Page 11 of The Twilight Garden

‘Twenty years ago, perhaps. But I could do with getting a bit fitter, so that’s something, I suppose.’ She swallowed the rest of her tea and munched the last bite of her biscuit. ‘Come on then, let’s get these boxes shifted.’

Cat laid her mug beside the sink, ready to be washed up and packed at the last minute. Wordlessly, she squeezed Gemma’s arm and smiled as if to say you’ve got this. And Gemma could only wish that she had.

Four and a half hours later, Willow met Gemma outside the same tumbledown farmhouse where they’d first talked, now rapidly disappearing in the gloom of early evening. She imagined that night here fell like a cloak of darkest velvet, and had she arrived any later it would have been impossible to find her way without help. Gemma pushed open her car door, fighting down the impulse to turn tail and run. But nearly everything she owned was in storage, and she had left her house keys with the estate agent handling the tenancy – just where exactly would she run to?

‘Hello!’ called Willow. ‘You made it, then.’

Gemma was struggling to lift her bag from the passenger seat. ‘Just about,’ she said. ‘I made good time getting here, but I missed the turning for the track and it took me ages to find somewhere to turn around. I’m sorry if I’m late.’

‘The time doesn’t matter – we’re just very grateful to have you here. I wasn’t entirely sure you’d come.’

Gemma stood in front of her, the other woman’s face still bright with welcome despite the greying light of dusk. ‘I wasn’t entirely sure I would,’ she replied. ‘But thank you for meeting me. I’d never have found the house on my own.’

‘A proper driveway is on our to-do list,’ replied Willow. ‘Although it is quite near the bottom at the moment.’ She screwed up her face. ‘There always seem to be more important things. Plus, when we moved in it was summer, and the winter and the mud kind of crept up on us somehow… Anyway, let’s get inside where it’s warm. Dinner won’t be long.’ She peered inside Gemma’s car. ‘Can I help you carry anything?’

‘I have a suitcase in the boot, but that’s it. I wasn’t sure what to bring and I…’ She was about to pass Willow the bag she was holding so that she could fetch her suitcase, but Willow was already at the rear of the car.

‘I’ll take that,’ she said. ‘You won’t want to put it down, it’s pretty muddy on the path.’

From what Gemma could remember, the term ‘path’ was being overly generous. It suggested paving or a surface of some sort, and unless an awful lot had changed over the past couple of days, the ‘path’ was just the shortest distance from the old farmhouse to where they lived. ‘It’s quite heavy,’ she said. ‘Maybe we should leave it until tomorrow. Perhaps your husband…’

‘It’s no bother,’ replied Willow, already lifting it from the boot.

After a few moments they were on their way – Gemma picking her way carefully through the undergrowth, while Willow sauntered along beside her hugging Gemma’s suitcase to her chest as if it were no more heavy than a bag of potatoes.

‘Rowan’s on dinner duty tonight,’ said Willow as they walked. ‘So you’re in for a treat. I’m the better gardener, but he’s by far the better cook. Unless it’s cakes, then it’s back to me again. But we’re both even when it comes to jam.’

Gemma nodded, trying to store this information. She was nervous about meeting Rowan as it was, and the memory of Cat’s joke about their names certainly didn’t help. She had a picture in her head of how Willow’s husband would look, and if he actually was incredibly tall, with a big red bushy beard and wiry arms – just like his namesake tree – she’d be in so much trouble.

Thankfully, he turned out to be almost the opposite – of average height, with neat black hair, a serious expression and round, wire-rimmed glasses. His smile, however, matched that of his wife.

‘I’m so sorry I wasn’t here to meet you the other day, but you’re very welcome, Gemma. Really, very welcome. We’d almost given up hope of finding anyone mad enough to join us.’

Gemma returned the smile, but her legs were still itching to take her away – anywhere – far, far away. ‘Thank you. And hopefully not too mad.’

Willow batted her husband’s arm. ‘Shh, you’ll scare her off.’ She turned to Gemma. ‘Now, what do you want to do first? Do you need to freshen up, or do you want to take your bags through to your bedroom?’ She pointed to a door in the kitchen which Gemma remembered from her first visit. ‘Either way, let me take your coat.’

‘Um, thanks. Maybe I’ll just pop to the loo.’ She lowered her bag to sit beside her suitcase. ‘It’s this one, is it?’ She pointed to the other door at the rear of the room.

‘Yes, I’ll show you,’ replied Willow, moving past her. ‘It’s not difficult to remember what to do but it can take you unawares if you’re not used to it.’

Gemma stared at her. What on earth was she talking about? Apart from one night on Cat’s birthday which was memorable for all the wrong reasons, Gemma could never recall an occasion when she’d needed help in the bathroom. She looked at Rowan to see if he found Willow’s words as odd as she did, but he had turned away to check the contents of a pot bubbling on the stove.

Willow held the door open for her. ‘Have you ever used a composting toilet before?’

Gemma frowned. ‘A what?’

‘Composting toilet. We rely on a borehole for our water supply, so we conserve what we can. Plus, getting mains water out here would have cost an arm and a leg, so…’ She smiled at Gemma’s perplexed expression. ‘It doesn’t flush,’ she added. ‘So just, um, do whatever, and then add a little sawdust in afterwards. It’s in a tub by the side. Paper goes in as well – it’s quite easy.’

‘Right… thanks.’ Gemma eyed the door at the end of the corridor in astonishment, and not a little dismay. Not surprisingly, Willow had neglected to mention this little gem on Gemma’s initial visit. It made her wonder what else might be in store.

Several minutes later, she re-emerged into the kitchen, plastering a smile on her face. She was a woman of the world; she could handle these things. Perfectly able to take things in her stride. It was all going to be fine…

‘I hope you like curry,’ said Rowan as Gemma picked up her bags from the floor. ‘I wasn’t sure what to cook, but everyone likes curry, don’t they?’

Her back now to him, Gemma silently closed her eyes, trying hard not to imagine the consequences of any potential digestive disagreements. Oh, dear lord… ‘Love it,’ she said weakly.

By the time she returned from her room, Willow was laying the table. ‘Come and sit down,’ she said. ‘Dinner will be about fifteen minutes yet, so I’ve made you some tea. You must have a million questions for us.’