WRITERS ABROAD MAGAZINE: THE THIRD SPACE
‘Why doesn’t she use Okado and get it all delivered?’
‘Because Okado don’t drive three-quarters of a mile into a forest along a dirt track.’
‘Haven’t you heard how dangerous it is to send minors out on their own? There are
paedophiles lurking around every corner you know. I read it on the Daily Mule website.’
‘I told you not to read that anymore!’ Charlotte’s mum rustled her daughter into the
red poncho and pulled the hood up. ‘Give my love to Gran, and stay on the path!’
Good job I’m not on a stealth mission, Charlotte thought, as she walked through the
wood. You can hear me coming a mile off in this thing. She walked quickly, head down.
The weight of the groceries in the crook of her arm cut off the blood flow so she shifted
the basket to her other elbow. The rain was easing and Charlotte counted her steps to
stave off boredom. She had got to three thousand nine hundred and forty two and was
just past the big tree on the edge of Granny’s garden when the sound of an escaped lion
assaulted her ears. She spun around. A sawn-off branch fell to the ground. A bearded man
up a ladder held a chainsaw in his right hand.
Horror film images clamoured inside her head. She wasn’t old enough to watch
Slasher XV but she had watched the gory bits on Youtube with Luce. It had scared the
poop out of them.
‘Who are you and what are you doing up Granny’s tree?’ Charlotte asked in a
trembling voice which was supposed to sound proprietorial.
‘I’m the tree surgeon. Is your granny the old lady in the cottage, Mrs Lockhart?’
‘Yes, that’s her.’
‘She called me out to cut down this branch. It’s blocking the view from her
conservatory or something.’
‘Granny doesn’t have a conservatory.’
‘You and I know that, but she doesn’t.’ The tree surgeon raised his eyebrows. ‘Frankly,
I think Mrs Lockhart, lovely lady that she is, is a little bit...’ he made circular movements
with his index finger near his temple.
Charlotte was wrong-footed. It was one thing for her to moan about Granny being old
and boring and forgetful and edging towards doolally, but it was quite another thing for
someone else to be saying it.
As Charlotte was thinking of a snappy reply, a frail voice called from the front door of
the thatched cottage. ‘Charlotte, is that you?’
‘Yes,’ she called back. ‘I’m coming.’ Charlotte ran towards the cottage.
‘Come on in, you’ll be soaked after that long walk.’
‘I’m fine, Gran.’ Charlotte said as she shook the poncho dry.
‘Just made a nice bit of fruit cake. Would you like some?’
‘Love some. I’ll just put the groceries in the kitchen for you.’ As she put the food away
she saw a Post-it sticker on the fridge. Pay the tree surgeon 150 pounds cash.
Charlotte pulled it off the fridge and took it into the front room where Gran was slicing
a huge slab of cake. ‘No, no Gran, not so thick,’ Charlotte said.
‘You’re not on one of those silly diets, ar e you?’
‘No, but half of that is enough for me.’
‘You don’t eat enough to keep a rabbit alive.’
4 | November 2016