Oh, come on, my dear neighbour, surely you dont begrudge me a few cucumbers? Youve got so many theyll end up overripe and yellow! My grandchildren are visiting and they need their vitamins. Dont be so stingy; were more like family, living next door!
Linda leaned over the low wire fence separating our plots, her broad face stretching into a syrupy smile. She clutched an enamel bowl already piled high with what were very clearly my strawberries in one hand, and with the other reached for a currant bush sprouting on my side of the border.
I was kneeling in the carrot patch, fighting off minute weeds, when I slowly straightened up, my back crackling in protest. I wiped my sweaty brow with a dirt-speckled hand and fixed Linda with a stern look. This were more like family had become her refrain ever since my wife, Alice, and I bought our little piece of Kent, transforming what had been a weedy wasteland into a model allotment.
Linda, I said, keeping my tone even but firm. Ive seen strawberries growing on your patch too. Why not pick your own?
Oh, those? Linda brushed away the thought with an airy gesture, entirely unbothered. Theyre tiny, sour, and half-eaten by bugs. You know me, I dont have your gift for feeding and mulching and all that. Everything I grows natural what will be, will be. But your fruitlook at it! Big as apples! Such bounty shouldnt go to waste. And lets be honest, you and Dave cant eat all this. Youll be fit to burst.
I drew a deep breath. Lindas logic was as impenetrable as a bulldozers shovel. To her mind, anyone with plenty owed something to those with nonenever mind that the none came more from laziness than hard luck.
Lindas plot was a sorry sight: gnarled, lichen-spotted apple trees, vegetable rows so neglected theyd only met a hoe on state occasions, and a perennial infestation of dandelions parachuting seeds into everyone elses patches. Linda only visited her allotment for a bit of peacelying in her hammock, grilling cheap sausages on makeshift bricks, the radio blaring faded pop.
Alice, meanwhile, was gardening-obsessed. She ordered rare tomato seeds online, rose with the sparrows to open the greenhouse, stayed out after sunset watering her borders. Every tomato, every cucumber was hard-earned through patience, sore muscles, and sleepless spring nights holding back unexpected frost.
Linda, put the bowl down, please, Alice said quietly. Im saving that fruit for jam. Every berry counts.
Oh, not this again! Linda rolled her eyes dramatically. You old hard-nose. Its just a nibble for the kidssurely youre not going to snatch food from childrens mouths?
Quick as a flash, before Alice could get to the fence, Linda popped an enormous berry in her mouth, chewed it with gusto, then drifted off toward her shed, prize in hand.
Alice was left fuming in silence amongst her carrots. I emerged from the shed with a plane in my hands, having witnessed the whole thing, but I wisely kept mumIve never enjoyed neighbourly squabbles.
Is Linda grazing again? I asked as I reached her.
Like a goat in somebody elses field, Alice muttered. Its getting out of hand. Just last weekend she swiped our courgettes while we were at the shops. Said, I thought youd forgotten themthey were overgrowing. Now shes helping herself to strawberries.
Well, put up a solid fence, I suggested. Bit of metal and wood, two metres tall. That should do it.
We cant, Alice sighed. The allotment committee rulesonly wire fencing allowed, to avoid shadowing neighbour plots. Besides, our savings went on the new greenhouse.
As the summer wore on, Lindas foraging became ever more brazen. It was a blistering July; tomatoes ripened in bunches, cucumbers crunched at a glance, peppers swelled with juice. And the fuller our larder grew, the more often Linda visited the fence.
Then, one Saturday, Linda had a full houseten guests at least, raucous with beer and music. In the evening, as Alice was watering the sweet peas, Linda, already tipsy, lurched to the fence.
Alice! Be a sport, will you? Weve run out of nibbles and the shops are too far. Lend us some of your Beefsteak tomatoes and a handful of herbs, would you? The guests will thank you!
Alice straightened, garden hose in hand, the water coursing round her rose roots.
Linda, most of the tomatoes arent ripe yet. The ones that are, Im taking to town for our daughter tomorrow.
Oh, dont be so stingy! Linda hauled herself over the fence, breath heavy with drink. Theyre right there, red as post boxes! Surely you can spare a few for friends? Ill buy you a chocolate bar next time Im out.
No, Alice said, her voice as sharp as frost. No.
Lindas grin evaporated; her eyes narrowed.
