‘In the corner by the rose bush?’

‘No. This is a8.’

I give him a confused look, kind of the same as the one I pulled when Mr Groves tried to explain Archimedes’ principle in science.

‘Never mind,’ says Granddad. ‘I will explain as we go.’

‘Granddad,’ I sigh. ‘Do we have to prepare so much? This is Monkton Park, not Wembley.’

‘But we’ve only just started.’

‘Let’s do something else. I could go to the shops and get you a newspaper. Or . . . or . . .’ I point across the square. ‘Or I could walk Mrs Downes’s dog. She’s been ill and not walked it for ages.’

‘Felix!’ Granddad snaps. ‘For once just concentrate on the thing you are doing.’ He sounds like the teachers at school. ‘Now, we turn the mower round and start another file, but see we are also starting a rank.’

‘Granddad,’ I say. ‘I’ve no idea what you are talking about.’

‘Never mind,’ says Granddad. ‘Listen now, understand later.’

I go to argue but Granddad’s already pushed the mower to the end of the lawn.

‘This is b1,’ he says, shutting the mower off. ‘Now I mark another sixty centimetres on the ground.’

‘Have we got to do this every time?’ I ask.

‘Yes.’

‘But it’ll take ages.’

‘Time doesn’t matter,’ he says. ‘Everything has to be right. Every rank has to be straight.’ He hands me the tape measure. ‘Now you go and do the same at the other end.’

‘But, Granddad, pleeease.’

‘What? Would you really prefer to do something else?’

‘Yes!’

‘Something less physical . . . perhaps . . . che—’

‘Nope!’

Rebecca’s a Genius ☺

Measure sixty centimetres, move the stick, tie the string, pull the throttle, mind the cable, push and mow the file. Release the throttle. Stop. Where are we now?

a8.

Granddad’s voice goes on and on, over and over, like it’s stuck on repeat:

Measure sixty centimetres.

Move the stick.

Tie the string.

Pull the throttle.

Mind the cable.

‘Stop. Stop!’

I lean forward and rest my head on the table.

‘Felix, what’s wrong with you?’ Jake rubs my arm like he’s trying to keep me awake.

‘It’s my granddad,’ I mumble. ‘He’s tiring me out.’

‘But he’s an old man.’

‘I know, Jake, but that’s got nothing to do with it.’ I lift my head and see Jake munching on his sandwich and Rebecca talking to a girl in Year Nine about Incredibles 2, which she saw with her sister at the weekend. It sounds way more fun than Granddad’s list. The rest of the canteen is full of the clatter and hiss of boys and girls eating and talking, but I’m so tired that everything and everyone is blurred. I hold out my hands. ‘Look,’ I say. ‘He’s been making me do chores all weekend – I’ve cut stacks of cabbages, scrubbed the garden patio, polished the brass and mowed the lawn.’

Jake laughs.