My eyes sting with tears and I blink them back. I don’t think there will ever be a time I can tell this story without being that 15-year-old girl who lost her mum at the age when you need her the most, and it still feeling like it happened yesterday.
‘Alice, that’s awful,’ Zach says. He’s kneeling right next to me now, and pulls me towards him where he holds me tight. I nestle into him, feeling soothed by the sound of his heart beating right by my ear. There’s something calming about his presence and I feel reassured by the fact that he’s happy just to listen.
‘Dad and I soldiered on as best we could but we both struggled. I went through a stage of being incredibly angry with everyone and everything. Dad would sit there quietly while I raged, letting me vent, soothing me when I had nothing left to give. He was as solid as a rock and worked so hard to look after me, always putting me first. But I knew that his heart was broken beyond repair. I’d find him quietly crying to himself, long after he thought I’d gone to bed.’
‘As a kid, there’s nothing more difficult than knowing that a parent is upset but feeling like there’s nothing you can do to help,’ Zach says, sitting down on a patch of grass and encouraging me to do the same. ‘I’d overhear my mum and dad having bitter arguments after Raff and I had gone to bed. They seemed to save it up until we were out of the way but we could still hear them. They’d rage at each other and I remember lying in my bedroom, feeling so helpless. I think both Raff and I blamed ourselves for what happened to them for a long while.’
‘Oh Zach, that’s so sad. Their divorce wasn’t your fault. You were just a child!’
‘I know that now,’ he says softly. ‘Things are confusing when you’re little though. And for you to lose your mum at fifteen … Ah. Alice. I can’t imagine how tough that must have been for you.’
‘It was tough,’ I admit. ‘One day, when Dad and I decided we felt brave enough, we’d started going through some of Mum’s things. Touching the clothes she’d once cherished felt like breaking a spell. We’d made piles to keep and piles to take to a charity shop and after that I decided that we deserved some fish and chips from the van that used to drive through our village. When I got back, Dad was still up in their bedroom, holding onto one of her favourite dresses. I remember clearly that his knuckles were white, like he couldn’t ever let go of it. I knew then that Dad would never be the same again. He’d lost the love of his life.’ My voice catches in my throat.
‘And you’d lost your mum,’ Zach whispers.
‘From that point, I became fiercely protective of my dad. Still am! I didn’t want anything to ever hurt him like that again. So I focused a lot of my energies on that, giving him the space when he needed it.’
‘It must have been so hard to be at home without her, especially at first,’ Zach says sympathetically.
I nod. ‘That’s why I ended up round at Dylan’s house, eating all his mum’s food a couple of times a week. Things got easier for us, in a way that almost made it worst. In many ways you don’t want something like that to get easier. But even with time, everything at home reminded us of Mum. The dip on her side of the sofa where she’d sit in the evenings. Her favourite coffee cup. The photos of us dotted all around. When I went to uni, Dad decided to sell our house. He bought a place not too far away, but far enough to feel like a fresh start. We talk all the time and he likes to send me poorly taken photos of his dinner, or a wonky selfie of him and his mates at the pub,’ I grin.
Zach and I stand up together now, his arms still circled around my waist. ‘No doubt your dad is incredibly proud of you.’
‘He definitely tells me that a lot,’ I smile. ‘Remember when I told you that Dad always used to bring flowers home for Mum every week? It was such a simple, honest gesture of love and that’s where my own love of flowers came from. I mean, I was nearly sick of the sight of them after the funeral. The house was stuffed with white lilies for weeks afterwards. But when the dust settled, gardening became my way of reconnecting with Mum, in a way. She had huge success with a rosemary plant in the garden one year and after that there was always a little pot of something she’d be tending to, so after Mum died gardening became my way of … I don’t know, kind of carrying that love on? Keeping a little piece of her with me, I guess.’
‘The fact that you’re doing all of this to be close to your mum is really beautiful, Alice. She would be so proud of you.’
‘Thanks. I hope so. When I was at uni I read about how much gardening can help you to cope with stress, or sadness, so I joined a community garden project. The minute I started raking through the soil, I got it. We transformed vacant sites into flower gardens and veg plots and there was something so positive about seeing things grow like that. I came back to Sheffield after uni and once the flower shop was up and running, I realised how much I missed it, so I decided to get an allotment of my own. This probably sounds really snowflakey of me but coming here is one of my self-care rituals. It means I can be the life and soul of the partyandhave some space for downtime too.’
‘Not snowflakey at all,’ Zach smiles. ‘I’m a big fan of taking time for yourself when you need it. For me it’s getting out into the Peaks for a big climb or heading out for a run. You can’t beat that freedom and the sense of escaping from your everyday stuff. Clears the head, you know?’
‘Absolutely,’ I nod, relieved he’s not been scared off by my sudden outpouring of emotions. ‘God, sorry Zach. I’ve just realised how much I’ve talked. I bet you never expected a simple question about what got me into gardening would end up in a massive explanation about all the emotional baggage behind it!’
He squeezes my shoulder in response. ‘Please don’t apologise. I’m genuinely touched that you’ve felt comfortable enough to open up to me about this. I can’t begin to understand how it must feel to lose a parent, but I can relate to your need to give yourself some headspace. You know, Raff and I spent a lot of weekends being shipped from one parent to the other and it was hard. I felt like I never quite had a place where I properly belonged. Other kids at school would talk about their family Sundays, where one parent would take them to football and the other would cook a Sunday lunch. We never really knew where we’d be from one weekend to the next so I just didn’t have that sense of … grounding, I guess? I’d cry every time I had to say goodbye to Dad after a weekend, and the same with Mum.’
He grabs another deckchair and unfolds it so that we can sit down together. ‘But you know, divorce happens a lot,’ he shrugs. ‘And we’re all safe and well, so I really have nothing to complain about.’
‘It’s bound to have had an impact on you, Zach.’
‘I think so. I shouldered a lot of the blame for it when I was younger and I’m really quick to judge myself on stuff now, still. I can sometimes get stuck in my own head and that’s when the trainers come out and I head out for a run. A good dose of fresh air makes everything feel better.’
‘Well, I can relate to all but the running bit of what you just said,’ I laugh, only now realising that I’ve been twisting Mum’s wedding ring so much that the skin’s gone red around my middle finger.
Zach notices and asks if it was Mum’s and I nod.
‘It’s nice you can wear something that always reminds you of her. And that now you have this place too where you can feel close to her.’
‘Don’t tell Mum, but my rosemary plant is actually doing even better than hers now.’
Zach mimes zipping his lips and I laugh. This feels so good.
‘Honestly, I never tell anyone all of this stuff,’ I say after a pause, feeling suddenly shy and a little exposed. ‘You know you’re the first person apart from Dad who I’ve ever invited here?’
‘Well I’m honoured to be only your second guest here. And I’m really glad you felt comfortable enough to share this with me,’ Zach says, leaning in to kiss me.
Our moment is interrupted by ViVi popping her head over to say hello. I knew she wouldn’t be able to resist the prospect of catching a glimpse of my new guest. Zach tells her that the strawberries were the best he’d ever tasted, his usual understated charm at play, and I watch her whole face light up with the compliment. He seems to have that effect on people.
We all chat for a bit, pottering around our respective allotments, before ViVi announces that she’s heading home for the day and beckons me over to her, handing me a crop of runner beans wrapped in newspaper. Zach’s turned his attention back to watering the newly planted pumpkin seeds and she mouths ‘Phwoar!’ to me.
