She went back out with the teabags. ‘Ta da!’ she announced brightly, brandishing them.
Diana was still looking at the kettle as if she hadn’t even noticed Sam’s absence. Ignoring Sam entirely, she fished a couple of teabags out of her dungarees pocket, dropping one into each of the tin cups sitting on the ground beside her. ‘I rather like the idea,’ she said, towards the fireplace but perhaps to Sam, ‘that when we’ve really screwed up and we’ve finally done the decent thing and killed ourselves off, then everything else will have another shot at life. Perhaps the waters will have risen, drowned us all and subsided again leaving nothing of note but our urban debris. Then the trees will soon be back. At first it would be the turn of the weeds and the fast-growing oxygenators. They’d soon fill the planet up. They’d break up the concrete, pull down the skyscrapers, the bridges would succumb. But the trees would be fine again.’
Sam was only half listening. She was still puzzled as to why Diana would have Rebecca’s post in her caravan. It was unsettling her, but she wasn’t quite sure why. She lay down on the dry ground. She used her jacket as a pillow and folded her arms underneath her head, looking up at the canopy directly above her. In the gaps between the leaves, small clouds scuttled across the blue sky and she could feel the coolness of their shadows pass across her face. She pushed the niggling concern to one side and tuned into Diana’s words, responding at last. ‘I love the shape that the spaces between the tops of the trees make. I’ve never been aware of them before, but it looks like they’re afraid to touch.’
‘They are,’ said Diana, looking up. ‘It’s called “crown shyness”. The uppermost branches of the trees can sense that they are approaching another tree and the growing process halts.’
‘The trees are shy!’ exclaimed Sam, delighted. She thought about the implication and asked, in awe, ‘The leaves can actually feel the presence of another tree?’ She looked with greater scrutiny at the patterns made by the branches and sky above her.
‘Apparently so. It feels so respectful, doesn’t it? Each tree allows the next the space they need to be a tree. The science behind it is that each tree needs to ensure light can penetrate the canopy and photosynthesis can continue for the good of all. Effectively they all sacrifice their own personal growth for the long term benefit of the whole community.’
‘Wow,’ said Sam. ‘That sounds like the sort of communal living humans often aspire to but always fail at.’ Sam looked in awe at the branches above her head. ‘What’s your favourite tree, Diana?’
Diana, who was still sitting on the bench, holding her tea in two hands, looked around her, examining each tree in turn critically.
‘I mean tree type,’ said Sam, feeling an oblique answer brewing. ‘What’s your favourite sort of tree?’
‘Species?’
‘Yes. Species,’ said Sam, happily. She could detect Diana’s impatience and knowing this about her, knowing how predictably quick she could be to contest Sam’s vagueness, lent a familiarity that Sam was beginning to recognise as friendship.
‘What an utterly ludicrous question,’ said Diana, dispassionately.
‘Why is that ludicrous? It’s a perfectly reasonable question to ask in a wood. OK, let me frame it differently. If you could only have one tree survive, which one would you want to save?’
Diana tutted. ‘Trees don’t work like that. Woodland certainly doesn’t work like that. You can ask me a more specific question. Which is my favourite tree to look at, which is my favourite tree to sit under, which is my favourite tree for firewood, which is my favourite tree to draw, which is my favourite tree to hide behind, which is my favourite tree to eat from, which is my favourite tree for birds, which is my favourite tree en masse, which is my favourite tree to climb, which is my favourite…’
‘I get it, I get it,’ laughed Sam. ‘Let’s start with which is your favourite to look at?’
‘Day or night? Sun or cloud? Heavy rain or drizzle. Spring, summer, autumn or winter?’ asked Diana.
‘Seriously?’
‘Yes, seriously.’
Sam turned on to her side and propped herself up on one elbow, looking at Diana carefully. ‘You have a favourite tree for each season? A favourite tree for each weather condition?’
