‘Yes. And this is the biggest. We’re going to plant it in our backyard.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah. Come on. Let’s pick a good spot.’

I can’t stop staring at the sapling in my hands, at its delicate branches. Mum is kneeling in the corner of the yard, touching the earth with her hands, checking to see if it’s right.

‘It’ll grow tall. And the roots will spread, so it needs as much space as we can give it,’ she says. ‘I don’t think I ever told you that I proposed to your dad under the Separation Tree.’

‘Really?’

She nods. ‘A long time ago.’

Ancient history. That’s what Dad meant.

I can’t kneel down next to her, so I lean onto my crutches and watch her hands smooth the earth, moving aside leaves and sticks like she’s making a little bed. She pulls a trowel out of her back pocket and drives it into the ground. I haven’t planted something with my mum for so long. Her muscles stretch and contract as she digs further down into the ground.

‘Tickle its roots, Clem.’

Balancing on one crutch, I lift the sapling, worried I’m going to damage it somehow. I wonder if this is how Mum felt when she used to hold me when I was a baby. The newspaper falls off, revealing just how frail the sapling really is.

‘We’ll need to look after it. Make sure the sun doesn’t burn those tiny leaves,’ says Mum. ‘It’s going to need lots of protection.’

My fingers tickle the earth entwined in its roots, making sure the soil drops into the hole and not just onto the ground. Then I look at Mum and she nods, so I hand it down to her. She positions it carefully, straightens it up, and then slowly fills the hole.

Dad must have walked up behind us at some point because, as she finishes patting down the soil to hold it in place and then stands up to hold me in place, he leans forward with a watering can so that I can sprinkle water around the sapling’s base. And then I find myself huddled with my parents, marvelling over the magic of this tiny new life.

‘Oh. It seems Cinderella left her slippers,’ says Dad, holding up my thongs.

I think about pretending they aren’t mine, but I know I’ve been busted.

Dad laughs and wraps me up in a hug. ‘You scared the poor builder.’

‘Sorry.’

‘He said he can get black paint if you still want it for your room.’

I shake my head. ‘Nah. Maybe pale green.’

‘What a relief!’

‘When you were here last time, did you see the taps you picked?’ Mum says.

I shake my head, realising I hadn’t noticed any of the details because I was so busy trying to get out.