Page 59 of Rough Around the Hedges

“Just make sure you show up for support, all right?” I prodded him in the back and grabbed the giant basket usually reserved for my crops.

“Yes, yes,” Jake replied, tugging open the door. “Oh, hello.”

I shuffled to the side and peeked over his shoulder. A tall, incredibly beautiful chestnut-haired woman was standing on our doorstep with one hand raised as if she were about to knock.

“Oh, hello,” she parroted back, quickly blinking. “Is this the home of Miss Rose Matthews, please?”

Ah.

I had a very good feeling I knew who our guest was based on how perfectly she pronounced each word.

“Y—” Jake stopped when I pinched the back of his arm. He cleared his throat into his hand and said, “Who are you and why do you want to know?”

Oh, my God.

He was such a rude little bastard.

Good to know it wasn’t just to me, though.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry. How rude of me not to introduce myself,” the mystery woman said, pressing her hand to her bosom. “My name is Eleanor de Havilland.”

Ding ding, I was right.

Jake flinched. “Are you the duchess?”

“Goodness, no. Just the duke’s mother.”

Justthe duke’s mother? How many people ever got to say that? Yet here she was, saying it as if she was the neighbour two doors down who’d just moved in.

“Oh.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I apologise for my rudeness. I’m Jake Matthews, Rose’s brother.”

Eleanor’s face lit up. “So, this is Rose’s house? Is she here?”

I pushed onto my tiptoes and raised a hand. “She is.”

“I’ll leave you to it.” My brother stepped to the side and headed for the stairs.

“Don’t forget to come, Jake!” I called after him, then quickly turned my attention back to Eleanor. “I’m sorry, I’d invite you in, but I’m on my way out. Do you mind if we talk while I load up my van?”

“Of course not,” she replied with a bright smile stretching across her face.

“Perfect. What can I help you with, Mrs de Havilland? I apologise, I’m not sure how else I should address you.” I asked as I busied myself with opening the back of the van and loading it up with some pre-made protest signs bearing slogans such as ‘Save Susan’s Melons,’ ‘Justice for Waffles,’ ‘Lettuce Keep the Allotments,’ and my personal favourite, ‘Just Stop Oli’ with a big ol’ orange stop sign over a crudely drawn picture of his face.

They were works of art, if I did say so myself.

And nobody else was going to, since I’d made them, and I wasn’t exactly going to have anything hung in a gallery anytime soon.

“Mrs de Havilland is fine. I wanted to talk to you about the protest.”

Brilliant.

This was going to be a wonderful start to the event, wasn’t it?

I loaded a box into the back of the van and turned to her. “I’m not going to cancel it, if that’s what you’re here to ask. I’m well aware that the likelihood of us overturning your son’s decision to close the allotments is highly unlikely, but I’m not going to stop trying just because the odds are stacked against me.”

“Oh, oh!” She waved her hands frantically. “You’re misunderstanding me, Miss Matthews. I suppose that’s my faultfor being so vague. Actually, I… Ah. Here. I’ll show you.” She unbuttoned her cardigan and held out the sides, revealing the t-shirt she was wearing. “Ta-dah!”

A lime green one that read ‘Save Hanbury Allotments!’

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