Simon, are you sure we didnt forget the charcoal? Last time, you had to dash off to that village shop, and all they had was soggy logs, Alice squinted at her husband, who was navigating the potholes of the country lane with all the concentration of a brain surgeon.
I’ve got the charcoal, Alice. And firelighters. And the meat you marinated is chilling in the cool box, Simon grinned, not taking his eyes off the road for long. Relax, were going for a holiday. Two whole weekspeace, birdsong, and your beloved lawn. Youve been banging on about it all winter.
Alice settled back into her seat, eyes half-closed in bliss. Lawnthe very word was music to her. Three years ago, when they bought that ramshackle little cottage with its wildly overgrown garden, there wasnt so much as a hint of green. Only nettles up to her armpits and piles of builders rubble. Alice herself lugged away broken bricks, battled weeds, and then she and Simon hired in a team to level the ground and lay down the most luxurious rolled turf the garden centre had.
That patch of emerald was her sanctuary. A perfect, velvety green where she could sprawl with a book, sip a morning coffee, or do a bit of yoga without fear of being bitten by anything bigger than a daisy. She wouldnt even let anyone play badminton in heavy trainers on it, lest they so much as scuff the blades. To Alice, the lawn was proof that, these days, country cottages should be restfulnot repositories for back-breaking digging, like her parents generation insisted.
I hope Mum remembered to water it while we were away, Alice mused aloud. Its been thirty degrees all week.
Dont worry, Simon waved a hand. Mums nothing if not dependable. We left her the keys, she promised to check in every other day. She knows how precious your grass is to you.
Barbara, Alices mother-in-law, was a woman fashioned in another era. Robust, full of opinions, and dead convinced that every inch of British soil should be producing tatties or at the very least a sprig of parsley. For the first two years, Alice fought rearguard actions for her right to a patch of relaxation. Barbara huffed, called the lawn pampering for the idle, but seemed to have accepted defeator at least she kept to her greenhouse down the back.
The car crunched onto the gravel as they approached the gate. Alice jumped out to fiddle with the padlock. The air was thick with the scent of sun-baked pine and wild roses. She breathed in, already picturing herself barefoot on the fresh, cool grass.
She swung the gate open, stepped forwardand stopped dead. Her laptop bag slid from her shoulder and landed with a despairing thunk in the dust.
Alice, what are you doing just standing there? Let us through! Simon called from the car. When she didnt reply, he turned off the ignition and came over. Alice?
He followed her gazeand his jaw dropped.
No more emerald carpet.
Where the smooth, perfect lawn had been was now a churned-up, furrowed mess. Rude, wonky trenches ran from the porch all the way to the garden bench, clods of mud and fragments of expensive turf flung around with wild abandon. Even now, a few pale and scraggly shoots were poking through as if to mock any sense of order.
Barbara herself surveyed her handiwork from the centre of the carnage, shovel in hand, sporting an ancient dressing gown and a sunhat at a jaunty angle. She mopped her brow like some triumphant competitor at the Chelsea Flower Show.
Oh, youre here! she called, beaming, as if a field of destruction was the surprise party of the season. Just finished your surprise in time!
Alice felt the blood draining from her face. There was a roar in her ears. She walked forward in slow motion, through the wicket gate, and stopped at the edge of the devastation. Bits of turf, roots knotted in their special mesh, had been hacked to bits.
Whats this? Alices tone was soft and icy enough to make Simon shiver.
What dyou think? Vegetable beds! said Barbara, proudly planting her spade. All that space just going to waste! Best sun in the garden, morning till night. All you had was some useless grass. Here, Ive planted shallots, there are early carrots, andover there by the benchwell have courgettes soon. Imagine! Our own courgettes! Well fry them, make chutneywont that be lovely?
Mum Simon edged closer. What have you done? That was turf. Rolled turf. We paid nearly three grand for that three years ago, not to mention all the care, compost, mowing
Oh, dont you start! Barbara waved him away. Three thousand quid for grass? Londoners have more money than sense. Grass grows everywhere for free! Land should feed people, not just grow for looks. Have you seen the prices in Sainsburys lately? Carrots are practically gold! Ive done this for youthree days of digging, while you two swanned off, sipping drinks somewhere sunny.
Alice was silent, staring at her ruined paradise, the gashes disfiguring the garden, her anger building in calculated layers. This wasnt just going too far. This was an invasiona trampling of her wishes and her hard work.
Barbara, Alice finally said, leveling a cold look at her mother-in-law. We only asked you to water the flowers. We never gave you permission to dig. We certainly didnt ask you to plant onions. This is our home, our garden.
And? Barbara put her hands on her hips, the cheerful tone turning sharp. Im your mother! I know whats best. You two are still wet behind the ears. When the winter comes and youve nothing but frozen risotto, youll thank me for these jars of chutney. That lawn its just nonsense. Makes us look daft in front of the neighbours. Everyone else grows veg; weve got the 18th hole out there. Linda from next door takes the mickey. Says, Is your daughter-in-law unwellcant she even grow a bit of parsley?
