There’s something moving by the garden fence. Mice, again? Or worse, a rat? Debra puts the washing basket down and almost calls out for Stuart, but then she remembers.
She edges closer. Curled around the cracked base of her abandoned flower pot is a huge slug, sleek and iridescent in the patchy afternoon sun. Once, she would have worried about how to get rid of it, but there’s no point now.
“I wouldn’t stop here,” she tells it. “You’ll go hungry.”
Because there’s nothing for it to feed on in her blighted garden. Not unless it eats gravel and dry, yellowing grass. Continue reading