Page 39 of The Allotment on Willow Tree Lane

‘What about the bindweed? Can we use the same method on that?’

‘You can, but you’ve got quite a lot of it and it’s rather well established. Those roots will go down a fair way and they’ll have spread. We’ll cut it back as much as possible, then try the boiling water method, but if that doesn’t work I’m afraid it’ll either be the good old-fashioned digging method or weed killer.’

‘I don’t fancy using weed killer,’ he said, and Ceri breathed a sigh of relief. She hated weed killers and pesticides. They did more harm than good, in her opinion.

‘I’ll hack at the bindweed while you keep the boiling water flowing,’ Damon suggested, and Ceri was about to protest that she was perfectly capable of cutting bindweed back, when she decided that she’d got the better end of the bargain.

‘You may as well make a coffee, seeing as you’re boiling the kettle,’ he added with a grin, and she rolled her eyes as she went into the house, hearing him call, ‘Mine’s strong with a splash of milk, please.’

This time Ceri didn’t try to keep her curiosity in check, and she gazed around nosily, even going as far as to peep into a room as she walked down the hall. It was a cosy snug, with a fireplace and deep shelves on either side lined with books. The decor was from another era, but it suited the house; oddly enough, it suited also Damon, despite the heavy metal, biker vibe he gave off, and she hoped he wasn’t planning on stripping all the period features out.

Abruptly aware she was invading his privacy, she hastened into the kitchen, where she found two mugs, a jar of coffee, some tea bags, sugar and a packet of digestive biscuits next to the kettle, so she quickly made the drinks and carried them outside.

‘You intended for me to make the coffee all along, didn’t you?’ she accused. ‘If you think I’m keeping you supplied with hot drinks and biscuits all day, you’re sadly mistaken. I’m not going to sit around while you get to do all the fun stuff.’

‘You call thisfun?’ He jerked his chin at the pile of cuttings at his feet.

‘I do, and I tell you what’s really fun: using the shredder. Where is it?’ She glanced around the drive with avaricious eyes but didn’t see it.

‘No you don’t, lady! That shredder ismine.’

‘Go on, give us a go. Don’t be mean.’

The gentle, almost flirtatious banter was reminiscent of the Damon she had met in the field on the night of Huw’s wedding, and she welcomed him back. She already fancied the pants off him – grumpy or accusing, he was a sexy guy – but this version was one she could easily lose her heart to. And a short while later, when he brought out the shredder and put her in charge of it, she thought she already had.

Ceri was in her element, feeding small branches and long stems into its hungry maw and watching it spit out useable mulch at the other end, but she didn’t get too carried away and put the bindweed cuttings in. Those, she told him, would have to be burnt.

He had been surprised when she informed him that he owned a small incinerator, and even more surprised to discover that the galvanised steel container was still useable and hadn’t rusted through. Ceri had spied it, half-covered in vines, near the compost heaps, and together they retrieved it and carried it to the front of the house, where she sited it on top of a couple of rogue paving slabs.

‘Shall we have lunch first before we start burning this lot?’ she suggested.

Damon looked taken aback. ‘Er, OK. It’s only eleven thirty, though,’ he pointed out.

‘Don’t care. I’m starving.’

‘I see.’ His lips twitched. ‘In that case, I’d better rustle up a couple of sandwiches.’

Ceri patted her rucksack. ‘No need, they’ve already been rustled.’

And when she unpacked their lunch and he saw the spread she’d provided, he blurted, ‘Wow! Look at this! You’re definitely a keeper.’

Ceri guessed he didn’t mean it, because he pulled a face and looked away awkwardly, so she was relieved when he asked, ‘Fancy a cold glass of pear and elderflower cordial to go with it?’

‘Yes, please.’ Ceri fancied something stronger, because his words, no matter that they were unintentional, had caused her heart to flutter.

When he returned with the drinks, they munched on the ham salad sandwiches she had made, along with the slab of cake she had packed. She’d also thrown in a packet of breadsticks, some dips, and a few other bits and pieces. They ate in silence, and Ceri was glad when he turned the music back on, allowing a rather eclectic playlist to fill the void.

But gradually, the conversation returned, tentative at first, like a wary bird, and by the time he’d enthused over a slice of the Provençal veggie tart that she had bought from the deli yesterday and which was supposed to have been for her dinner tonight but which she had thrown into her backpack at the last minute, the awkward moment had passed.

After every last crumb had been devoured, Damon patted his stomach. ‘I didn’t realise how hungry I was. That was delicious – better than anything I would have made. Thank you.’

‘Gardening can be hard work, especially clearing and pruning.’ Her gaze roamed around the drive as she said, ‘It’s looking better already, isn’t it?’

She was pleased with their progress so far. Many of the weeds had already visibly wilted, although some were more stubborn than others and would require a further dousing with boiling water. Much of the bindweed was now in piles on the ground, and what was left was about to have its own hot-water experience, and many of the bushes and shrubs had been trimmed back. There was still some way to go, but the driveway was beginning to look better already. Bigger, too.

‘Let’s get rid of this bindweed before we do any more pruning,’ she suggested, producing the lighter with a flourish. ‘Have you got some old newspaper we can use to get the fire started?’

‘No, but I’m sure I can find something.’

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