The cucumber has, per volume, the highest water content of anything you can eat. This is why they’re a key component to any summer spread. From delicate teatime sandwiches to family size salads, their refreshing coolness is an oasis from the heat and should be offered to absolutely all of your guests, without exception. Ignore all resistance.

  Back at Viceroy Allotment Site, a battle plan for Josephine Roscoff's article for the Arcadia Gazette was being drawn up, without the input of Josephine Roscoff. Lady Thorne had the seasoned journalist cornered against the beanpoles she had been picking from, and was pitching her feature ideas faster than Josie’s sister, Rita, could pitch a fork through their onion patch.

  “...But I do admire you for giving yourself such an undervalued topic for your next feature. My friends at the Wyndoline Social club, they love the magazine, but they don’t see eye to eye with me about the allotment at all. To them it's just a dirty field. The only way to make an engaging piece about vegetable farming is to fill it out around the subject, if you get my meaning?”

  Josephine rushed to take advantage of the aristocrat’s rare pause for breath. “Don’t assume that’s what all our readers are like, I mean, the Arcadia Gazette has quite broad appeal. I’m aiming for a more in-depth article that appeals to those with an amateur interest, those who are starting out…”

  Lady Thorne continued unaltered. “So we agree the topic must be expanded on for it to work!”

  Josephine sighed, reminded painfully of her editors’ steamrolling, domineering nature.

  “I mean even newcomers will know the basic economic benefits of growing your own produce…”

  “You’d be surprised, some people don’t see the savings compared to the effort… it is a tough work barrier to clear” Josephine gestured to the patch behind her beanpoles, which would need several counterweights of flint stones to be removed before she could plant there.

  “Don’t interrupt the flow, Josie. What you need is a new angle, like building a charity that teaches agricultural skills to young people! Now that’s a more ambitious benefit to the farming lifestyle.”

  Lady Thorne had reached her destination: making Josephine’s passionate editorial about her personal hobby into an advertising piece about the Thorne Ploughshare Foundation, one of her family’s egoistic charitable ventures. Apparently all the galas, interviews and half the billboards in Hungerbury wasn’t enough publicity as the grand lady felt was deserved.

  Josephine was searching for a polite and diplomatic method of refusing this proposal resolutely, and was staying dangerously silent in the process. Fortunately, the eavesdropping Rita strolled over to intervene, carrying a trub of onions for additional emotional support.

  “Look at that, Astrid, best crop we’ve had in years, Josie, are you sure you don’t want any of these? We have whites, yellows and reds, you have to like one of these!”

  Josie gave a breathy laugh. “Never, all onions taste like shit to me, sorry for the language Lady Thorne.”

  “Apologise to the onions, they’re the only source of flavour in this country’s cuisine.” The lady remarked haughtily.

  Josie presented her own crop of runner beans and broad beans of all sizes. “These are crisp and delicious if cooked properly.” she explained with growing confidence.

  This prompted her sister to inspect the bean poles. “You’ve only got half of them there.” She said mock-accusingly.

  With that comment, Josie was in her stride now. “Well, those are the Spanish beans, they haven’t grown to their full potential yet. You’ll have to read my article, patience is one of the mental characteristics I believe gardening helps develop.” She turned to Lady Thorne “That’s my angle, a comprehensive study into how even simple horticultural work improves your mental and physical health. So I’m afraid I won’t have room to sponsor your work.”

  Lady Thorne struggled to get a response past her own abashed expression before the entry gates to Viceroy allotments crashed open with greater gusto than accustomed. Turning to see the new arrivals drained Josephine’s mood. The image of the head of the arrogant, bureaucratic, self-appointed allotment manager perched on top of a giant, muscular monster had somehow escaped from her worst fever dreams and was barrelling towards her. The only relief was that he was accompanied by a much friendlier face.

  “Sisters, Madam, how are you this morning?” Spencer wheezed as he sprinted to keep up with the giant Horace. “As you may have noticed, my friend is now the largest man in the world and strong enough to overturn a car. Please explain to him why he needs to see a doctor.”

  Horace stirred a strong wind with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Never mind all that. Explain to my dear friend that he can’t expect to walk off being hit square on by a Range Rover!”

  The three ladies were the ones feeling like they’d been hit by a car. After much processing, Lady Thorne responded by hissing through her teeth. “You’re going to have to explain this one from the beginning, boys”

  Spencer didn’t hesitate to start. “What needs explaining? Horace says his body’s been swelling larger and larger all day, and instead of worrying about whatever condition could be causing it, and how deadly it could be, he’s just strolling up to the caff and lifting cars without breaking a sweat.” In spite of the frustrated tone, Josephine felt Spencer sounded like a barker at a freakshow.

