EIGHT

“CABBAGE?”

Marty rolled his eyes.

“Seriously? Who ever saw a cabbage that tall before?”

“Erm, ooh, I know, a brussels sprout plant…,” Gracie tried again.

Grandad shook his head.

Gracie crossed her arms.

“I give up.”

“Me too,” agreed Marty. “Why don’t you just tell us?”

“Patience!” he said, raising his eyebrows mischievously. “It’s a good lesson, short stuff!”

The plant was now up to Grandad’s chest. It really was wondrous. Its two leaves had tripled overnight, and now six strong leaves were unfurling palm upward toward the sun. Even though it was still quite cold, you could feel summer in the air today. It was a tie-your-sweater-in-a-knot-around-your-waist kind of day.

“When did you plant it?” asked Gracie again.

“Only around a week ago.”

Gracie pulled a breath in through her teeth.

“That thing’s a monster!”

“Let’s hope so!” said Grandad.

Gracie had brought a mug from her house. A white china one with Gracie written in gold double-writing on it. A personalized gift from her father. They helped Grandad for a while. A lot of the other vegetables were going into the ground now as the soil began to warm up. There were cumin-shaped carrot seeds to sow in rows and little gnarly beet seeds like tiny rocks to place in the soil one by one. There were also peas to plant that looked exactly like, well, dried peas. Grandad would plant those in triangle formations so that he could tie them to sticks when they germinated. The black currant bush had started to green; so had the gooseberry plant. Just a few weeks more, and summer would most definitely be on the way. They’d worked for an hour or two at least before Grandad went to fill the kettle.

“So, was it you that hit him?” Grandad asked Gracie. Gracie caught on quickly.

“No, it wasn’t me. Apparently loads of people don’t like him, not just me.”

Marty could tell that Grandad liked Gracie—he was sitting back, relaxed, open armed, and smiley.

“I got in a fight with the floor,” Marty lied. Grandad studied his face but decided to change the subject.

“So, what are you kids up to on Saturday?”

Marty shrugged. So did Gracie. They watched as Grandad pulled out a twenty-pound note from the top pocket of his jacket.

“This old man ’ere found a scratch-off lottery card in the middle of town. And bing bang bosh. Twenty quid. Now, we’ve got six weeks to get that plant as big as we can, all my plans rely on it, and on Saturday we’re going on a field trip. Bus stop on Albany Road. Eight A.M. sharpish.”

Gracie looked at Marty and shrugged.

“Okay.”

“So? What do you think it is, then?”

Marty walked up the path to Gracie’s house, trying not to look shocked at how big it was.

“I don’t know.”