Green and black swirl motif on ankle

The gate for Mrs Okafor's garden is hung at last, though the hinge on the left still groans like a cross cat. I forged the scrolls the way Dad taught us, heating the bar until it went the colour of marmalade, then rolling the tip round the horn until it curled back on itself. The long bar across the middle I drew out by hand in one slow pull, and it came out straight as a plumb line. Mrs Okafor stood on the path and said it looked like a dragonfly that had decided to sit still, which I thought was the nicest thing anyone has said about my work in a year.

She wanted the green, so I painted the inner curves with the sage paint from the back of the van, and I rubbed the highlights on with a rag so they'd catch the light when the sun comes over the wall. By four o'clock the whole thing looked less like iron and more like something that had grown there.

Here is the odd part. When I went to lock the gate, the bolt would not slide. I tried three times, then saw the hinge pin had walked out of its hole and was lying in the bed of lavender. Picking it up, I noticed the curl on the top scroll had been turned the wrong way by a hair, so the two halves never quite met. I could have blamed the heat, but I didn't. I reheated it, eased it round, and the bolt slid like butter.

I think I'll keep that one to myself. Write back and tell me whether Tom has finished the shed.

Love, Jo