“I know he’s good looking but who’d be daft enough to put up with that behaviour?”

  “Someone must fancy him enough and not know what he’s like.”

  “He went out with that Coco Hargreaves for twelve months, so she must have been able to cope with his obsessive ways.”

  “Yeah, but she’s a right clown, isn’t she? Get it?” Dotty shook her head.

  “Yes, you’re hilarious. Anyway, I’m thinking of getting another job.”

  “You only set your gardening business up a few months ago.”

  “But I was talked into it by you two and it doesn’t suit my personality.”

  “You’re right. A gardener who is afraid of worms won’t go far.”

  “I didn’t think it through. I conveniently forgot how cold it gets at this time of year and it will get worse when winter sets in. Plus, the work will dry up soon and then what will I do for money.”

  “I don’t know. You should check with Alan Titchmarsh off the telly. See what the celebrity gardeners do in winter.”

  “I wouldn’t mind being on chat shows like him.”

  “You could sign up to do extra work for TV and films. You might get to meet someone famous.”

  “That’s not a bad idea. I should look into it.” The trouble with Dotty, every job apart from her own seemed a good idea. She didn’t know what she wanted to do with her life. She had no real direction. The only thing she knew was that she didn’t want to follow her dad’s footsteps and join the police force.

  Twenty minutes later, Dotty’s phone pinged. She nervously peered at her screen. Thankfully, it was the garage to let her know her car was ready. The friends parted ways.

  She walked down the High Street and up past the school. There was an ice cream van parked outside. She checked her watch. It was too late for any school children to buy from him, too cold as well in Dotty’s opinion. She doubted he’d have many customers today. Her hawk eye noticed it wasn’t the usual van. Sometimes she stopped and bought an ice cream off Franco. Out of a sense of sympathy, she decided to buy a cornet. The window of the van was closed. She tapped on the screen.

  “Whadda yer want?” A dark-haired chap with bushy eyebrows and a thick mop of hair stood peering down at her. His tone was short and sharp.

  “Can I have a ninety-nine, please?”

  “None left.”

  Dotty took a step back and raised her eyebrows.

  “Okay, well I’ll have an ordinary ice cream, then.”

  “None of them either, now shove off.” With that, he slid the window shut with a bang leaving Dotty open-mouthed. What a rude man, she thought. He won’t make any money with that attitude. It seemed incredulous to her how anyone made a living behaving in such a way. Hopefully, Franco would be back on his pitch soon. Whoever heard of an ice cream man running out of ice cream? It wasn’t even summer. She struggled to let go of what happened and played the scene over to herself.

  Dotty continued her journey, shaking her head. She sighed, wishing she hadn’t got out of bed that morning. She was having one of those days. When she arrived at the garage, the young mechanic with the spotty complexion looked jumpy. She wondered if there was something else wrong with her car. He rubbed his hands down the leg of his overalls.

  “Is anything wrong?” she asked,

  “Er, no.” He rummaged in his pocket and brought out a scrap of paper. “A guy called in this morning just after you dropped your car off and asked if I’d pass this onto you.”

  “What is it?” Dotty frowned, taking the tiny bit of paper.

  “I, er, I think it’s his phone number.”

  “Oh right.” What was it with these guys? She’d had enough of men for one day. She didn’t even look at the name or number. That was all Dotty needed, a blind date with some random weirdo who had followed her into the garage. She screwed up the piece of paper and threw it in the nearest bin.

  Chapter 3

  Dotty never saw the handsome dark-haired guy with the Porsche who watched her take her car into the garage. She never noticed this new good-looking stranger who had moved into the area, but he spotted her, with her sleek auburn hair and film-star good looks. He smiled and wrote his number down. It was worth a gamble to see how brave she was. He didn’t approach her either when he saw her out walking her dog the following day. He would bide his time.

