‘Just what in hell do you people think you’re playing at?’ she demanded.
The pair of them paused as she approached, expressions of confusion turning to concern.
Ardwyn’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh my God, Dennie! Your head! What’s happened to you?’
‘That looks like a nasty bump,’ said Everett. He stuck his spade in the ground and took out his phone. ‘You need an ambulance. You could have a concussion.’
‘Don’t give me that bollocks!’ Dennie retorted. ‘And you’d better put that thing away or I’ll stick it somewhere you’ll need a spade to get it back out again.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Ardwyn. ‘Dennie, what’s happened?’
‘At least let us get an icepack on that,’ Everett offered, putting his phone away. He gestured back to their shed, the door of which was shut. ‘Why don’t you come in and sit down? We’ll make you a cup of tea and have a look at that.’
‘Icepack my arse!’ she snapped. ‘I’m not setting one foot on this plot, and I don’t know what’s wrong with that “brother” of yours, but if I see him around here again I’m having the police on him for assault. Do you understand?’
‘Dennie,’ said Ardwyn, ‘you’ve obviously had a fall. I don’t think you’re thinking clearly. Is there anyone we can call?’ She was talking in the gentle tone and making the placatory hand gestures of a person who has realised that they’re dealing with someone drunk or mentally unstable, but behind the concerned frown there was a sparkle of amusement in her eyes that just made Dennie even more angry. She’s enjoying this, the little bitch.
‘Oh, piss off!’ she yelled, and now she was drawing the attention of those nearby. Heads came up, digging paused. If any of the neighbouring sheds had net curtains, they were twitching. ‘Just keep away from me and my dog, got that?’
* * *
‘Did we get that?’ asked Ardwyn as they watched the old woman totter away.
‘Loud and clear,’ Everett replied. ‘As did I think most of the neighbourhood.’
‘Good. Honestly, this is the best way.’
‘I know, and I agree, but try telling Gar that. If that dog comes for him again there’s no telling what he’ll do.’
Ardwyn kissed him, stroking his hair. ‘If you think about it,’ she said, ‘she’s actually doing us a favour – anything she sees will be dismissed as the ravings of a crazy old bat. Who knew she actually slept here? Does she even have a home, do you think? Maybe she eats out of bins.’ She chuckled at the thought.
‘It’s a problem,’ he insisted.
‘Not if properly managed,’ she replied. ‘Assuming that she comes to the feast, we’ll have nothing to worry about.’
‘And if she doesn’t?’
She took up her spade and resumed digging over the ground. A worm appeared, pink and squirming, and she chopped it in half with the blade, watching it writhe as its juices oozed out, fertilising the soil with its death. ‘Then we might have to let Gar off the leash.’
4
BRUISES
OVER THE NEXT FEW DAYS THE LEFT SIDE OF DENNIE’S face came up in a livid rainbow of yellows, purples, and greens. The neighbours were too polite to say anything, of course, which was just as well with her. Despite the drinking and camaraderie in the Pavilion, when it came to the actual allotments themselves people were a lot more solitary. For many of them, like Dennie herself, their allotment was a welcome distraction from the stress and noise of everyday life, a place of solitude and calm where each was king or queen over their own tiny kingdom, and so they were reluctant to disturb each other, happy to potter and dig in companionable silence. So when, on a bright and breezy Wednesday afternoon, Dennie saw Becky Pimblett coming towards her with a tentative smile and a plastic Tupperware container, she was surprised, alarmed, but also a little pleased.
Rebecca Pimblett was red-haired and rail thin, with high, birdlike cheekbones and a wide goofy smile that she lavished on the world, though Lord knew the Pimbletts had little enough to smile about.
‘Hello, Dennie!’ she called. ‘I hope you don’t mind me dropping by. I heard you had an accident and I thought I’d bring you a little something to cheer you up.’ This was exactly the thing that Dennie liked about Becky: a straightforward and complete absence of pussy-footing around and a refusal to wallow. If Dennie had told her to sod off and mind her own business, she’d have given a chirpy ‘Fair enough’ and tried again some other time.
‘Becky,’ she replied, ‘don’t tell me you’ve gone and actually baked something for me.’
‘Well,’ Becky drawled, as if it wasn’t a big thing. ‘I was making some biscuits anyway and it wasn’t any trouble to throw in an extra batch.’
Dennie took the offered box but didn’t open it straight away. ‘Can I ask how the little one’s doing?’
‘Alice?’ Becky’s smile sobered. ‘About as well as can be expected, thanks for asking. This last round of chemo has really knocked her for six. But David has the day off so we’ve brought her out for some fresh air. It’s going to be spring soon and I want her to see things growing instead of spending all her time surrounded by tubes and wires. I mean the house is clean but it’s a cold clean, you know?’
‘I know exactly what you mean.’
‘Listen, why don’t you come over and say hi to her?’
‘Oh no, I don’t think—’
‘What, you’ve got something more important to do than meeting my family?’
‘No, it’s just…’ Dennie gestured at her face. ‘I must look a fright.’
‘My little
