Michael
I push the last barrow of briars onto the bonfire just in time to see Sally appear bearing beer and a plate of rolls. “Perfect timing, Sal. Thanks.” She nods and goes back indoors. I call across the garden. “Time to take a break.”
Ben draws an arm across his forehead. “Sounds good to me.” Then he tilts his head back, sniffing. “And it smells better.” Scruffy, lead contender for ‘World’s Ugliest Dog’, yaps agreement.
Placing the plate of sandwiches up out of Scruffy’s reach, I pass Ben a can then crack open my own, taking a seat on an old tree-stump.
He joins me, sitting on a rusted oil-can that emerged from under the brambles. Scruffy skips around my feet, first trying to communicate his interest in the sandwiches then, when I don’t take the hint, settles by me wearing a disgus