‘Of course. Trees change all the time and daily too, depending upon the amount of light on them. Trees at gloaming and trees at night are completely different beasts. Come and visit after dusk and I will show you. The leaves are no longer green, they are the absence of green, and yet they retain the memory of the colour from the day. At night they approximate green in the best way they can. In the dark, each shade is completely different and yet I know of no names to label the colours.’
Sam chewed her lip, wondering if she had ever looked at trees in darkness. She could only imagine them as shapes with no colour so realised she probably hadn’t. ‘Your favourite tree to look at, Diana. You’re being deliberately obtuse.’
‘I can’t narrow it down entirely. I like the hardwoods, for obvious reasons, but it wouldn’t be fair to lump those in with all other trees in the same category. So, shall I give you three hardwoods that I wouldn’t want to live without?’
Sam nodded and though Diana probably hadn’t seen the assent, she continued regardless. She thought about her answer carefully, with a deep frown on her forehead, as if she feared offending a tree with a flippant answer. ‘The oak of course. Who doesn’t love the oak? I love the oak for its grandeur and its resonance. I love it for its symbolic importance. There are oaks all around the world, but I truly believe the English oak is its most spectacular form and a single oak tree in the middle of a field is one of the most emblematic sights in the British countryside. But I hesitate to make the oak my outright favourite. There are just too many caveats.’
‘There are?’ asked Sam, imagining squirrels running in and out of an oak tree’s caveats.
‘Do you know how old a plant must be to be considered native?’ Diana paused and answered her own question. ‘Old. So very old. They need to have colonised these islands during the retreat of ice at the end of the ice age or they need to have been present when the English Channel was created.’
‘They’re ancient,’ said Sam from her leafy bed. ‘It’s hard to fathom.’
‘It is, isn’t it? It’s hardly surprising, given its history but I can’t help but fear the oak is rather entitled. I suppose it is nobility, it is very much the landed gentry. It’s been here for ever, long before the upstarts that came in and settled around it and it carries on so successfully. It rarely concedes any territory. However, I can’t help fear that the English oak might be the most terrible snob. It’s aristocratic, of course, but I think it might believe that aristocracy still matters when the rest of the world has moved on.’
Diana chuckled as if laughing at a private joke but she quickly shared her thought with Sam. ‘It’s a bit naughty, but sometimes I can’t help but admire an ivy that has successfully rooted itself and is using an oak as its support, wrapping itself around those broad trunks like some sort of social climber. The ivy is pernicious, I know, but it really is the equivalent of an audacious tech start-up that has somehow turned a stately home into its head office. We shouldn’t actually celebrate the ivy, but I can’t help but admire the pluck.’
Diana paused quietly before continuing. ‘But then, the oak is such a marvellous thing to sit below.’ She sounded wistful as she considered the question.
‘But goodness me, the silver birch is a gem.’ Shaking her head in admiration she continued, oblivious to everything else around her. ‘It’s consistently beautiful in every weather, in every season, in bright sunshine but in the darkness too. Oh, a silver birch in moonlight is a wondrous thing. It’s known as the Watchful Tree, literally, I think because of the “eyes” formed by dropped branches that seem to gaze from the trunks at you but, regardless of their bark markings they seem watchful to me anyway. Watchful and knowing. There’s a wood near here that you should visit one day. It�
�s only few miles away, so you really should go. You could go at night-time perhaps. There, there are 1,729 silver birches, planted in rows. Or so I am told. I’ll take their word for it, I’ve never felt the need to double-check. But my goodness, it really is a breathtaking thing. Depending on how you look at the trees their magnificent trunks make different forms. They can line up in exact rows so they all but disappear or you can look at them on the diagonal and the seemingly never-ending sequence will play mind-boggling tricks on your eyes. Usually I’m all for nature in its most natural form: tumbling and turning, tripping over itself in its requirement to grow and yet, sometimes, to see so many trees planted out in regimental formation can be absolutely glorious. Just stunning. Yes, the silver birch is indeed the lady of the woods, a very dainty thing. And as old as the hills of course, but without any of that elitist entitlement that the oak seems to wear on its boughs.’
