By Rachel Roberts
Nigel looked at the garden with disgust. It was more of a yard really. The owner had kept a dog here for years. It had urinated over every square inch, killing all but the most resilient weeds, and turning the earth an acidic yellow grey.
The place stank. Nigel sighed and looked down at his new white trainers. He was going to hate this job.
His father, the owner of a successfull business, had been furious when Nigel had failed his school exams. Dad was one of those self-made men who loved to talk about how he’d worked his way up from nothing. He was a high-achiever and he expected the same from his son.
Argomenti: fiction, rachel roberts, the reluctant gardener
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