We moved to Wimbledon in 2009, having outgrown our first floor flat in North London, the place both my daughters had first called home. In Wimbledon, we had more space and more of the amenities a growing family needs. I was thrilled that I would never have to lug a double buggy up a flight of stairs up to the front door ever again. I was overcome with joy that I would be able to park a grocery-laden car in the street where I lived. But the thing I was most excited about was the garden. I hadn’t realised how all consuming motherhood would be – how little time I would have left to think my own thoughts, let alone actually ‘achieve’ anything. I yearned for a garden where I could leave them safely to play whilst I got on with stuff. Consisting of a bit of patio and a patch of threadbare grass, our new garden was neither large nor lovely, but, unlike the communal garden in our old home, it was attached to our house. Now, when the girls wanted to poke around in mud, draw chalk pictures or examine bugs, they could do so without me having to leave the house. It was more than a garden – it was free childcare.
But children always want to be where you are, at least, my children did. Back they came inside, to where I was, which was often the kitchen, a boxy room, too small for table and chairs, off a larger L-shaped room which looked onto the garden. I would shoo them out to go and draw, or play hide and seek, but it wouldn’t take long before some squabble or random contrivance brought them running to mum. For a while, it was me and the children in the box, and, whenever people came for lunch or dinner, which they did a lot, all the adults in the L. This wouldn’t do. Eventually, we got rid of the box and the L, and made one big open plan space. It had a huge island, from which I could conduct cookery lessons, a desk, where I could get lots of writing done, and a view into the garden, so I could keep an eye on the children, or rather, so they could keep an eye on me. Finally, I had some breathing space.
It’s hard not to get carried away when you have electricians and plumbers and joiners on site. I asked the builders for some extra bits and bobs, including a little summer house (glorified shed) in the garden. It was easy to put in electrics and a tap with mains water, so we did. A friend was getting rid of an old sink from a bedroom so that went in. I filled it with the stuff of childhood dreams: a tea set; a witch’s broom; kit for playing cafes and spies and making dens. But I knew one day it would be mine.