The Garden

The queue shuffled towards the counter.
“Two teas please,” said Jodie.
“Two pounds eighty.” Jodie paid for the tea and went to find her mother who’d chosen a quiet table in the corner. They never sat by the window or went into the garden.
“I’ve something for you,” said her mother. Jodie wasn’t sure if it was something she should look forward to or not. It was like that with her mother. A treat one day; some manifestation of her paranoia the next.  “Here, the photo you wanted.”
On the back was scribbled ‘In the garden at Richmond, 1995’.
“Thanks,” said Jodie. She’d waited a long time for this. Her mother never talked about her past but at least now she knew what her father looked like. Blond, blue eyed, not what she’d expected. No obvious family likeness she could pick out. A younger, smiling version of her mother stood next to him, swollen and pregnant. Between them was a boy of about eight, dark haired with deep set eyes not unlike her own.
“Who’s this?” asked Jodie.
“My son,” said her mother.
“Your son?” said Jodie.
“Gone with your father. Left me. There in the garden a Tuesday, then left the country.”
A thousand questions screamed in her head but she knew she must go slowly. She stared at the photo, the boy stared back. A fleeting moment of recognition. Then he was gone. Jodie looked at her mother but she was gone too, away to some distant corner of her mind.