‘I’d love to see that wood. Could you show me perhaps?’
‘I could, of course. But I think that’s something you might want to do with your husband.’
Sam winced a little. ‘I’d love that, but he’s not overly fond of nature, I think he finds the prospect of all this…’ She cast around for the word and gestured with both arms to capture the sentiment she was looking for ‘… wildness, quite alarming.’
‘Ah, but in that case, he’d almost certainly appreciate the precision of this particular patch. And he might not like the prospect of nature, but it’s important to put the two of you into the landscape from time to time. That’s where you can catch a glimpse of your past selves and your future selves.’
‘Meaning what?’
‘Well, your home is your home now, isn’t it? But there might be other homes yet to come. And fortunes change so homes can come and go. But the landscape isn’t going to go anywhere, it’s been there for ever and it will be here long after you and me. If you immerse yourselves in it, you’ll catch glimpses of yourselves from time to time when you revisit. I can find myself crossing a road and, all of a sudden, I’ll see the faintest trace of my past self walking down the pavement, striding confidently away with purpose and I like to catch that glimpse. Finding shadows of your former selves in the landscape is a very good thing for the two of you, it means you’ll always be there, regardless of what happens.’
‘And you think I’ll catch a glimmer of our future selves also?’
‘Oh yes, by the same reckoning. Do plenty of different things together and you’ll quickly see which small joys are those you’ll return to again and again. Being able to imagine your future selves doing something together, despite the dulling of time, provides a roadmap of how to get to that point later in life.’
Sam closed her eyes. There were so many things, already, that she could imagine doing again and again with Danny. She’d known, right from the beginning, that they had the potential to grow old together, health willing. She wondered about Diana’s own past self but couldn’t quite grasp an image of who she might have been. Instead she turned the conversation back to the safer ground beneath them. ‘So, the three you couldn’t live without are the oak, the ivy and the birch?’ – summarising Diana’s previous meander through the woodlands.
‘Heavens, no! The ivy was a mere postscript, not an actual contender. There are many ahead of the ivy, I’m afraid. It’s a lovely thing but it doesn’t have the stature of the other great trees. My third would have to be the beech. I mean, just look at them,’ she said, tipping her head back and gesturing towards the tallest trees around them.
They both stared up at the shocking green of the leaves, which in their luminosity appeared to reach out into the sky, capture the sunlight, and focus a warm green light back down to the shadowy forest floor, allowing them to bathe in its warmth some thirty metres beneath those bright tips. They both marvelled quietly at the furthest leaves and the intricate pattern the bashful leaves made against the deep blue sky.
‘The birch is all about new beginnings, it’s one of the first in leaf so it has always been there to herald spring, and traditionally it was thought that sweeping out a building with birch will rid it of any past negativity. It was the first thing I did when I moved here. I tied some old dry birch twigs into a brush and swept out the caravan. Then I burnt those twigs on my very first fire and used their heat to cook my first meal. I wasn’t following any particular tradition but if felt ritualistic and as ancient as the hills. I think I might even have walked clockwise around the fire and recited a few blessings. If anyone from the village had seen me they’d have run a mile!’ Diana laughed happily at the memory before continuing more gravely. ‘But whilst the birch is about renewal, the beech is associated with learning, with study and creativity. I’m very glad to have found my home amongst them for this next chapter of my life. I couldn’t wish for a better classroom. The beech is supposed to be the sum of the wisdom of all the other trees.’
They both looked around them.
‘You can just see it, can’t you? The ash is positively stupid in comparison.’
Sam laughed at the idea. ‘I’d like to learn more. I could listen to you for ever.’
