I was careful to stand well back behind the curtains. The bedroom light was off and I had a clear view into Mr and Mrs Granger’s back garden. Although dark, it was easy to make out the shadowy figure of Mr Granger.
I hadn’t expected to see him – I was checking for foxes and making sure they weren’t digging up my new bulbs. Then I noticed him. At first I couldn’t make out what he was doing.
It was late at night, after all. So I admit I stood back and peeked through my heavy drapes – curiosity getting the better of me – careful to remain unseen. But I still wasn’t prepared for what I saw.
I didn’t expect to watch my next door neighbour pick up a garden spade and start digging in the far corner of his immaculate lawn. Mr Granger was a stickler for perfection. If a weed dared to sprout on any inch of his land, it would be gone in an instant.
Any rogue plant life encroaching on his hallowed back garden was swiftly disposed of. So what on earth was he doing? My eyes were glued to the man I’d said a cheery hello to a few hours ago, now digging determinedly in the dark. As he dug, I watched silently from my window.
After only a short while it became obvious what he was doing. He was digging a hole. A big hole in the corner of his prize-winning grass.
Obscured by shadows, but plainly visible on the grass next to him, was some sort of bulky object. I couldn’t make out what it was, although the contents seemed to be wrapped in a blanket, or some kind of covering. I.