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I’ve bought a new tree.

Oh?

Yes. It’ll look gorgeous. A frisia. We’ll watch it grow as we grow older - it’ll be like a living timepiece. A silent grandfather clock standing tall.

It looks awfully pretty. How long until it’s fully mature?

Twenty years or so. Here.

He took the elastic from his ears and pulled his mask off. The thing was hot to wear and he hated it.

Shall we plant it now? Today?

Yes, I think so. I spoke to someone at the centre and they said to put it in a bigger pot for a few years, then put it in the ground.

OK.

Let it grow tall and strong.

Yes.

In the kitchen the water in the kettle finished boiling and they heard it click. Dark circles surrounded her eyes. Silent worry filled the atmosphere, seeping wordlessly into every pore and crack. The edifice of existence was beginning to disassemble and ivy was pushing through the cracks. Streets were deserted.

She looked out at the garden. He watched her turn her back to his and felt a rush of affection that took his breath for a beat and he felt the overwhelming urge to cry. She turned back and he swallowed deep. The house was small and so was the garden. They’d chosen the place for its character, its location, its easy-to-maintain garden. It was overgrown with weeds and ivy and all manner of wild things when they’d moved in. There was a little patio by the back door, then a patch of grass with forgotten flower beds either side.

I got some herbs too. We’ll make a herb garden. Basil. Parsley. Oregano. Bay. Rosemary. Thyme.

They smell delicious. They all smell so amazing.

She put her fingertips either side of a basil leaf and rubbed.

She sighed and closed her eyes. He could see the reddened chewed skin around her fingernails.

It’s a wonderful idea.

What do you think of the place? He’d said at last.

He remembered looking at her and thinking that she liked the look of it, too, like he did. He could see she seemed calm here; she smiled to herself in each room they went into, and when they went into the garden, although it had fallen into disrepair, there was a mutual sense between the two of them that the house had been built just for them, and it felt like it had been waiting for them forever.

They’d moved in January.

The door closed. She could close her eyes now and remember the sound of that first door being closed behind them.

They looked at each other and smiled. It was 6pm but it was already dark and cold. The house was quiet. He wrapped his arms around her and the two of them embraced warmly, their hands wandering with affection. They kissed. Together they looked through the hallway; the dim lit corridor; the heavy carpeted stairs; the old wallpaper; the door that led to the living room.

This is it, he said. I love you.

He looked into her dark eyes and kissed her forehead.

She smiled and sunk into his body.

By spring they had hoped to have started getting all manner of things sorted and fixed. But then everything shutdown and the world stopped turning, doors were locked, shutters were dropped and the roads became quiet and the sky became clear.

In fifty years it will be fully grown.

When we’re in our seventies?

He looked at her and sighed.

If we make it.

She bowed her head and he saw a trickle of a tear begin to form and drop tracing a slow course down her cheek. He had never seen her like this before for such a period of time. He knew what she looked like without makeup; but he had never known what it was like to live with her without makeup. His love redoubled.

We plant trees not just for ourself, though. Remember that. We dig the holes deep, let the roots search deeper and grow strong, and watch them bloom and blossom each spring. We can watch it grow and take joy from that. The yellow leaves in spring will take our breath away, always.

Do you promise?

She looked up at him, her hands clasped round his waist. He had lost weight; her hands could feel it round his stomach. She buried her head in his chest and felt his heart beat.

I promise.

He pulled her close and rested his hands across her back. She had lost weight; he could trace with his finger tips the bumps down from her neck to her lower back. He let his head fall on top of her hair and breathed in deeply.

They closed their eyes together.

Each year the tree grew taller and its roots deeper and its trunk thicker. Countless yellow leaves fluttered in the breeze in spring, were blown off and dissolved into the landscape beyond. Bare branches in the winter gave space for new growth. Branches wound upwards, were snapped by violent gusts, thrown to the ground where they lived another life. It became knotted, pock marked, gnarled. It was shaped and re-shaped each day by the wind and rain, the storms and gales, the hail and snow, the sun and its warming glow. It grew tall.

And when it’s grown to its full height

And when we’ve lived our allotted sum

When we no longer hear the birds on branches sing,

People will live on to see it too

Will live to see its yellow leaves in spring.