While Grandad rootled about in the shed for the tools, I inspected the dragon-fruit tree. Its long, knobbly, cactus-like leaves sprouted out like unruly hair. I could see a few vivid yellow and orange tendrils starting to appear and knew that one night soon the moon-white flowers would bloom. These amazing flowers, some as big as my head, appeared for just one night. Like starbursts they glowed, shining in secret through the darkness. Then the petals drooped and the first fruit of the next crop would start to grow. And there’d be more dragons to look out for!

The tree looked a bit more droopy than usual. I poured some water onto the base of it, soaking the roots like Grandad had shown me with the apple trees. It had been hot for weeks and he said everything needed a good long drink. I also made a mental note to keep a closer eye on the tree from now on.

‘Ho ho ho,’ Grandad said as he came out the shed waving a hoe at me. ‘Time to battle those weeds, Chipstick. Then we can spread that there mulch. It’ll keep the water in and the weeds out.’ He pointed to a huge heap of bark chips and my shoulders sagged at the thought of lugging all that across the garden.

Grandad must have noticed, because he put down his hoe and headed back into the shed.

‘What do you say to a bit of fuel first?’ he said, reappearing with a tin crammed with Nana’s jam tarts and chocolate fudge cupcakes. ‘I keep a secret stash down here,’ he chuckled. ‘Your Nana thinks old Mrs Doodah’s dog ate them.’

I bet she didn’t. Nana knew Grandad far too well. But it made us both laugh all the same.

While Grandad returned to the shed for a flask of coffee for himself and a bottle of lemonade for me, I threw a jam tart into the air like a mini Frisbee. Flicker zipped down from the apple tree, caught it in mid-air and whisked it away.

I once heard my mum telling someone that gardening was good for you, that it kept you fit like doing a workout. I hadn’t believed it. Wandering around pulling a few dead roses off a bush didn’t seem like it would do much at all except bore the pants off you. But since coming to Grandad’s, I could see what she meant. It was hard work. There was always some job to do. It was a shame I couldn’t swap places with Flicker. After an energetic dust bath in the ashy remains of Grandad’s bonfire, he was curling up to sleep in an old flower pot. Lucky him!

After about an hour of hoeing, weeding and watering, Grandad had me soaping the plants. I know, weird or what? But it was one way of dealing with the pests without spraying them with chemicals.

It wasn’t just slugs we were battling against. There were spider mites, aphids, blackfly, caterpillars, snails, beetles, wasps, earwigs, stinkbugs and more. It was a full-on assault. On our side were an army of ladybirds and lacewings that Grandad had bought online. They were the natural alternative to chemical sprays. But I felt as if we were in danger of losing the battle as the enemy marched on, chomping its way through our hard-worked-for fruit and veg.

Grandad wiped his forehead with a hanky and blew out his breath. And then suddenly, from across the fence, an even more beastly enemy loomed.

The huge shape rose up and peered over at us. Grim. His eyes were narrowed and the frown lines set so deep across his face, honestly, you could have skied down them. He also had what appeared to be a lump of jam stuck in his hair. I looked up to see Flicker hiding among the leaves of a tree, nibbling on a piece of pastry. It looked as if the jam-tart filling hadn’t made it up there with him.

‘Hello there, Jim,’ Grandad said cheerily.

There was a grunt that was loaded with more grump than a bad-tempered camel who’d found you standing on his foot.

He glared at me. And swiped at a wasp that was now dive-bombing his head in an attempt to get to the jam.

‘Bloomin’ bugs,’ he said. ‘They’re all over my veg.’

‘Pesky little things, aren’t they?’ Grandad replied.

By the way Grim kept his eyes on me, I could tell he seemed to be blaming us – or at least me – for the onslaught.

Grim’s hand touched his hair and came away covered in the sticky raspberry jam. I stifled a smirk. He narrowed his eyes even more, staring at the soapy bucket I was still carrying as if it was full of jam ready to lob at him.

