The six-pronged fork I’m dragging slows me down as it bumps over the ridges of earth made some time ago by the plough.  Now the barley has been harvested and I struggle through stubble and patches of weed.

“Carry the fork,” instructs my step-sister, not looking at me.

I shake my head.  I’m tired – and my too short legs wouldn’t balance the long handle of the fork.  All right for her, she’s empty-handed.  She thinks she’s a grown up now she’s got a bosom but I don’t think it looks much.  Her eyes scan the fields.  I know she’s searching for the boy who works in the cowsheds.  She’s after anything in trousers, my mother says.  He’ll get the sack if my father finds out – but why should she care!

Now my own eyes find something.  The fork has caught in the tendrils of a shiny, green-leafed plant which runs in a wobbly pattern along the ground.  I look down at the trumpet-shaped purple flowers, their bendy bits wrapped back to hold against your ear.

“Fairy telephones,” I breathe aloud, awestruck at the possibilities.

“Convolvulus!” snaps my sister.  “I told you to pick up that fork.”

I ignore her.  We walk on, the magic of what the flowers promise remaining with me.

My grandmother’s house, where my step-sister lives, is now almost a field behind us.  I’m glad.  I share my sister’s governess every day but they don’t like me there.  I’m afraid of my grandmother, afraid of the governess, afraid of my sister.  Return this fork to your mother, my grandmother said.

The wooden fence is up ahead now, separating the ploughed field from the paddock that runs down the hill to my parents’ house.

“Climb over, then pull the fork through,” says my sister, as she leaps over the fence, one hand on the wooden post.  She scans again – this time for any audience.  She’s just like a boy, my mother says.

Chin set, I push the fork through first.  It slides over the grass on the other side.  Now I get down on my knees and begin to push myself through the wooden rails.  The opening is narrow and I am what my grandmother calls an overfed child.  I push harder.  My blouse catches.  I feel the wood skinning my back.

“Obstinate brat!” hisses my sister.

I pick up the fork, seeing, as I do so, a new clump of scarlet pimpernels.  My back is bleeding – there is stickiness on my blouse.  But I don’t care.  The fairies will be using their telephones tonight – and I’m on my side of the fence.

Ashley’s love affair began the moment she opened her front door.  There he was, crouching on the steaming hot concrete pathway, looking up at her with complete trust in his yellow rimmed, dark eyes.

‘Oh, you poor thing!  Just wait a moment!’ She ran into the house, coming back with a dish of water, the curved sides low enough for him to either drink from or to jump into.  She then disappeared discreetly, closing the door behind her.  He might be too shy to hop in for a dip in front of her at first meeting, she thought.

‘So now you’re emotionally involved with a frog!’ said her granddaughter, Joanne, when she phoned later that evening.  ‘Really, Gran!  Last week it was a rodent!’

‘Yes, Cassidy the hopping rat,’ Ashley said cheerfully.  Had she been so judgmental as a 30-year-old?  She hoped not.  ‘Look, Jo, I’ll stop filling you in on my wildlife encounters if they upset you.’

‘No, Gran, it’s not that.  I just want you to be happy.  I understand that, at your age, you wouldn’t be interested in the physical side of things, but it’s time you found a bit of human company.  To keep you sane,’ she added.

‘The frog will do me just fine, thank you,’ said Ashley.

‘Next thing you’ll be telling me it has eyes just like Grandfather’s!’ Joanne said, not bothering to hide her exasperation.

Ashley chuckled.  ‘It’s funny you should say that‘ she began.

Joanne terminated the call with a groan.

No sense of humour, thought Ashley.  Odd, in a grandchild of hers.  The fact was that she’d been married to Barry for fifty happy years and she simply couldn’t imagine being involved with another man.  ‘Wouldn’t be interested in the physical side of things?’ Was that what they thought!  She and Barry had had a wonderful love life, right up until the end.  He’d been dead for five years now but her body still tingled at the thought.  ‘Melting moments’, they’d called it.  She smiled at the memory.  She simply couldn’t imagine being attracted to anyone else.