  Dotty picked the spongy ball up and threw it as far as she could across the field. She watched her poodle, Winnie, shoot off towards the edge of the meadow. She rubbed her hands together and stamped her feet. In one way she was glad not to be working today in these arctic temperatures. The field was littered with the remnants of bonfire night, with rockets burnt out and other firework wrappings. The event this year had been a washout. It had eventually stopped raining, so they could light the fire, but not as many turned up as usual because of the inclement conditions.

  Farmer Greenhalgh had held a regular bonfire here since Dotty could remember. Even as a kid, she’d never really liked the occasion, being too frightened of the noise and stories of people getting maimed after getting too close to the action. She was happy to watch the display from the safety of her kitchen window, and her poor poodle, Winnie was always glad when it was over.

  She shoved her hands deep into her red duffle coat pockets and shivered. Where had Winnie gone? She couldn’t see her. For a horrible moment, she worried that Winnie had jumped in the river. Dotty hated her doing that because she smelt like rotten cabbage when she came out.

  “Winnie,” Dotty cried, and the poodle came bounding towards her. “Where’s your ball? What have you done with it? We’ve not lost another one, have we? Come on, let’s see if we can find it.” She marched across the muddy terrain with her trusty canine close behind. She poked around in the undergrowth with a tree branch she’d found lying on the path. There was no sign of the ball. She sighed — another visit to the pound shop. Next time she went she would stock up on toys for her dog because Winnie kept losing them.

  Suddenly, Winnie spotted a rabbit and chased off. Dotty hoped she wouldn’t catch it. She hated animal cruelty. Nature could be harsh sometimes. She didn’t agree with survival of the fittest and the fact that only the strong survive. She always looked out for the underdog and was a sucker for a sob story.

  In the gardening world, she felt like the poor relation who didn’t know what she was doing. Ever since she set up her gardening business, green-fingered Greg had bullied her. He was her closest competitor, and he badgered her to pack it in. He told her the village wasn’t big enough for them both and that she had encroached on his territory. That was another reason for her to change jobs. Her friends pointed out it was a free country, free trade and all that but Dotty wasn’t so sure she could cope with the stress of Greg’s harassment. He had threatened to sabotage all her efforts unless she stopped trading.

  Winnie started barking and Dotty moved her sights to where the noise came from. She couldn’t see her dog but knew she was dangerously close to the river. Dotty jogged down towards the embankment. Winnie grappled with something underneath a bush. Dotty threw a stick at her dog and a squirrel ran across her path.

  “Come on Winnie, out you come. There’s a good girl.” Dotty pulled a doggie treat out of her pocket and crouched down towards Winnie with the biscuit lying flat on the palm of her hand.

  “Come here, girl. Leave those poor squirrels and rabbits alone.” The dog obliged and walked towards her, wagging her tail. Dotty patted her coat. “Good girl.”

  The dog ate the biscuit then hightailed it back up the path, churning up clumps of moist soil and grass in her wake. Dotty raced along the riverbank, praying that Winnie would have the good sense not to jump in today. Then she heard a loud splash and groaned. Winne swam towards a family of ducks. Finally, a swan got a bit too close for Winnie’s liking and she clambered out of the water, shaking herself all over Dotty.

  After jumping out of Winnie’s way, Dotty glanced down at her phone. An email had come through inviting her for an interview the following week. Dotty had now started applying for a job somewhere every time it rained as the wet weather made her feel even more miserable than usual and prompted her into action. She got trapped in thunder and lightning last week and vowed never to let it happen again. The impulse to look for another job had paid off. She hadn’t been too fussy. She applied for anything and everything when the bad weather came.

  Now all she had to do was work out which job she was being interviewed for. She scrolled through her sent pile and found out it was for a trainee croupier at a casino in Brighton. When she got back home, she would have to do some research to find out what a croupier did. Other than standing looking pretty at the casino wheel she was in the dark about what went on in a gaming establishment. She knew very little about gambling. She’d never been inside a betting shop and other than losing all her pocket money on the one-arm bandits at the fair when she was small, she didn’t know what to expect.

