The apology happened about 3km into our local parkrun. I hadn’t expected it, certainly hadn’t planned it. But, as crows wheeled overhead and a weak autumn sun fought its way through changing leaves, I felt the words I had been unable to find for months bubbling up inside: “Mummy, I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you this summer.”
I have little doubt this expression of regret, uttered quietly in a field in the centre of Cambridge, would have remained unsaid had we not been walking together that morning. From a young age, I’ve had my best conversations with my mum on walks. Perhaps it’s the freshness of the air, perhaps it’s that a conversation conducted side by side can be less intimidating and more fruitful than one conducted while awkwardly eyeballing each other. Whatever it is, on that day, on that walk, six months after she had been diagnosed with ovarian cancer and 10 days after being given the official all-clear, we talked as we hadn’t talked for months.