  “You wrecked someone’s car?!” Lady Thorne gasped.

  Horace merely scoffed. “‘Wrecked' is a melodramatic term, I handled it with better care than it deserved. Considering it was the car that was trying to do a hit-and-run after driving straight over Spence’s leg. I’m not planning to make it a habit, and instead of worrying about whatever dreadful state his leg must be in, Spence keeps hounding me and frankly being a bit of a downer about what is, I admit, a minor miracle.” He finally gave into half a day’s worth of temptation and grandly flexed his abs and biceps until his shirt sleeve collapsed under the tension.

  With Lady Thorne and her sister somewhat incapacitated, Josie was the one to realize the major detail being overlooked. “Wait, Spencer, you were run down by a car? Are you alright?”

  Spencer smiled. “Now that was a minor miracle. I stepped onto the road without looking, foolish, I know, and this car couldn’t get out of the way in time. The wing got me here,” he gestured along his right thigh. “Hurt like hellfire on impact, but the pain went away quickly and I could walk fine!”

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  Josie’s head swam as the impossibilities piled up. “Just like that? Not even a bruise?”

  “Nope, well not a proper bruise. I took a look down the trousers, if you don’t mind me mentioning, and my thigh’s quite red, but that’s all.”

  “THAT’S ALL?” Horace’s concerned plea was unwillingly transformed into a seismic roar by his larynx. “It was a full-on collision by a reckless delinquent. The little toe rag knocked you down and ran over your leg trying to get away. Good thing I stood in front of the car to stop him from fleeing while that chap phoned the police. You know, the chap who sits outside Snappy Snaps with his dog and his lager…”

  “Oh dear, the shouty one.” Lady Thorne mumbled. “I doubt he’s phased by anything.”

  Horace tutted. “If that were true, he would have been capable of staying on topic on what was quite an important phone call. Instead he just kept mentioning a ‘giant freak’ until the responder terminated the call.” Josie spotted a bitterness in this part of the retelling but Horace wouldn’t allow an intrusion to address it. “So the hoodlum got out of the car and fled, and with Spence still lying on the ground I took some proportional punitive measures,”

  “He threw the car onto the roof of a petrol station.”

  Horace addressed the unanimous looks of horror. “Not ‘threw’! I gently lifted it onto the roof. Ready for me to collect if the owner feels like coming forward and agreeing to face the consequences. Besides, it’s much safer stowed away up there so that bloody Clarkson wannabe can’t hurt anyone else in it! It’s never a one time thing with these devious minds.”

  “I hope no-one was still inside.” said Josephine warily.

  “Of course it was! I checked, I think… Yes, I definitely did!”

  “Your temper was completely out of control.” Spencer scowled. “And what’s betting this bizarre hormonal growth is behind it?”

  Rita was the one to speak up at that. “How long have you two known each other? McGinty’s been raging against something or other as long as Josie and I’ve known him. Remember?”

  Josie recalled, pointing at the tower block. “The council put a slightly-too-tall border fence around the Viceroy Towers Estate car park and Horace spent three years petitioning to have it taken down.” The grey wooden panels stood tall, unmoved by years of the old man’s opposition. Horace emitted a growl upon seeing the shadow it cast on the westernmost allotments, and was moved to make a monologue.

  “My greatest failure. When it became clear that the serpents we call our elected representatives were going to ignore the submitted objections of the residents and blight our peaceful suburbs with towering concrete monstrosities, nobody except me realized the added insult coming with the injury. The planned twelve storeys on each tower would have blocked the sunlight from reaching the entire allotment complex. When I raised this point at the Open Town Forum, I was dismissed and laughed out of the room. That was the day I knew decency and justice were dead in this town.” he breathed heavily. “I had to steel myself, ahead of making the most powerful response I could counter: applying for a Section 3 Protection Notice under the Rights of Light Act 1959! It took months of petitioning and dodging red tape with the Law Commission, but we were victorious and the towers were lowered to seven storeys. But the developers were vengeful! Hellbent on making some of our plots suffer, they put up the completely opaque fence. There’s already a perfectly good chainlink in place, it was done purely as an act of revenge for reducing the number of flats they could profit from. Revenge against the common man. Revenge against… me.”

