The Greenhouse

The Greenhouse

Ten

I run out of my Grandma’s kitchen, leaving my cousin standing by the cooker with his hands over his eyes. I don’t even try to put my sandals on, before I dash through the open French doors into the garden.

Nine

My mum and aunty Julia are reclining on sun loungers, in wide brimmed sun hats, reading House Beautiful. Two gin and tonics sit, the glasses sending beads of condensation onto the small table between them. My aunty Julia looks up, and smiles at me,

“Sam is counting this time, is he?” I nod, “Yeah, but don’t tell him you’ve seen me!”

She laughs and returns to her magazine article.

Eight

I scan the garden, looking for a hiding place. The flower beds are all too shallow and the garden table doesn’t have a table cloth to hide under. I try and squeeze behind two terracotta pots of lavender but I can feel that the top of my head is on show.

Seven

I am beginning to panic. Racing across the length of the lawn, I am struggling to find anywhere to hide. I reach the little walled allotment at the bottom of the garden. This is my Grandpa’s pride and joy.

“We aren’t allowed down here without him”, I think to myself.

Six

Before I can change my mind, I lift the latch on the wooden gate. It creaks open.

I step in, and am greeted by rows and rows of vibrant green vegetables and herbs; Tall celery plants, strong stems of leeks, wicker wigwams of beans and huge leafy canopies of rhubarb. I try to huddle under one of the waxy, red-veined leaves but I don’t fit. I leave an imprint of my bare feet in the soil, as I clamber out and back onto to the dusty pathway. I approach the old potting shed, its slightly peeling paint obscured beneath a web of ivy. I try to open the heavy, rusty door but it’s locked.

Five

Suddenly, I see the perfect hiding place. The greenhouse.

Leant up against the potting

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