My trawl through the border reveals chamomile, mint and a rose bush, tucked away into the corner. I snip off the dead parts, clearing away the weeds that surround it and hope that I’ve done enough to encourage new growth before the summer is out. Picturing a vase of fresh roses on the kitchen windowsill, or a tiny jar of blousy peonies in the spare bedroom, brings a smile to my face as I snip, and prune, and weed, my head feeling clearer for the first time in what feels like weeks. I should have let Naomi take the children out before when she offered. Much as I love being a mother, being alone in the garden without the worry of them I feel as though a fog has lifted. Being among the plants reminds me of why I chose to do the job that I do, and I feel almost like the pre-children Allie again. Straightening up, I pull the weeds together into a pile, glancing along the border as I do so. I have cleared quite a large section, but the end that is in shadow, towards the woods, is still overgrown and rambling, and there is still the matter of the pond to be dealt with. I throw the weeds into a pile in the opposite corner of the garden and step towards the shaded area. A cool breeze washes over my bare arms as I lean down, the shadow from the trees casting a cold shawl across my shoulders. Things are less organized this end, as though whoever planted it had run out of patience, had hastily stuffed the plants into the ground without care and attention. I see green fronds of coriander, emitting a faint washing-up liquid smell when I stroke the leaves, interspersed with previous years’ dry stems, brown seed pods still attached. Glossy, smooth basil leaves evoke memories of fresh pizza, Rav and I sitting in our favourite Italian restaurant, sipping red wine for him, Coke for me, Mina growing in my belly. I feel a buzz of excitement, keen to tell Rav the treasures I’ve discovered growing in the garden, when I catch sight of a plant that makes my stomach drop away a little.