Page 20 of The Last Bench

‘The last bench,’ Vega said.

‘Well, yes, but also the first. This was where the garden started.’

‘In 1998,’ Vega repeated. ‘When you planted this first tree, in memory of Margaret, did you envision it growing to all of this?’

‘No.’ Anne looked at John, and years seemed to melt away as they returned to that fateful August. ‘The idea for the garden came afterwards.’

John’s eyes widened, and Anne realised she’d misspoken.

Vega, of course, missed nothing. ‘I thought you said you remembered the exact date of the garden’s inception because you had put so much thought into it.’

John came to the rescue once more, closing ranks. ‘We did spend months trying to think of ways to honour Margaret. The idea of a tree came to me, after a dream I had about our visit to Powerscourt. The maze as it is, came later.’

‘Oh, I see,’ Vega replied, but her eyes remained thoughtful as she watched them both.

Anne felt her hackles rise. They’d done nothing wrong. Well, that wasn’t quite right. They’d done nothing that she was ashamed of.

‘Has it helped?’ Vega asked, changing tack.

‘It has,’ Anne replied instantly. ‘We’ve had so much pleasure in this garden, adding to it, watching it evolve and change with each season. Before the maze, there were days when it was hard to find a reason to get out of bed.’

John looked down at the grassy ground, as if the mere mention of those darker days were enough to send him back again.

‘Once the kids left for college, it was just the two of us. John would go to work, and I’d be here alone, with my thoughts, which were always on Margaret. I was angry. I was so bloody angry.’

‘And you?’ Vega asked John. ‘Were you angry?’

‘Why wouldn’t I be? I’d not only lost my daughter but also my wife and children to their grief. And who wanted to be here? A house full of sorrow.’

Vega approached the tree and ran her fingertips over the bark. ‘Tell me how the garden changed that.’

John joined her side and crouched down, touching the ground around the wide trunk. ‘I dug the hole for this tree myself. And with every inch of ground I lifted with my spade, I felt a little of my anger melt away.’

‘And when we placed the tree into the hole, and began filling it again with soil, it was the same for me too. As the earth swallowed up the roots of the tree, it seemed to swallow up my anger too. A great weight lifted from my shoulders in that moment,’ Anne added.

‘Anne suggested we plant the tree here, rather than in our back garden, and she was right, as always.’

Anne beamed. She appreciated it when he acknowledged this fact. ‘But it was John who turned it into this.’

‘The tree looked a little lost on its own. I felt it could do with some company, which turned into this,’ John said with his customary shrug.

‘How many trees did you say you’d planted?’ Vega asked.

‘There are about two hundred in total. But we received some donations too. Our families bought some trees from the local garden centre,’ John said.

‘Then some friends of Margaret’s called round and asked if they could donate a tree too. It developed a life of its own,’ Anne added.

‘Do you remember that first spring morning?’ John asked.

Of course she did. Her eyes sparkled. ‘I couldn’t sleep. I woke up at five a.m., nearly two hours before the alarm. This fellow was passed out cold beside me,’ Anne said, nudging John in the ribs. ‘I got a notion to go up to the garden, in my slippers and dressing gown, with a cup of tea, to say good morning to Margaret. I’d got into a habit of chatting to her up there. And I’ve never seen anything like it. Overnight, every bud blossomed, and our beautiful green top field had transformed into a stunning display of cherry pinks and apple whites. It took my breath away.’

‘I found her sitting on the damp ground, amid the dew, sobbing and laughing, with the birdsong as her backing track,’ John said.

‘Happy tears. I’d never felt more connected to Margaret since she’d died. It’s how we like to think of her. Running around the cherry blossoms in Powerscourt, smiling and carefree, so happy. That’s where her heaven is. And ours too one day when we leave this world.’

Vega wiped tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand.

Anne gave her arm a gentle squeeze. She was a good girl.