Every year the cherry tree had surprised him. In a small suburban garden, it had always looked as though it was showing off. What did it have to compete against after all? Some straggly privet hedges, a few old roses and a hydrangea that had seen better days.

His kind, though incredibly boring neighbour, would peer over the fence and say the same thing every April: ‘The highlight of the gardening year’ as the explosion of pink and white dominated the small space.

Gradually though, the signs began to appear. Branches at the extremities almost bare. One large branch just broke off in the high wind. A makeshift swing still attached. Luckily the last time it had been used was when Michael was ten. He was thirty-four now.

He had got someone round to see if it could be saved. The scientist part of him knew really, but the old romantic just had to make sure. The tree expert was kind, knowing that it would mean a lot to him, to anyone really. He acted almost as though he was a vet, gently suggesting that your old dog had come to the end. His mind ranged across a succession of family pets and their departures. Very hard, especially when the kids were small.

The tree was dying. Dead already really. Nothing that could have been done. Trees had a natural lifespan like all living creatures and this kind of cherry was not particularly long-lived. A hundred years was doing quite well.

He reached over to take his twelve o’clock dose and for the umpteenth time spilt the bottle onto the wooden floor. A great sound effect: a hundred tiny tablets hitting solid oak planks. No matter, the carer would be round soon. She’d pick them up and an hour or so wouldn’t make too much difference.

He looked down at his arm and the liver spots surprised him, though he knew perfectly well that they were there. Just superficial and a natural sign of ageing after all.

He must have drifted off and when he woke up there were voices. The carer, yes, but others too.

‘All ready Prof.?’

He wasn’t sure who this was. Over familiar he knew that.

Alice, the carer was picking up the tablets.

‘I’ve put your bags in the van already. Just need to wheel you out.’

Out? Where? He thought.

Then it came back to him.

The quack saying out loud that the power of attorney could be used. He didn’t really have the capacity to decide. Better off out of this draughty old place. Michael and Rebecca nodding.

Signing the damn thing, over a year ago, suddenly feeling like a trap. Now it was sprung. He hadn’t the energy to respond really.

‘Leave me for a moment, would you?’

They could hardly refuse.

He looked out onto the garden searching for new signs on the old tree. Nothing much, just a few more small branches gone in the high winds over the weekend, but the decline was inevitable. Elizabeth would have hated seeing it like this. At least it had lasted until she was gone.

‘Alright I’m ready’ he said and swiveled the chair to face them.