‘You can laugh, but here’s proof.’ I hated to admit he was right.
Patrick’s experiment was working: two garden beds, one lavished with love, the other merely watered and fertilised. The difference was remarkable.
Patrick was delighted – he doted on his ‘lovelies’, stroking their branches, murmuring soft words. He spent whole nights with his arms entwined in dangling foliage, his face pressed into spongy mulch.
Enough was enough. I needed some of that affection. I stormed outside, hedge-trimmer ready, then froze. There was Patrick, delicate green fronds shooting from his fingertips, his legs furrowed, woody, rooted in soft soil.