Another Mikey

No, don’t worry, not another Mikey, just a moment to take a look at this one that has arrived, and her effect on our George.

After a good days work, tidying up, and cleaning the shed, making it back into a summerhouse, as it was always meant to be, George had made – not going down the garden – a kind of superstition. He really wanted Mikey to take up his offer, and find some benefit from it, and he hoped that eventually he would have some further interaction with her.

The garden was Deb’s domain originally. Debs had planted it out, worked her magic, but had been learning as she went; The ornamental apple, a little too big, and too close to the mixed native hedge. And generally the planting a little ambitious for the size of the space, but now the hedge was maturing and for a long time the garden had been overgrown. Honeysuckle, and ivy covered the ground at the back and had to be regularly pulled up, and the russian vine, that George loved to see in it’s autumn colours, and that Debs had decreed “mustn’t be allowed to root on our side of the fence”, had rooted everywhere. George continued to pull at it, but was always a few feet behind.

Debs saw work where George saw peace and seclusion, even though that “peace and seclusion” had been designed by Debs, so it had quickly become George’s garden, and if only he’d realised, he might have taken responsibility for it. As it had worked out, he would run in to fill the tadpole pond, water the new plum tree, and tend the compost, and he’d enjoy looking around it when he did so in daylight, but the garden mostly had to fend for itself, and the only ones who really benefited were the fox, and the neighbours cat. Oh, and the gold finches, and the frogs, and probably a hundred other things that weren’t often seen.

About a week after the curious incident of the girl in the car park, George came home to find a note in a reused envelope. It was lucky he didn’t mistake it for scrap and put it straight in the recycling or the compost, but as he was steaming potatoes and cabbage to go with his warmed up leftovers he pulled out the note, he knew what it was, and he smiled before he even unfolded it. He thought about some clattering noises he’d heard the last night or so, and he thought, yes, she’s in. It was as though he’d caught an enormous fish but had no idea what to do with her.

Dear George,

Thanks for your kind offer,  I came last night, and I might stay a few weeks if you like.  I might tame the garden a little. I'm not asking permission, it needs doing. Promise I won't change anything too much.  Maybe I can give you a picnic supper one evening next week?  I've made myself at home, and I think I have everything I need, so don't worry about me.

M.

It seemed to be a done deal, and supper next week? George looked over his diary, a few scribbled notes here and there, but nothing that actually involved going out the front door. Anyway, he didn’t need to answer yet, and he couldn’t, Mikey didn’t have a letterbox yet. He’d fix that.

Hmmm, a few weeks ey? As you like. George wondered what Debs would make of all this. If he didn’t cut a letterbox through the fence, she needn’t ever know, but it was his house, and if he wanted a lodger, he could have a lodger, he even wondered about letting her know as a courtesy, but he excused himself on the grounds she wasn’t speaking, he could always let her know when she got in touch. If he’d managed to find a lodger that was happy to make do with a strip-wash in cold water drawn from a water-butt in the garden, and make her toileting arrangements her own concern, well that was lucky. He felt a bit awkward when he thought of her period, but guessed she’d look after herself, and she’d said not to worry. So George ate his supper a slightly happier man.