‘Bugger!’ muttered Jake. He got the mower restarted and pushed it forward, but it cut out again almost immediately. ‘Bugger! Bloody thing.’
Eve had been looking forward to today. When they’d arranged this, she’d pictured herself raking cut grass with ease as Jake manfully manoeuvred the strimmer; she would hand him a beer, then they’d sit together on the patio, admiring their handiwork. They would chat about the children, and maybe their work, looking proudly at what they’d achieved with the overgrown garden. She had been thinking about planting some rosebushes and was going to ask his advice. There was a pretty rambling rose clambering up his side of the fence, so it was likely he knew a bit about them – he’d have to know more than she did.
But the afternoon had gone wrong early on. Jake had arrived wearing a baggy pair of faded jeans, the waistband secured by a length of string tied in an enormous knot at the front. Eve tried not to stare. It looked as if he was wearing a plain blue T-shirt but, when he turned around, she saw there was a caption printed on the back, above a silhouette of a group of women running: Moreton WI Over-50s Run-a-Thon 2019, she read. Proudly sponsored by Tena Lady.
‘Nice top,’ she said. ‘Did you, er, take part in that run?’
Jake looked confused, then shook his head and laughed. ‘Not me. I’m not very good at physical stuff like running. When I move too quickly, it looks like bits of my body are about to drop off.’
It had taken him a while to start the strimmer but, once it roared into life, he’d spent a few minutes sweeping it in wide arcs, the machine buzzing like a swarm of bees as it snapped through the tall grass, stalks collapsing onto the ground in its wake. Eve had stood on the patio, watching. He was surprisingly muscular; tendons standing out like taut rope in his lower arms and she could see the swell of his biceps disappearing into the rolled-up sleeves of the sweatshirt. No one would have guessed he had a half-decent body hidden under all that weird clothing. Maybe he worked out?
But then, there was a crack and the engine died.
‘Cord’s gone,’ he’d said, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. ‘Never mind, I’ll put the mower on its highest setting. Should be fine.’
It wasn’t. The machine roared into life, but the long grass clogged up the blades.
‘Bugger!’ Jake yelled again now, as the mower stalled for the sixth time.
‘Let’s call it a day,’ Eve said. ‘We’ve made a start, which is great…’
‘Not giving up on it yet,’ said Jake, teeth gritted as he crouched over the mower. There was a patch of sweat breaking out between his shoulder blades, darkening the words Moreton WI.
She couldn’t watch, it was too painful: like looking on while someone repeatedly bashed themselves on the head with a mallet. As he pushed the roaring mower back into the knee-high grass, she went into the kitchen, knocked back half a bottle of beer and took a Tesco Finest cake out of its packaging – lemon drizzle this time; never let it be said she was predictable. She’d intended to bake something herself but, after waving Daniel off with Ben earlier this morning, had discovered she had no self-raising flour and no eggs. There was a packet of caster sugar, but the contents had solidified into a crystallised brick. So, she’d slung it in the bin and done an emergency dash to Tesco.
There was a worrying silence; the mower had stalled again.
‘Here!’ she called, holding out a slice of cake as she went back onto the patio. ‘Please stop now, Jake. You’ve done a great job, but I think I need to get someone in to deal with this, with some proper equipment.’ She only realised how insulting that sounded, as the words left her mouth. ‘Not that your equipment is no good. You have great equipment! I mean, your gardening stuff obviously. Sorry, that came out all wrong too.’
Jake just glared at her, wiping trails of sweat out of his eyes with fingers which were now bright green and covered in clumps of grass. He marched across to the fence and threw the broken strimmer back into his own garden.
‘I really appreciate what you’ve done,’ she said, as he pulled the mower out of the long grass. ‘You’ve made such a good start.’
Once the mower was free, he turned it over and knelt beside it, peering through the blades, which were matted with grass.
‘No idea what’s going on here,’ he said to himself, as he poked a screwdriver up into the body of the machine. ‘Never had this happen before.’
‘It’s my fault for letting the grass get so long,’ said Eve. ‘I should have done something about it ages ago. I hope it hasn’t broken your blades?’
‘It’s broken something,’ he muttered.
‘God, I’m sorry. Let me pay for the damage, if you can’t mend it yourself, I mean. Not that I’m suggesting you’re not capable of mending it – I’m sure you are! But if it’s too complicated, and you need to take it somewhere…’
Jake stood up and hauled the mower upright again. He wiped the palms of his hands down the legs of his jeans, leaving a long green stripe on either side. The sweaty patch on his back had now spread to include the words Over-50s.
‘It’s ridiculous,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I only got it serviced a few weeks ago. I just can’t work out what’s gone wrong.’ He looked so depressed, his arms hanging by his sides. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘What a fiasco.’
He turned and wheeled the broken machine down the path towards the side of the house. Eve trotted along behind him, wincing as the metal edge of the mower scraped against the brickwork.
‘Jake, please don’t go. I didn’t mean to insult you – or your mower. You’re both great. You more so than the mower, obviously.’
‘That’s fine, don’t worry about it,’ he called, the machine rasping down the path, as if it was taking the top layer of gravel with it. Neither he nor the mower sounded fine at all.
‘How about a beer?’ she asked his retreating back. ‘They’re nice and cold, they’ve been in the fridge.’
He didn’t answer.
‘Piece of cake?’ she asked, holding up the plate, as he opened the side gate. ‘It’s lemon drizzle?’
‘I’m gluten-free,’ he muttered over his shoulder, before disappearing around the front of the house.