Page 13 of The Twilight Garden

She could hear a series of shouted exclamations, the voice which made them becoming louder as it neared until Willow suddenly appeared at her now open door. Gemma scrambled to sit up, clutching at the covers as she tried to push the dog away.

‘Gemma, I’m so sorry! That dog has no manners at all and he— Mulligan… get down!’

Willow came forward to grab the dog’s collar, attempting to haul him off the bed, even though the dog clearly had not finished his extensive greeting of Gemma.

Gemma swiped at her face, attempting to rid it of saliva and the awful smell which came with it. ‘You didn’t tell me you had a dog.’

‘We don’t. He belongs to a friend of ours. He gets a bit excited when he’s meeting new people, but once he gets to know you, he’s fine. He is a bit… big, though.’

‘Big? He’s huge!’

‘He’s mostly golden retriever, we think. But there’s a bit of something else in there as well, I reckon.’

‘Yeah… horse,’ replied Gemma, finally managing to push the dog from the bed. She reached for the duvet, suddenly aware of her less-than-glamorous pyjamas. And the fact that they had llamas printed all over them.

‘He shot through the door before I could stop him,’ said Willow, her face full of apology. ‘I’m so sorry… But I hope you managed to sleep okay before it was rudely interrupted?’

‘I did, actually,’ replied Gemma, belatedly realising how true this was. She’d had the best night’s sleep in ages. In fact… She scrambled to look at her phone. ‘Blimey, is that the time? I never sleep this late…’ Now it was her turn to look apologetic. ‘Not making a great first impression, am I? Sorry, I bet you’ve been up for ages.’

Willow smiled. ‘I have… but that’s because I’m an early riser anyway. And whatever time you get up is fine, honestly. Otherwise we’d feel horribly like we were ordering you about.’

‘Even so…’ Gemma stared at the dog who was now lying on the floor, breathing heavily as if he was out of puff. ‘I’ll get up now.’

Willow nodded. ‘Come on then, Mulligan, out. Time you went and found your master.’

Gemma stared at her, suddenly taking notice of the dog’s name. ‘What did you call him?’

‘Mulligan,’ replied Willow, smiling. ‘Kind of suits a big oaf like him, doesn’t it?’ She frowned. ‘Is everything okay?’

Gemma pulled a smile back onto her face. ‘Yes, fine… It’s just an unusual name.’

Willow looked perplexed. ‘I’ve never really thought about it…’ She shooed the dog through the door. ‘I’ll put the kettle on, shall I? What do you like to drink in the morning?’

‘Oh, coffee, please,’ replied Gemma immediately. ‘Black, and very strong.’ She paused. ‘Um… would it be possible to have a quick shower? I wasn’t sure about the water situation.’

‘It’s fine,’ said Willow, much to Gemma’s relief. ‘We try not to waste water where we can, but believe me, once you’ve been here a few days you’ll realise that the shower is a necessity. Or maybe it’s just me… I always seem to come in covered in mud.’ She paused by the door, her hand very firmly on Mulligan’s collar. ‘I’ve put a set of towels out in the bathroom for you – the blue ones – but if you need more, there are plenty in the cupboard. Just help yourself.’

Gemma swung her legs over the side of the bed. ‘Thank you. I won’t be long.’

The kitchen was filled with the most incredible aroma when Gemma entered it some twenty minutes later. Coffee and something else, something savoury… ‘Is that bread I can smell?’ she asked. ‘Real bread?’

Willow turned from the counter where she was standing. ‘It is,’ she said. ‘I used to joke that Rowan’s bread-making skills were one of the reasons I married him, but I think it might actually be true. Would you like some for breakfast?’

Thankfully there was now no sign of Mulligan. ‘Please,’ answered Gemma. ‘That would be lovely. But let me fetch it… just show me where everything is.’

Willow smiled. ‘Okay… but not until tomorrow. Today, I shall wait on you. It’s the least I can do. Toast, is it? How many slices?’

‘Two? Is that okay?’

‘Of course,’ replied Willow. ‘There’s coffee in the pot, if you’d like to help yourself.’ She directed Gemma to the table, where a collection of mugs lay ready and waiting. There was also a selection of jars, all different sizes and topped with red-checked covers instead of lids. She peered at the labels: rhubard and ginger jam, bramble jelly, apple cinnamon butter (whatever that was), and Rowan’s rum marmalade. They were clearly homemade.

‘The apple butter is particularly good,’ said Willow, noticing the direction of Gemma’s look. ‘It’s a bit like a curd, but… more buttery. Obviously…’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Plus, I made it, and although Rowan’s marmalade is pretty darn perfect, it’s not as good as that.’ She grinned, cheeky and mischievous. ‘At least, I think so.’

Gemma returned the smile. ‘I shall be sure to try it.’ She glanced at her watch. It was just after ten. ‘You’ve probably already done a whole heap of jobs,’ she said. ‘But what would you like me to do once I’ve finished my breakfast?’

‘Well, the hens will have just about finished laying now. Would you like to collect the eggs? And then I can give you a proper tour of the place. The kitchen gardens – some of which you’ve seen – but also what Rowan has been working on. He’s rigging up some solar panels with the friend I mentioned, the one who helped us build the house. He’s a bit of a guru when it comes to that kind of stuff.’

Gemma nodded. ‘Sounds good, although chickens are a complete mystery to me, I’m afraid. I’m not even sure I’ve seen a live one up close – mine normally come on a plastic tray wrapped in clingfilm.’ She paused. ‘How do you, um…’ She drew a line across her neck. ‘I’m not sure I could…’