Our attempt at illicit entry failed, but my brother blagged free entry from some people in the queue. In that moment, he reminded me more than ever of our dad
Gardeners are incredibly good at getting their point across, aren’t they? For weeks, the plight of garden centres was at the forefront of the country’s collective mind. Then, last week, a collective of botanical gardens popped up, pleading with people who had reserved tickets to turn up. They were already on their knees and couldn’t cope with the no-shows. I felt a bolt of shame on hearing this, as just the day before I had tried to break into a botanical garden with one of my brothers. (It sounds worse than it was: we didn’t take bolt cutters or anything.)
The brother in question met our father, and the rest of us, when he was 28 (I was 30). Then, 18 months later, our dad died, which felt more than unjust to the pair of them; it had that sour taste of the universe cocking up. They deserved more time together. But, from a selfish point of view, you know when a family suffers a terrible loss and they get a cat, and they somehow get it into their heads that it is inhabited by the spirit of their lost loved one and get solace from it? It was like that, except real, which is to say not a cat.
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