Reenie goes downstairs in the muffled silence of the night. She finds that the glass door into the living room is slightly ajar, and that’s how she knows that Mick has been through. He could never stay in bed; it’s no surprise that now he’s dead he’s a restless spirit.
In between the privet hedges, imperial green leaves tough and shiny, and the wooden trellises around which wind the sweet-pea flowers, wiry and heavily scented, Mick kissed Reenie for the first time. She will remember this on the day when, coming home from Mick’s cremation to a house with no garden, she decides to plant a tree for him at the allotment. In the Gardens where they first kissed an apple tree was in blossom. A bee swung lazily through the air, drunk on pollen. Reenie screamed in a high pitched voice that said, I’m not really scared but I’d like you to protect me please. Mick was bluster and gallantry, waving the bee away from Reenie, although his bluster said I am scared of bees but I’d really like to kiss you so I’ll try to forget that for now. The bee ignored Mick’s heavy hand and focussed on the daisy chain Mick’d laid over Reenie’s hair like a crown.