As soon as she mentioned the name of the house, Thomas was transported back fifteen years to his school days, and he felt a shudder of fear run down his spine. As a schoolboy, Thomas and his friend, Dan, used to pass "Wood End House" on their way to and from school. It was a large, detached and quite sinister looking, red brick Victorian house set in its own grounds behind a high brick wall. Entrance was via a huge, ornate, wrought iron gate. He and Dan always imagined that it was haunted.
On their way home one evening, they had been joined by Wendy, a girl that Thomas had a schoolboy crush on. Both Dan and Thomas were both in a particularly boisterous mood, both trying to impress Wendy. Dan dared Thomas to take a few apples from the tree just inside the wrought iron gate of "Wood End House".
"My brother said the house is haunted," warned Wendy.
"There's no such thing as ghosts," replied Thomas, trying to sound confident and knowledgeable. "How many apples do you want?"
"Six," replied Wendy. Her eyes widened with nervous admiration as Thomas pushed open the heavy, squeaking, wrought iron gate, and began to scale the apple tree just a short way up the drive.
"You can have a dozen if you like," Thomas called out cheerfully from half way up the tree, relishing the opportunity to demonstrate his bravery, as his two friends watched him from the other side of the gate.
"I'll give you a dozen!" said a woman's voice from the direction of the house, "A dozen strokes of the cane across your bottom young man."
In complete panic, Thomas dropped from the tree, apples scattering around him, and ran as fast as his legs would carry him through the gate and into the street. His friends were already scampering away up the road. He didn't look back, so he didn't see the lady, but he heard her footsteps walking briskly towards him on the gravel drive. He pictured her with a cane in her hand.
Thomas changed his route to school after that incident, always fearing that a woman wielding a cane would be waiting behind the gate for him when he passed by. The image of her haunted him. Even now, fifteen years later, the image he had manufactured in his own head, made him nervous each time he had to pass near to "Wood End House".
Now, he was running his own small gardening company. The call he had just taken was from a lady called Ms Craven. She had a refined voice and explained that she had a large garden that needed regular maintenance because her regular gardener had recently retired for health reasons. She lived in the same town and Thomas agreed to call in to quote for the work. Then she mentioned the name of the house. Thomas realised his hand was shaking as he put down the received after agreeing a time to call.
Later that afternoon, Thomas pushed open the same heavy wrought iron gate he had last run out of all those years ago. It still squeaked. He became aware he was sweating as he walked past the apple tree. It seemed smaller now. A minute later he pulled himself together and knocked on the oak front door of "Wood End House". Of course she won't recognise me after all this time, he thought to himself. It might not even be the same person, she might have moved.
The door was opened by a glamorous and attractive lady, smartly dressed in a conservative suit. Her dark hair was held back into a tight bun and beginning to grey. He guessed she was in her late forties. She looked at him for a few uncomfortable moments, before he found his voice.
"I'm Thomas," he said, clearing his throat, trying to disguise his nervousness, "I've come to quote for the gardening."
"Oh yes, of course," she said, studying his face carefully.
There were a few uncomfortable seconds of silence and Thomas felt himself flushing.
"Perhaps you would care to take a look around the garden, Thomas," she said eventually, "As you will see, it's suffered a few weeks of neglect. Perhaps you could quote me for tidying up, weeding, and trimming hedges. If you'll excuse me I'm in the middle of something, so just knock when you've had a look."
She closed the door.
Thomas was nervous and excited by the mere presence of this refined lady. The thought that it might have been the same lady who had promised to cane him fifteen years ago was impossible to put out of his mind as he looked around the large garden. He realised he had an erection. Ten minutes later he knocked on the door again.
"I've had a look around, Ms Craven. It's a lot of work, I think it will take about a week to put it back in order,"
"I accept the quote, Thomas," she said as soon as he had given her a price, "When can you start?"
"I usually ask for a fifty per cent deposit," he said shyly.
"Well I don't usually pay a fifty per cent deposit," she replied firmly, "I pay when the work is completed to my satisfaction. When can you start?"
Thomas found himself becoming erect again and his face flushed again. He felt sure she had glanced down and noticed the bulge in his trousers. She looked back into his face with a hint of amusement in her eyes.
"Next Monday," he said meekly.
"Good. I'll expect you at 8.00am sharp." She raised her eyebrows slightly, indicating that she expected a reply in the affirmative.
"Yes, Ms Craven," he replied obediently.
* * *
Thomas was unable to put Ms Craven out of his mind for the rest of the week. He was almost desperate to know if she was the same lady who had threatened him with the cane. The thought excited him and scared him.
He began work on Ms Craven's garden at the agreed time the following Monday. She occasionally brought him out a cup of tea and inspected his progress, but other than that he saw little of her during the following week and she didn't seem interested in engaging him in conversation.
Towards the end of his last day, he was tidying away his tools, happy that the job was complete, and he found himself standing by the apple tree he had tried to steal apples from when he was a boy. He tried to imagine what it would have been like if he'd been caught. He found himself becoming erect again, ant unconsciously put his hand to his erection.
"A penny for your thoughts, Thomas?"
Her voice made him jump and he quickly pulled his hand away from the front of his trousers, looking to his left to see Ms Craven standing to his side with a cup of tea.
"I was just admiring your apple tree," he replied awkwardly, not being able to think of what to say. She looked at him with a slightly amused look on her face and he felt his face flush again and his erection harden.
"Yes," she said at last, "Of course you were."
Thomas blushed further as he took the tea from Ms Craven.
"They're coxes -- the apples." she said after a few moments, obviously in no hurry to return to her house. "The tree's past its prime now, but I enjoyed excellent crops until a few years ago."
"Oh," replied Thomas weakly, face now bright red.
"Yes," she continued, intent on reminiscing, "In fact the apples were so abundant that they attracted the attention of a few young scoundrels from the local school. They tried to steal some. I nearly caught one of them. I watched him climb up the tree from the kitchen window over there," she said.
Thomas looked over towards the window, trying, but failing, to appear casually interested, face still glowing red.
"He's very lucky I didn't catch him," she continued, smiling at the memory. "He may have found it difficult to sit down for a few days if I had."
Thomas could think of nothing to say, and after a few moments Ms Craven seemed to forget the past.
"Come up to the house when you've finished clearing up, Thomas. We can settle our accounts."
Ten minutes later, with his work complete, Thomas knocked on the door with his empty tea cup in his hand. He was sweating profusely, excited and terrified.
"Come in, Thomas," she said firmly, and led him to a large oak study, and sat down behind a desk to face him, leaving him standing.
"We need to settle your account," she said, looking directly into his face. He felt himself look down at the floor, unable to hold her gaze.
"But first," she continued, "I'd like you to help me with a bit of maths. It's not my best subject."
"Of course, if I can," he replied, "but it's not my best subject either."
"I'll make it very simple, then," she said. "Let's suppose I owed you, what shall we say... twelve apples, for example. Let's suppose it took me fifteen years to pay you back. You'd be owed interest, wouldn't you?"
"Yes," he whispered, cringing inside.
"Well, as I said, maths isn't my best subject, but I've worked out that if the interest was, say, five per cent a year, then I'd owe you twenty-six apples. Does that sound right to you, Thomas?"
"I suppose so," he whimpered.
