CHARLIE’S GARDEN
“Twrens in the hedgerows and Ted’s mutterings as he talks to the weeds he pulls from the earth, he tries to think of an answer to the question. Charlie knows about seeds and compost, but he doesn’t think he knows much about love.
The sun balances on the fence, casting a golden afternoon light onto the garden. The apple tree he planted for his wife when they moved to the house 30 years ago has started to bloom, pink blossoms resting on the branches like clouds tinged with sunset. Beneath is a ring of daffodils ( his daughter’s favourites), bright bonneted heads swaying. Beside him, Ted kneels on the ground, his wellies, trousers and hands covered in soil. “Stop it,” Charlie says, shortly, “That one’s not a weed.” Ted looks at the plant in his hand, roots exposed, clumps of earth clinging to their tendrils.
“Sorry Grandad,” he says, blinking quickly. Then he digs a small hole in the ground and delicately places the plant back inside. “Sorry plant,” he says. “I hope you grow again.”
Ted pats soil around the roots of the plant so gently that Charlie, not usually one to apologise, softens. “It’s not such a disaster,” he says. “Plants are quite hardy really. You just have to look after them properly.”
Charlie looks again across his garden. It’s taken years to get to this stage – the climbing rose that scales the side of the house, the neat rows of tulips and the vegetable patch, cabbages and cauliflowers nearly ready to harvest – but he knows it is not finished. There is always more work to do.
“I guess love is a bit like gardening,” he says after a while, “You have to put in time, and attention. You have to look after your garden. And the job is never over. Even when you have a grown-up garden, it still needs your care.”
Charlie looks down at Ted and sees his daughter’s large brown eyes staring up at him. He’d never noticed before but they are hers exactly. “So how do you know when you love someone?” asks Ted. This time, Charlie answers quickly, before he even realises what he is saying. “Oh, you just know.”
Ted nods and stands up, reaching for his grandfather’s hand. “Can I have ice-cream for dinner?” he says. “I don’t see why not,” replies Charlie. Ted’s smile is like spring arriving. hat’s a big question, I’d have to think about that.” Charlie pauses, resting on the handle of his spade.
“That’s OK,” replies his grandson Ted, plunging his bare hands into the earth in search of weeds, “I can wait.” “Oh.” Charlie isn’t used to spending time alone with his grandson. It is widely acknowledged by the family that he is a grumpy old man and needs supervision with both the young and the elderly (there was an unfortunate incident involving Great Aunt Pat’s 90th birthday and a tactless comment about her plunging velvet jumpsuit). But today, both Charlie’s wife, daughter, son-in-law and even his daughter’s neighbours are busy. There was no choice but to leave Ted with Charlie.
Working together in the garden was Charlie’s idea, to avoid too much conversation. He pictured giving Ted tools and precise instructions, Ted following obediently like Charlie had done with his own grandfather. But so far Ted has not stopped talking, covering Pokémon, gravity, his favourite sandwich fillings, shooting stars, and now, love.
As Charlie leans on his spade, listening to the chatter of