Dad Gets It Wrong

The garden smelled of damp soil and grass.

Alex pushed his spade into the vegetable patch and leaned on the handle “That’s definitely a root,” he said.

Dad looked over from beside the shed. “Definitely?”

Alex pulled harder.

A thin, pale root came out of the soil. “Definitely.”

Dad nodded. “Excellent scientific evidence.”

“You’re welcome.”

Alex flicked the root onto the edge of the path. He liked knowing what things were.

Roots. Seeds. Plants. Where things belonged.

The garden was full of things waiting to grow.

There were bags of compost beside the shed, seed trays on the old wooden table and small plants lined up along the path. May had made the garden look as if everything had suddenly decided to appear at once.

Some plants were tall. Some were barely more than leaves. Some had labels sticking out of the soil.

Alex liked the labels best.

They told you what something was before you had to guess.

Dad had a plan for the afternoon.

Alex had a plan too. His involved strawberries.

Dad’s did not.

“You know,” Alex said, pointing towards an empty patch near the fence, “we could probably fit another strawberry plant there.”

Dad looked. “We probably could.”

“And maybe another one there.”

“We definitely could.”

Alex smiled.

Dad picked up a pumpkin plant.

“Potato bag.”

Alex looked towards the vegetable patch. “The pumpkins are going there.”

“We’ll do those after the potatoes.”

Dad carried the plant towards one of the large black bags.

Alex watched him for a moment. Then he went back to digging.

He pushed the spade into the soil again. Then he stopped. There was already a pumpkin plant in the potato bag.

Alex looked at the plant. Then at Dad. Then at the vegetable patch.

Dad had put it there.

He looked at the label.

PUMPKIN.

He looked at the bag.

POTATO.

Then he looked back at the vegetable patch.

There was plenty of room.

Dad was already pressing soil around the stem.

Alex opened his mouth. Nothing came out. Should I tell him?

Dad brushed the soil around the plant.

What if I’m wrong?

Alex looked again. No.

Pumpkin. Potato bag. Wrong place.

What if Dad feels bad?

Dad stood up and wiped his hands on his trousers. “Next one?”

Alex picked up another plant. “Yeah.”

The Bodyguard stirred. “Maybe don’t say anything.”

Alex felt the familiar tightening in his chest.

Thanks, Bodyguard, he thought.

He looked at the pumpkin again.

He could tell Dad now. He could wait. Neither choice felt perfect.

Alex didn’t have an answer. But he could choose what to do for now.

For now, I’ll keep helping, he thought.

Dad was already moving towards the next plant.

Alex followed.

They worked side by side. Dad dug. Alex filled holes with compost. Dad hummed a few notes of a song Alex didn’t recognise.

“You don’t know the words, do you?” Alex asked.

“I know enough of them.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

Dad smiled. “Then no.”

Alex laughed.

Dad carried on humming anyway.

Alex looked at the next plant. It had a tiny label stuck beside it. He checked it before handing it to Dad. “You’re sure that’s the right one?”

Dad looked at the label. “Quite sure.”

Alex held it up. “You said that about the pumpkin.”

Dad paused. “I did?”

Alex looked towards the potato bag.

Dad followed his gaze.

For a second, Alex thought he might notice.

Dad looked back at the plant in his hand. “Still quite sure about this one.”

Alex smiled.

They carried on.

After a while, Dad pointed towards the tray on the table. “Can you sort those seeds?”

“Yep.” Alex picked up the tray.

He was still thinking about the pumpkin. He was still thinking about Dad. Maybe he could just point at the bag. Maybe he could wait until later.

He looked down at the seed packets. Then back towards the corner of the garden. Then back at the seeds.

Before he noticed what he was doing, he had placed several seeds into the wrong section.

Alex stopped.

He looked at the tray. “Oh.”

There was no doubt.

He had got it wrong. His stomach tightened.

The Bodyguard stirred again. “Maybe don’t say anything.”

Dad glanced over. “What happened?”

“I put the wrong seeds in.”

Dad came closer. He looked at the tray, then at the packets. “These ones go here.”

He pointed.

Alex checked. “Oh.”

He moved the seeds carefully. “Like that?”

“Yep.”

Alex finished sorting them.

Dad picked up another packet. “Beans?”

Alex nodded. “Beans.”

Dad handed him the packet. They carried on.

Alex looked down at the tray.

The seeds were where they belonged.

Dad hadn’t made a big thing of it. He hadn’t looked disappointed. He hadn’t sighed. He had just helped.

Alex picked up the next packet.

Across the garden, the pumpkin plant sat quietly in the potato bag.

Alex looked at it.

He still didn’t know what he would say. But the garden was still moving on. So he moved with it.

He picked up another handful of compost. The gardening carried on.

Dad filled another pot. Alex fetched compost. Dad moved bags closer to the shed.

Alex lined up seed packets.

A blackbird hopped across the lawn. The spade scraped against a stone. Somewhere beyond the fence, a lawn mower started.

