Watermelon, condensed milk and dark red

1. When I lift the watermelon out of the supermarket delivery crate, the rind gives unexpectedly. As usual with rejected produce, we're given a refund and told to keep it. When I cut it open and the flesh is soft and running with juice, its texture ruined. But there is no sign of rot and no taste of fermentation. So I put it through the food processor, strain 2L of bright red juice into a jug and idly look up watermelon cocktails. I make a granita, too, and the rest of the day is governed by hourly alarms calling on me to take it out of the freezer and fork the ice crystals into the middle. Meanwhile, the wasps enjoy scraping out the shells on the compost heap.

2. Nick shows me how to punch a hole in a condensed milk can. 'Oh!' says our son, 'You need a second hole so that air can get in, otherwise it won't pour.'

3. She brings a bottle of wine, and tall stems of matching deep red gladioli. We share the wine in paper cups and compare notes on the places where our caring responsibilities touch. As I walk home in the dusk, I am lightened.