Fine! You just sit on those tomatoes til they split! Some neighbour you are you wouldnt part with snow in winter. Honestly!
She stomped off. That night, from behind Lindas plot, came mocking voices and raucous laughter. We caught snatchesLondon misers, would strangle for a pound, whod want her chemical tomatoes anyway That hurt more than I let on. Alice closed all the windows, cranked up the telly, and stewed for hours.
The next morning, Alice stopped dead in her tracks on the doorstep. The padlock on the new polytunnel had been left open. Heart thudding, she dashed to the beds.
As she feared: the finest trusses of tomatoes had been ripped away, leaving snapped stems and underripe fruit flung aside. Several cucumbers were missing; a patch of herbs had been yanked out root and all.
Alice stood still, staring at the damage. This was more than theftit was a slap in the face for all her work, her time, and her pride.
Dave! she called, her voice shaky.
I came and surveyed the wreckage, frowning.
This is criminal now, Alice. Theft.
Oh, Davewhod believe it? No proof, no cameras. Shed just deny everything as usual.
From Lindas patch all was quiet. On her porch, amidst the empties, sat a half-empty salad adorned with unmistakable chunks of our beefy tomatoes and curly parsley.
Thats it, Alice said, steel in her tone. Ive tried being nice. Now its time for tough lovewith a dash of cunning.
What are you up to? I asked warily. No police business over a bowl of tomatoes, please.
No crimejust a bit of psychology. And a pinch of chemistry.
Alice disappeared off to town and returned a few hours later with a bright yellow safety suit, a respirator, a garden sprayer, several packets of blue food colouring, and the vilest cheap liquid soap she could find.
That evening, as Linda and her guests nursed hangovers with mugs of tea, the performance began.
Alice donned the yellow get-up, mask and all, and I put on my oldest rain jacket and a face covering. We headed to the greenhouse.
Alice mixed up blue dye with water and half a bottle of stinking soap in a bucket. The result: an inky blue potion that looked terrifying and smelled even worse.
Back up, Dave! she bellowed, projecting over the fence so all could hear. This stuff is deadly powerful! The instructions say keep well away unless fully protected!
She started spraying the tomatoes, peppers, and cabbages until they were all dappled with blue spots. The sight was half Martian, half Chernobyl.
Linda, inevitably drawn to the commotion, shuffled to the fence.
What on earth are you doing, Alice? Spraying for a plague? Looks and smells a fright!
Alice didnt lower the mask. Worse than that, Linda. Found a nasty new virus onlinethey say itll rot the crop overnight. Had to buy an experimental treatment… Agri-Kill Ultra. Lethal stuff, kills everything except the plant.
Kills what? Lindas face paled.
Insects, birds, mice, Alice continued. Apparently, people tooif you eat anything before three weeks passed, you could end up in hospital. Attack your liver, they said. But after twenty-one days, its perfectly safe.
Twenty-one days? Linda instinctively patted her belly. What if you just touch it?
Better wash your hands with acid or spirit if you do. If it gets on your lips or eyes well, dont risk it. Ill be burning my suit when Im finished.
Alice went back to spraying, thoroughly soaking each cabbage with blue water. Linda stood rooted for a moment, then quietly backed off.
Oi, kids! her voice floated anxiously to us a bit later. Dont touch the salad, throw it out. Tastes bitter. Dont want you getting ill
Under her mask, Alice smiled. Operation Freeload was off to a flying start.
All week Linda circled her plot like it was ringed by wolves, eyeing the blue tomatoes with superstitious dread. When her grandkids scuttled near the boundary, she screamed: Keep away! Its poisondont even breathe that way!
Alice carried on as usual, and every evening we rinsed the dye off the cucumbers as soon as no one was looking, tucking in to fresh, unsprayed veg at dinner. The blue stain kept birds and Linda alike at bay.
Of course, Linda wasnt stupid. Next Saturday she appeared at the fence.
So whats this then, Alice? I saw you eating your cucumbers. Thought you said three weeks waitor does your poison not work on you?
Alice, coffee mug in one hand, cucumber in the other, didnt blink. Shop-bought, Linda. Got to play safeours are still blue and not for eating. These are from Spaintaste like plastic, but itll do.
Linda narrowed her eyes. Still blue, those tomatoes, even after that rain?
This stuffs high techcant be washed off. Seeps right into the fruit, Alice replied brightly. Proper nanotechnology.