Nothing else in the garden seemed to notice the pumpkin.

Alex glanced towards the potato bags.

Dad was busy with the plants. Alex was busy with the pots. He pressed some compost into the top of a pot and smoothed it flat with his fingers.

Then he looked at his hands.

They were covered in dark soil. He rubbed his thumb against one finger. It made a little muddy line.

Dad looked over. “You’re doing gardening or making fingerprints?”

“Both.”

“Efficient.”

Alex grinned.

A little pile of compost landed on the path.

Dad looked down. “Excellent.”

“I meant to do that.”

“Of course.”

“It stops people walking there.”

Dad nodded seriously. “Very thoughtful.”

Alex grinned and swept the compost back towards the pots.

For a while, the only thing that mattered was getting the compost into the right places.

Alex managed it. Mostly.

He stopped once to pick up a stray seed packet. Then he lined the packets into a neat row.

Dad looked at them. “You like things in order.”

Alex shrugged. “They look better.”

Dad moved one packet slightly out of line.

Alex looked at it.

Dad looked at Alex.

Alex moved it back.

Dad laughed. “Worth a try.”

Alex smiled.

Then Dad put down the trowel. “Right. Potatoes.”

Alex looked up.

Dad picked up the bag of potatoes and walked towards the potato bags.

Alex followed. He knew what Dad was about to find.

Dad reached the first bag.

He stopped. He looked down. Then he looked at the other bags.

“Ah.”

Alex waited.

Dad rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve got that wrong.”

Alex watched.

Dad didn’t look angry. He didn’t look embarrassed. He just crouched beside the pumpkin plant.

“We’ll move these over there.” He lifted the plant carefully.

Alex followed him to the vegetable patch.

Dad dug a new hole.

Alex held the plant. “Here?”

“Yep.”

They settled the pumpkin into the soil.

Dad pressed the earth around it. “Much better.” He stood and looked back at the potato bags. “Now I can actually put potatoes in the potato bags.”

Alex laughed. “Good plan.”

Dad smiled.

They moved the second pumpkin. Alex carried it. Dad dug.

The second plant went into the ground.

“They look happier already,” Dad said.

“They do.”

Dad picked up a potato.

Alex watched him.

Dad had got it wrong. He had noticed. He had fixed it. Then he had carried on.

Alex thought about the seed tray.

He hadn’t known what to say then either.

Dad had just helped. Now Dad had been the one who got something wrong.

Alex looked down at his hands. They were covered in soil.

“I noticed earlier,” he said.

Dad looked up. “The pumpkins?”

Alex nodded. “I didn’t know what to say.”

Dad was quiet for a moment. Then he nodded.

“Fair enough.”

Alex looked at him.

Dad turned the potato over in his hand. “You can always tell me what you’ve noticed.”

Dad dug a hole. Alex dropped the potato in. They covered it with soil.

“Another?”

“Go on.” Dad handed him one.

Alex took it.

They worked for a while without talking. The sun came out from behind a cloud. A bee drifted over the flowers near the fence. Alex watched it disappear among the leaves.

Dad reached for another potato. Alex reached for the next one. They planted them one after another.

The work felt ordinary again.

That was probably the strangest part.

Nobody had needed to stop. Nobody had needed to make the mistake bigger than it was.

The pumpkin plants were now in the vegetable patch. The potato bags were ready. The seed tray was sorted.

Dad picked up another plant. “Where do you think this one should go?”

The Bodyguard gave a small flutter.

Alex paused.

He looked at the spaces between the plants. There were several places where it could go. He looked at Dad.

Dad was waiting.

Alex looked back at the patch. “Here, I think.”

Dad checked. “Looks good.”

Alex planted it.

Dad handed him another.

Alex looked at the empty spaces. The Bodyguard stirred. Alex paused. He looked. Then he chose.

“That one.”

Dad nodded. “Good spot.”

Together they made the hole. Alex lowered the plant into the soil. Dad held it steady while Alex pushed the earth back around it.

When they finished, Alex brushed his hands together. A little cloud of dry soil floated away.

Dad looked at him. “You’ve got soil on your nose.”

Alex wiped his nose. “Better?”

“Other side.”

Alex wiped the other side.

Dad shook his head. “Still there.”

Alex laughed. “You’re making that up.”

“Possibly.”

Alex rubbed his nose again.

Dad pointed. “Now.”

“Now?”

“Now.”

Alex smiled.

They went back to planting.

The garden looked almost the same as it had earlier. The same shed. The same table. The same patches of earth. The same tools waiting beside the path.

But the pumpkin plants were no longer in the potato bags. The seeds were in the right sections. The compost was back where it belonged.

Dad picked up another plant.

Alex looked across the garden. He didn’t know exactly where every plant should go. The Bodyguard gave a small flutter.

Alex noticed.

He looked anyway. There were several spaces. He didn’t need to choose the perfect one.

He just needed to choose one.

Alex picked up the spade. The garden stayed quiet except for the scrape of the spade and the rustle of leaves.

They kept gardening.

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