Page 162 of Rough Around the Hedges

“All right, thanks. Feeling any better?”

I nodded as she retrieved her keys. “I had a good cry, a good whine to myself, plotted approximately seventeen different ways of torture, researched the feasibility of six of them, and realised he isn’t worth the jail time.”

“Time well spent.” She perched on the edge of the one of the bed.

“Mind my courgettes.”

She peeked under the leaves and rescued one that grown too big for its boots. “George, this one is trying to grow bigger schlongs than you.”

“Damn it, Rose!”

I turned around and caught sight of the one she was holding. It was huge. “Ah. Where was that bugger hiding?”

“Under the leaves. Tucked against the side,” she answered. “Want me to get it for you?”

I nodded and handed her the snips from my bag. “Watch the little—”

“Motherfucker!” she hissed, sucking her finger. “Are these stems coated with poison or something?”

“—Hairs on the stems, they’re sharp,” I finished dryly.

“Thanks for the warning.” She glared at me and handed me the marrow. “Your schlong, babe.”

I took the marrow from her. I could barely wrap my hand around it, and I tilted my head to the side. “You know what, I think this has just put me off some romance books.”

She frowned. “Why?”

“Well, some of them say the guy’s tallywhacker is so big they can barely get their hand around it.” I held up the marrow and showed her where my fingers and thumb couldn’t quite meet. “This would absolutely decimate a vagina.”

She took it back and tried to grab it herself, moving her hand up and down it. “Huh. You have a point. How would you even get it in your mouth?” She opened her mouth as wide as she could, but the smaller end didn’t even look like it would go in.

“Exactly.” I took it back and examined it. “That’s just not comfortable. A penis of this size isn’t giving you an orgasm—it’s giving you a day trip to A&E.”

“Probably even an overnight stay,” she mused. “Huh. Well, if nothing else, I’m glad to see that you’re the same Rose as always. I thought I might find you huddled in your cucumbers, crying to yourself.”

“Rose Matthews does not cry,” I replied.

“Really?” Susan asked, plucking pods off her pea plants. “Then what were you doing last night?”

I paused. “That was hay fever, Susan.”

“That has magically disappeared this morning.”

“What is this, an interrogation? Gosh.” I sniffled and put the marrow down.

She smiled at me, paused, then quickly turned away. I looked in the direction that had caught her attention and froze.

Oh, no.

Absolutely not.

What was that bastard doing here?

I slowly got to my feet as he approached my plot. His steps were almost hesitant, as if he were afraid to come close to me.

If he wasn’t, then more fool him.

Because Oliver de Havilland was the last person I wanted to see today.

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