Hey love, picture this: George Peterson lives at the very end of the lane, in a little but solid cottage. The walls, put together ages ago by his dad from thick pine logs, have darkened with time but they still stand firm. The roof sags a touch on the eastern side, yet it never lets a drop of rain in. The front step is wobbling its long overdue for a fix, but he never finds the energy.
Hes pushing eighty, but he still tends his garden not because he needs to, but because its a habit. Every morning, as soon as the sun brushes the tops of the apple trees, he steps out with a spade or a watering can, depending on what the beds need, and heads to his rows. Potatoes, onions, carrots, courgettes everything lines up neat, just the way Eleanor liked it. She was a lover of order. Even though his pension covers him and the kids occasionally send a few quid, he cant just abandon the soil.
He raised his children, lived a good life nothing exotic. Now, in the quiet of the empty yard, he sometimes catches himself thinking the earth still beckons him each dawn reliable, unchanged, his last confidante.
His children have long moved on, and his wife passed five years ago. His son lives in Manchester, his daughter in Bristol. They ring now and then, drop by once a year. And Eleanor she didnt wake up one morning. She lay with her eyes shut, as if still sleeping, her lips a shade blue. He didnt realise at first.
Still, George kept digging the beds as if waiting for her to pop out of the kitchen and shout, George, come have dinner! Sometimes, when the breeze fluttered the kitchen curtains, he swore he heard her voice. Hed turn nothing there.
No one called him. Only the sparrows chattered under the roof and the old cat Molly purred at his feet.
Next door, over the garden fence, lived a young family Simon, Lucy, and their fiveyearold daughter Lily. Their house, also old but painted a bright skyblue, looked like a piece of heaven dropped amongst the hedges. Simon, tall with glasses, was always tinkering fixing the fence one day, building a bench the next. Lucy, wiry and quick, bounced between the sewing machine and hanging the laundry. And Lily well, Lily was just a bundle of energy.
Theyd moved here a year ago, bought the rundown place and put it right up. We were fed up with the city noise and smog, Lucy had said. Wanted to be nearer to nature and people.
Simon worked from home what they called remote these days. Hed sit at his laptop, mumble into the phone with a stern tone. George never got how you could work without getting up from your chair, but he respected it it was a job, after all.
Lucy took orders for clothes. The whir of her sewing machine drifted over the fence now and then, and soon dresses, shirts, even odd theatrical costumes hung on lines, drying in the sun. Lily raced around the yard, chased the chickens, and pulled at the flowers in Georges garden.
One afternoon Lily slipped under the fence and reached for his daisies.
Granddad, can I pick your flowers? she shouted, spotting him.
He almost scolded her those daisies were Eleanors planting but when he saw her bright eyes, he waved her on.
Go ahead, just dont yank the roots out.
Lily grinned and started carefully plucking the blossoms, trying not to crush the petals. George watched and thought, maybe Eleanor had been just like this as a kid lively, restless, freckles on her nose.
Lily tilted, her twin pigtails wobbling. She tucked one back behind her ear so it wouldnt get in the way and kept gathering the flowers, muttering to herself:
This for mum this for dad and this for me
George couldn’t help but smile.
What about me? he asked, halfjoking.
Lilys round eyes widened, then she burst out laughing.
All the flowers for you! You grew them! Ill still get some for mum and dad.
She handed him a whole bunch.
George took the daisies, inhaling their faint, sweet scent. Eleanor always kept them in a jug of water on the windowsill.
Thanks, he murmured.
Granddad, why do you have so many flowers? Lily kept on. We only have grass and two little bushes out back.
My wife loved them, he said simply.
Wheres your wife? Lily asked.
He froze. How do you explain shes gone to a fiveyearold? Lily seemed to get it, though. She paused, then gently patted his hand.
Shes up in the sky now?
Yes he whispered.
My grandmas up there too. Mum says shes become a star.
George nodded, unsure what to say. Lily quickly changed the subject.
Look, a butterfly! and off she ran, forgetting the daisies and the sad thoughts.
He stood there, daisies in hand, then shuffled back inside. He found an old jug on the shelf, wiped it, filled it with water and set the flowers on the table, just like Eleanor used to.
