Page 21 of Flowers Go Flying in Crumbleton

Milly wasn’t in any kind of rush. She’d already called Wilfred back to confirm that Hercules was going to be fine and dandy after his elicit snack at the wedding, and she’d left Jo in charge of the shop.

‘ARGH!’ Milly squealed as a startled heron took flight from a clump of reeds right next to her. She jumped so badly that the entire boat rocked like a bucking bronco.

‘Calm! Breathe!’ she muttered again, sounding like a very shrill stuck record.

It was just a heron. Nothing to worry about!

No… if she really wanted something to worry about, it was being lost out here on the marshes all night. What if she couldn’t find the trawler? What if she did find it, and Murray wasn’t there? He could be out counting frogs, or something equally as bizarre for all she knew. He was the Marsh Ranger, after all. He could be anywhere.

But then… considering he’d just been released from hospital, surely he’d be taking it easy?

Well… there wasn’t any point going around in circles inside her own head, was there? Not when she was having enough trouble stopping the boat from doing just that.

Milly frowned around her, trying to see through the thick reeds and rushes, desperate for a glimpse of some kind of landmark that might help her get her bearings again.

‘Admit it, you’re lost!’ she huffed.

What on earth had she been thinking, coming out here on a mission to apologise for something that wasn’t even her fault to start with? It was probably the worst excuse in the history of excuses for turning up at someone’s home unannounced. If anyone was to blame for Murray’s accident – it was Elizabeth. She’d been the one to choose such a ridiculously big bunch of flowers to start with.

Milly had to face facts. The only reason she was paddling around, lost in the middle of Crumbleton marshes right now was the fact that she’d finally had enough of waiting.

She wanted to meet Murray.

She wanted to see with her own eyes that he still had all his teeth - and really was going to be okay.

Then… she wanted to grab him and kiss his face off. After that, maybe she’d ask him on a date.

‘Or maybe you could just turn around and go home,’ she whispered, her oars going still as the stupidity of her weird little mission clonked her over the head. Pausing for a beat or two, she let the boat drift idly as a curious sparrow peered at her from a nearby rush.

‘What do you think I should do?’ she said.

The sparrow cocked its head one way, and then the other - not taking his eyes off her. He looked like he was thinking hard.

‘Don’t rush,’ she laughed, ‘take your time!’

The sparrow let out two short peeps, bobbed its tiny body, and then flew off in a scurry of silky feathers.

‘Yeah – that’s what I think too,’ said Milly. ‘It’s too late to bow out now!’

She grabbed the oars again and started to row with a newfound determination. It worked a treat for about thirty seconds.

A strange, sludgy, sliding sound came from the bottom of the boat.

‘What noooooow?’ Milly whined, even though it was pretty obvious what now. The water was getting too shallow for the boat. She could feel it dragging along the mud beneath her. That wasn’t good. If she didn’t watch out, she was going to get stranded… then what would she do?!

‘Okay – it’s fine,’ she muttered, as the boat came to a dead stop. ‘Don’t panic, I’ll just…’

She tried rowing backwards, then forwards… and then…

‘Gah!’ She was officially stuck.

After a couple of seconds of pure, silent horror, Milly clambered carefully to her feet. Placing one oar into the bottom of the boat, she carried the other one to the back, intent on using it as a punt. What could be more romantic than turning up, gondola-style?

Milly thrust the end of the oar into the deep mud and pushed. The boat didn’t budge – but helpfully, the oar sank by about a foot.

‘Not the plan!’ she sighed, yanking on it to no avail. Great – now the oar was stuck too.

It took several hard tugs before the mud relinquished the paddle with a gruesome, slurping sound. Not one to give up easily, Milly chose a new spot before thrusting the oar back down into the ooze and shoving hard. This time the boat did move forward by a couple of feet… but the oar didn’t come with her.

---