  Dotty held her breath and pulled a face as she grappled with Winnie. She clipped the lead back on her dog and raced with her back home. She should be used to the stink of dogs by now, but she wasn’t. That was the unpleasant side of having a pet. If she thought the whiff from Winnie was bad, that was nothing to what insulted her nose as they turned the corner to her road. Dotty frowned.

  It smelt like the farmer had been working hard. The usual pleasant odour from the subtle pine scent of fir trees had disappeared and in its place was horse manure. The stench hung thickly in the air. As Dotty trampled along in her muddy wellies towards her house, the smell got stronger. She looked up and saw where the stench was coming from.

  Horrified, she rushed up to her gate. On the front lawn and overlapping onto the path was about ten ton of manure, in a large heap steaming away. She gagged. What was going on? Her parents and brother weren’t home. She couldn’t imagine any of them arranging a delivery so large and she certainly hadn’t.

  Dotty ran across the road to Betty Simpson’s house. Betty was sure to have seen who left it and at times like this, her nosiness could be a godsend.

  “Do you know who delivered it or why Betty? Did you see anything?” Of course, she did. Daft question. Betty saw everything. You didn’t need a neighbourhood watch scheme with Betty. She did it all singlehanded.

  “I saw a lorry come along. He knocked on your front door, walked up and down for a bit with a sheet of paper in his hand. I noticed him make a phone call then I watched him tip the pile onto the front. I went out when I saw how much he left to check he had the right house. Are you planning on selling it wholesale?”

  “No, most certainly not.” Dotty frowned. The mere idea appalled her.

  “I didn’t want to interfere because I guessed you must have ordered it for your gardening business. I don’t think your father will be pleased when he sees where they left it.”

  Betty stood looking at the pile of horse poo with her arms folded. Even as she spoke, she couldn’t stop herself looking to see who was walking along. She waved at Arnold Thompson from number forty-two, walking his Airedale terrier.

  “What a pong.” He held his nose as he walked past.

  “Quite,” Betty replied, shaking her head.

  Chapter 4

  Dotty could smell trouble. Well, actually, even after a liberal squirting of her favourite Chanel perfume, she could still only smell manure. The pong lingered inside the house. If she opened a window, the odour was so strong, it made her nauseous. After a hawk-eyed Betty took down the details of the lorry that delivered the horse muck, Dotty located the company who dumped it. That didn’t help much as they said she ordered it. They didn’t have any other information about who might have left the mystery gift.

  She had her own suspicions about who left the rogue mess on her front lawn. Most criminals took from you rather than left gifts. This was one present she could well do without. There was only one name on her lips as a possible suspect — green-fingered Greg. She probably couldn’t prove it was him so instead of getting het up about it, she used it to her advantage.

  Dotty set up ‘Operation Clean-up’. This called for immediate action and she roped in as many of her friends as she could to help. Luckily, Rachel was on a half-day from work. She had booked in to get a pedicure and infills for her nails, but Dotty talked her into cancelling that as this was a crisis. In the end, there were six of her chums who came along to help bag up the manure.

  Dotty asked Kylie to nip to the store to buy some black bin-liners and she got everyone to bring a shovel or a spade. There were moans galore from the whiff in the air but together they set about bagging up the muck and stacking it in Dotty’s back garden behind the shed. Anyone who wanted to take a bag or two was welcome to it for their sterling efforts. She told Rachel how proud of her she was for the sacrifice she made.

  It took them the best part of three hours to clear up the manure and they managed it just in time before Dotty’s mum came home from work. She wasn’t happy about the smell, but she’d have been a whole lot more unhappy if she’d arrived home any earlier and seen the mess on the front garden.

  Dotty made a sign saying FREE MANURE and gave away a bag to anyone who wanted it. There were a few takers from the local area. Many of her neighbours were very competitive and liked to display their roses at the local horticultural show, so a free bag of fertiliser came in handy. She even used it to get new business, offering a free bag to all new customers.

