Tina loved her garden: In the spring it burst with life, and every year she was delighted and astounded by the rapidity of its change from drab winter to fecund and voluptuous growth. However, even she had to admit that the general fecundity had gone a bit far. So far, indeed as to almost completely obscure the small pond, and some of the little paths.
So she was pleased when a card in the local newsagents advertised that Chris could come and mow her lawn, tend to her beds, and prune her shrubs.
Chris had left a mobile number on the card, so she sent a text. The response was quick and promised Chris’s arrival the following morning.
Tina dressed in her gardening clothes too: she was going to join in – being uncomfortable with just watching. So when Chris’s van pulled in she was in grubby jeans and wellies. No matter: when Chris got out of the van, she too was in grubby jeans and wellies.
There was a moment, just a very short, almost imperceptible (unless you were one of the two women) moment of readjustment as they looked at each other. Each took in the matching outfits, and the fact that they both looked rather good in them. Maybe there is something about a well-turned welly, or the smudges of earth on the knees of a pair of jeans which have been worn and loved into the exact shape of their owner’s buttoculars.
Whatever it was, it infused the ensuing conversation with a extra layer of meaning – sliding like strands of mist around and amongst them.
Chris broke the meaningful silence
“Shall I take a look around? Then you can tell me where you want to start”
Tina already knew, but didn’t want to seem forward. At least, not TOO forward.
She accompanied Chris as she walked round the garden. It was quite large, with hedges which had grown a little too high, shrubs that were a bit too big, flowerbeds a little overgrown. Nothing she couldn’t handle.
“I’m getting a feel for your style, the way you like things” Chris eventually said. They locked eyes – which was tricky as for a while neither could find the key
“I like a cottagey style” Tina replied “relaxed, informal, ….” – she trailed off, her eyes drawn to Chris’s ample breastage swinging out over a flowerbed as she bent down – “I like things to spill out”
Chris stood upright, the gently oscillating frontage settling back into position. “I know exactly what you mean” she assured “I’d be delighted to work on your beds”
They continued to walk round the garden, in silence, until they reached an overgrown quince, its branches sprawling.
“Your bush could do with a trim” Said Chris, without looking at Tina, who nodded.
“What would you like me to do first?” Chris left the question hanging in the air. It hung therefor a while, before settling somewhere near Tina’s unruly bush.
“I’d like help with my beds” she replied, dampeningly.
Chris fetched her toolbelt from the van, and slung it around her curveaceous hips with a confident swagger. As she walked, the trowels and forks and secateurs swung gently with each swish of her hips. Tina could see her buttocks joining in a bit too, which was nice.
They crouched together at the edge of the larger flower bed. It was overgrown with perennials which had outlasted their prime. Chris started explaining her strategy: “What you want to have is some nice strong, well-shaped perennials to give structure, and then you get some good bedding each year to fill in”
Tina nodded eagerly: she was keen on the whole idea of getting some good bedding, especially if there was some filling in too. It was delightful to be with someone who so understood her needs.
Chris had a very good eye for these things, and had some recommendations to make; “What you need over there is a statement plant. I would suggest a Red Hot Poker. One of my favourites. It comes up time after time. It always delivers” Tina nodded breathlessly, admiring at the same time the way the breezes ruffled Chris’s curleaceaous hair, which tumbled down over her shoulders.
“How about Love in a Mist?” she suggested, hopefully. “I love that too” purred Chris
They weeded and tidied together for a while, til finally Chris felt they had done enough. “I’ll get a good layer of mulch over that and it’ll soon get everything going”
She was squatting beside the bed, toolbelt and jeans having slipped slightly southwards, just enough to reveal the sort of little furrow Tina would like to sow some seeds in, so to speak. Even without a layer of mulch, Tina felt everything was getting going.
“It must be time for a cup of tea!” she exclaimed, “Let’s have a break. Come inside and have a sit down”
They went into the kitchen, dragging off wellies at the doorway and shaking out crumpled jeans, – an action which got all four buttocks jiggling happily.
The kettle was soon on, tea was soon mashing. Tina suggested they sit down. Chris worried that her jeans were too dirty for the sofa.
Tina reassured her “You’re not too dirty for MY sofa” and they sat down together. Chris wriggled uncomfortably, and then giggled as she realised she had sat down with the toolbelt on.
“I sat on my dibber!” she cried, pulling the large wooden item from beneath herself
“Let me help you out of that” said Tina, undoing the buckle hurriedly
Chris smiled “That’s not the toolbelt” she said. But she didn’t mind.
The tea mashed. For longer than is generally advised. Neither noticed; they had both forgotten the tea. For although their throats may have been dry, the flowerbeds were damp. And as time wore on, inhibitions were loosened. They shared their enthusiasm for summer bedding and good tools. There was no mulch to hand to get them going, but it didn’t take long before they were able to enjoy plants in all their forms – climbing sprawling, squat, trailing. And as for the toolbelt? It lay on the floor, forgotten for now, except for the dibber.
I do wonder what the dibber was used for.