Linda grunted and walked off, grumbling about bloody chemists and how we ruined the environment. Since then, she steered well clear.
August brought the main harvest. By then, sunshine and showers had faded the dye, leaving only a faint bluish smear near the stalks.
Linda, presumably decided the waiting period had expiredor simply that her greed overpowered her sense. But before leaving for London for a few days, Alice hung a giant padlock on the gate and attached a clear plastic-laminated sign to our side of the fence:
*Warning! CCTV in operation. Plot treated with experimental agrochemicals, toxic to humans for 21 days post-application. Unauthorised harvesting carries a risk of serious health complications. Allotment committee notified. Trespassers reported to police.*
Total fiction, of course, but it sounded official.
On our return, there was a scene: Linda shrieking at Mr. Peters, the committee chair.
Mr. Peters, do have a look at that signshes poisoning the neighbourhood, with all her experiments! My grandson had a tummy-acheno doubt from her fumes. Shes put up spy cameras too!
Mr. Peters looked weary, adjusting his glasses. When he saw Alice pulling up in her Mini, he sighed with relief.
Afternoon, Mrs. Hughes. A complaints come inabout chemicals and surveillance, apparently.
Alice smiled. No illegal chemicals, Mr. Petersjust a warning sign for pests. The two-legged sort after a free meal. As for the cameras, its really for peace of mind. If folks stayed off the plot, their tummies might be better off too.
Whos trespassing? Me? Prove it! Linda bristled.
I have recordings, Alice lied serenely, eyeing Linda. Real camerasmotion-activated. Shall we review how you climbed the fence last Tuesday? Or how your guests pulled up my parsley? I was just about to submit a report
Lindas face turned blotchy. She remembered all too wellshe could never be sure when the fabled cameras had been installed. Public shame and a fine now loomed larger in her mind than any cucumber.
I dont want your chemicals anyway! Linda barked. You keep your tomatoes! Ill grow my ownbetter even!
She flounced off to her house, slamming the door.
Mr. Peters glanced between Alice, the faded blue tomatoes, and the sign, a glint of amusement in his eye.
Is the stuff really that fierce, Mrs. Hughes?
Just food dye and soap, Mr. Peters. Great for aphids, even better for greedy neighbours.
He chuckled. No trouble caused, then. Id leave the sign upmight stop a few more accidents.
From that day, relations cooled to an icy peace. Linda stopped saying hello, turned away if we passed, and told all and sundry I was living with a witch and a poisoner. Alice didnt mind a jot; her crop was safely untouched.
Something truly remarkable happened that spring, though. At the start of the new season, we saw Linda hard at work on her own patch, digging and muttering, but actually sowing veg! Her seedlings were scraggy and half-price from the supermarket, but stillher own.
Alice wandered over. Linda straightened with effort, wielding her spade like a halberd.
Come to gloat?
Best of luck, Linda, Alice said mildly. Go easy, theres clay two feet downbit of sand would help.
I know! Linda snapped. I dont need your advice. This is all mineno chemicals, no nonsense.
Thats the spirit. Nothing tastes like your own, Alice smiled.
By midsummer, Linda had a handful of lopsided cucumbers and tiny tomatoes, and she paraded them with the pride of a showgardener. Strikingly, she no longer gazed over at our beds. When some neighbours kids strayed onto her plot after a football, she shooed them away with gusto.
Oi! Off you go! This isnt a pitchreal works gone in here! Youll trample everything!
Alice watched, exchanged a glance with me at the grill, and we both had to laugh quietly.
See? Alice said, patting my arm. You said a fenceturns out a little elbow grease is the best teacher.
At seasons end, Linda approached the fence herself, a jar of cloudy vinegar with three misshapen cucumbers bobbing inside in her hands.
Here, she said gruffly, thrusting the jar to Alice. Try em. My own, did it just like the magazine said.
Alice received the gift like a crystal vase.
Thank you, Linda, well try them for sure. Next spring, Ill give you some good seedsBeefsteak type. Start them in February for best resultsIll show you how.
Linda nodded, trying to hide the hint of a smile. Fine. If youre sure.
Of course. When youve done all the work yourself, you value every last fruit.
We stood a while, watching the plots go gold and brown in the autumn light. The warning sign had long since been washed away by rain, but a new, invisible line of respect had taken its placemore solid than any high fence.
That year, Alice pickled a record number of tomatoes. Not one went to waste.
