‘I don’t know. Maybe you can.’ Prue took a deep breath and ploughed on. ‘My name’s Prue Harris and I’m staying in number nine. Madi Cardew’s flat. You might know her?’

‘Of course. Everybody knows Madi. Or of her, anyway. Used to be on the telly, you know. I heard she was ill. Not seen her for a bit. Oh … she hasn’t died, has she?’

‘Oh, God, no. Nothing like that. She’s just gone away for a while, and I’m here instead.’

‘Well, that’s good. That she’s okay, I mean. So, what can I do for you?’

‘The garden …’

‘Yes?’

‘Well, I was wondering if you … or the landlord, I suppose … had ever thought of making it more usable, if you know what I mean.’

‘Usable?’

‘More user-friendly. Not just a scrap of tatty grass. Make it somewhere the residents could actually enjoy.’

‘What, flowers, you mean?’

‘Flowers, yes. Shrubs. Maybe a little paved area to have barbecues on. And seating.’

‘They can bring their own chairs out if they want to sit.’

‘No, I meant proper outside seating, that could stay out here in all weathers.’

‘You’ve got the bench …’

Prue walked over to it and gave it a gentle shove. It wobbled and she could feel a splinter from the rough wood at the back slice straight into her finger. ‘The wood’s rotting. I bet it’s never had any preservative on it. And one leg’s shorter than the other!’

He grinned. ‘It’s not exactly perfect, I agree. Bit of a Long John Silver, with legs like that! Here, let me take a look at that finger. It’s starting to bleed. I keep a first-aid box in the van.’

‘My finger’s fine. Or it will be, once I get a needle to it. It’s only a splinter.’ She instinctively popped the finger into her mouth and sucked. ‘And it was just an idea. Doing up the garden. It could all come to nothing.’

He nodded. ‘I’m Simon, by the way. The landlord’s my uncle. I do all the odd jobs around here, and at two other blocks he owns. Oh, not full-time, mind. Usually only at the weekends, or after work. I do have a real job too, but I’m on leave this week.’

He tested the bench for stability, brushed away some dead leaves and sat down at one end, beckoning Prue to join him.

‘It wouldn’t have to cost a fortune,’ she said, returning to the subject of the garden. ‘I just wondered if your uncle might consider it as an investment. You know, keeping the place looking nice, and his tenants happy. In fact, I’m hoping the other residents might all chip in a few pounds or give up an hour or two of their time, at least to get things started. It is for their benefit, after all. Not that I’ve met many of them yet, so I know I’m jumping the gun a bit. I’ll need to get some discussions going, but I’m happy to get my hands dirty and do some digging and planting. I might need help with the heavy stuff though.’