Free The Fence by Meredith Jaffe Page A

sorry, dear?’
    Francesca tsked. ‘I’m wondering how we might fix this problem. I mean, the obvious solution is to remove the trees. You could replant them on your side of the boundary, although I see there’s not much space between the boundary line and your driveway, is there? So maybe that wouldn’t work.’ Still that sweet smile but it is cut with steel.
    â€˜Why must we move them at all?’ Gwen argues. ‘They’re doing no harm.’
    â€˜They’re on our land, Mrs Hill. That’s the problem.’
    â€˜But it was agreed, between neighbours.’ And she can feel them too, Babs and Rohan, hovering in her defence.
    â€˜Your old neighbours, Mrs Hill. This free access between properties is unacceptable. We have small children and dogs. We need to know where they are at all times.’
    â€˜Your backyard is fenced.’ Gwen is trying to be reasonable but struggles to understand why Francesca is so rigid in her thinking.
    â€˜The backyard.’ Francesca removes her gardening gloves, easing them off finger by finger and placing the pair in one of her elasticised pockets. ‘The thing is, Mrs Hill, space is limited in our backyard. Between the pool and the courtyard, there’s barely enough room for the trampoline. There’s certainly nowhere for the dogs to run around.’
    The pool does take up most of the backyard. They both know Gwen cannot argue that point. Francesca pushes her advantage.
    â€˜Your garage is full of all that dangerous machinery and my son Silver is a curious child – it happens with gifted children, as you may know – and it worries Brandy and I that he might wander in and hurt himself. I’ve noticed Mr Hill is quite relaxed about safety. He’s always leaving the garage door open. Peanut came home the other day covered in sawdust. And then there’s that smell!’
    Gwen knows she’s referring to the industrial glue Eric works with. Which is why he keeps the garage doors open so he doesn’t poison himself. But he doesn’t use the glue every day.
    â€˜I don’t see what any of this has to do with my crab apples,’ she says.
    â€˜They are on my property.’ Francesca folds her arms and glares at Gwen.
    Gwen steps forward. ‘And your dogs gallivant all over my lawn, defecating where they please. I don’t come knocking on your door complaining, do I? Those animals are out of control.’
    Francesca’s smile thins. ‘You can’t possibly expect us to chain the dogs up. That would be cruel.’
    â€˜No, but you have a backyard. That’s where the dogs should be.’
    â€˜Our dogs are part of the family, Mrs Hill. When we’re out in the garden,’ here she sweeps her hand around the expanse of her fiefdom, ‘we like to have them with us. There is an obvious solution.’
    Gwen doesn’t like the sound of this but Francesca has hijacked the conversation. She steps away, wanting to walk off and leave this modern day Caroline Ingalls in her prairie outfit to massacre the rest of the camellias.
    â€˜Brandy and I have discussed this at length and to our minds there is only one viable solution.’
    Gwen glances up at the house where Eric potters in the garage, oblivious to the unfolding crisis.
    â€˜I mean, the trees will still have to go of course, given they are encroaching on our property there is no way around it, but trees or no trees, the only real solution is to put up a fence.’
    Without thinking, Gwen turns on her heel and races towards the garage, away from this vile woman and her extraordinary ideas. It is not enough that they are desecrating Babs’ memory, now they wanted to shut the world out as if, as if, they were some kind of royalty or Paris Hilton or the Kardashians trying to keep the paparazzi at bay when all they are is a couple of middle class wannabes who think they are better than ­everybody else.

Frankie’s