Chapter Twenty Seven
The printer whirs as it releases fifty sheets of paper in slow succession, each one bearing the brightly coloured words: Grand Opening - Rosemary’s Grey’s Lost Garden.
Jane the librarian sidles up to me as I gather the posters into my arms, and she peers curiously at them.
‘Rosemary Grey, that’s the person you were researching weeks back, isn’t it?’
‘Gosh, you’ve got a good memory!’ I smile. ‘Yes, it is. It’s a long story, but she had a beautiful walled garden up in the Heather Hills, and me and a … a friend have been restoring it. It’s finally ready for visitors so we’re putting on a special art event this weekend.’
‘Ooh, how marvellous! I’d love to take my niece and nephew along, could I have one of those posters to pin on the noticeboard?’
‘Please do!’
I bear a grin so wide it makes my face ache, but inside my gut, there’s a deep, dark hole. By all accounts, I should be in great spirits. The mystery is solved, all the burning questions surrounding Rosemary have been answered and the garden is looking wonderful and is ready to be opened to the public - so why do I feel like someone just tore my heart from my chest and stamped on it in stilettos?
Muffling a sigh with pursed lips, I sit down at a table and lift Rosemary’s journal from my bag. I’ve taken to carrying it around, and whenever I need some words of wisdom or just a bit of comfort, I peek inside. Slowly, I leaf through the pages, allowing them to lightly fan my face. I’ve read it cover to cover now, and honestly, it feels as though she’s one of my closest friends. When I look through her entries, it’s as if I’m having a conversation with a mate or a sister, and I only wish I’d been around when she was going through all this stuff with Ronald to offer her advice. Perhaps she could have helped me navigate my predicament too.
I abruptly halt my flicking through when I catch sight of that oh-so-familiar quote - Through the harshest winters, the snowdrop prevails.
Shaun’s face invades my mind’s eye and I suck in a breath. The bench was a wonderful gesture, so sweet and thoughtful. I suppose that’s what freaked me out, I’m not used to thoughtfulness, certainly not from a man.
But Shaun isn’t just any man, he’s kind and passionate and beneath the armour of stoicism and aloofness, he’s the warmest, most genuine person I’ve ever known. I bury my face in the journal and groan. It probably took a lot of courage for him to let down his guard and show me that specially commissioned bench, and I ran off like a coward.
What am I so afraid of? I want Shaun to care for me the way I care for him, and surely this gift shows that I truly mean something to him. Even if it wasn’t a romantic gesture, it came from the heart, and who knows where that could lead? Shaun may have learned to let down his defences, but mine are still well and truly up and fortified. Nathan leaving broke me, I’ve only just started to build myself back up, if I let Shaun in, how can I guarantee I won’t end up destroyed once more?
I guess I can’t. No one can.
With a quick wave goodbye to Jane, I go along my merry way. My trek around Lily Vale takes me to the florist, the haberdashers, the bakery and the village hall, and each of the proprietors allows me to stick my poster up in either the windows or on the designated notice boards. I conclude my mission at the Cosy Little Tearoom, deciding to treat myself to a caramel latte and cookie while I’m at it.
‘Can I put this up in the window?’ I ask Holly, proffering the poster. ‘It’s for the grand re-opening of Rosemary Grey’s Lost Garden.’
‘Go for it, the sticky tape is behind the counter.’ She waves a hand at me, busy wiping down the tables. ‘Dad’s been telling me all about your restoration project. You’ve caused quite a stir around the village in the short time you’ve been here.’
Spluttering as I retrieve the tape, I hide my blushing cheeks behind lengths of blonde hair. ‘Oh, hardly.’
‘No, it’s true. No one had even heard of this fabled garden before you came along, I can’t believe it’s been hidden up there for all these years and no one stumbled across it.’
‘Well, it’s not the easiest place to find, unless you’ve been a couple of times. It was sheer fluke that I happened upon it.’
Holly shrugs, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. ‘Maybe it was destiny.’
Her words circle my thoughts as I make my way home, and when I open up my laptop and check my emails, I begin to wonder whether Holly might possess some sort of mystical power.
Hi Ruth,
As mentioned, we were very impressed with your illustrations for Jimmy’s Red Balloon, we wondered if you would be interested in working on another of our latest publications.
This is another children’s book, The Enchanted Garden, its target audience is readers aged five to eight years old.
If this is something you would like to collaborate with us on, please get in touch and I can send you the full manuscript.
Kind regards,
Hank Trotman, Starlight Publishing.
Mouth agape, I gawp at the printed words on my laptop’s screen. The Enchanted Garden - what are the odds? That’s got to be some sort of sign from the universe, right?
Elated, I type out a double-quick email, letting Hank know that of course I’d be interested in working together again, and that I love the sound of the book and am eager to get started. By the time I’ve made myself a cup of tea and a round of toast, he’s replied with the manuscript.
I spend the entire afternoon sketching out illustrations, using my drawings of Rosemary’s garden as references. Inspiration flows through my fingers like water and before I know it, it’s dark outside.
Satisfied with my efforts, I place my art supplies carefully on the coffee table - ready and waiting for tomorrow - and head into the kitchen in search of something to eat. I did a big shop at the beginning of the week, but honestly, I just fancy a comforting plate of cheesy beans on toast, all washed down with a big cup of tea.
After my simple yet tasty dinner, I settle down into bed, thinking of the weekend ahead. It’s only a couple of days away now, I’ve been working towards the garden’s completion for over a month, and yet, I’m feeling conflicted. What am I going to say when I see Shaun again? Every time I try to plan out a grand speech, my brain and my heart get all muddled up and I can’t even string a tangible sentence together. I’m not sure I even know what I want anymore.
At the open window, a familiar click-click-chirrup stirs me from my troubles, and I turn to see Colin perched on the sill, a silver pop tab sticking out from his beak. He drops it down and looks at me with expectant eyes.
‘Thanks, mate,’ I giggle as I pick up his offering and place it on my bedside table. ‘Nice to see you again.’
He hops closer, bending his head as if inviting me to stroke him. Tentatively, I reach out my head to touch his back, and to my surprise and delight, he doesn’t flinch or back away. His feathers are soft and downy, it feels as though I’m dragging my fingers through cotton wool.
‘What do you think, Colin?’ I ask wearily. ‘Should I stay or should I go?’
Colin clicks and stares at me, as if the answer to my question is obvious. Maybe it is.