Like most happy couples, Tamsin and Clive didn’t agree about everything. She was a coffee-drinker, he liked his tea; she tended to put things off and he liked to get them done. But their first real disagreement came when they moved out of the apartment into a little house of their own. Now in itself, that was wonderful. And it had a garden, which was also wonderful. But Tamsin, though she didn’t want a wilderness of nettles and thistles, thought a bit of wildness and a few weeds were fine, and Clive remembered his Dad, who had died far too young, had always hankered for a garden, and not generally a fanciful man, had fantasised about neat beds and coordinated colours. He had been a cheerful man, a true Cockney, and always greeted you with a friendly, “How do, mate!”

Tamsin had tried to persuade Clive that wild flowers were lovely, and he was, reluctantly, prepared to give in on that, though against his better judgement. There would be a little wild flower patch. But he still thought in most cases “wild flowers” was another word for weeds.

He thought the universe was out to spite him when he saw that a dandelion had taken root on the drive. His first instinct was to go out and uproot it, but he knew perfectly well that would only make it come back with a vengeance, probably bringing its family with it just because it could.

Serious measures were needed. “Clive, you agreed with me we wouldn’t use chemical weed-killer!” Tamsin reminded him.
“But it’s only on the drive.”

There wasn’t a good atmosphere in the house that night. They went through the motions, but though neither of them were big TV watchers, they were glad a show they both liked was on. The first advert in the break was for weed-killer. The “enemy” were animated with great gusto, and the “villain of the piece” was a cocky dandelion. It grinned and said “How do, mate!”

Clive conceded defeat! “Okay! I can’t take on all three of you!

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Deborah Mercer