Growing Season

by Seni Glaister

  ‘Don’t, Diana. That’s a bit morbid.’

  Diana sat upright, looking at Sam strangely, as if an irresistible thought had suddenly occurred to her.

  ‘Goodness me. It’s entirely possible this has already happened. Perhaps Rebecca is my “ka” and is continuing to live my life over there in Willow’s Fortune?’ She shook her head, a flash of irritation clouding her eyes for a second. ‘God forbid.’ Immediately she brightened again. ‘Much better still, I am Rebecca’s ka! The Egyptians were rather good at making sure they were just as comfortable in their afterlife as they were before death. I’m not slumming it here, you know. My bedding is simply heavenly. Egyptian cotton no less.’ Diana roared with joyful laughter, a flurry of unseen wildlife scattering in response.

  She took a sip of tea. ‘I could almost believe this were my afterlife if you weren’t here cooking me bacon.’

  Sam remembered her own imagination allowing her to consider something similar when she’d first entered the woods. ‘It’s a bit morbid but actually it’s not too far off a thought I had when I first came to these woods. I was probably being a bit melodramatic, overwhelmed by the trees and the relentless capaciousness of it all, and it did occur to me then that being absorbed slowly by a tree wouldn’t be the worst memorial.’

  ‘Well, there you are, we’re very like-minded,’ agreed Diana, satisfied.

  ‘Do you resent the interference of the villagers now? I mean, you’ve got your own way, so they have to leave you alone, but do you resent the trouble they went to? The police? The council? The notices?’

  ‘Funnily enough, they don’t leave me alone. Nobody likes a smartass. That’s the lesson I learnt. Even a smartass that minds her own business, pays her taxes, and lets other people’s dogs chase her squirrels. They don’t leave me alone. They won’t leave me alone. Every now and then something sparks a new bout of interest in my activities and accuses me of some new crime. Something gets pinched, they blame me. Somebody hears a strange noise at night, they blame me. Somebody sees somebody behaving strangely in the village, they blame me. Somebody’s dog has an upset tummy they blame me. The police call on me and I make them a nice cup of coffee and we have a bit of a laugh and off they go again. Case closed. They are kind, I’m lucky. And I do my bit, so they’re respectful.’

  ‘A bit irritating though?’

  ‘Heavens, yes, but not enough to make me run away again.’

  ‘Again?’

  ‘Of course. I mean, what do you think I’m doing here? I’m clearly running away from something. I’m not a nutter.’

  ‘No, of course not. I suppose you could be running away from something but equally you could be running towards something. Something better.’

  ‘Those two responses are identical. How about you? Were you running from London or to the countryside? It’s no different. I was definitely running away from somebody.’

  ‘Rebecca?’

  ‘Yes. Of course.’

  ‘Do you know why? Was there a moment you couldn’t live with her any longer?’

  ‘There was a moment, certainly. I had to save myself. She came to represent everything I came to despise about myself. Here I’m learning to be me at the very most basic level, without her needs and desires, and to understand what that means.’

  ‘And what have you learned?’

  ‘Rebecca lost sight of why she wanted what she wanted. She would have run blindly off a cliff in pursuit of something she’d decided she needed but she no longer knew what it was. She was addicted to the pursuit. And addictions are tricky things. If you stop some suddenly, they will kill you. Whereas others just need to be replaced. Luckily her addictions weren’t fatal but I think they would have been eventually. Rebecca was sad and angry and full of hate. But most of all, Rebecca didn’t matter. She didn’t matter to anybody or anything. The first time I felt I mattered, perhaps in my life, was when those two policemen came and listened to me. They were so unnecessarily respectful. I felt like somebody.’ Diana looked across at Sam, whose frown of concentration mirrored her own.

  ‘But you know exactly what I’m talking about, don’t you? Have you ever had therapy, Sam?’

  ‘Yes, twice.’

  ‘Did it help?’

  ‘No! Well, actually, yes. But not in the way the therapist intended perhaps.’

  Diana nodded. ‘Rebecca saw an analyst. Frank, his name was. She saw him for a number of years. Five or six at least. We all did then. Rebecca became very dependent on him. Addicted to him even. She honestly believed he was her best friend, the one person she could count on. But something rather silly happened, a trite little misunderstanding. Frank’s assistant called Rebecca and said something woefully innocuous like, “I’m going to pop a statement in the post from Frank.” Nothing more, nothing less. But Rebecca didn’t normally get calls from Frank’s office, she normally made calls and she rather thought that he was reaching out to her in some extra way. And Rebecca looked forward to it, she felt chosen and special. She imagined that the statement was some sort of declaration or affirmation. But it was all a bit more pedestrian than that, I’m afraid. The regular invoice payments had become out of sync, I don’t know, maybe a change of direct debit or something and everything was a bit out of whack and his assistant had simply sent through a statement of account. It was a just a list of transactions. Invoices and payments. Pages and pages of them. Invoice numbers, too, and it was the invoice numbers that struck Rebecca in a rather profound way because they weren’t sequential. The invoice numbers had vast gaps which meant there were hundreds of other conversations happening in between her own conversations with Frank. There were hundreds of other relationships being forged and counted upon.

