“Hold on. This isn’t open yet,” he said, gazing around. “This patio was laid a few weeks ago. This is where your dad wants you working?”
Shrugging, I followed his gaze with my own. “I think he’s trying to catch me out. It’s a tough area. It’s connected to the main garden, the play area for the kids, the main picnic green, and the maze. It needs to be functional, disability accessible, and still flow with the surrounding areas. Plus one half of the garden is on a large slope that’s tough to deal with.”
Miles turned his head side to side until he finally turned on the balls of his feet to get a full three-sixty view of the area. “You’ve ticked all the boxes. What’s the problem?”
“The layout.” I picked up the pad of paper I’d be working on and held it out to him. “A pergola. But I have no idea about the sizing of such a thing or if this size would even work without supporting beams that would impact accessibility. Or how to plant to get things definitely growing up it.”
“I’m not a builder.” Miles took the pad from me and looked at it. “So I haven’t got a bloody clue about that,” he continued. “But assuming this size works, growing things up it is relatively simple, depending on what you’re looking for. Evergreen? Fast growing? Flowering season?”
I opened my mouth, but I didn’t know. What was I looking for? I didn’t know. I hadn’t thought that far ahead.
Oh, my gosh.
I couldn’t do this. I was way out of my depth.
“I don’t know,” I whispered, flattening my hand against my chest. “Oh, my gosh. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what’s needed. I haven’t even thought about this. I have two days to get a plan to my tutor and I don’t know what I’m doing!”
Miles took a step back.
“This is a mess! I don’t want my father setting me up with more dates with people he thinks are suitable! They aren’t suitable! They give me migraines!” I pressed my hands against my cheeks. “I don’t know what I’m doing. Oh, God.”
“Give me your pencil.”
I blinked at him. “My pencil.”
“Yes, Gabriella. Your pencil. The long yellow and black striped thing in your hand that you’re about to take your eye out with.”
Right.
Of course.
I lowered my hands and passed him the number two pencil I’d been sketching my ideas out with. He took it from me and looked at the nib and rolled his eyes.
So it was blunt.
I’d forgotten to pick up a sharpener. Sue me.
“Here.” He handed both the pencil and the pad of paper back to me after writing something down. “These are the things you need to consider.”
I looked down at what he’d written. “You write like a doctor.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“I can’t read this. At least my doctor prints my prescriptions. How am I supposed to decode this? The women of Bletchley Park would struggle with this.”
He grunted and came over. “Evergreen, flowering season, growth speed.” He pointed at each word. “It’s not that hard.”
I didn’t see it. At all.
“Thank God you didn’t have to figure out the Enigma Code or Hitler might have won,” I muttered.
“I’ll take that as a thank you,” Miles replied dryly. “Are you done taking up my time? Can I get back to work now?”
“Yes. Thank you for your help. I appreciate it.”
He nodded in acknowledgement of my gratitude and turned away, leaving me to stand alone on the patio.
“Take the stick out your arse as you go,” I muttered, turning away.
“Did you say something?” Miles said, pausing in the entrance.
I started, then hugged the pad of paper to my chest. “Talking to myself, that’s all.”
“That’s the first sign of madness, you know.”
“No, the first sign of madness is having hairy palms.” I glanced up in time to see him sneak a quick look at his hand. “The second sign is looking for them.”
He glared at me.
I grinned.
Miles shook his head and left for real this time, while I fought back a small laugh. Boy, he really didn’t like me, did he?
Gosh, I was going crazy. A couple of days ago I was annoyed about it, but now, I found it funny.
With a sigh, I turned back to the space, immediately slumping my shoulders when the magnitude of the job once again washed over me.
It was time to retreat to the internet for research.
***
Somehow, by some kind of bloody marvellous miracle, I managed to get my design done three hours before I needed to submit it. I wasn’t sure if I’d get the top marks I knew I was capable of, but this was only one half of the assignment.
The other half was the one that mattered.
Bringing the garden to life.
That one I knew I could ace, so I was holding onto that.
“Have you seen the weather forecast?” I asked Aunt Cat. I was leaning against her dressing table and helping her choose her clothes for her weekend away with Dad, but I wasn’t entirely sure she was going to need the sunhat she was currently putting in her suitcase. And that was merely based on the fact they were attending a wedding in Wales, not the Algarve.
The storm forecast notwithstanding.
“I have. But it’s the Met Office, dear, and they don’t know their arses from their ears.” She put some flip-flops in on top of the sunhat.
No. That wouldn’t do.
“I think you do this deliberately.” I pushed off the dressing table and nudged her out of my way. I couldn’t stand the manner in which she packed, and she knew it. I all but emptied her suitcase onto the bed and set to folding it and repacking it correctly.
Like not putting shoes on top of hats or clothes.
“I might well do,” she replied, examining her nails. “What do those wily foxes say the weather’s doing this weekend, then?”
Wily foxes.
That was something I’d never heard the Met Office called.
Could meteorologists be referred to as wily foxes? What was wily or fox-like about predicting the weather?
“There’s a storm coming in,” I answered, folding her favorite cocktail dress. “A pretty bad one. High winds. Predicted flooding. It’s supposed to be all weekend.”
“Oh. Then I won’t need these, will I?” She removed the sunhat and flip-flops from the suitcase. “Shall I pack my wellies?”
“It’s Wales,” I replied dryly. “You should always pack your wellies if you’re going to Wales for longer than a day trip. In fact, even then it’s worth throwing them in the boot.”
“Good point. You’ll have to take those clothes out, Gabriella. My wellies will need to go in the bottom.”
Sigh.
“Have you considered what you’ll do if you can’t get back? You know the roads flood and it takes forever for them to clear.”
“Well, if the bloody council would stop building on the flood plains, it wouldn’t be a problem.”
“Unfortunately, unless you suddenly become the person in charge at the council, there’s not a lot we can do about that.” I delicately placed her clothing to the side. “If the weather takes a turn for the worse, will you come home early or stay?”