The Insistent Garden by Rosie Chard

profile. “Dotty, do you think you can love a person you’ve never met?”
    â€œOh, yes,” she replied, smiling broadly. “Most definitely.”

    The groups of houses thinned and fields filled every view, lining the flat-topped hills with swaths of grass that disappeared beneath groups of trees before emerging again on the other side. The car slid inside a fold in the hills and Dotty started to crunch through the gears as we navigated the slopes, the engine growling on the up, before emitting a wild whistle from somewhere by the spare tyre on the way down. Piles of wild geraniums lined the road like spectators in a bicycle race; they slumped forward ahead of the approaching car then arched backwards in the small wind that slid out from under the wheels. The hills grew higher with each bend in the road, and I felt a sachet of vomit form at the back of my throat. “Dotty, could you slow down a bit?”
    â€œOh, sorry, yes. It’s not far now.”
    The road narrowed, more flowers flopped onto the edges of the tarmac and nettles stung the sides of the car. We drove on, only slowing when branches began to tap the windscreen. A groan from the handbrake marked the end of our journey.
    â€œWhere are we?”
    â€œYou’ll see.”
    â€œBut, are we there ?”
    My companion rummaged in her handbag. She pulled out a pair of leather gloves and then levered her body out of the car, her skirt zip pulling angrily at its seams. “Come on, darling. This way.”
    A vague feeling of unease came over me as I scuttled behind Dotty’s green-clad figure. It was hard to keep up and I felt relief when a wide stone wall came into view between the trees.
    â€œCan you climb?” asked Dotty.
    â€œClimb?”
    â€œUp and over.” She flashed a smile and pointed at the wall.
    â€œIs this the way in?”
    â€œ Our way in,” she replied, conspiratorially.
    The zip at the back of Dotty’s skirt loomed into view again, straining against its stitches as she bent down to pick up a log. She shook out terrified woodlice then placed it against the base of the wall. Finally, with a hitch of her skirt, she scrambled over — her heels slipping from her shoes — and emerged on the other side, straightened her jacket and brushed lichen off her shoulder.
    â€œCome on, darling. We don’t want to be spotted.”
    My body had a lightness to it as I climbed up onto the wall. The stone cap was fat like a horse and I straddled it for a second, not caring that one of my shoes had fallen off on the other side. I caught a glimpse of a large grey house through the trees; solid and majestic, it matched the stone horse I sat upon. “Is that the manor?” I said.
    â€œThat’s her. Quite lovely, isn’t it?”
    â€œHow do we get to the garden?”
    â€œCome down and I’ll show you.”
    Dotty walked fast for someone so stout and I was rushing to catch up — concentrating on the back of her speeding ankles — when she came to an abrupt halt. “We’re here.”
    I clutched her sleeve. “Dotty! The garden!”
    My view cut through a wooden doorway, down towards a valley, half hidden by trees. Mown grass dotted with bushes dominated the area closest to us, but further down pieces of garden had broken loose from the hill and fallen into a depression at the base of the slope. I could see fragments of it, an ancient tree hugging a younger sibling, a troupe of dusty pink valerian poking out from beneath a collapsed peony. A path eked away into blue distance.
    â€œSee that,” said Dotty, pointing upwards.
    I looked up to see an inscription carved into the top of the doorway.
    A gardyn walled al with stoon
So fair a gardyn wot I nowhere noon.
    â€œIt’s. . . oh, let’s go in!” I released Dotty’s sleeve.
    â€œWait. Edith, close your eyes.”
    â€œI’d rather not.”
    â€œJust for a