her off her knees to rest, she had lain on a padded sun-lounger, directing us both as we weeded and watered under her watchful gaze.
‘That’s not a weed: don’t pull on that.’
I would grumble, bemoaning the dirt under my fingernails, the ache in my lower back, but I loved seeing her face as she rested on the lounger, her breathing more shallow but her eyes peaceful as she took in the coloured beds, her careful creations.
‘I said prune, not decimate.’
We struggled to eat the muffins, toasted and buttered to perfection, but the dough sticking in our throats. We were both aware of the urn in the same room with us, waiting. I almost burnt my tongue on my tea and now was simply waiting for Grandad to announce it was time.
He played with his paper towel, shredding the paper slowly, lost in another place for a moment.
This did seem more final in many ways than her funeral. This would be her last resting place.
‘Are you all right?’ I reached across and took his hand in mine, feeling the reassuring weight as he squeezed me back.
‘I’m so glad we are doing this together,’ he said, looking over at me. ‘I don’t say it enough, Lottie, but I love you, we both did, we were both so proud of what you achieved.’
I couldn’t stop the tears that spilled down my cheeks now. ‘I love you too, and I loved Grandma, so much. She was amazing.’
‘She was.’ Grandad laughed. ‘She reminded me of that fact on many an occasion.’
I laughed, wiping at my face. ‘Come on then, let’s say a final goodbye.’
We moved out of the kitchen and on to the patio, the garden lush, laid out before us: borders filled with colourful plants, a wrought-iron bench set back in a small alcove where Grandma had loved to sit. A small apple tree nearby had dropped most of its load. Grandad had clearly been busy pruning and tidying, and in the middle of the lawn stood a beautiful rose bush, ready to be planted.
Grandad was carrying the blue urn towards a spot on the side of her bench. He had already dug a neat circle in the soil and he rested the urn down next to it. He patted the earth. I felt more tears threaten as I moved to hold his hand. His skin felt dry, soil clinging to the palms.
Gently Grandad poured the ashes into the hole, like a pile of pale grey sand, stark against the soil. Then, taking a trowel he removed the rose bush from its pot, roots trailing as he transferred it across, pieces of soil clinging stubbornly to the thin tendrils. As he held it straight I carefully returned the soil, gradually covering every trace of Grandma’s ashes. Tears dripped from my nose, making dark spots in the soil. We spent an age ensuring it was packed down before Grandad went to fetch a watering can, dampening the patch and giving it a last pat.
When it was finished we both stood silently looking at the bush that we knew Grandma would have loved, feeling that she was back in her rightful place in her garden where she was always so happy.
‘Well,’ Grandad said, his voice choking, ‘I think we better have a drink.’
‘Absolutely.’
I felt lighter moving inside. Grandad left the urn just inside the back door. We could see the rose bush from the table in the kitchen and once we had poured ourselves a glass of cold white wine we both instinctively moved back outside to sit on the patio. Birds swept past overhead, light clouds skittered across a cornflower blue sky and the breeze lifted the leaves of the trees as we stared out at the garden again.
The peace was interrupted by the doorbell. Grandad looked quizzically across at me as if I had some clue as to who was there.
‘I’ll get it,’ I said, not wanting him to get up. He seemed comfortable sitting on the padded wicker furniture, sipping at his glass of wine, closing his eyes to feel the sun on his skin.
The doorbell went again as I was walking down the corridor, shadows moving in the glass panel beyond, more than one person on the doorstep. I frowned, sliding the lock across before opening the door. I’d read the papers; I represented people who preyed on the elderly. Maybe they had been watching, knew Grandad lived alone, were hoping to try their luck on a vulnerable old man. It was