The numbers game: 14 years since my dad – ‘Poppa’ – died on the 14th of April, the day following my birthday. We always imagined he hung on through the 13th, determined not to spoil the day for me. Now, we find ourselves counting and failing to remember exactly – was it 4 months Mum was in The Hope, or a year and 4 months, or 2..? I find I’ve been telling people an untruth: she will be 95 this year, not 96 at all! It seems both to matter and not matter at all. When I phone my landlady about the broken boiler, I mention my birthday. Oh I can never remember how old I am, she says. It’s either 72 or 73.
All photos taken in the Botanics on the morning of 13th April