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Emma didn’t need a second urging to run. She pulled up the bottom lock of the French doors while I did the top one and opened them. Outside, she hesitated, glancing wildly around. I pointed left. ‘Margaret’s fence. Get over it. Stand on the pots.’
I shut the French doors and followed her. She was already halfway over the wooden fence, one leg kicking to propel her faster. I was right behind her. The fence seemed three metres high. I grabbed the top, hoisted myself on to the largest pot and half-jumped, half-pulled myself up. One leg over, rough wood scraping, other leg not high enough. f**k! Emma got hold of my leg and yanked hard, and I was halfway.
I dropped my phone into Margaret’s garden – I needed both hands. Swung the other leg, tried not to groan at the pain in my hip and the
