A/N: Finally, a new chapter! Thanks to anyone who's still bothering to check on this story. :-) Sorry for the long delay—I had to be a grad student for a while.
A note on language: At one point in this chapter, I refer to "pudding" and then have the boys eat ice cream. This is because, as best as I can tell, in England "pudding" means, among other things, any kind of dessert. Over here in the States, "pudding" refers specifically to a sweet, somewhat gelatinous food that has a consistency similar to yogurt and custard. It comes in lots of flavors and is enjoyed by almost everyone, including Bill Cosby.
Also, a "garden" in England is apparently what we call a "yard" in the States.
Chapter 5: Twitmyer's Towering Temper
Several hours later, Colin spread the final spadeful of mulch on the flowerbed. He sat down heavily on the grass with a groan.
"Are we done yet, Colin?" mumbled Dennis into the grass, where he'd collapsed face down about thirty seconds earlier.
"With the mulch, Dennis," sighed Colin.
"And we already planted the flowers."
"Yes." Colin was fairly certain that Mrs. Twitmyer had made them plant more flowers than had been there in the first place. After making them turn over all the soil by hand.
"And we weeded all the other flowerbeds," continued Dennis.
"And planted the new bushes in the hedge."
"Stupid hedge."
What had felt like the entire hedge exploding had in fact been the two bushes immediately behind the two boys forcibly uprooting themselves. Colin and Dennis had been quite relieved to discover this—but for some reason Mrs. Twitmyer hadn't been.
"And we trimmed the hedge too," Colin added.
"Bloody stupid hedge."
Silence fell for a moment. Colin sighed.
"We've still gotta—"
"CREEVEY!"
"—mow the lawn—"
"WHAT are you doing lounging around! You're not finished yet!"
The boys scrambled to their feet.
"We were just about to mow the lawn, Mrs. Twitmyer!" Colin called quickly.
But she was already striding towards them.
"You! Casper!" she shrieked at Dennis. "Get the mower! And you! Dunlap!" She stuck her finger in Colin's face. "Are all the twigs picked up?"
"Yes, Mrs. Twitmyer!" he exclaimed vehemently. "We raked the whole garden—"
"Liar!" she shouted. "I see a twig right there!"
Colin looked. He couldn't see anything remotely resembling a twig. If there had been a twig, he was sure it would have shriveled up in fright when Mrs. Twitmyer pointed at it. In fact, he had never seen twigs in Mrs. Twitmyer's garden, except right after they had trimmed the hedge. If he had been a twig, he certainly wouldn't have wanted to wander onto Mrs. Twitmyer's lawn.
"You'll go over the lawn again, Carter!" she barked. "Before that Dallas comes through with the mower! I'm not having my mower ruined because of your carelessness!"
She stomped back inside, muttering in a very carrying voice ("No initiative—have to be told every little step—comes of being spoiled—bad end one of these days—") until the door slammed shut behind her.
The boys raked and mowed for over an hour, switching places whenever they were sure their neighbour couldn't see them. They knew from long experience which parts of the garden couldn't be seen from the windows. They also knew that Mrs. Twitmyer had no idea which of them was which and thus would never notice they had switched places if she didn't see them do it. The sun was nearly setting when they knocked on Mrs. Twitmyer's door to tell her they were finished.
"You're not finished until I've inspected your work!" she snapped. "Calvin! That mulch is uneven! Smooth it flat! Darwin, there are grass clippings on the pavement! Sweep it! And don't think you can leave without cleaning all the tools you got dirty! And you still need to..."
It was well after dark by the time the boys trudged back to their own house, covered in dirt, sweat, blisters, and sunburn. They sat numbly at the table, drinking tall glasses of lemonade that Dad had poured for them. This revived them enough to go take baths.
Three quarters of an hour later, with bandaged blisters, soothed sunburns, and clean bodies, Colin and Dennis sat down once again at the kitchen table. They started in gratefully on the cold supper Dad had made for them—they couldn't have eaten anything hot at that point. For several minutes, the world consisted entirely of cold lemonade, cold turkey and ham, sliced cheese, and hard-boiled eggs.
