When Duggie indicated he wanted a garden of his own, Mama gave him a tiny plot beside the sandpit. He grew a giant sunflower and some stinging nettles. Next spring, he was four years old and still stubbornly inarticulate. The doctors wanted to send him to a clinic in Switzerland for ‘therapy’. Mama shooed them away.
“Leave him. He is growing stronger by the day. He will speak when he is ready.”
They planted his garden together and he watered it daily.
When it was a blaze of colour he pulled on her hand.
“Look Mama,” he said, “pansies.”