It was dark now.  Time to turn on the sprinklers.  Switching on the outdoor light, she opened the door, stepped outside, then started in fright at a movement to the left, above her head.  She peered more closely.  One tiny hand, then another, extended from amongst the leaves of the large Elkhorn hanging on the red brick wall, then a small face pushed through the greenery and looked down at her.

‘So you’re a climber!’ she gasped, gazing once more at the small, dark-eyed frog.  ‘I wonder where you come from.  There’s no pond around here.’

It was a puzzle, but she planned to go to the garden centre for some supplies tomorrow morning, as she did each Friday.  She’d ask them.  Even if they didn’t know, they always managed to find the information from somewhere.

At the nursery the following morning, Ashley loaded punnets of kale, lettuce and basil seedlings into her trolley.  Pauline, the manager, grinned and waved to her.

‘Bring them over here,’ she said, signalling the front check-out.  ‘Granddad, this is Ms Hurley,’ she said, turning to the man who was working at the computer behind her.  ‘You often answer her queries about wildlife when I phone you.’

‘Aha.’ The blue eyes twinkled at her.  ‘Are you the one with the hopping black rat – or should I say ‘rats’?  They breed pretty fast.’

‘Yes, that’s me,’ Ashley said, surprised to find herself noting the muscular set of his shoulders under the checked shirt.  ‘And if you’re the one who has all the answers then I’ve a question about a frog.  It climbs walls and seems to have taken up residence in my front garden but I don’t have a pond.’

He nodded thoughtfully.  ‘That’s a slender tree frog you have there; Litoria adelaidensis.  My guess is you have a pump well.’

‘I do, indeed, but it’s very deep.’

He snapped his fingers.  ‘So there you have it; a frog that climbs up and down a deep well.  After that, climbing a wall isn’t a challenge.’  He looked at his watch.  ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, the café always prepares my coffee at eleven.  I’ll have to go or they’ll come chasing me.’  He looked at her, smiling as he extended his hand.  ‘Fred Andrews.  Any more questions, don’t hesitate to ask, Ms Hurley.’

‘Ashley, please,’ she murmured, aware of the warmth and firmness of his grip.

‘He’s a fount of knowledge,’ confided Pauline, reaching for the seedling punnets as she indicated the retreating figure.  Lowering her voice she added, ‘I get him in here to help me when I can, just to keep an eye on him.’

‘Really?  Is he sick?’ Ashley asked, handing her $20.  ‘He looks very fit to me.’

‘No, he’s fine.  It’s just that since my lovely grandmother died he’s become a bit odd.’ She raised an eyebrow at Ashley.  ‘You know, talks to the birds and the flowers.’

‘Indeed I do know,’ said Ashley, with feeling.

Pauline passed her the receipt.  ‘Of course, it’s not that he could get romantically involved at his age’, she added, ‘we’ve told him we know that.  It’s just it’s not healthy hanging around with animals rather than getting out and meeting people.’ She placed the punnets in Ashley’s trolley.

So he’d been subjected to the same judgmental treatment.  Poor man.  ‘I see. Well, thank you for your help,’ Ashley hesitated for a brief moment then, gripping the handle of the trolley hard, she pushed it down towards the café.  Pulling up next to Fred’s table, she smiled at him.

‘I’ve been searching recently for the Austracantha minax but I’ve had no luck’ she said.  ‘Have you any idea where I could find one?’

‘The Christmas spider?’ He stood up and pulled out a chair.  ‘Now that’s a favourite of mine.  A real beauty.  There are plenty in the bushland around my place.’

‘How lucky are you!’ Ashley smiled, taking the seat offered.

‘I could show you if you like.  It’s a bit off the beaten track but of course you’d be perfectly safe with me’ he said with a grin.

‘Of course!’ she said archly, moving a little closer.

And Pauline, walking past the café at that moment, smiled to herself.  What luck that she had had that chat with Joanne at the Mothers’ afternoon at the primary school.