Sheila stared at the shrivelled leaves in despair. Either side of where she was standing, a thick hedge ran the length of the garden, green foliage topped with healthy red leaves - this year's new growth. It had reached a height now where the neighbour’s garden was no longer visible when they sat outside dining on the patio. They should have total privacy by now, yet this one patch, a metre wide, remained barren.
Every time Sheila planted a new shrub to close the gap, it refused to flourish. After a few months struggling, the leaves would shrivel and the plant would die. She’d be left with bare branches and have to dig it out and start all over again.
What was it with this part of the hedge? Was there something buried under the soil? Were there animals burrowing underneath and attacking the roots? Did something, or someone, visit it at night, forcing a path through from the neighbour’s garden to hers? Sheila was perplexed. She was frustrated and annoyed and angry.
Sheila picked up her phone and dialled her son’s number. He worked with technology. She'd ask him to set up a camera and film the gap, so that she could catch the culprit, human, animal, whatever it might be. There had to be a logical explanation.
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