‘The recycling centre,’ I replied. ‘I don’t need you and the other garden tools anymore.’
‘Is this because you’ve laid artificial grass?’ the fork enquired.
‘Exactly.’
‘But that “grass” is plastic,’ the lawnmower said. ‘Take us back to our garden and remove it.’
‘No.’
The shovel spoke again. ‘Do as the lawnmower asks, André. Otherwise, I’ll tell someone at the recycling centre about our visit to the woods last month.’
‘Don’t,’ I said.
‘We dug a hole there, didn’t we? Wasn’t it the night your partner disappeared?’
I turned back home.