With One Lousy Free Packet of Seed by Lynne Truss

to take this in. ‘Oh well,’ he said, trying to sound regretful, ‘I suppose if you’re going back now, I can always catch a train. Tsk, don’t worry, I can manage. After all, it’s up to you, it’s your car –’
    ‘No,’ interrupted his friend. ‘I mean, I’m going back to Dunquenchin.’
    Osborne looked at him. He had made his announcement as though ‘going back to Dunquenchin’ was something that a man’s gotta do.
    ‘But they’ve both gone out. The boy went out first, and then the fireman. Don’t you remember, we saw him from the florist’s? I waved, and he pretended not to see us. In any case,what’s the fascination? If that boy is a bit funny about me, isn’t it better just to get away and forget about it? He didn’t know who I was, so no harm done.’
    ‘But I want to find out who Digger was.’
    ‘Digger?’
    ‘Last night, he said his dad shouldn’t have worried about Digger, because everything had been under control. Perhaps he felt about Digger the way he feels about you.’
    ‘Stop it, mate. It’s not worth it. Let’s just do the interview and go home.’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Have a cup cake?’
    ‘Fucking
no!’
    ‘How will you get in, in any case?’
    ‘I unlocked the back door this morning, when I was taking my bike out.’
    ‘I don’t like it.’
    ‘You don’t have to. You just be nice to Ms Farmer and sit in her shed, and I’ll do the rest.’

    It would be fair to say that when Gordon opened the door at Ms Farmer’s, holding a pale blue négligé in his hand, Osborne did not rise above his emotions.
    ‘Aagh!’ he exclaimed, and dropped the flowers again.
    ‘Didn’t expect to see me?’ said Gordon carefully. This is the only way to deal with these people, he decided. Don’t let them see you are afraid.
    ‘Well, not so soon,’ admitted Osborne jumpily. ‘Er, I’ve got some – well, business with Ms Farmer, if that’s all right.’ Don’t say what it is, thought Osborne. For God’s sake, don’t tell him you are the shed man at
Come Into the Garden.
    They looked at one another. There was a long pause.
    ‘I know,’ said Gordon. They both took a deep breath.
    ‘I know who you are. And I think I know why you’ve come. You’re from
Come Into the Garden,
aren’t you? You’re the man who does the sheds.’
    Oh God. Osborne gulped. ‘’Assright,’ he said in a tiny voice.
    ‘I know your work,’ said Gordon very carefully.
    ‘Oh good. Er, thank you very much.’
    ‘Where’s your friend?’
    Osborne started guiltily. ‘Nowhere,’ he said. ‘I mean, I don’t know. Nothing to do with me, anyway.’
    ‘You’d better come in,’ said Gordon.
    ‘No, it’s all right,’ said Osborne with a brave smile. ‘I’m fine here.’
    ‘I think you should.’
    ‘No, it’s a lovely day. Tell you what, where’s the shed? I’ll start there.’

    Back at Dunquenchin, Makepeace had climbed the stairs to Gordon’s modest little office – a top-storey room with a tiny window, and very little sign of Gordon’s immense success. It was nearer to an average teenager’s playroom than to an executive office, with papers and gadgets and bits of computer scattered about like toys. What it did have, however, was a fax machine, something Makepeace spotted at once. Could this be his perfect opportunity to clear himself with
Come Into the Garden?
If not, why not? Despite the rather stressful circumstances, this was too good a chance to miss. Hastily he scribbled a note to
Come Into the Garden,
and fed it, without more ado, into the fax.
    Dear Michelle,
    Hi! Osborne tells me you didn’t get my round-up last Friday. Are you absolutely sure? Because I came to the office specially and posted it in your letter-box on Thursday night. It was two sides of A4, green typewriter-ribbon. I can’t imagine what could have happened to it. Anyway, I can type it up again by Friday if you like. What a drag!
    In haste (in Devon!), M. Makepeace

    ‘Why didn’t he come in?’ asked Angela.