Life in the Land Read Free Page B

the schedule. Seeing he was assigned to restocking the greenhouses and getting the new delivery ready to display, he decided against a trip to his locker to dump his jacket, preferring to keep it with him.
    The warehouse operated on a different shift schedule than the main store, so while Robert was just starting the day, others had been there for several hours, getting ready for the store to open. He nodded in the direction of two men heading out for a cigarette break, whose fat, short statures always reminded him of Tweedledee and Tweedledum.
    “Just left you a pallet,” said Trev, who was midway through rolling a cigarette.
    “What are they?”
    Trev shrugged. “Flowers.”
    Robert thanked him and managed not to roll his eyes as they walked away. He’d been disappointed, but had learned pretty quickly, that most people weren’t as interested in plants as he was.
    A pallet of sorry-looking petunias was waiting for him. He grabbed the handle of the low loader connected to the pallet and dragged the flowers out of the warehouse and toward the glass-ceilinged annex of the garden center where the majority of the outdoor plants were kept. Stopping in the preparation area, which was nothing more than a small room with a deep sink and a number of hoses and a wooden bench, he ran his fingers over a flower. Its drooping petals made for a sad picture and one not likely to entice anyone to buy it. His inner powers stirred slightly, and he sensed the dryness of the petunia, as if the poor thing was desperate for a drink.
    He buried his fingers in the dry soil, which crumbled as he delved into it. Apart from the lack of moisture, the soil was rich; he sensed the nitrates and phosphates and the goodness in the mulch that just needed some water as a carrier. Robert tutted as he withdrew his fingers, wiping his hand on his trousers. It was nothing that couldn’t be fixed, and he grabbed a hose and set the adapter to spray before pulling the trigger and watering the petunias. He heard their tiny sighs of pleasure and grinned as the flowers trembled happily.
    Satisfied, Robert dragged the pallet into the main annex, where more of his colleagues were stacking shelves with compost bags and refilling the seed stands; he knew they weren’t hearing the welcome calls from the plants on display. A cluster of dwarf cherry trees wolf-whistled as he passed and the azaleas wished him a good morning with a friendly wave of their leaves. The scene was repeated by the other plants in the annex as he walked to the empty row of shelves where he would display the petunias. Robert smiled to himself at the warmth of the welcome; it never grew old, even though it happened every time he showed up for work, and the plants’ response to his presence made up for the minimum wage.
    His shift flew by in a mix of plant maintenance and customer queries, including a confused woman who clearly couldn’t tell a rose from a geranium. He sent her away with a number of plants he thought would thrive in her mother’s hands, given a limited description of her mother’s garden and her green-fingered talents. Thankfully, his mobile phone stayed silent until he was in the locker room preparing to go home.
    The ringtone was assigned specially—no need to check who was calling.
    “Yes?” he answered.
    “Suspected bank robbery at the Barclays on Meriwent Road.”
    “I’m on my way.”
     
     
    S TEVEN placed the bottle of beer in front of him. “There you go, Bobby.”
    “Robert,” he automatically corrected, leaning around his uncle to see the TV screen in the corner of the bar. He winced as he watched the shot on goal go wide.
    “How’s things going at the garden center? Still wearing that horrible orange T-shirt that makes you look bilious?”
    Robert sighed. His uncle was always like this, even on days after a mission. It was as if he needed to talk about the mundane aspects of daily life, ignoring the incredible and the impossible, and focusing on the