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Chapters (75)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise
  3. About the Author
  4. Title Page
  5. Intoroduction
  6. ONE
  7. TWO
  8. THREE
  9. FOUR
  10. FIVE
  11. SIX
  12. SEVEN
  13. EITHT
  14. NINE
  15. TEN
  16. ELEVEN
  17. TWELVE
  18. THIRTEEN
  19. FOURTEEN
  20. FIFTEEN
  21. SIXTEEN
  22. SEVENTEEN
  23. EIGHTEEN
  24. NINETEEN
  25. TWENTY
  26. TWENTY-ONE
  27. TWENTY-TWO
  28. TWENTY-THREE
  29. TWENTY-FOUR
  30. TWENTY-FIVE
  31. TWENTY-SIX
  32. TWENTY-SEVEN
  33. TWENTY-EIGHT
  34. TWENTY-NINE
  35. THIRTY
  36. THIRTY-ONE
  37. THIRTY-TWO
  38. THIRTY-THREE
  39. THIRTY-FOUR
  40. THIRTY-FIVE
  41. THIRTY-SIX
  42. THIRTY-SEVEN
  43. THIRTY-EIGHT
  44. THIRTY-NINE
  45. FORTY
  46. FORTY-ONE
  47. FORTY-TWO
  48. FORTY-THREE
  49. FORTY-FOUR
  50. FORTY-FIVE
  51. FORTY-SIX
  52. FORTY-SEVEN
  53. FORTY-EIGHT
  54. FORTY-NINE
  55. FIFTY
  56. FIFTY-ONE
  57. FIFTY-TWO
  58. FIFTY-THREE
  59. FIFTY-FOUR
  60. FIFTY-FIVE
  61. FIFTY-SIX
  62. FIFTY-SEVEN
  63. FIFTY-EIGHT
  64. FIFTY-NINE
  65. SIXTY
  66. SIXTY-ONE
  67. SIXTY-TWO
  68. SIXTY-THREE
  69. SIXTY-FOUR
  70. SIXTY-FIVE
  71. SIXTY-SIX
  72. SIXTY-SEVEN
  73. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  74. CLIMATE EMERGENCY
  75. Copyright

There aren’t many more laughs that day though. Mum is a little absent-minded, drifting in and out of conversations and staring out of windows. She wants to keep me close, and she keeps giving me hugs or brushing my cheek or finding fluff to pick off the arms of my Christmas jumper. Nanna and Grandad do their bit with reassuring hands placed on our shoulders whenever necessary. Apart from the big dinner that Nanna’s made – which is incredible – we spend most of the day watching TV, or old Christmas movies on DVD.

Grandad bustles me out of the house for a quick stroll through the crisp, blue air of early evening. There are a few kids wheeling around on what must be new bikes – not as many as there used to be, says Grandad – and we spend forty minutes or so stomping around, not really talking much before he lets me go back home, my new coat ‘thoroughly road tested’.

As the day darkens quickly and the evening draws in, we settle into our various contemplations in the lounge. I start stripping the tree of any chocolate I can find, Nanna and Mum both start reading their big, hardback novels they gave each other that morning, and Grandad starts flicking through a new version of The Gardener’s Yearbook, drawing circles with a pencil around new varieties of veg he might try. After an hour or so of this, I ask if he’s got any books about growing flowers. He looks confused for a moment, about to ask me – perhaps – why I’d bother with that and not vegetables. Then he gets out of his seat and goes to his study.

When he comes back, he drops a huge book into my lap that must weigh a couple of kilograms. I leaf through it, idly. Remembering what Dana said about the first flowers to come up in her garden, I flip to the index and look up the word ‘crocuses’. One of the pages that’s listed shows a small clump of leafless trees with tiny white and purple flowers growing out of the grass at their base. The caption reads stand of sycamores with snowdrops and crocuses: an early display for a woodland garden. The shapes of the small trees look familiar, but I’m not sure why.

Grandad’s still standing, looking over at me. He nods. ‘He’d like that, I’d say.’

But it’s the first time all day when I haven’t been thinking about Dad.

FIFTY-THREE

FIFTY THREE

The day after Boxing Day, we load the car up again with twice as much stuff as we came with. The thing I’ve been trying not to say or think about has wound itself around the bottom of my stomach, twisting it into strange shapes. Christmas distracted it, but now it’s back with force and not happy that it’s been ignored.