Ladybirds & Lacewings

How will Jane care for Gary’s beloved roses – or even get through his birthday?

- Holly Hepburn

I don’t believe it.” Jane bit her lip in dismay, surveying the wilting flowers. “I only sprayed these yesterday.

Where are all these greenfly coming from?”

Gingerly, Marnie pushed back the leaves of another bush with her secateurs. “I’d invest in a better pesticide. This is a heavy-duty problem.”

Jane sighed. “Gary would have known how to get rid of them.”

Marnie slipped a sympathetic arm around her shoulders and squeezed.

“Try not to upset yourself. At the end of the day, they’re only roses.”

Her sister meant well, Jane thought as she clipped away the dead flower heads, but the roses had been Gary’s pride and joy. Every weekend he’d be out in the garden, teasing the slender stems around bamboo canes and pruning with meticulous precision while Jane lounged in the sun with a book.

She hadn’t known then that their marriage would be cut so short; how could she? And then, while they were struggling to absorb the news from the doctors, the cancer had been spreading. Chemotherapy had done nothing, other than steal the time they had left. Just a few short months later, Gary was gone.

“Jane? Did you hear me? We’re going for a picnic on Sunday, in the meadow. Are you free?”

It was an obvious attempt to stop her from wallowing at home, Jane realised. Sunday was Gary’s birthday and she fully intended to spend it alone, remembering her husband.

She might have known her sister would have other ideas. An image of the sunlit field crept into Jane’s mind, a picnic laid out in the shade of the gnarled old oak tree, the stream babbling in the background.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for that yet.”