THE WALLED GARDEN
The door was irresistible. The kind you couldn’t not go through. Set in a long brick wall leading out of the village, it was painted a faded pea green, with a black metal ring as a handle, the crumbling red bricks around it smothered in ivy and lichen.
Caitlin stood in front of it, surveying the cracks in the paint. She had walked and walked all day, out of the city and along the canal until the houses began to dwindle. At five o’clock, she had reached this little village and thought she had better start thinking about where to stop for the night.
Her rucksack was heavy. She had filled it with books, Pot Noodles and chocolate.
