Putting Down Roots

What she realised she needed was a living link to the past, which also held promise for the future

- HAYLEY QUINN

The gloom and mud of January stared through Ruth’s kitchen window as her cold fingers tugged on the heel of her boots. She shut the back door behind her, and let out a deep exhalation. She was aware that it was a bit self pitying to be sighing this loudly with no one to roll their eyes at it.

She bent over unsteadily in what her much more flexible sister Lorelai would have described as a half lotus” position, her gardening wellies incumbent on her feet. It was then that she saw it. Tucked away at the back of the bottom shelf that was a fly trap for clutter... One of his discarded squash balls.

A small spherical reminder of Sunday roasts, moaning about the wood burner and letting her hog the duvet on cold winter mornings like these. She cursed herself for still rolling over in the mornings and patting the side of the bed where she expected him to be. Not to mention every time she was on the loo thinking drearily, I told you that your morning motions weren't normal...

An incoming message chimed too loudly on her iPad, providing a welcome shove back to reality.

Hi Ruth, running 3 minutes late, but should be at your front door shortly. Peter. Ah, the cutting, Ruth thought. It had been five years since they’d left their family home, Mistlethorpe, with its large garden and billowing willow tree, to move into a cottage more suitable for empty nesters. She had a lot of happy memories from that house, where she lived in a time unsullied by doctor’s offices and end of life planning checklists. Ruth was pretty sure whoever invented the idea of the checklist would be turning in their grave knowing it had been repurposed in such a macabre way.