Sarah knew her mother was on Valium, it was no secret. She constantly recommended it to her youngest daughter, usually in public - which was enough to trigger a need for it in anyone. For as long as she could remember her mother had hung on to reality with wisp-like tendrils that all of them at one time had been held responsible for breaking. Her brother had won greatest acclaim for this – he alone had made her hair fall out. Her crowning glory had been felled by his decision to move abroad. She had swayed and drooped in fear of the future and the others had propped her up until she had regained her ability to hold on – and find a wig that didn’t itch. The garden was her one solace, as she frequently told them. She could dig and make progress, plant and rear beauty. Her mothering skills were at least appreciated by her flowers - they could all parrot-phrase. She felt ‘earthed’ here. And kneeling on that earth is exactly where she had found it. She had frozen. Her heart had ‘thrown itself against her chest wall’ and made her ‘sink powerless’ to the ground.
At first Sarah thought she was dead.
Wanting a break from her revision, she had wandered to the bottom of the garden to catch her mother calm – relatively speaking – amongst her hollyhocks. She had wanted to bemoan the pressure of A-levels, for the imagined joy of off-loading but it wasn’t to be.
She had run when she’d seen the plimsolls protruding – the death of Ophelia, Cath Kidson style. Her mother’s eyes were open, unblinking. Next to her, the fallen trowel. And beyond it, Sarah recognised it from the last time, the first unfurlings of a stem of ground-elder.
Really enjoyed reading this.
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