat, but I’m game.’ He pulls out a small notebook and pen from his jeans pocket. ‘We should make a plan straight away.’
Blinking in confusion, I stammer my response. ‘A - a plan? I kind of figured we would just pull all the weeds out and maybe look at fixing the swing, or something.’
The gawp on Shaun’s face suggests that he believes I’ve gone quite mad.
‘You need a plan when you take on a project like this, Ruth. It would be downright foolish to just leap in headfirst.’
Huffily, I cock my chin. ‘Well, I guess I’m a fool then.’
‘Not what I meant.’ He chews on the end of his pen and scratches out a quick sketch. ‘Now, we could drag out all these bushes and replace them with raised flowerbeds, maybe get some paths carved out, square off the hedges so they are all uniform and tidy -’
‘Hang on!’ I interrupt, irritated. ‘This is my project, and I don’t want it to be all neat and boring like every other garden.’
‘Well, I’m the professional, and I know what looks good.’ He smirks. ‘Besides, it’s our project now.’
Scoffing, I flick at his sketchbook dismissively. ‘You might be the professional, but you’re wrong wrong wrong. We need to retain its wild charm, that’s what’s so special about this place.’
Now it’s Shaun’s turn to scoff. ‘ Wild charm? This garden is an utter wreck, and you want to keep it that way?’
‘Of course not!’ I argue back, planting my feet firmly before him. ‘But I think things look good when nature takes over a bit.’
‘Well, it’s my job to tame nature, and trust me, I know what I’m talking about.’
‘So do I! ’ Indignant, I throw my arms out at my sides. ‘I mean, there’s something magical about this place … don’t you feel it?’
I didn’t expect him to quit arguing, but he shuts up long enough to breathe in the enchanting atmosphere and listen to the sweet melody of nature all around us. Finally, he turns back to me, that twinkle returning to his grass-green eyes.
‘Yeah, I do.’
Suddenly shy, I glance at the ground and toe the floor awkwardly. ‘Well, I don’t want to lose that,’ I mumble into my chest, daring to look up at Shaun.
To my astonishment, he smiles gently. ‘We won’t, I promise.’