I want to spend the summer at my husband’s relatives’ seaside home, but my mother objects because she needs my help in the garden.

Mum was already upset with me the moment she found out that my husbands relatives had invited us down to the coast for the summer. Theyve got a cottage in Cornwall, just a short walk to the sea, and theyd be delighted to have me and my daughter stay with them all summer long. Of course I want to gothe doctor recommended that my little girl get some sea air over the holidays to help toughen her up and stop her catching every chill that comes around.

But Mum is in tears, claiming its unacceptablesummer is when the allotment needs the most attention, and she cant manage it all on her own. She relies heavily on my help, she says, and now shes bringing up how I let her down last year too. Fair enough, I suppose. Last summer, the baby was only a few months old and I really couldn’t find the time or energy to go and weed my mothers vegetable patch.

Honestly, Ive been tired of that allotment since I was in sixth form. While other kids would go off on their summer hols, swimming and mucking about in the park, Id be over at the allotment nearly every day, ticking off Mums endless to-do listshoeing, watering, picking. Dad and Mum both worked full-time and could only do weekends, so, naturally, my free time was up for grabs.

I remember watching other teenagers wandering about, laughing in the sun, while I was knee-deep in courgettes and mud, all for Mum to sweep in at the weekend, plant her beloved seedlings, and tut at everything Id supposedly done wrong.

At university, I wanted to earn a bit of pocket money over the summer, but instead copped another lecture about not making the garden my priority.

When I got married, Mum tried to rope in my husband, tooinviting him round to dig until he, after a few goes, realised the work would never end, and politely bowed out. Mum was scandalised, claiming the allotment provided for all of us. But as my husband pointed out, it was much simpler and cheaper just to pop down Sainsburys for odds and ends than to spend his Saturdays battling slugs in Mums bean patch.

I stopped going round as much myself, even if Mum tried every trick in the book to guilt-trip me. Then I got pregnant, and that was that. I struggled with the heat and simply couldnt hack it out there anymore.

When the baby was born, I missed the entire gardening season, despite hints from Mum that there must be some way to juggle things. Even she had to admit, though, that bringing a baby along would mean nothing got done right. Yet all the while, she was planning for the next yearconvinced that, by then, my daughter would be toddling about, I could leave her with Mum in turns, and finally return to my duties at the veg patch.

Oh, and itll do the little one good! Mum would say, The citys just pollution and dust, but in the countryside, well have fresh air and sunshine. We can set up a paddling pool, get a big umbrella, and let her splash about! shed dream aloud.

That vision did nothing for me, but I kept quiet to keep the peace. I had very different plans for us.

Over Christmas, my mother-in-law was visited by her sisterthe aunt and godmother my husband is so close to he calls her his other mum. She and her husband live in a lovely house in Cornwall by the sea. Their grown-up son is working abroad, so its just the two of them rattling round.

They invited us to spend the summer down there, no charge, and made it clear theyd absolutely love to have us. At first, I thought they were just being polite, but after a couple of follow-up phone calls, it was clear they genuinely wanted us to come. My husband cant get away for the whole summer, but hes able to take a week off at the start to help us settle in, then another week in autumn to bring us home.

Were longing to gobesides, the doctor says the fresh sea air will do wonders for our girl, help her avoid the endless winter sniffles. So I agreed straight away. Of course, Mum managed to spoil the whole thing.

Suddenly, the sun is dangerous, and I shouldnt go living with strangers. The allotment, she insists, is enough for any childs health. She trotted out again how hard the work was last summer without me. My determination to go only wound her up further.

Honestly, who in their right mind, given the choice between an endless slog at the allotment and a summer by the sea, would choose the allotmentespecially when we dont actually need anything that comes out of it? We buy all our veg at the shops anyway, and as for Mums preserves and chutneysher cellar is still packed to the rafters, untouched, because, truth be told, none of us are keen on themI watched Mum, cheeks flushed and lips trembling, as she listed every calamity that could befall us at the seasideas if tradewinds might snatch my daughter away, or a gull swoop in and carry off our happiness. But as her voice rose, something inside me grew still. I realized, with a pang, what all her anger really was: fear of being left behind.

That evening, after my daughter had fallen asleepcheeks pink from the excitement of our impending adventureI phoned Mum. I tried to steady my voice, softening the edges.

Mum, I know the allotment means everything to you, I said gently. But I need this. She needs this. Id like you to visit us, if you can. Therell be sandcastles and ice creamsgrandma stories on the porch. Lets make new memories, not just mud and marrows.

There was a long silence. At last, I heard the smallest crack in her armora sigh, and then, quietly, You promise to send pictures?

I promise, I said, and I meant it.

Summer at the coast was all salt on the breeze and sunlit laughter in my daughters hair. I watched her run, squealing, from the wavestiny bare feet darting across the pebblesher shouts flying higher than the seagulls. My heart eased, knowing Id chosen freedom for us both.

I sent Mum photos: a sandy smile, chubby fists clutching seashells, our little one dancing under the open sky. After a while, Mums replies grew warmer, her texts less about beetroots and more about how much she missed us, how proud she was.

By September, the berries back home would have withered, but this summer would never dry up in our memories. I loved my mother, trulybut the horizon was wide, the sea unending, and I had finally learned it was all right to plant myself somewhere else, to let us all grow in the sun.