  The previous week, her dad had complained about the deposits left by foxes. That was nothing next to the muck that was now there. For anyone who hadn’t experienced the wonders of fox poop, that, in itself should come with a health warning. It looked like a stack of mustard-coloured skinless sausages — the sort of thing that Heston Blumenthal might serve up as one of his molecular gastronomic delights. Winnie loved it. When the foxes left a package, Winnie belted down the garden to sample the delicacy. After sniffing it and licking it, she tucked into the feast like a true connoisseur. Dotty’s cries to leave it fell on deaf ears. Winnie chased around the garden, bounding from turd to turd, wagging her tail with the same enthusiasm as a kid in a candy store. In view of Winnie’s love of all things related to animal droppings, she was kept out of the way of the garden. She didn’t understand. It was like Dotty being denied her weekly dose of chocolate.

  It took three weeks for Dotty to get rid of all the bags of manure. By then she knew she had well and truly had enough of gardening, especially as she kept finding bits of dung in her jacket pockets for some time afterwards. She never wanted to set eyes on another bag of manure again.

  She wasn’t one to be bullied easily, but it was the final incident with green-fingered Greg the following week that was the last straw. Although she believed his name should be green-eyed Greg because of his jealousy, she concluded that he was not a very nice man. He constantly behaved in an appalling manner.

  It was the day before her croupier interview, and she was concerned about this one. She didn’t often get nervous. She took everything in her stride, but part of her thought this job could be the golden opportunity to a life of travel. Once they had trained her up, she might get a job on one of the posh ships and go cruising the world whilst getting paid at the same time.

  Dotty tried to think up answers to standard interview questions. She got so carried away sat in her car at the traffic lights, that she hadn’t realised the lights had changed and gone back to red in the time she had been daydreaming. Her ears somehow misinterpreted the cars behind her honking. She thought some idiot must have driven down the one-way street the wrong way as often happened in that area. It hadn’t dawned on her that she was the cause of the disturbance. Once she realised that they were beeping their horns at her, she panicked and stalled her car. To make matters worse, she became agitated and couldn’t get it going again.

  She looked in her mirror and noticed the white van man behind was blowing a gasket. His face had turned a puce colour. It was only when she saw it was Greg, that her stomach churned. She should never have rolled her window down to apologise because all she got from him was a torrent of bad language.

  “You’re not fit to be on the road,” Greg shouted, with a few X-rated expletives thrown in for good measure. Dotty was close to tears, but she wouldn’t let Greg see that. She sniffed and got out of her car. She had intended to apologise but changed her mind after experiencing Greg’s unreasonable behaviour. After a torrent of abuse, he took his phone out and started snapping pictures.

  “What are you doing?” Dotty asked, with her hands planted on her hips.

  “What does it look like. I’m collecting evidence.”

  “Evidence? Evidence of what?”

  “You’re obstructing the Queen’s highway. I could carry out a citizen’s arrest and have you charged.”

  “Oh, don’t be ridiculous, get a life.”

  “You get back to your freak show with those silly outfits you wear.” Dotty ignored that comment. When she went gardening, she dressed like one of the land girls in the war. Dotty’s style was quirky, but this man obviously had no idea about fashion.

  “I know it was you who had that manure delivered.”

  The argument grew from nothing into a tornado. Greg stood there looking and behaving like a toddler in a grown-up’s body. His eyes matched his lips — thin. He probably only used those lips to smile when he behaved cruelly towards someone, Dotty thought. His expression was one of contempt which she matched with her own childish body language. If he wanted to be tempestuous, then two could play at that game. If they carried on much longer, they would be calling each other names and pulling their tongues out to the rhythm of nair, nair ne, nair nair.

  A man in a grey suit approached them.

  “Can you two take your domestic somewhere else, I need to get to work.” At this, Greg stormed off and marched back to his van. Dotty wanted to tell the businessman it wasn’t a domestic, but he had also turned on his heels and got back in his car. Dotty shook with rage and couldn’t let matters end this way. Greg’s words had packed a powerful punch and Dotty’s head reeled. Road rage did strange things to people. Dotty wasn’t a violent person but when anger built up inside her, she acted on impulse.

 

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