The Mother’s Day.

Someone was gently tugging on Sally’s hand. She had been dreaming. She was sure of that. But she couldn’t remember what about. She was in the soft space between sleeping and waking. Sensing but not quite feeling. There it was again. The tugging. She forced herself through a fog of cotton wool and opened her eyes.

Lizzy was standing at the side of the bed. She was in her nightdress. She stretched out her arm and proudly presented her mum with a small bunch of flowers.

The smile on her three-year-old face was brighter than the yellow of the blooms.

“Happy mummy’s day.”

Sally sat up and took the daffodils. Her favourite. The front garden was full of them at this time of year. She jumped out of bed and ran to the top of the stairs. A kitchen stool had been placed in the middle of the hallway. The front door was slightly ajar.

Sally wrestled with her emotions. Lizzy had been trying to be good. Warning her daughter about the dangers of letting herself out of the house at seven in the morning could wait. So too, could the lesson that garden flowers are not for picking.

“Don’t you like them?” Lizzy’s voice trembled. “Jack got you something.”

Sally had been out shopping with her six-year-old son the day before, when he’d insisted they go into a card shop. Once they were at the right shelves he had told her to go away, angrily waving his arm each time she stopped to look back. From a safe distance she watched him queue until it was his turn. The kindly-looking woman on the till put the card in a paper bag, before searching Sally out for payment. Jack had held his purchase close to his chest all the way home.

Sally turned to directly face her daughter. She picked her up and hugged her tight. “They’re beautiful. Just like the two of you.”

An edited excerpt from The Joy of Jars. Available at https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B08TQCXY37

Note from the author

I love the sight of daffodils in March. It signifies the start of spring, which means the arrival, (hopefully), of warmer weather and, (more selfishly), my birthday.

There is something very special about the bright yellow flowers emerging from the damp ground on every roadside and in every garden. They have not been disillusioned by the news or worn down by every day life. They are back and still smiling.

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