30April2025
George Peterson, eightytwo years old, lives at the very end of Willow Lane, in a modest but sturdy cottage. The walls, built by my father from thick oak beams, have darkened with age yet remain unshakable. The roof, a little sagging toward the eastern side, still keeps out every drop of rain. The porch, however, leans precariouslya repair long overdue, but my hands never seem to find the time.
Though my pension in pounds keeps the lights on, I tend the garden not out of necessity but habit. Each dawn, as the sun kisses the tops of the apple trees, I step out with a spade or a watering can, depending on the task, and make my way to the rows of potatoes, onions, carrots and cucumbers. Everything grows in neat lines, just as my late wife Nora likedorder was her comfort. Even though my children occasionally send a few quid, I cannot simply abandon the earth.
I raised my children, lived a decent life, and now, in the quiet of the empty yard, I often feel the soil calling me each morningsteady, loyal, my last companion.
My son lives in Manchester, my daughter in Bristol. They phone rarely and visit only once a year. Nora she never woke up one morning. She lay there, eyes closed, lips a faint blue, and I didnt grasp at first what had happened.
Nevertheless, I kept digging in the beds as if waiting for Nora to burst through the door and shout, George, dinners ready! Occasionally the wind rustles the kitchen curtain, and I swear I hear her voice, only to turn and find emptiness.
No one visits now except the sparrows under the roof and my old cat, Misty, who purrs at my feet.
Next door, beyond the hedge, lives a young familySimon, Laura, and their fiveyearold daughter, Emily. Their house, also old, is painted a bright skyblue, as if a slice of heaven fell among the garden rows. Simon, tall and bespectacled, is always fixing somethingrepairing fences, building benches. Laura, slender and swift, spends her days at the sewing machine or hanging laundry. And Emily she is simply a child, full of boundless energy and freckles.
They moved here a year ago, bought the rundown cottage and set about restoring it. They said they were tired of the citys clamor and smog, yearning for a life closer to people and nature. Simon works from homewhat they now call remote. He sits at his computer, speaking in a stern voice on the phone. I never understood how one could work without ever leaving a chair, but I respected his diligence.
Laura takes commissions for tailoring. The hum of her machine drifts over the fence now and then, and soon garmentsdresses, shirts, even odd costumes for theatrehang on lines, still damp with starch.
Emily darts around the yard, chasing chickens, pulling at the flowers in my garden. Shes a lively, freckled girl with two little pigtails sticking out in opposite directions. She laughs loudly, then suddenly pauses to stare at a beetle, always getting into something.
One afternoon I saw her slip beneath the hedge and reach for my daisies.
Granddad, can I pick some of your flowers? she called, spotting me.
I wanted to scold herthese daisies were Noras pridebut her bright eyes melted my irritation. I waved my hand.
Go ahead, just dont pull up the roots.
Emily nodded eagerly and began plucking the blossoms carefully, trying not to crumple the petals. Watching her, I thought perhaps Nora had been the same in her youthrestless, alive, with freckles on her nose.
Emily leaned over, and one of her pigtails slipped sideways. She twirled it back into place and kept gathering flowers, muttering to herself:
This for mum this for dad and this for me
I couldnt help but smile.
What about me? I asked, halfjoking.
Emilys round eyes widened, then she burst into giggles.
All the flowers for you, Granddad! You grew them! Ill get some for Mum and Dad too.
She handed me a whole bunch.
I inhaled the faint, sweet scent of the daisies. Nora always kept them in a waterfilled vase by the window.
Thank you, I muttered.
Granddad, why do you have so many flowers? Emily persisted. We only have grass and two shrubs out back.
My wife loved them, I said simply.
And wheres your wife? she asked.
I froze. How do you explain shes gone to a fiveyearold? Emily seemed to understand, though, and gently brushed my hand.
Shes in the sky now?
Yes I whispered.
My grandmas up there too. Mum says she became a star.
I nodded, unsure what else to say. Emily shifted focus.
Look, a butterfly! she exclaimed, darting away, forgetting the daisies and my melancholy.
I stood there, holding the flowers, then shuffled inside. I dusted off an old vase, filled it with water, and arranged the daisies on the table, just as Nora used to.
