It had been a fortnight since I last wandered through my garden shed, and somehow the neighbours had conjured up a greenhouse smack dab on my patch, brimming with English cucumbers and tomatoes tangled together as if in a hedge maze.
I owned a modest bit of land on the sleepy edge of the city. It wasnt for planting marrows or pruning rosesI simply went there to let the hours slip by while the city thundered in the distance. Id set up a rusty barbecue and a rickety timber pergola for drizzly afternoons, with grand plans of putting up a proper picket fence someday soon.
On that particular day, it was for roasting sausages and shedding the citys fretful spirit. The neighbours usually minded their own beeswax, never too loud nor inclined to prattle. Only one, a woman named Felicity, occasionally grated on my nerves. She seemed permanently baffled by my lack of interest in cultivating anything, as if a scrap of earth unburdened by plants was unnatural. Across the lane, Felicitys garden was a riot of saplings and primroses, with which she communed for days on end in what seemed to be an endless floral gathering.
With no fence between our plots, the borderland was murky. Felicity would sometimes drift over as if drawn by some secret ley line, never the least bit sheepish. Honestly, I found it all quite uncomfortable. There were days Id pull up and catch her meandering about, examining things with the intrigue of an amateur archaeologist.
One late afternoon, I inquired,
Is there something amiss, Felicity?
Oh, no, nothing of the sort. I was just pondering where onions might best be sown. Youve all this lovely empty ground doing nothing at all. I just thought, perhaps, I could put a few in? Surely you wouldnt mind, would you?
I was so taken aback that words slipped away from me. Not wishing to offend, I blinked, thought it through, and finally muttered,
I suppose you can plant in one bed, if you must.
Afterwards, the thought of what Id agreed to unsettled me. Immediately, Felicity was twirling about in my earth for half the day, scattering seeds and never giving me a moments peace. Her very nearness left me jittery.
Soon enough, I packed my bags for a seaside holiday. When I returned the following weekend and ambled back to my allotment, my jaw must have dropped. There stood, shimmering under the damp English sun, a full-blown greenhouse blooming with cucumbers and tomatoes, plus two new beds all freshly raked.
I didnt have to play detective to guess whod been up to mischief, and annoyance swelled in me. Without much ceremony, I rang up my old mate Malcolm, and by dusk we were back from the DIY shop with a roll of mesh netting. Together, we cordoned off my land. Felicity could no longer flit across as she pleased, nor plant anything without a second thought.
The next weekend, Felicity arrived with a look of wounded indignation.
Why ever have you put up this fence? Now my little seedlings are trapped. Did you plan on tending to them yourself?
Her brazenness stunned me. That evening, with a thumping heart, I dismantled the greenhouse piece by piece and tossed the panels over the fence onto her side. From that day forward, Felicity never so much as glanced my way.
