Page 42 of The Twilight Garden

‘Yeah, that’s what I first thought. But look at all the damage that was done, the amount of things that were broken. That was not a quiet exercise…’

‘I’m sorry, I don’t really follow.’

‘The two things are at odds with one another. Why not smash a window when you were about to smash everything else up too? Why opt to do something the quiet way when you then didn’t seem to care at all about the noise you were making?’ She held out the screws in her hand. ‘The shelf brackets these belonged to were on the floor, in different places, one right across the other side of the room. The shelves were scattered, too. But you know what state the walls are in – just like the windows, a good tug would have pulled the shelves clean off. But if that had happened, the walls would have been damaged, bits of plaster would have come down, but they hadn’t. I don’t think the shelves were pulled down at all. I think the screws were removed and they were lifted down and made to look as if the opposite had happened.’

Leo scratched his chin. ‘But why would anyone do that? It’s barmy.’

‘It’s not if you didn’t actually want to make a noise. That I can understand. You wouldn’t want to be caught if you’d broken into someone’s property. But if that was the case, why go to all the trouble of making it seem like senseless vandalism?’

Leo held her look, his eyes widening in astonishment. ‘To hurt,’ he said. ‘You’d do it if you really wanted to hurt someone.’

15

The next morning came far too soon. Gemma’s head was too full to sleep soundly. Too excited about the garden and too preoccupied with thoughts about Leo sleeping in a make-do bed in the cold. Just as he had done all those years ago. Or possibly as she had forced him to do… Those years were all such a tangle of memories, and what she had seemed absolutely certain of back then – what was irrefutable, and impossible to get past – had become nebulous over time, diffuse, until she could no longer trust what she did remember, and the reasons for her actions seemed to slip further and further away from her. What with that and numerous flights of fancy about a garden that was a long way from being anything but a mess, she felt exhausted when the dawn slipped into her room.

But the coffee pot was already on the go when she arrived in the kitchen, and she gratefully helped herself to a mug. Rowan was cutting huge doorsteps from a fresh loaf of bread and a tray of pastries rested at his side. She sat down next to Willow, who was already eating, and groaned.

‘Yeah, me too,’ said Willow. ‘Why is it that some mornings are so much harder than others?’ She smiled. ‘Didn’t you sleep? I don’t know about you, but my head was too full of stuff.’

Gemma nodded. ‘Sounds about right.’ She obviously wasn’t going to mention her thoughts about Leo, but the garden… ‘I’ve got something to tell you,’ she said, laying her notebook on the table. ‘But we need to wait until we’re all here.’

‘Sounds mysterious,’ commented Rowan.

Willow leaned forward. ‘Is it about the garden?’ she asked. ‘Have you found out something?’

Gemma couldn’t help the wide grin which split her face. ‘I have. Rather a lot of somethings, actually.’

‘Then Leo had better jolly well hurry up,’ said Willow. ‘Or I’ll go and wake him up myself.’

‘I don’t think you’ll need to do that,’ said Rowan, gesturing out the window. ‘He’s here now.’

Right on cue, the back door opened and Mulligan came bounding through, followed rather less enthusiastically by his master.

‘Talk of the devil,’ said Rowan.

Leo looked quizzical. ‘Who, me?’ he said, running a hand through his hair. ‘Why? What have I done?’ How was it that he could camp in a derelict farmhouse and still look like he did, when Gemma’s face was showing every one of her forty-two years, plus about ten extra.

‘Gemma has some news for us about the garden,’ said Willow. ‘We were just waiting for you, that’s all.’

‘Oh, right.’ Leo plonked himself down next to Gemma, while Mulligan, determined to get as close to her as possible, sat on her feet. ‘Well, I’m here now.’

Rowan set down a mug on the table in front of him. ‘Coffee first,’ he said firmly. ‘With toast to follow. There are croissants, too.’

‘Try them with some of the apple butter,’ said Willow, looking at Leo. ‘I feel so bad about you sleeping in the old farmhouse that I’m determined to make sure you have a decent breakfast. I’ve only ever made croissants once or twice before, so they’re a bit lopsided, but buttery and flaky and⁠—’

‘I’m sold,’ replied Leo, smiling broadly.

Eventually, with everyone either eating, drinking or both, Gemma opened her notebook and all eyes turned to her.

‘It’s a fascinating story,’ she began. ‘But it is a little sad, I’m afraid.’

Willow gave a rueful smile. ‘I had a feeling it might be. Houses don’t just disappear without a trace for no good reason.’ She took a bite of toast. ‘Sorry, go on…’

‘So, the original house was built by William Brown for his daughter Anne on the occasion of her marriage in 1785.’

Rowan gave a low whistle. ‘They certainly knew how to do things back then, didn’t they? We got a selection of bath towels and two garlic presses as I recall.’ He dipped his head at his wife’s look. ‘Sorry…’

Gemma grinned. ‘William was big in cotton milling, so he could afford to be flash with his cash. And Anne was marrying the son of an eminent lawyer, who was himself following in his father’s footsteps, so it was considered a very good match. And all was well until, five years later, Anne died giving birth to their only son, a little boy who his father named Thomas. Sadly, the baby only lived for a few days himself and so Edmund, the husband, as you can imagine, sank into’ – Gemma consulted her notebook – ‘and I quote, “a deep well of despair”.’