  The other gardeners looked about nervously, not wanting to admit that Horace’s often-repeated tale had garnered a reaction for the first time. The exception was Lady Thorne, who just looked at the fence disinterestedly. “Oh, that must have all happened before I started here. I assumed the plots by the fence were some kind of budget option for low-income gardeners.”

  “No, I don’t think it really should have been put in. But the council confirmed they applied for an exception to be made so there’s nothing to be done about it” Rita concluded with a shrug.

  Josephine wasn’t sure if Horace had any words for Rita to go with the thunderous glare in his bulging eye, but his next question was for herself instead.

  “So, are we brainstorming ideas for your allotment article? I was looking forward to sharing how working my patch has kept me fit all these years. Though I don’t suppose this magazine cares to appeal to older gents like myself?”

  The bewildered journalist knew no magazine appealed to people like Horace, and her ability to respond was not helped by the selfish smirk on Lady Thorne’s face as she watched Josephine's confidence rapidly vanish.

  Before any remarks could be made Lady Thorne was abruptly interrupted by an irritating chime from her phone. She pulled up Zodiak, her premium-rate seasonal timer app for horticulturalists and tutted. “Oh goodness, today’s the day I should start watering my pumpkins more regularly, you must excuse me.”

  The others watched her stride away from everyone’s problems before Josephine broke the silence. “Sorry... this is why I told my sister not to bother everyone. I can’t start on the allotment lifestyle piece before I finish my reflections on the Hay Book Festival. It’s due imminently”

  Spencer blinked. “Isn’t that where you were yesterday? I’d have thought you’d have more time on that.”

  “You’d expect so wouldn’t you? I mean, they said it could wait for the August edition” Josie said, laughing to hide the frustration. “But the editors changed the release schedule at the last minute again and now it must be ready by Wednesday so it can go in the next issue.” She stopped herself before she could unleash the long-withheld rant she had brewing about the predictable and repetitive way her higher-ups messed with her work.

  As Horace sniffed in disappointment at not being able to expound upon his favourite hobby, Rita ceased leaning on her spade and leaped into action. “Sounds like you need to be getting on then, sis. Shall I give you a lift home? Then I can give you my notes on the festival if you like.”

  Josie nodded in agreement. Normally she would refuse her sister’s help, unless Rita was pulling cheap transport through her own job as a travel agent (the magazine would never pay for the trips they pushed on her), determined as she was to prove her own merits as a journalist. On this occasion, though, the puzzling events surrounding Horace and Spencer crowded her mind until she felt that yesterday’s trip to Hay-on-Wye happened months ago.

  Rita addressed the pensioners, both the colossal and the inexplicably walking. “Well, best of luck with, um, whatever’s going on here. You both seem jolly lucky to still be in such good spirits. I would maybe see a doctor, if only to check if you're contagious.”

  Horace gave a booming laugh. “Contagious muscles? And contagious unbreakable legs? Impossible, I say!”

  Spencer chuckled along with him, whilst Josie paused halfway through shoving her pruning tools back into the shed to look at Horace askew. Was it just these two, or did her parents’ generation have completely arbitrary standards of what counts as impossible?

  “Anyway, as I keep saying, there’s no point wasting the doctors’ time if I’m feeling fine, and since his accident Spence has agreed with me.” Horace motioned to Spencer’s guilty smirk as proof. “If my physique starts causing me pain I promise I’ll go. Like you did, Josephine when your sex thing was bothering you.”

  Both sisters were surprised to hear Horace bring this up, even in an overly summarized manner. Like most of Viceroy’s tenants, Horace never said much about the previously closeted Josie presenting as a man for her first year down at the allotment before beginning her long-awaited transition six years ago. As the reaction at the time was muted in favour of not making a fuss, she had wondered if Horace even knew she was the same person, and not just taking over her half of the allotment from her reclusive brother. It was disarming but relieving to know the giant was more astute that it appeared.

  Spencer and Horace headed off, the latter still concerned enough for the former’s wellbeing. Horace made a last-ditch offer to give the wiry gent a fireman’s lift home. Spencer seemed hesitant to refuse the opportunity despite his own confident stride. No sooner had they gone that Lady Thorne was rushing back towards Rita and Josephine.

  “Hello, back again! Turns out I had already watered the pumpkin patch. Heaven knows when I did that, but the important thing is I drenched the ground thoroughly. Now about our article…”

  Before she could corner either of the ladies against the shed, they scrambled into the car and Rita hastily drove off.