‘He’d better not be flinging bugs over onto my garden,’ he growled.

I had, in fact, done exactly that the first few times. Released the little band of renegades over the fence. To pay ‘Grim Jim’ back for shouting at Grandad that time. But Grandad had caught me and that was the end of that.

‘Or anything else for that matter,’ Grim added.

And he disappeared back to his shed, still muttering about pesky bugs and pesky kids and wiping his hand on his trousers, which only spread the sticky mess further.

I couldn’t help myself and the smirk erupted into a guffaw. But Grandad’s hard stare soon stopped it.

‘Why’s he got sheets up at the window and locks all over his shed?’ I asked. ‘What’s he got in there anyway?’

Grandad looked across towards Grim and the shed, then shrugged and handed me a rake.

‘Nothing valuable, I don’t expect. He just doesn’t like nosy parkers. He’s all right – just a tad grumpy, that’s all.’

‘A tad?’ I snorted.

‘All right, a big tad. But just let him be, Tomas,’ Grandad said, digging his hoe into the hard ground. ‘He’s still in a huff about old Mrs Dollopsy-Whatsit, or whatever her name is, complaining about the smoke from his bonfires. He’s none too happy about having to cart everything away to the tip when he’s always had a good bonfire to get rid of the rubbish.’

He gave a grunt as he bashed a clod of earth into bits.

‘Besides, it’s a busy time for old Jim. There’s the annual County Flower and Veg Show coming up and I’ve heard he always does really well. People can get real competitive when it comes to the size of their onions. If growing the biggest veg was an Olympic sport he’d be up getting gold, that’s for sure. You should see the turnip he’s got growing over there – he’ll need the whole village to pull that out before long.’

‘So are you thinking of entering?’

‘Might be,’ Grandad said, scratching his whiskery cheek. ‘My beans are looking pretty prize-winning. Never seen ones so big.’

‘You should,’ I said. ‘Mum says you’ve always had green fingers. You’re bound to beat the competition.’ I couldn’t help enjoying the thought of Grandad outgrowing Grim.

Grandad laughed and I had a feeling he’d seen my eyes flicking over to Grim’s shed when I said it.

‘How about you and that sunflower, hey, Chipstick? Going to beat the competition for the biggest and best?’

I grimaced and held up my fingers. ‘Not looking very green to me.’ The truth was I hadn’t given much thought to the sunflower I was supposed to be growing for the competition at school. Compared to dragons, sunflowers didn’t seem that exciting!

Grandad smiled and turned away. But as he headed off he wobbled unsteadily, as if his foot had met a bit of uneven ground. He sat down heavily on the bench outside the shed.

‘Time to shut up shop, I think,’ he sighed. But he stayed there for a few minutes getting his breath back while I gathered things together and tidied up the tools.

I couldn’t help peering over the fence again. Grandad was right – the turnips and onions Grim was growing were huge. My eyes locked on the fortified shed where he was holed away. It seemed to me that Grim was way more than just a bit grumpy and I’d have been willing to bet that there was something going on in that shed that he really didn’t want people to see.

By the time we’d had tea – Nana’s giant toad in the hole followed by steamed jam sponge and custard – Grandad had perked up again.

‘Best be getting you back,’ he said.

‘Take some pudding for Lolli.’ Nana smiled.

As we left the house Grandad peered down the lane.

‘Hey up, isn’t that one of your lot, Tomas?’

I looked to where he was pointing and saw Liam coming towards us.

‘Er … no. Definitely not,’ I said.

‘Well, he looks a bit like someone’s pulled him through a hedge backwards. Perhaps you should see if he’s all right.’

I doubted Liam would like anyone fussing over him, least of all me. But Grandad was right about the state of him. I could see now that his shirt was ripped on one side and he was limping. He looked up and saw us, then quickly turned on his heel and hobbled away.

What had Liam been doing down the lane? It only led out to the fields. And he was usually really fussy about looking smart. So what exactly had he been up to?