Page 68 of Plight
Mum laughed. “I’d like to see that.”
Two hours later, and thatwas exactly what Mum was seeing as Elliot pushed me from one point of the garden to another in a wheelbarrow.
“If you crash this thing, I will never speak to you again,” I half barked half squealed.
“Have faith, oh head of chocolate curls, for I can steer this chariot like no other man before me.”
“Shut up, you idiot and watch that bum—”
He hit a small log and the force bounced me a little higher than what was deemed comfortable, my arse landing in the wheelbarrow with a thud. “Owwwwww.”
“Sorry,” he chuckled. “Driving hazard.”
“I’ll give you driving hazard.”
“So, where to, m’lady? Where can I deliver thee safely?”
“To where the greenhouse is going to be built, kind sir.”
He slowed down, almost stopping. “Why there?”
“Because I’m gonna help you build it.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yeah, I am. I’ll read out the instructions, you follow them. It will be easy.”
He performed a wide turn and pointed us toward where Mum and Helen were constructing planter boxes. “I’m sure our mums could do with more help.”
“Elliot Parker, turn us back around now. I’m not helping our mums.”
“Why not? Look at them, they’re flustered.”
I took in Helen’s confused stance, her fingers lightly scratching her head while assessing the tape measure. Mum wasn’t any further at ease, angrily wrestling with the battery pack attached to the drill. My guilty conscience reared its ugly head —they really did look as if they needed help — but I quickly buried the unwelcome nuisance, knowing that if I helped them, they’d spend more time hassling me about wedding dates and venues and nothing would get done anyway.
“No. They’ll sort themselves out. They always do.”
“I don’t think they will.”
“ELLIOT!” I growled.
“Okay, if you say so.” He steered the wheelbarrow to the right again, pointing us back on course. “This is a bad idea, Danielle.”
“It’s not. We’ll nail it.”
“I’d rather nail you.”
I looked around for something to throw at him, but I was the only thing in the wheelbarrow that could be thrown. “Keep that up and the only thing you’ll be nailing is your coffin.”
“Technically, I can’t nail my own coffin.”
Grrrr.
Technically …
I. Could. Nail. Him. In. The. Eyeball.
“It’s back to fucking front, Danielle!”