I dont care what Linda thinks, Alices voice rang with finality. And I dont want any of your courgettes. Simon, unload our things.
Alice, dont Simon tried to take her hand, but she shook him off. Mum, honestly, this isnt on. We agreedthe greenhouse was yours, the rest was our relaxation. Why did you have to dig it all up?
Dig it all up?! shrieked Barbara, her face mottled red. I did my back in for you! My blood pressures through the roof, but there I was, digging so youd have your vitamins! And what do I get? You ruined it! You you ungrateful, selfish pair!
With dramatic flair, she clutched her chest, collapsing onto the garden bench.
Alice stalked past without a look, stepped into the cool cottage, and downed a glass of water on trembling hands. She wanted to cry, to shout, to hurl a plateanything but show Barbara a single theatrical tear. The woman thrived on drama, and Alice wouldnt give her the satisfaction.
Simon followed, sheepish and lost.
Alice, look she thought she was helping. Shes old school. For her, leaving land bare is a crime.
Simon, its not about her upbringing. Its about respect, Alice turned to him, steely-eyed. She thinks we belong to her, that whats ours is hers. She doesnt care what we want, only that its done her way. To prove whos really boss.
Ill talk to herexplain again
Talking is over, said Alice, cutting him off. For three years weve explained. She nodded along, but the minute our backs were turned, she did as she pleased. Fixing that lawn isnt just a sprinkle of seedits a complete restoration. Level the ground, import new soil, new turf rollsthe works. It means a tip to the bank, a month of mudagain.
Simon sank into a chair with a sigh.
So what do you want to do? Kick her out?
No. She can put it right herself.
Youre joking, Simons eyes widened. Shes sixty-five. She cant re-lay turf!
Not the turf, no. But she can pull up her veggies, level the soil, and pay for the new turf.
She cant afford itshe only gets the state pension
She has savings, Simon. Shes told everyone shes saving for her funeral or for the grandkids. Well, were the kids, and we need help putting right the help shes dished out.
Thats quite harsh, Alice.
Whats harsh is arriving at your own home and finding a ploughed field instead of a garden you loved. Whats harsh is having your wishes trampled on. Im going to tell her. If she refuses, shes not coming back. Ill change the locks tonight.
Alice stepped outside. Barbara was already deep in conversation over the fence with Linda, gesturing animatedly at the ruins. She saw Alice and instantly slipped into a picture of tragic suffering.
Barbara, Alice called from the porch. We need to talk.
What now? Barbara snapped. Bring me some waterIm parched with grief.
Therell be water later. For now, listen carefully. You have until Sunday evening.
For what, exactly?
To pull up everything youve planted. Every onion, every carrot, every last sprout. Rake the area level.
Barbara stared as if Alice had just offered to mow her with a combine harvester.
Are you quite mad, girl? I planted all that, now you want it gone? Its alive! Im not doing it! Over my dead body! This is my sons cottage, not some hotel for your kind!
The house and garden are jointly owned, Alice said coolly. On paper, Im as much owner as Simon. I never agreed to this. If the ground isnt levelled by Sunday, Im getting professionals in, and youre paying the bill. And youre not coming back. Hand over your keys to Simon now.
Simon! Barbara wailed, looking for her son hovering in the door. Do you hear the way she speaks to your mother? Shes trying to send me to an early grave! Say something!
Simon stepped outside, face pale, but one look from Alice and he realised: this was the wall, and it didnt budge. If he didnt support his wife now, thered be more than a few roots upended in his marriage.
Mum, Alice is right, he said, quietly. You shouldnt have done this. Its our house. We wanted a lawn. Youve wrecked it.
You too?! Barbara threw up her hands. Hen-pecked! Shes got you wrapped round her little finger! I did it for you, for both of you
Enough, Mum, Simon cut in, his tone more firm than Alice had ever heard. No more hiding behind caring. You did it because it suited you. So now you can put it right. Either dig up your veg, or we fall outseriously.
Barbara gaped, wide-eyed. Her Simon had never contradicted her before.
Keep your precious lawn! she spat. I wont set foot in here again! Do it yourself, the pair of you!
She grabbed her old canvas bag and marched for the gate.
Your keys, Barbara, called Alice.
Barbara paused, rifled her pocket, and chucked the bunch into the dust. There! Choke on them! May you only ever grow thistles!
She stormed out, slamming the gate so hard a robin startled from the hedge. In a few moments, they heard the ratchety start of a minicabshe mustve called ahead, or planned to fume on the bus home.
Alice picked up the keys, brushed them off and looked at Simon.
Shell be back, Alice said, with a certainty born of knowing her adversary. Shes left her seedlings here. And her raincoat. Anyway, she never really gives in.
