The Topiary Café really seemed to grow out of the hillside meadows around it and neat hedges were the only clue it wasn't itself wild land.
The host was an affably babbling lady of about fifty. She wore a floral dress which blended splendidly with the lush flowers. Around her neck hung a strange little phial of dark liquid, which she said was a local charm passed down through the generations.
We ordered parmesan soup and a bottle of their house wine, Baby Bio, which was wholly new to us. We ate and drank and read our papers. It was so deliciously peaceful sat there in that abundant Cumbrian corner.
As the sun curved lazily over our spot we ordered tiffin and more dark Baby Bio. Our papers read we peered round at bees frantically slurping on the borage obeying a natural drama we just didn't seem privy to.
Our eyes wandered to the people sat in the far corner under the pergola draped in clematis. It was in darkness over there and the four were simply silhouettes sat opposite each other. There was a fuzziness to their outlines which we just couldn't place. They didn't seem to be moving much either, which we put down to the sable house wine, which was quite intoxicating.
Elsewhere in the garden we both mentioned how admirable the cut hedge statues were, sat and stood in different places, trimmed precisely to look like people. They were so verdant and so realistic; beautiful green statuary of men, women and children seated at equally green tables festooned with thick foliage. They even had wine bottles, glasses and plates made of leaves. The effect was quite lovely. A rustic idyll and really charming as we took in the full view of the trimmed hedge figures spreading up the gentle slope of the elongated tea garden.
We commented to the pleasant host as such and whilst rubbing her phial pendant she informed us that the topiary people had been there a while and were now part of the local scenery. Droves of wasps and gorgeous butterflies added their own approval. It was simply enchanting to say the least.
We ordered more Baby Bio and as the afternoon faded into evening we felt incredibly drowsy as the wine took root. Relaxing into our cushioned seats we must have fallen asleep sat at the table.
It was around midnight I guess that I myself awoke. The moon was fully up.
I realised that I couldn't move my hands off the arms of my chair no matter how hard I heaved. They were bound in some way. My eyes also had difficulty opening and something stretched across them as I tried, something string-like.
I stared across the table at my Wife. It was pitch black. Surely the café was closed. Why hadn't they woken us up? It was quite bizarre and for the life of me I could not understand what was going on.
As my eyesight adjusted to the moonlight I noticed a fuzziness to the outline of my Wife. It was the same as that we'd commented on earlier regarding the seated foursome in the corner.
I concentrated on my Wife's face. It was blurred, woolly, as if covered in something. As I focused I saw a fly squeeze out of her lips, dragging itself through, as if they were shut tight.
It was then her eyes opened. Strands of material were pulled apart as she did so. They looked like the tendrils of a climbing plant.
I moaned and wanted to reach out to her. My mouth felt full of something and as I chewed it tasted like chlorophyll. I had a mouth full of leaves!
As the moon swerved slowly over our spot my Wife's eyes closed and they didn't open again. Mine closed shut too gradually and I felt my mind turn to sap as the tendrils and leaves took over completely. Eventually there was nothing left of me either. Just a fuzzy silhouette sat opposite my Wife at our spot under the watchful moon.
If you visit Topiary Café you can still see us.
We are sat at the corner table near the meadow.
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