Page 10 of The Player

“Yes, I know it’s a bit wild.”

“Abit? It’s like a set fromJumanji.”

That startles a laugh out of me, and I suddenly realise this might be my salvation. “It’sterrible,” I say mournfully. “I don’t think I’ll be able to do the open garden thing, Lucy. I’d just let everyone down.” I look at the garden. “And possibly lose some of the tourists in the shrubbery.”

“Hopefully, it’s the same ones who I just found looking through my kitchen window,” a voice comes from behind us.

We both jump and spin around to find Con leaning against the doorjamb. He’s wearing khaki shorts and a Wedding Present T-shirt, and his hair is wet, showing the stark beauty of his tanned face.

“Con,” I gasp, folding my arms quickly over my T-shirt so he can’t spot it. “What are you doing here?”

“Visiting you,” he says. “You left your door open.”

“Yes, Lucy visited,” I say, leaving it vague in the hope he gets what happened and that the open door is so she doesn’t delay her departure. The twitch of his mouth shows he does.

“Hello, Con,” Lucy says, fluttering her eyelashes so hard I’m sure the breeze stirs the honeysuckle behind her. She pats his arm flirtatiously. “Goodness, you’re all muscles.”

“And occasional sarcasm,” I add.

Con laughs and then smiles at Lucy, who melts as usual. “I heard the words ‘open garden.’ Is it that time already, Lucy?”

“It does seem to come around with alarming regularity,” I say. I try to sidle past him in the hope of dashing upstairs and changing my shirt, but he puts out a foot and stops my progress. I glare at him, but he just gives me a lazy smile.

Lucy chuckles. “And are you still set on not taking part, Con?”

He winks. “Of course. The last time my garden was sorted out, it was the year we won the World Cup.”

“Well, of course, if that’s the way you feel, Icompletelyunderstand.”

“Hang on. How come he gets away with saying no once, and you accept it?” I forget myself and say indignantly. “Meanwhile, I’ve said no in every possible connotation, and yet you’re still here inspecting my garden for the committee.”

“Oh, Frankie,” she says in a reproving voice. “You always say no, but you don’t mean it.”

“It’s got him insucha lot of trouble in the past,” Con says smoothly, and I shoot him a glare.

Lucy steps onto the lawn gingerly as if she thinks it’s going to suck her under. “It’s this weekend, Frankie. What on earth are you going to do?”

“Shut and lock the doors and windows,” I offer, but Con speaks over me.

“I’ll help him. We’ll soon get it knocked into shape.”

“You’ll dowhat?” I gasp, and he looks at me.

“I’ve got to go to the garden centre anyway, so we might as well pick up some plants too. It won’t take that long.”

“Oh really? Are you putting hanging baskets in the middle of the thicket formerly known as your front lawn? Better watch it. That’s the first step towards being bitten by the gardening bug,” I say sweetly.

He grins. “How would you know? The last thing that bit you was that Chihuahua.”

“Mr Sparkles isvicious. I wish people could see past the sequinned coat and painted toenails. I’m afraid Mrs Thomas is harbouring a tiny canine thug in her handbag.”

We break off, realising that Lucy is watching us, her head cocked to one side like a nosy parrot.

“Yes?” I say, and she smiles.

“I just think it’s lovely how the two of you are friends. You know the new lady at number ten?”

“She’s lived here for five years,” I point out.

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