That evening a knock sounded at the door. Laura stood there with a tray of cake.
Good evening, Mr. Peterson! We baked a cake and thought you might like some She stopped, noticing the daisies on the table.
Thank you, I said, please, come in.
She set the tray down gently.
Did Emily pick flowers today?
Yes. Shes a good girl.
Little rascal, Laura smiled, eyes twinkling. Is she bothering you?
No, I replied honestly, sometimes I feel lonely.
Laura sank into a chair, as if her legs could no longer bear her.
We feared the quiet here at first. In the city you have neighbours right over the wall. Out here its just the wind in the trees.
Youll get used to it, I said.
We sat in a comfortable silence before Laura offered, Would you like to join us for dinner tomorrow? Simons planning a barbecue.
I hesitated; Im used to my solitude. Then I remembered Emilys delighted shout, All the flowers for you! I answered, surprisingly, Ill come.
Lauras smile broadened. Until tomorrow, then.
When she left, I walked to the window. Across the lane, the neighbours garden glowed, and through the curtains I could see Emily hopping about, arms outstretched, while Simon laughed and talked to her.
I sighed, looking at the daisies in the vase.
Perhaps, I whispered, Im not alone after all.
The next morning the door burst open with a loud knock.
Whats the fuss at this hour? I barked, still halfasleep over my tea.
Standing there in oversized rubber boots, eyes sparkling, was Emily.
Granddad, Mum said youre coming to our barbecue today! Were carrying the wood! Lets go!
I blinked, remembering Lauras invitation.
I thought you invited me for dinner
Dads already marinating the meat! the girl interjected, grabbing my arm. Mums baking another cake! You promised!
I stared at my worn coat and scuffed slippers.
Hold on a minute, lovelet me get changed
No need! Emily tugged, You look fine as you are!
Within ten minutes I was sitting on the neighbours garden bench while Simon tended a makeshift grill built from an old oil drum. The morning sun was strong, yet the shade of the spreading apple tree kept us cool.
George, do you think the coals are ready? Laura asked, wiping sweat from her brow.
I hobbled over, peered at the ember glow and gave an approving grunt.
Just a few more minutes, then theyll be perfect. Look at that white crust forming.
Laura brought out a platter of marinated meat, the aroma of garlic and herbs drifting over the yard.
George, youre our resident BBQ adviser today. My husband isnt much of a grill master.
Simon opened his mouth to protest but just nodded, resigned.
Thus began the most unusual day in five years.
I taught Simon the art of a proper barbecue while Emily whirled around, trying to help and constantly getting in the way. Laura set the plates, sliced a fresh salad.
When we finally sat beneath the apple tree, I realized I was laughing at a joke Simon toldcrude, not particularly clever, yet somehow uproariously funny in that company. Emily, smeared with ketchup, solemnly poured everyone a glass of homemade compote, spilling half of it.
Granddad, were you a tank driver in the war? she asked suddenly, eyes wide.
The table fell silent. Simon and Laura exchanged a glance.
Emily! Laura warned sharply.
No, I replied, smiling unexpectedly. I was just a lad, like you, but always hungry for a bite.
I told them about the postwar fields, how I once found a frostbitten potato and declared it the best day of my life. Emily listened with her mouth open, and when I finished she leapt up and hugged me.
Ill give you all my potatoes! All of them! she declared.
We all laughed, and something warm spread through me.
Late that night, the first stars appeared as I walked home. Simon escorted me to the gate.
Thank you, George. You you didnt realise how much that meant to Emily, to us.
I waved it off. Come now
No, really. We moved out here to be closer to people, and it turned out we needed you.
I interrupted, Come by tomorrow. Ill show you how to hill your potatoes properly. Your beds are already kneedeep in weeds.
Simon beamed, Ill be there. Absolutely.
Back inside, I lingered before the photograph of Nora.
You see, I whispered, you were afraid Id disappear without you
Outside, the chirping of crickets mingled with Emilys laughter drifting over the fence. I switched off the light and lay down.
For the first time in years I was not afraid of the night.
Lesson learned: Loneliness shrinks when you let the garden of life grow, and the smallest hands can remind us that were never truly alone.