For once, Diana didn’t extinguish Sam’s enthusiasm with a cold splash of reclusive retreat. Instead she matched Sam’s acclamation with relish. ‘We can take a number of walks and I’ll introduce you to a few of the others, so you can befriend them. I’d like you to meet the ash and the elm, the sycamore and the walnut. There are of course plenty of oak and beech to keep you company without straying too far, so you can soon decide which you like the best, but I’d also strongly recommend a visit to the silver birch wood to see it in all its splendour.’
‘I’d like that.’ Sam closed her eyes and allowed the memory of the bright sky to paint light jigsaw pieces on her eyelids. She loved her beech classroom and she loved Diana’s melodious teachings. This is belonging! she thought, with joyful recognition. She felt an odd little flurry of jealousy that Diana was friends with the woman in the big white house. Somehow, she had allowed herself to believe that she was Diana’s only friend. She had allowed herself to feel chosen. Perhaps that was why she felt unsettled.
Chapter 39
The phone rang and Sam wanted to ignore it, but both guilt and duty (one indistinguishable from the other) swept through her and propelled her towards the phone which she picked up with a tremor of prescient anger.
Her mother, shrill with delight, appeared to be already mid-flow as Sam answered. Her parents had returned from their holiday to the Dordogne and the highlight appeared to be the extraordinary coincidence of running into a couple they’d met many years ago on a holiday to Cyprus.
Sam listened, trying to detect a purity in her mother’s pleasure but, rather, her tone was laced with a sort of spiteful joy that Sam recognised as her mother’s favourite flavour.
‘Now Simon, I recognised immediately. He hadn’t changed a bit. Charming. Charming.’ She oozed generously before sliding in for the attack. ‘Pamela, Pam, however, was a completely different story. For a moment, I thought Simon might be dining with his elderly mother. I barely recognised her. She looked absolutely dreadful. It wasn’t just that she’d put on weight, which I don’t mind telling you, she had, but she’d squeezed herself into a sundress that was at least two sizes too small and she’d completely let herself go. She looked ghastly. Old and sallow. I felt rather sorry for him. And I have to say, I’m rather glad I had that new hair-do done just before we left.’
Sam allowed her mother to continue flattering herself and she realised with a jolt that it was a very long time since she’d actually liked her mother. She must have liked her as a child, and she couldn’t remember not liking her as a teen. She supposed she had liked her until suddenly, one day, she didn’t anymore. She wondered if this was normal.
‘Your father was positively preening with me on his arm. The truth is I knew I didn’t look a day older than when we met Simon and Pamela in Cyprus. Your father said she was looking me up and down like something the cat had b
rought in. We roared with laughter afterwards.’
Sam felt outrage on Pam’s behalf. How dare her mother shame her! Poor old Pam, thought Sam, in a rush of solidarity.
‘And we had such a delightful time with your cousin that we stopped on the way back too. The children are completely adorable. And Gerry is doing terribly well. He’s been promoted again. I think he must be earning an absolute fortune. Lucy’s very proud of him, it’s rather sweet.’
‘Good old Gerry,’ said Sam, half-heartedly.
‘He’s a dear,’ said Sam’s mother quickly.
Sam experienced a surge of competitive, protective, proud love for her own dear husband, who had probably been promoted a number of times without her mother’s recognition.
‘I just hope it’s enough for Lucy,’ said Sam, allowing a detectable trace of pity to creep into her voice.
‘In what sense, darling? I would say Lucy has more than enough to cope with.’
‘I do hope so. She had plenty of potential.’ Sam’s voice, she hoped, suggested that it was all probably far too late for Lucy.
‘Oh darling. She had some potential. But her brain was never quite on a par with yours. You’re the career girl, aren’t you? But not everyone has it in them. Luckily, she has Gerry to provide for the family.’
No, thought Sam. Not everyone has a career to throw away at the first whiff of struggle. Not everyone has ovaries to throw away either.
‘She sent her love,’ said Sam’s mother.
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