The Garden of Stars Read Online Free PDF Page B

I guess they’ll be like rocket fuel now but I could think of no one better to try them with so I bought ’em down ’ere.’
    Â I took it as a compliment and bought out two glasses. I guessed this wasn’t the type of gin to mix with tonic.
    Â â€˜All right,’ sighed Miss Metford, ‘Let’s pop the old bird open and see how she sings!’
    Â She filled both glasses. ‘Down the hatch, m’dear. ’Fraid that was always the only way with father’s brew – first bottled or forty years on.’
    Â I glanced over at her, she grimaced, and we both crooked the back of our necks and swigged the heavy liquor.
    Â It was as if it hummed in my blood, a humming so loud it shrieked and rattled in my ears. And yet the sweet damsons made it taste so good. It was clear Miss Metford could see how I felt because she grinned, broadly and wickedly.
    Â â€˜The only other way with father’s brew was to have another straight after. Kind of numbs the senses as it were.’
    Â We both took another slug and I felt my head hit the kitchen table. ‘I don’t think I can drink anymore,’ I said.
    Â â€˜Don’t be silly girl, the night’s young, you’ll want more once the initial shock has subsided.’
    Â She began to talk of how her father had spent many years cultivating the damson trees until they grew fabulously large fruit. Only at that point did he realise he didn’t actually like damson pie or jam.
    Â â€˜All those years of hard work, of love and dedication to those spindly branches of his turned into a taste he quite despised. Instead, he decided to put the humble, vile-tasting damson to better use, turning its fruit into alcohol.
    Â â€˜My father liked a tipple but he begrudged paying large sums for bottles of whisky. Suddenly here was an opportunity to brew his own. He simply couldn’t resist.’
    Â Apparently his new passion became all consuming. Every day he would check the temperatures, corks, fruit, and sugar levels.
    Â â€˜It got to the stage we hardly ever saw him.’ Miss Metford said. ‘That’s why it wasn’t strange when he went missing for a few days. Everyone just assumed he was down in the cellar with his damsons in distress. Of course, he was. But unfortunately he was dead.’
    Â I nearly choked on what I’d just drunk. Dead man’s damson gin? Seeing that melancholy look in Mary Metford’s eyes again, I grabbed the bottle and poured us both another.
    Â â€˜Thank you, m’dear. He certainly did a good job with this one. He’d have been proud of this.’
    Â At this point Whisper came sauntering into the room, purring and weaving his tail around my legs. I was quite glad of the distraction.
    Â â€˜Ah yes, Whisper,’ sighed Miss Metford.
    Â â€˜Is that actually his name? Rosie told me that was what he was called but I assumed she’d just made it up. Told me something about the cat knowing lots of secrets.’
    Â â€˜Whisper is my cat.’
    Â I felt a shiver run down my spine. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry. I haven’t been feeding him, he came here of his own accord.’
    Â â€˜Yes, I know. I sent him here. The first day I met you I thought it looked like you could do with a friend.’
    Â She smiled. Despite her external appearance, which frankly showed itself as being a bit of a battle-axe, she now had the look and warmth of a sweet, tender old lady. In many ways she reminded me of my own mother.
    Â â€˜Tell me about your mother,’ she said.
    Â It was like she’d read my thoughts.
    Â â€˜My mother? Well she was just my mum, quite fabulous to me really, but just my mum.’
    Â â€˜Every girl’s mother is fabulous in her daughter’s eyes. The trouble is most daughters have absolutely no idea just how dangerous a creature a mother can be.’
    Â â€˜Dangerous? I don’t