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That evening was much more tranquil for the three gardeners.
Ray went to see Annie at the care-home and got home shortly after seven.
She’d seemed very frail, ‘away with the fairies’, as the nurses liked to say with a flutter of hands, if they weren’t holding a tray or another patient.
The powerful dose of drugs administered daily to Annie was enough to put her well and truly under, which the doctors said was the best form of treatment available to her for the time being.
It had taken a while to find the right combination of pills for Annie’s pain, but, looking at her that evening, it seemed that she was in just as much pain as before with the folded creases on her faces unrelenting.
The pills, once they’d started to lose their initial oomph and the body became immune, would tire of use and leave Annie to wriggle and nod day and night.
As Ray sat eating a heated-up cottage pie in his armchair, he wondered whether she needed a new set of drugs and made a mental note to call the care-home about it tomorrow.
Rob made some music from a piece of software in his computer called ‘Fruity Loops’, where imported noises and effects can be placed in a sequence of dots to make music.
His taste was varied; Faultline, Pink Floyd, the Sex Pistols and The Clash were amongst his favourites.
At the stroke of midnight, he went to bed.
Terry was in a great mood all night. He went straight home and, without being full of wishy-washy lager, made an unprecedented and prolonged effort with Emerald.
Josie was glad to see him so happy and played along, wondering why he was acting so nicely. He hadn’t been happy for months, but now that winter was over and spring had well and truly arrived Terry felt almost human.
The killing of the ivy had been instrumental in his revival of spirit, and it had to be said that he loved his job, especially at this time of year.
Even if the money slightly prohibited his penchant for beer and fishing, it was at the very least a rewarding job.
He explained the story about the ivy to Josie with a bottle of wine and they went to bed, making love for the first time in months.
Terry apologised to his wife for being such a pain and they agreed to cut down on spending ‘me-time’ money by half to concentrate on Emerald more.
The next morning, Wednesday, Terry parked up in his spot and skipped over towards the shed.
He made a conscious decision whilst driving that he would work on his own garden that weekend to give his baby girl somewhere to play.
Having arrived earlier than usual to sharpen the tools for another day on the wall, he noted that his enthusiasm for work and life had dramatically changed for the better. He felt like a different person from the one at the start of the week.
Was there some hidden meaning to his change of heart? Was the ivy partly responsible?
The fact was that Terry wasn’t bothered about whys and wherefores, so he quickly decided to put it down to the weather and the new season, and maybe the ivy had helped him along.
Terry would be classified by a good doctor as a sufferer of Seasonally Adjusted Disorder, but he will probably never know, such is his fear of the medical profession.
Even if he was told, he’d be sure to deny it and revert to lager and fishing.
Thinking of how best to go about the rest of the ivy, Terry couldn’t help feeling completely at one with his work.
Entering the shed, he filled the kettle and flicked it on, then he went over to the chisels and picked out a dozen with differing widths to sharpen at the lathe.
Half an hour later, Rob breezed in and went straight for the kettle.
They said their ‘hellos’ as always.
After placing the chisels and wire-brushes into a satchel, Terry went to sit down at the table just as Rob came across the room with the tray.
Moments later, Ray walked into the shed.
‘Morning, lads. Lovely day out there,’ he said.
‘Morning, chef,’ said the lads.
As usual, Ray placed his coat on the back of the door and took out a brown smock from a pile of fresh ones.