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Chapter 30

There was the rest of Monday to get through. Kirsty fizzed with excitement all day. It was worse than waiting for her birthday! After school she went to the allotments. It was quiet – hardly anyone was about. She headed towards the brightly painted shed that stood out among the regular brown sheds like a peacock in a flock of pigeons. She walked along the main path and on to the allotment. Someone was there already. Someone sitting with their back to her. Dad. She gasped, her hand covering her mouth to stifle the noise. But it was too late; she had been noticed. He stood up, knocking over the upturned bucket he had been sitting on. Its metal handle clanged noisily on the hard earth. ‘Kirsty!’

He looked pale. Over the past few weeks, Kirsty had only seen him in the semi-darkness of his bedroom. Outside, his skin seemed almost transparent, except where his stubble had thickened into a beard.

Kirsty smiled warily. ‘Hi, Dad.’

He leaned over to pick up the bucket, then sat down again without saying anything. Kirsty walked towards him slowly. ‘Dad? Are you OK?’ He stared out at the allotment, his face as cold and still as the earth below them.

Suddenly, he spoke. ‘Do you know how long your grandad had this allotment?’

‘Er, no.’

Dad frowned, the lines on the sides of his mouth deepening. ‘Since I was a little boy. Forty years, at least.’

Kirsty waited for him to carry on, but he didn’t. ‘Dad, what are you doing here?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Are you feeling better?’

‘Better? No. Not really.’

‘But you’re outside. That’s good.’

‘Is it?’ Dad covered his eyes with the tips of his fingers, as though the light was hurting them. ‘It was a mistake to come here. This isn’t your grandad’s now. He’s gone.’

‘Do you think so?’ Kirsty hated hearing Dad sound so sad. ‘I think this is where he is the most.’

‘He’s gone, Kirsty. He’s never coming back. Look at the state of those beds. Weeds poking up already and it’s not even spring properly. Nothing planted. Nothing bought in to even start planting. It’s only been a few weeks since he died and look at the state of it. He’s not here, is he? We can’t even pretend.’ Dad’s voice was soft. He didn’t cry, didn’t sound angry.

Dad stood up. His body seemed frail and frozen. He moved with too much care. He moved like Grandad.

‘We could plant stuff!’ Kirsty said quickly.

‘What would be the point?’ Dad moved towards the main path.

‘Where are you going, Dad?’

‘Home. I’m tired now.’

‘Do you want me to come with you?’

‘No, you stay. Say goodbye. There’ll be a new tenant here soon enough.’

Kirsty shivered. His voice frightened her. She didn’t dare speak. Dad was getting worse. They had to go through with the plan for his sake, as well as Grandad’s. They needed to make him see that there was a point to carrying on. But would it work? Kirsty let Dad walk away. It was a long time before she was ready to head for home.