I looked around. The front garden was completely un-securable. The driveway was large and open, without gates of any kind. The side of the driveway was bounded by a copper beech hedge, which at this time of year, was a lovely rich green colour with new leaves. It wasn’t particularly tall, but it was thick and impenetrable. The front drive was separated from the back garden by an extension to the brick wall, which ran sideways until it met the house. Inset into the wall was a wooden side gate, which allowed access to the garden from the drive, so I could carry plants and compost through from the car.
The side-gate was the only way into the garden from outside; it had a single bolt that could be padlocked. The hinges were flimsy, and I imagined the whole thing could be kicked in very easily. My research had suggested three options; camouflage, strengthening and diversion. I could disguise the door so people didn’t see it, I could reinforce the door so it couldn’t be kicked in, or I could rig it so it looked broken, and the garden looked wild and overgrown so people wouldn’t bother going in. Of course, I chose all three. First, I needed plants big enough to hide it, which meant a trip back to the garden centre.
I planned quite carefully; I didn’t want the roaming knockers to see me come out of my house, so I needed to go early. I also needed my car, as a plant large enough to hide my doorway would be too large to carry. I didn’t know if the garden centre was open. If the gates were shut it would be very difficult to get in without breaking in through the chain-link fence that surrounded the garden centre. I couldn’t imagine doing anything like that, it would be vandalism, I was happy nicking some plants, but criminal damage was a step to far. It was only two weeks into the epidemic and I still mostly believed that things would go back to normal fairly soon. I didn’t want to wake up one morning to the police knocking on my door to arrest me.
I decided it would be best to check the gates first; walk over at night, when there would be less chance I would be seen. I set a very quiet muffled alarm to wake me up at 2:30am and slept restlessly for a bit. I dressed in black jeans, a dark green jumper, and black sketchers. Then I paused; watching the knockers every day had made me nervous. I looked round for a weapon. I ruled out a kitchen knife as being too extreme, and instead, opened my toolbox. I rooted around until my fingers closed on something cold and heavy; a pair of large snub nosed pliers. I pulled them out, then swung them in the air. Not bad, a hammer might have been better as an actual weapon, but this felt right; weighty and solid. Not that I could imagine using it, but it was better to be safe than sorry.
At 3am, when the streets were entirely empty, I opened the front door. The night sky was clear, and after the heat of the day, it felt much cooler, almost chilly in fact. Most of the streetlights were off, as it was after midnight, but there was one up at the top of the road spilling white light over the junction. There was a bit of a moon, and because my night vision is fairly good, I could see quite well. I stood by the side of the hedge trying to be as still as possible as I slowly scanned up and down the street.
It was empty, so I stepped out onto the pavement. Carpenders Park at night didn’t scare me in the slightest; I had spent too many winter evenings walking around in the dark trying to burn off some of the frustrations of school. The dark felt familiar and safe. I was in two minds about what to do next, I wanted to walk down to the shops and explore the estate… sheer curiosity, but I also knew that I should focus on the garden centre. I turned and walked up the road towards the T-junction, moving slowly and steadily, swinging the pliers slightly so anyone watching could see them.
At the top of the road, I stopped in the mouth of someone’s driveway, in the shadow of a large overgrown hedge. The streetlamp cast a wide blanket of cold pale light, and there wasn’t really anywhere else to hide. I listened intently. The road in front of me was the southern boundary of Carpenders Park. It was lined with houses on my side, but opposite was just a hedge, with a dark field beyond. To the right, the road led to a single-lane bridge, which took traffic over the railway line. To the left, the road led up to the traffic lights and the main road running north into Watford and south into Harrow. I turned left and walked along the pavement, past the houses, until I reached the side entrance to the cemetery.
The cemetery was a familiar place to me as my dad’s ashes were buried there. It was a large lawn cemetery so there were no headstones. Lots of people planted flowers over the graves, and had signs and other memorabilia, but as time went on the grass would spread over, and all would be left was a small plaque in the ground. It was a quiet and peaceful place, even at night, with large trees showing inky black against the sky. The cemetery occupied the whole corner of Carpenders Park, wrapping around the garden centre, which was right at the end of the road, on the junction.
As I passed the cemetery I glanced in and was surprised to see bobbing lights in the distance; there were people here. I briefly wondered what they were doing but moved quickly on. The trees from the cemetery overhung the pavement and created a dark shadowy space. I could barely see, and was uneasy now that I knew there were people around. I knew the garden centre must be on my left, but I couldn’t see it. Then the trees thinned, and I saw the gates; they were open!
I stood at the gates, the moonlight highlighting the silver metal against the dark background. My task was done, but it felt exciting to be out at night, after being stuck inside for so long. Perhaps I could check how easy it was to get to the tall plants at the back of the garden centre.
I slipped into the empty car park and walked round the windowless building, down toward the entrance, hugging the wall for cover. I was aiming for the entrance porch, which opened straight into the plant yard. The security lighting was on; bright lights on the rails surrounding the car park, but the porches were in darkness. The large outer doors were pushed back, but I couldn’t see past the darkness to the inner automatic glass doors.
As I passed the exit, by the tills in the building I noticed that its outer wooden doors were also open. I paused listening; there was silence. I slipped into the opening and crunched loudly down on something. I froze, crouched, and reached down with a hand. My fingers brushed something smooth with a sharp edge: glass… my eyes swept the darkness in front of me as I reached forward. The inner glass doors were completely smashed.
I waited a long time, crouched down, listening, but couldn’t hear anything. The pitch-black darkness inside was frightening and my nerve failed… there was no need to go inside… I could just check the main entrance was open and then leave. I rose, and as I pivoted to step away, the glass crunched again. A torch light flashed on in the store, and a voice murmured. I darted out of the porch, and, dashed back towards the gates. As I reached them, flashlights circled light round the carpark and up toward me, I heard an exclamation, but I didn’t wait to see what they would do; I ran.
I was not a runner; I could do a ten-mile hike easily but never ran anywhere. It was much harder than you’d think. My breath ripped in and out, and my limbs felt heavier than lead, I could hear my shoes pounding against the ground and after a couple of hundred yards I had to stop, just to breathe. I staggered back to the T-junction and fell behind the shadowy hedge, gasping for breath. I waited, trying to quiet my breathing, but no one followed. My right hand clenched tight around the pliers. That hadn’t gone quite as planned. I brushed the sweat from my forehead. The garden centre was too risky to go in at the front, but these pliers… they were the perfect tool to get in from behind.