Showing

“Uncle Dan!  Uncle Dan!  Let me show you!”

Sally grabbed my hand and prepared to drag me further into the house as soon as my foot crossed the threshold.  Her father, my brother Sam, laid a hand on her shoulder.

“Let Uncle Dan get inside the house,” he said, gently.  “Maybe even let him put his bag down and get his coat off?”

Her pout was adorable.  “But I have to show him right now!  I promised.”

Sam looked at me and I started to shrug.  Then the penny dropped.  “Last time we Skyped, Sally told me all about her garden, and promised to show it to me as soon as I got here.”

“See!”  Sally actually stamped her tiny foot.  “I promised.  I learned about keeping promises in nursery.”

“But,” I said, crouching down so that I could look her in the eye, “Daddy has a point, too.”  Her eyes widened in surprise, and I had to stop myself from laughing out loud.  “I know – hard to believe, right?  You can keep your promise and let me get settled in, first.  I’m not really here, while I’m still carrying my travelling bag, am I?”

“You know, you could have taken your coat off and put it away by now,” she observed.

Now I did laugh.  “You are absolutely right, Sally.  I’ve been wasting time, haven’t I?  You’ll have to let go of my hand…  There!  Now my coat is put away and you can take me to see your garden.”

Her small hand folded around mine again, in the way that always made my heart skip, then led me through the kitchen where Sam was waiting for the coffee machine to work its magic.  Next, we went out into the back garden, and across the tiny lawn where my sister-in-law and baby nephew were engaged in watching insects crawl through the grass.

“Hello, Liz and Paulie!” I called as we passed them.  “Can’t stop…  We’re on a mission!”

Beyond the lawn was a wicker panel with an ever-green clematis climbing over it, still bearing flowers.  We walked behind the panel and found ourselves in the vegetable garden.  Sally’s own patch, outlined with brightly painted pebbles (the largest of which bore her name), was clear to see, but I let her lead me to it.

“There!” she cried, triumphantly.  “See, it has my name on that rock.  Mummy painted it,” she said, a little sadly.  “I kept running out of room.  I got as far as S – A – L – L, once, but I never got the Y done.”

“Writing takes practice,” I commented gravely.  “One reason I call myself ‘Dan’ rather than ‘Daniel’ is that it’s easier to write.”

She giggled.

“So, what do we have to look forward to from your garden?”

Letting go of my hand, she began pointing out which vegetables were planted where.  Almost straight lines of tiny green shoots showed brightly against the dark soil, each row marked with a lollipop stick bearing a hand drawn picture of the vegetable growing there.  I was impressed to see there were both orange and purple carrots to look forward to.

“I wanted to give you some of my very own carrots, today,” she said, “because I know they’re your favourites.  But they aren’t grown, yet.  Mummy said they were quick growing ones, too.  She lied.”

I found myself on the precipice of the kind of moral dilemma that abound when dealing with the literal mind of the small child.  “Why do you say that?” I asked.

“Because…  She said they would grow quickly but they haven’t grown at all!”

“When did you plant them?”

Her face creased up.  The measurement of time was still a difficult concept and I took pity on her.  “Was it before or after we talked about your garden on Skype?”

“After.  Because when we talked about it, I hadn’t planted anything, yet.”

“Well, that was only two weeks ago.  I’m very impressed that you have shoots already.  You know, just because something happens quickly doesn’t mean it happens right away.”

She pondered this for a moment.  “Like showing you my garden as soon as you get here means letting you take your coat off, first?”

“Exactly!”