Watching him pace around the flat stretching and squishing his Blu-Tac breaks my heart. He’s a man who needs activities, walks and a purpose. He opens various cupboards and drawers in the kitchen and just stares. I watch him carefully. He ignores me. I am about to say something when…
“We could grow spring onions,” he states. “I watched a Blossom video about it…”
I listen patiently as he explains the process. He seems so confident. So capable. He speaks with the reason and patience of a seasoned diplomat. I begin to wonder how we survived this long without spring onions.
But then a call from work comes in – he’s WFH – and he scurries off to answer it.
I snap out of my stupor and begin to question his plan. Why should we grow spring onions? I mean, we cook with them but why grow them? I look at the windowsill. Has this gone too far?
There’s also another succulent in the bedroom and a Peace Lily downstairs. It would be nice if we had a garden but that’s just not in the budget yet. Why would we need to grow onions?! The Aldi is just next door. Why onions?!
His phone call ends and he immediately spins towards me with an expectant look, gripping the back of his chair. If only I had his diplomacy. I admit to him that I don’t understand the purpose. The spark in his eyes fades and he slowly turns back to his screen. I shift uneasily in my seat and look around for something to cheer him up. I hear him speak.
“I don’t know much about plants but do you think the herbs need repotting?”
He’s hovering over the windowsill, rocking backwards and forwards, all thoughts of onions forgotten. When did he move? I can’t be sure but I think the herbs are shivering in fear. There’s this gleam in his eye that unsettles me. I need to draw the line somewhere. I tell him in no uncertain terms that until the bloody roots poke out of the bloody holes in bottom of the bloody pot, we are not repotting those plants. Also we have no big pots and we’re in isolation so can’t buy them and also he needs to stop this madness. His shoulders droop and he slowly walks out of the room. I don’t know what to feel anymore.
He calls out from the landing, “Should we bring the peace lily upstairs, I don’t want to leave it alone.” He’s stood frozen at the top of the stairs watching the peace lily on the ground floor. His head is cocked to one side, his expression dazed. Enough is enough. Action must be taken.
He calls them his onion babies.
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