Let the daisies grow

It was winter when he left me. I stood at the kitchen sink looking out over the garden, desolate in its nakedness as I, too, was desolate.

The front door had slammed behind him and I had continued to stand there looking at the leafless trees, the bare earth, seeing no beauty in the silvery gleams of frost snaking their way across the grass. And I thought back to the spring, to when it had all begun.

‘Someone’s moved in next door.’

I had greeted Dave with the news when he’d arrived home from work. He’d smiled and grunted, giving me a warm kiss on the lips before pouring a drink and settling himself in the living room. Dave needed at least 10 minutes to adjust from his hectic work schedule to relaxing at home, and I was happy to give him that time. After all, I was secure in my 30-year marriage, wasn’t I?

OK, so he had always had an eye for a pretty girl – in fact, I had turned a blind eye to what I called his ‘flings’. We