Thoughts about something happening to his beautiful flowers were keeping Patrick awake . . .
BY ALYSON HILBOURNE
PATRICK’S eyes snapped open and his head jerked from the pillow. He threw back the covers, swinging his legs to the floor.
The sheep he’d been counting trying to get to sleep had morphed into aphids – aphids crawling up the stems of his roses, sucking juice from the buds.
Patrick shivered.
The buds he was going to display at the flower show on Saturday – the show at which he had won the top prize for the last two years.
Patrick’s chest tightened as he rammed his feet into his slippers and grabbed his dressing gown.
“Where are you going?” Ivy mumbled from her side of the bed.
“Roses,” Patrick muttered, forcing his arm into his dressing gown. “Aphids . . .”
“No . . .” Ivy’s voice trailed off as she turned over and snuggled deeper into the bed. “Those roses will be the death of you and me . . .”
Her voice was so quiet Patrick didn’t hear.
He hurried downstairs and unlocked the back door.
Outside, in the light from a nearby street lamp, Patrick fiddled to open the lock on the shed.
He felt along the shelf and pulled out the pump spray.
Luckily it was still full so he carried it round to the front garden.
It was quiet, although Patrick could hear the hum of distant traffic from the high street.
The lawn was cold, and damp seeped through Patrick’s tartan carpet slippers.
He should have put his wellies on, but he ignored the soggy feeling.
This was more urgent.
Using the streetlights to see, Patrick circled the garden carefully, spraying each bush.
As he passed, he breathed in the scent of the elegant flowers and touched the silky petals.
“Centifolia . . . my beauty.”
He put his hand under the large blousy pink bloom and checked the buds with their rouged tips would be ready for the weekend.
He smiled to himself.
There should be enough to choose from to get the perfect bloom.
“Damask . . . such scent.”
Patrick inhaled the sweet aroma and admired the clustered petals as intricate as lace, prettier in the partial light of night than in the glare of day to his mind.
Slowly he checked on all the bushes. Everything was fine.
Patrick breathed a sigh of relief and carried the spray back to the shed, fastened the lock and returned to bed.
Ivy didn’t stir as he allowed his cold feet to warm under the duvet
