the woods and wondered what they were doing. Smoking dope and screwing like rabbits if they were lucky, or maybe just wedged in shoulder to shoulder in a foetid fug under leaky tarpaulins. Probably couldn’t even get a fire lit in this weather to make a brew. Poor sods. Coming to a decision I reached under the sink for my biggest vacuum flask. As I filled it with black coffee I remembered the Christmas cake in the pantry. I also added a bottle of sloe gin to the carrier bag, before donning my thickest set of waterproofs and squelching out into the rain.
Waterproof trousers are horrible to walk in. I’d brought a big rubber-clad torch but I kept my head down under my hood and almost the only thing I saw on the long walk over to the wood were the toes of my wellies poking out from under the frayed yellow rubber of the trouser–cuffs, and the only thing I heard was the rain. When I reached the gate I called out hopefully: ‘Anybody here? Hello?’
If they had anyone on watch they were doing a poor job. No lights showed among the trees and no one stirred. I didn’t want to appear to be invading their camp but several more shouts produced the same lack of response, so I clambered laboriously over the gate, barely able to swing my rubberised legs high enough, and slithered down the far side. I tramped up to the nearest vaguely teepee-shaped bivvy and shone my torch on it. ‘Anyone home?’
It was much less well-constructed than I remembered, just a cone of plastic sheeting really. I lifted the flap and looked inside. There wasn’t a groundsheet. Weeds still grew from the earth. The only sign of human occupation was a roughly humanoid form made of dead brambles tied together with orange plastic baling twine. I blinked, nonplussed. ‘OK,’ I muttered, as rainwater ran dripped off the end of my nose.
The next bender was no better. It turned out to be nothing more than some black plastic bin bags draped over a shrub, and contained only another scarecrow, this one made of wadded bracken. After that I found another, swinging in a makeshift climbing harness from a tree, like a corpse hung in chains. I was starting to feel confused and finding the life-sized scarecrows really quite creepy. It was a relief when my light picked out movement among the trunks and Ash came stomping down the slope, a canvas tarp draped over his head and shoulders and a fluorescent lantern in one hand. My smile wasn’t feigned. ‘I did shout.’
‘I was asleep. What are you doing here?’ he asked, reasonably enough.
‘I brought you lot some cake. Where is everyone?’
He frowned. ‘They’ll be here if they’re needed. At a moment’s notice.
Cake
?’
‘It’s a Christmas cake my mum made for me,’ I explained, presenting the carrier bag. ‘But she forgot I don’t like walnuts much so I’ve been saving it until I threw a party at my place or something, and then I thought you guys might like it. It’ll be fine; fruit cake keeps really well and she makes them with brandy.’ I was aware that I was gabbling a bit. ‘There’s a bottle of home-made sloe gin too, and some coffee.’ I blinked raindrops from my eyes.
‘Coffee.’ He was looking at me like I was mad. ‘You made me coffee?’
‘The weather’s that bad and I thought you must be miserable …’ I shivered as a stray drop found its way down the back of my neck. His expression was making an uncomfortable situation worse. I decided to get to the point. ‘Look, you’ve got it wrong, you know. I’m not your enemy.’
‘Aren’t you?’
‘No, I’m not.’ I sounded sharper than I’d intended. ‘I don’t know what it is you think Michael’s planning or what it is he’s done that pisses you off so much, but I’m not here to cut down the wood. I’m a gardener. I’m on your side, as much as I can be. I love the bloody trees as much as you lot.’ I looked around, remembering that there was no sign of any others. ‘They’ve gone off to the pub and left you, have
Waterproof trousers are horrible to walk in. I’d brought a big rubber-clad torch but I kept my head down under my hood and almost the only thing I saw on the long walk over to the wood were the toes of my wellies poking out from under the frayed yellow rubber of the trouser–cuffs, and the only thing I heard was the rain. When I reached the gate I called out hopefully: ‘Anybody here? Hello?’
If they had anyone on watch they were doing a poor job. No lights showed among the trees and no one stirred. I didn’t want to appear to be invading their camp but several more shouts produced the same lack of response, so I clambered laboriously over the gate, barely able to swing my rubberised legs high enough, and slithered down the far side. I tramped up to the nearest vaguely teepee-shaped bivvy and shone my torch on it. ‘Anyone home?’
It was much less well-constructed than I remembered, just a cone of plastic sheeting really. I lifted the flap and looked inside. There wasn’t a groundsheet. Weeds still grew from the earth. The only sign of human occupation was a roughly humanoid form made of dead brambles tied together with orange plastic baling twine. I blinked, nonplussed. ‘OK,’ I muttered, as rainwater ran dripped off the end of my nose.
The next bender was no better. It turned out to be nothing more than some black plastic bin bags draped over a shrub, and contained only another scarecrow, this one made of wadded bracken. After that I found another, swinging in a makeshift climbing harness from a tree, like a corpse hung in chains. I was starting to feel confused and finding the life-sized scarecrows really quite creepy. It was a relief when my light picked out movement among the trunks and Ash came stomping down the slope, a canvas tarp draped over his head and shoulders and a fluorescent lantern in one hand. My smile wasn’t feigned. ‘I did shout.’
‘I was asleep. What are you doing here?’ he asked, reasonably enough.
‘I brought you lot some cake. Where is everyone?’
He frowned. ‘They’ll be here if they’re needed. At a moment’s notice.
Cake
?’
‘It’s a Christmas cake my mum made for me,’ I explained, presenting the carrier bag. ‘But she forgot I don’t like walnuts much so I’ve been saving it until I threw a party at my place or something, and then I thought you guys might like it. It’ll be fine; fruit cake keeps really well and she makes them with brandy.’ I was aware that I was gabbling a bit. ‘There’s a bottle of home-made sloe gin too, and some coffee.’ I blinked raindrops from my eyes.
‘Coffee.’ He was looking at me like I was mad. ‘You made me coffee?’
‘The weather’s that bad and I thought you must be miserable …’ I shivered as a stray drop found its way down the back of my neck. His expression was making an uncomfortable situation worse. I decided to get to the point. ‘Look, you’ve got it wrong, you know. I’m not your enemy.’
‘Aren’t you?’
‘No, I’m not.’ I sounded sharper than I’d intended. ‘I don’t know what it is you think Michael’s planning or what it is he’s done that pisses you off so much, but I’m not here to cut down the wood. I’m a gardener. I’m on your side, as much as I can be. I love the bloody trees as much as you lot.’ I looked around, remembering that there was no sign of any others. ‘They’ve gone off to the pub and left you, have
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