"All right, boys," said Dad when they had slowed down a bit, "tell me what happened." Mrs. Twitmyer had hauled them by their ears to their own house and shouted at Dad for a while, but as it had been mostly incoherent ranting about vandalism, criminal tendencies, and children being allowed to play with explosives, he hadn't gotten much of the details except for the part about the bushes being uprooted.
Colin looked at Dennis. Dennis looked at Colin. Both boys looked at Dad and started explaining at the same time.
"We were playing football—"
"The ball went over the hedge—"
"Muffin attacked Dennis!"
"We were just trying to get away—"
"Boys!" said Dad, holding up his hands to stop them. "Calm down, and tell me what made Mrs. Twitmyer so angry."
"We didn't do anything!" they both burst out indignantly.
"It was Muffin who tore up the flowerbed!"
"She said you were selling drugs!"
Dad choked, but in amusement rather than indignation.
"What, on my milk rounds?" he asked through his laughter.
"Yes!" Colin and Dennis shouted furiously.
"OK, boys," Dad said, a corner of his mouth still twitching, "two deep breaths. Eat some more ham. You're not in trouble, and you don't have to defend yourselves. Or me. And I know you didn't make Mrs. Twitmyer angry on purpose."
He waited for several minutes before trying again. This time, Colin was able to talk fairly calmly about how the football had gone over the hedge and landed in the flowerbed. Dennis explained, a mite less calmly, about Muffin's mauling of the flowers (and attempted mauling of the boys). And both boys chimed in, decidedly less calmly, when describing Mrs. Twitmyer cornering them against the hedge, shrieking insults about them and about Dad—
"And, I dunno," Colin paused. He suddenly felt a bit foolish. "Well, it, er, made me really angry..." His voice trailed off. Why had he let the Twit make him so frightened and angry? It wasn't as if he cared what she thought anyway.
"Me too," sighed Dennis.
"We didn't mean for anything to happen to the hedge..." Not exactly, anyway.
"Alright, boys," said Dad bracingly. "I don't want you to have to spend your afternoons repairing Mrs. Twitmyer's garden. But I can't do all that much about it when you did sneak into her garden and you did blow up her hedge. Never mind that she hasn't any idea how you blew it up. So I'm going to ask you to promise me that you will not go onto Mrs. Twitmyer's property again this summer, no matter what." He surveyed them very seriously. The boys stared at the table.
"We promise, Dad," they said sheepishly.
"If a football or anything else somehow makes its way into her garden, you will come get me rather than trying to sneak in to get it."
"Yes, Dad."
"OK, Dad."
He looked at them solemnly for a few seconds, then grinned.
"All right, then!" he said, clapping his hands. "Time for pudding! And you can tell me all about the shops we need to go to tomorrow in Diagon Alley."
Over large dishes of ice cream, the boys told Dad, for perhaps only the tenth time that week, about their plan of attack for Diagon Alley.
"First, we go to Gringotts to change our money!" Dennis said. "And we get to see the goblins there!"
"Then, we've got to buy Dennis's wand first thing!" Colin exclaimed. "At Mr. Ollivander's!"
"Yeah," breathed Dennis, his eyes huge. He had regarded Mr. Ollivander with a great deal of awe ever since their first trip to Diagon Alley. When they had gone to the ancient shop for Colin's wand, the silver-eyed proprietor had not only known their names already but had also charmed his ladder to roll away whenever Dennis approached it—which had proved to be a wise precaution.
"And then we can go get your robes, Dennis," said Dad.
"And a pointy hat!" Dennis added promptly.
"And then Potions ingredients at the Apothecary's!" Colin continued.
"And spellbooks! At Blott's—Furnish and Botts—"
"Flourish and Blotts, Dennis!" said Colin excitedly.
"And the scales, and the phials..."
"And the telescope..."
A quarter of an hour later, Colin and Dennis lay in their beds, Dennis still listing items to buy the next day. The last thing Colin heard as he drifted off to sleep was his brother's voice.
"...robes, and a cloak, and a pointy hat..."