Simon trudged over to the raked-up mud and kicked a clod half-heartedly.
So now what? Do we muck in?
No, Alice shook her head. Shes not gone far. The next bus is in two hours. Shell spend them complaining at Lindas.
Sure enough, Barbaras plaintive voice soon floated over the fence, regaling Linda with tales of the wicked daughter-in-law who cast her into the street, forced to destroy her crops.
Alice picked up her mobile.
Who are you calling? Simon asked.
The landscape company. I want to know how much full restoration will set us backrubbish removal included.
That evening passed in a glum silence. Alice and Simon sat on the porch, nursing tea but tasting nothing, staring at the black crater that had been their garden. Their mood was as cheery as a wet November in Wigan.
Saturday morning, the gate creaked. Alice, making breakfast, peered out. Barbara was back. She no longer looked triumphantrather, she moved with the hesitancy of the slightly injured and deeply affronted. She made a point of not looking at the windows and set off for the greenhouse.
Alice stepped onto the porch.
Morning, Barbara. Come for your things?
Barbara paused, then slowly turned.
Ive had a think, she began, staring off into the distance. The shallots are a special Dutch variety. Theyre not cheap.
Shame, Alice replied. The lawn wasnt cheap either. I looked into restoration. With new soil and premium turfitll set us back nearly £800.
Barbaras eyes nearly popped from her head.
Eight hundred quid?! Are you having me on?
Market rates. I can show you the quote. Since you trashed the lawn, the bills on you. Either you tidy up the land yourselfget it flat and ready for reseeding, which costs lessor you cough up for the full works.
I dont have that kind of money! Barbara squeaked.
Then grab a rake. Or Simon can drop your onions off at yours, and you can plant them on your balcony. But this patch needs to be level by Sunday night. Thats non-negotiable, Barbara. I want you to understand: you cant just waltz into someone elses garden and take over.
Simon came out to stand beside Alice.
Mum, Alice is right. Were not paying for your latest experiment. Ill bring you bags for your veg, carry them home, plant them anywhere you likebut here has to be lawn. End of.
Barbara darted from son to daughter-in-law, seeking any soft spot, any guilt, any hint of family obligation. She found only brick wall. Alice was calm, relentless. Simon, though unhappy, clearly wasnt budging.
Barbara sniffed loudlya dry, snuffly surrender.
Fine, she grumbled. Give us a bin bag. Tyrants.
The following two days were surreal. Barbara huffed and moaned, dramatically rubbing her back, but she dug up every onion, carrot, and courgette seedling. She packed them with meticulous grief into boxes, muttering dire predictions for the future. Alice perched on the one surviving patch of green, sunglasses on and novel open, but kept a beady eye on proceedings.
Simon ferried bags to the compost, fetched her water, tried to smooth things over, but he didnt do the heavy workAlices orders.
If you do it all, shell never learn, Alice said to him that night. She must feel the consequences in her own hands.
By Sunday evening, the place looked bleakbare churned earth, but at least no mountains or furrows. Mussed, but level-ish.
Barbara slumped on the porch steps, caked in earth and all out of bluster.
Its done, she rasped. Happy now?
Alice walked over, inspected the work. Not perfect, but the ground was, at least, prepared for easier repair. Now they could order a lorry-load of sand and sow grass for a fraction of the rolled turf price.
Thank you, Barbara, Alice said, not unkindly. I appreciate your effort.
Barbara glared up, exhausted.
Hard woman, Alice. Hard as nails. I thought Simon would be happy with you, but youve put your foot down good and proper.
Im not unkind, Barbara. I just want my thoughts to count for something. If youd asked for a veg patch behind the shed, Id have agreed. But you flattened what mattered to me. Thats the difference.
Barbara said nothing, just dusted her robes.
Will Simon take these onions to mine?
Of course, Alice nodded.
And er the house keyswill I have them back?
Alice and Simon exchanged a glance.
Not yet, Mum, Simon said, firmly. Well keep them for now. Well come and do the watering. Youre welcomefor a visit.
Barbara pursed her lips, but didnt argue. Shed crossed a line, and she knew it.
A month later, the lawn was sprouting again. Alice and Simon had sown thick, hardy seed, and the first fragile green shoots began stitching together the scars.
Barbara came round only for Simons birthday in August. She was uncharacteristically meek, bearing home-made pies (with her noble onions inside) and even complimented the new grass.
Well, its green, she admitted, eyeing the smooth lawn. Tidy. I suppose it is betterless mud dragged indoors.
Alice just smiled and poured the tea.
Of course its better, Barbara. Each to their own. Veg belong in the greenhouse or at Waitroserest belongs to people who want some peace.
The turf war was over. The scars in the soil would heal, andsomehowthe relationship got more honest. Boundaries drawn with a spade and held with a bit of steel proved stronger than a hundred forced smiles.
