'One Green Finger' by Tilly Greenland

Susie did not have green fingers. She had death, kill, decay fingers when it came to plants.

Her father and grandfather were both keen gardeners and had the most exquisite gardens. Houseplants thrived, growing into enormous, full-bodied specimens.  Susie tried a child’s indoor garden kit, thinking “How could I possibly mess this up?”.  Not a single seed germinated, not a sprout was seen. The bare earth lay, mocking, in the tray that sat in her window for three months.

Walking past the plants outside the supermarkets, Susie felt very sad, knowing that if she bought any they would quickly become ex-plants. Bare, leafless, lifeless stems poking out from the brown soil, eventually destined to join the other pot-shaped piles of earth in the compost corner at the bottom of the garden.

On occasion, Susie would be tempted. The odd herb plant would end up in her trolley as she teased herself and said “Surely, this will last”. She was lucky if it lasted two days.

Susie’s favourite flower was the sweetpea. It reminded her of the grandmother she loved dearly. One Saturday, there they were, six little plants sat in a tray outside the supermarket. Should she? Could she?

She succumbed to the temptation and bought them, then left them outside in the sun and the rain, still in their tray.  And there they stayed for months.  One morning, there were flowers. Beautiful, small, delicate.  Susie was elated! She found an old curry sauce jar, filled it with water and put the tiny blooms inside. They hadn’t died. They had lived.

She popped them on her table. Every time she walked into the room she was hit by the most joyous fragrance.  A great big smile would stretch across her face as she closed her eyes and breathed in deeply.