Backhand

She was weeding out the back when she became fully aware of its presence.

She had heard an annoying whine around the garden for several days before she actually spotted it. It was a drone, no bigger than a teacup, with a tiny camera mounted at the front. It was obviously a top of the range, extremely expensive piece of technology. She had seen these things advertised on the internet. She knew that their price tags could run into thousands. The moment she saw it she knew that it had been spying on her for the last week. She couldn’t help wondering about the mentality of a sick voyeur that wanted to spy on her while she was hanging out clothes or pottering around the garden. She also wondered whether it was a neighbour or somebody even further away.

Wherever they were, they would either have a screen on their control device so they could watch her live or the thing was recording stuff to be viewed later. Either way, she realised that she must not let the pervert know that she is aware of the intrusion. She made a great effort to avoid looking at it.

At the time, she had only intended to pull out a few more weeds and to do a bit of watering, but her plans were changing as she continued to put on a show for the camera. She was aware of its location. It hovered in one spot. To be that far away and see her, she thought, it must be equipped with some sort of zoom or something. It was amazing just how sophisticated these expensive models could be. She stood for a while, staring down at the area she’d just cleaned up. She looked as though she was admiring her work… she wasn’t. Although it had been a few years since she played tennis regularly, she had always had a really good backhand.

She strolled across to the shed where she found the shovel. She was aware of the tiny machine moving in for a closer look. She returned to an open patch of soil and began to dig. As she worked on the hole, she was keeping both her anger and her building excitement in check. When it was nice and deep she suddenly stood back, feigning surprise. As predicted, the thing drew closer.

With one swift movement, now looking directly at the drone for the first time, she used her backhand stroke. Sweeping the spade across her body she made contact with it, sending it flying across the garden where it hit the side of the shed with a loud bang. It fell to the ground, not moving.

She walked over and picked the crumpled remains of the filthy thing up. She didn’t like touching it, despite the fact that she was still wearing her garden gloves. She took it to the hole, dropped it in, filled it in, and with a well-deserved smile on her face she patted the soil down. She put the shovel back, removed her gloves, and took one last look at where she’d been weeding.

She then went back in and put the kettle on.