It took me a long time to shuffle to the front door and, when I finally pulled it open, I was flushed with exertion.
My new gardener stood on the doorstep, staring at the ground, his body angled away from his mother’s. He was a dear little thing with a nose like a ski slope and unruly blonde curls. She was tall and fair, with cheerful grey eyes. Her name was Marie, and she worked with my daughter. Miranda said Marie would jump at the chance to lend me her son over the school holidays.