Free Wish Me Luck by Margaret Dickinson Page B

don’t know when I last laughed so much. It’s the best medicine, they say. I’ll be throwing all me pills away if you’re staying long.’
    ‘I’m staying.’ Fleur nodded as her thoughts turned to Robbie. ‘Oh, I’m staying, Mr Chambers.’
    ‘Right then, lass,’ he said as he levered himself up from the battered chair. ‘Then you’d best start calling me “Harry”. I don’t know who on earth you’re talking about with all this “Mr Chambers” business. Now, let’s go and see if I can find this ’ere scythe for you.’
    When he opened the door of his shed, Fleur could not prevent a gasp of surprise escaping her lips. All the gardening tools were neatly stacked against the walls or lined up in order along the shelves or hanging from hooks. Each item had been cleaned and oiled before being put away. She almost laughed aloud to see the contrast between the old man’s garden shed and the state of his house. But, she reflected, the smile dying on her lips, this was his domain; the house had been his wife’s and he’d lost her.
    ‘’Ere we are,’ Harry said, carefully unhooking the huge scythe from its nail. ‘It’s a big ’un, lass. Sure you can manage one this size?’
    Not wanting to sound boastful, Fleur said, ‘I think it’s the same size as me dad’s.’ She took it from his hands, feeling the weight. ‘Yes, I’m sure it is. Anyway, I’ll soon know.’
    ‘Just you be careful, lass.’ Harry was still anxious.
    ‘I will,’ she smiled. ‘And thank you.’
    ‘Don’t mention it. There’ll be no one more pleased than me to see old Arthur’s garden looking a picture again. I just wish …’ His voice faded away and a sad, faraway look came into his old eyes as he glanced back towards his own house.
    ‘What do you wish, Harry?’ Fleur prompted softly, but he sniffed and forced a smile. ‘Nothing, lass, nothing at all.’
    But as she walked past the open back door and saw again the cluttered state of the old man’s kitchen, she thought she knew what he had been going to say.
    Of course, as she thought might happen, Harry leant on the fence between the two gardens to watch her taking the first few sweeping strokes. Soon she was into a steady rhythm. When she paused for a breather, she looked up to see him nodding at her.
    ‘Aye lass, you’re right. You can do it. Never seen a lass frame so well, I haven’t. In fact’ – his expression was comical – ‘I can’t say I’ve ever seen a lass scything afore.’ He levered himself off the fence. ‘Well, can’t stand here all day chatting. I’d best be getting on with a few jobs mesen.’
    ‘Harry, before you go, could you pass the sharpening stone over? I’m going to need it.’
    ‘Right you are, lass. Ah, and here comes Mary with a cuppa.’ Fleur turned to see Mary Jackson tottering along the mud path down the centre of the garden. Laying down the scythe, Fleur hurried towards her. ‘Oh, you shouldn’t have bothered,’ she scolded the old lady gently, but reached with eager hands to take the mug. ‘Mind you, it’s thirsty work. I’m ready for it.’
    ‘Any left in the pot, Mary?’ Harry called out and the old lady chuckled.
    ‘Course there is, Harry. Think I’d forget you?’ And she turned to walk stiffly back towards the cottage.
    ‘Don’t you be struggling out again, lass,’ Harry called. ‘I’ll come round.’
    Fleur stifled her giggles to hear the old lady called ‘lass’, but maybe they’d lived side by side for years and that’s how he still thought of her.
    Before long the two elderly people were sitting on a couple of old stools in the back yard chatting amiably – Harry’s jobs forgotten – whilst Fleur worked herself into a sweat cutting the long grass. She was still at it when Ruth appeared round the corner of the cottage.
    ‘Well, it’s all right for some. ’Ello, Harry – Mrs Jackson.’ She shaded her eyes and looked down the garden. ‘What on earth is she doing?’
    ‘Cutting the