That evening there was a knock. Lucy stood at the door, a plate in her hands.
Good evening, Mr. Peterson! We baked a pie and thought you might like a slice she trailed off, eyes landing on the daisies.
Thank you, George said. Come in.
Lucy placed the plate on the table.
Did Lily pick flowers today?
Yes. Shes a good girl.
Little rascal, Lucy smiled, her eyes twinkling. She must be a bit of a pest for you?
No, he replied honestly. I do get lonely sometimes.
Lucy sank into a chair as if her legs had given out.
We were scared at first, thought it would be too quiet here. In the city youve always got neighbours over the fence but here its just the wind in the trees.
Youll get used to it, George said.
They fell quiet, then Lucy suggested, How about you come over for dinner tomorrow? Simons planning a barbecue.
He almost declined hes used to his solitude, his calm. But then he remembered Lilys shout, All the flowers for you! So he said, Ill be there, surprising himself.
Lucy beamed and stood up. See you tomorrow then.
When she left, George walked to the window. Across the lane, the neighbours lights were on, and through the curtains he could see Lily hopping about, arms flailing, while Simon laughed, telling her something.
He sighed, glanced at the daisies in the jug.
Eleanor, he whispered. Maybe Im not alone after all.
The silence didnt feel so heavy.
The next morning, just as he was sipping his tea, there was a loud knock.
Whos bold enough to ring at this hour? he grumbled.
On the step stood Lily, huge rubber boots clearly her dads eyes sparkling.
Granddad, Mum said youd come to our barbecue today! Were already hauling firewood! Lets go!
He was startled, remembering yesterdays invitation.
I thought youd invited me for dinner
Dads already marinating the meat! Lily interrupted, grabbing his arm. And Mums making another pie! You promised!
George looked at his threadbare vest and worn slippers.
Hold on, sweetheart, let me change
No need! Lily tugged him forward. You look great as you are!
A few minutes later he was sitting on the neighbours garden bench while Simon tended a makeshift grill built from an old oil drum. The morning sun warmed the air, but under the spreading apple tree it stayed cool.
George, think the coals are ready? the neighbour asked, wiping sweat from his brow.
George hobbled over, peered at the glowing embers and gave a approving grunt. Give it another five minutes, itll be perfect. See that white sheen?
Lucy brought out a tray of marinated meat, the scent of garlic and herbs drifting out.
George, youre our resident barbecue guru today. My husband isnt much of a grill master.
Simon was about to argue but just shook his head, resigned.
And so began the most memorable day in five years.
George showed Simon the tricks of a good barbecued steak while Lily twirled nearby, trying to help and mostly getting in the way. Lucy set the plates, sliced a fresh veg salad.
When they finally sat under the apple trees shade, George burst out laughing at a joke Simon told a bit crude, not the sharpest, but somehow it landed perfectly with the group. Lily, ketchup all over her shirt, solemnly poured homemade fruit punch from the jug, spilling half over the glasses.
Granddad, were you ever in the war? she asked, eyes wide.
The table fell silent. Simon and Lucy exchanged glances.
Liza! Lucy called sharply.
No, George replied, then smiled. I was a lad in the war, just a hungry kid, thats all.
He went on about how after the fighting he helped harvest the fields, how once he found a frozen potato and thought it was the best thing hed ever tasted. Lily listened, mouth open, and when he finished she leapt up and hugged him.
Ill give you all my potatoes! Every single one! she declared.
Everyone laughed, and George felt a warm glow spread inside him.
Late that night, as the first stars appeared, Simon walked him to the gate.
Thanks, George. You you didnt know how much that meant to Lily, to us, he said.
George waved it off. Oh, dont mention it
No, seriously. We moved here to be closer to people, and youve given us that.
George interrupted, Come by tomorrow. Ill show you how to hill up potatoes properly. Your beds are kneedeep in weeds.
Simon grinned, Ill be there. Absolutely.
Back home, George lingered before a photograph of Eleanor. You see, he whispered, you feared Id disappear without you
Through the open window the chirping of crickets blended with Lilys distant giggle from the next garden she hadnt tired of the days excitement. He switched off the light and slipped into bed.
For the first time in ages, the night didnt scare him.
