Ivy Lane: Spring: by Cathy Bramley Page A

‘let’s get the rear panel up first. Ever used one of these?’
    No, funnily enough. My DIY experience began and ended with assembling an Ikea bookcase with an Allen key. No batteries required.
    I shook my head; my mouth was too dry to speak. Partly nerves, partly tea-deficiency.
    She placed the drill in my hands. ‘We’ll have a dry run,’ she said, picking up a spare bit of wood and a screw.
    ‘Now, all you do is . . .’ She wrapped her arms round me from behind and covered my hands with hers. I heard what could have been a cough, or more likely a snort of enjoyment from Gemma, and squeezed my eyes shut. How had I ended up in this position?
    ‘And then squeeze the trigger, gently at first . . .’
    ‘SHAZZA!’
    Shazza leapt away from me as if she’d be burned. I let out a sigh of relief and we both turned to see Karen on the path behind us, a mug in each hand. Two pink spots coloured the nurse’s cheeks and she looked like she was about to cry.
    ‘I’ve brought you both a drink, but I can see you’re otherwise engaged,’ Karen said in a wavering, high-pitched voice.
    ‘I was only helping the lass out, love. No need to upset yourself.’ Shazza was at Karen’s side in an instant, stroking her hair.
    Realisation dawned; I’d assumed they were friends or sisters. Not . . . more.
    I looked over to Gemma for assistance and caught her eye. No help from that quarter, she was wetting herself laughing.
    I strode over and gave her my teacher stare and got straight to the point. ‘What’s the deal with the shed shenanigans?’
    Her face went pale, as well it might.
    ‘Who told you?’ she muttered.
    I rolled my eyes. ‘It was pretty obvious, you weren’t exactly discrete about it.’
    ‘Oh.’ She seemed disappointed at that. ‘Well, if I’d known you were coming, I wouldn’t have done it.’
    I groaned at her. Unbelievable. ‘This is not about me, Gemma, what about Mike?’
    ‘He was in on it. In fact, the whole family was in on it at one stage.’
    Wait, what?
    ‘Anyway, I’d earned it.’ She jammed her hands on her hips and stared right at me, her blue eyes a picture of defiance. Her hair was held back with a thin pink Alice band today. She looked about twelve. ‘After all that man put me through.’
    ‘Who, Mike?’
    ‘No, that awful Frank Garton.’
    ‘Gemma, you’ve lost me completely.’
    ‘Dumping stuff on my allotment. Always having dodgy meetings in the shed. We had the police round here every week before he was arrested.’
    ‘So when he got kicked off the site, Mike, me, Mum and Dad nicked his shed. Your shed.’ She chewed on her lip and looked at me from under a furrowed brow.
    A few moments of silence went by as realization slowly dawned.
    ‘I wasn’t talking about that! I meant that boy, last seen holding his privates, leaving your shed.’
    ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Tilly!’ Her face broke into a wide smile. ‘Why didn’t you say?’ She grabbed my arm and dragged me into her shed. There was a beach towel on the floor and I tried not to put my muddy boots on it.
    ‘You swear you won’t tell anyone?’
    Like I had anyone to tell. ‘Swear.’
    She leaned towards me with a cheeky grin. ‘That was Colin. He has a plot over the other side with his mum.’
    I nodded, not sure where she was heading with this.
    ‘He’s a male glamour model. But his mum doesn’t know.’
    I opened my mouth to say that he didn’t look like one, but frankly, what did I know? And I still didn’t like the sound of where this was going.
    ‘In return for services rendered, he does most of my digging and planting. Don’t tell my mum.’ She wagged a finger at me. ‘See?’ She held up a carrier bag and showed me its contents: several used wax strips covered in short and curlies. ‘Back, sack and crack.’
    I covered my gaping mouth with my hand. The mere thought brought tears to my eyes.
    ‘Mum wanted me to have an allotment and don’t get me wrong, I do love all the fresh veg and stuff