  ‘It was a low point. The humiliating realisation that she didn’t even matter to Frank. And then she became a little obsessed – it was in her nature, she was very driven, liked to get things done. So she did some investigating, realising that she knew nothing at all of his marital or family status. And then she found out that Frank wasn’t even his actual name! It seems that he was a very popular man, so he had to assume a different name, in order, I suppose, to keep his private life separate from his professional one. That was a shocker for Rebecca because she hadn’t realised there was any difference and suddenly, there she was, acting like one of the people he was having to protect himself against. Well, it didn’t take too many leaps of the imagination to conclude that each one of her relationships were purely transactional. She didn’t have a single friend that didn’t send her a bill or a cheque. She lost the plot for a while. Nobody came to visit, nobody checked in on her. Nobody cared at all.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘And do you know what his real name was? Frank’s actual name? It was Josh. I didn’t have to work too hard to track that down. Terrible name for a therapist, don’t you think? Perhaps it wasn’t his personal security that made him change it after all, perhaps he changed his name because of a brand issue. Josh? Who wants to think about joshing with your psychotherapist? No, you want Frankness. That’s what won it for me. For her.’

  ‘For Rebecca?’

  ‘Of course, Rebecca. You don’t need a therapist here in the woods, I can talk as much or as little as I want here. If I want a therapist, I’ll sit quietly and watch a woodpecker at work. That sorts me right out, puts my own little issues into perspective. I recommend it. If you’re going to bang your head against the wall, don’t do it without a purpose in sight. That’s a valuable lesson to learn, and one best taught by a woodpecker. But I did bring some lessons with me to the woods and some of those things were lessons that Frank had helped Rebecca to think about and I remembered some of what I’d learnt and I think I used that when I planned my rebirth. I wanted to live the rawest version of me. The me that just needed sustenance of the very most basic level and everything else – the spiritual, the creative, the ego – could all be met by me. I didn’t want to rely on anyone or anything for any stimulus.’

  ‘And is it working?’ />
  ‘I’m more fulfilled and I like myself more than I liked Rebecca, which isn’t saying much, I know. I matter now. My research matters. But then again, I can’t see this sort of drastic renaissance catching on. I don’t suppose anyone would envy my life for a moment.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘You can’t possibly.’

  ‘You’re so truthful to yourself. I am such a sham.’

  ‘You think I’m truthful after everything I’ve told you? I must say, you do have a strange way of looking at the world. And you’re a sham, are you?’

  ‘Oh yes, a certifiable phony. My husband loves me because he thinks I’m strong but I’m actually incredibly weak. The weakest person I know. I spend my whole time peddling lies to make me feel better about myself. That’s my entire reason for being.’

  ‘You and Rebecca would get on!’

  ‘I’d rather spend time with you than Rebecca if you don’t mind. I think you’re better for me. And we’re not so dissimilar. You say you’ve reinvented yourself here, but perhaps this is the real you. Perhaps Rebecca was your alter ego.’

  ‘It’s possible. Yes.’

  ‘And I’ve never really thought of it this way, but I have an alter ego too. I thought it was just a pen name but when I write under her name my life is so much more interesting, so much more passionate. I am powerful, influential, I have followers who hang on my every word. Not just a few readers but tens of thousands. I’m loved and hated, and respected and vilified all at the same time. I’m popular! I matter too! But the truth is, none of it is me, it’s all her. My whole life is a lie.’

  Sam sighed extravagantly. ‘I’d like to live more honestly. I just want to be truthful to somebody. Rebecca and Diana. Libby and Sam. Look at us.’

  Diana reached out and pushed the logs together, causing a little flurry of flame. ‘I told you before, we’re all liars.’

  ‘But you are honest, you’re the most honest person I’ve ever met. You might have had to abandon your previous self but you’ve done it so conclusively. I’d like to be like you.’

  ‘That’s because you don’t know me. You don’t know, for instance, if anything I’ve told you today is true.’

  Sam looked crestfallen. ‘I want to believe it.’

  ‘Then believe it, believe in the version you want to believe in. Like the version you want to like. Rebecca has plenty going for her. She’s wealthy, successful, independent. You might like her.’

  Sam thought about Hattie and about Anne. ‘I don’t think so. I like Diana. I’m not that interested in the more impressive version. This breakfast with you this morning has been one of the happiest meals of my life. Really.’

  ‘That’s because coming to terms with the broken, dishonest version of yourself and accepting that she may be better than all of the other versions is a good moment in adulthood. I was twice your age when I got there. Accept yourself for who you are and you’ll like yourself more. You’re the one that has to live with you, you must be truthful with yourself. That’s all. And ask yourself what the other persona is really doing for you. Your alter ego. Does she make you feel good? If not, ditch her. At least you only have to press delete. It’s a lot easier than dissolving several companies, liquidising millions of pounds of assets, planting a couple of thousands of trees and moving into a caravan.’

  Sam sat still for a few minutes, thinking before she spoke.

  ‘You own all of these trees?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose I do, if you can own a tree in the material sense. But I think the trees probably own me.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I can see that,’ said Sam, thinking of her own grass and shadows. ‘You know, I think I might be able to press delete on Libby,’ Sam continued, realising only then that she might be capable of such a thing, and that her life might be easier to manage when she’d got rid of all of that extraneous mess.

  ‘And I might be able to press delete on Rebecca,’ said Diana, bravely.

  It might have been a sudden dip in the temperature, but Sam felt the hairs on her arms stand up. ‘Four women will become just two. Will we mourn them, do you suppose?’

  ‘Our worst selves? No, we should jump up and down on their graves, shouldn’t we? I suppose we must celebrate. But it won’t be easy. We won’t have them to hide behind anymore, we’ll feel exposed once we’re out there, blinking in the blinding light.’

  ‘We don’t need them, Diana, they stopped us being brave,’ said Sam, standing up to leave.

  Diana stood up too and, for the first time since they’d become friends, gave Sam a brief hug as she left.

  As Sam walked away, stepping through the narrow gap back on to the path, she heard Diana call out.

  ‘Brave. That’s exactly right, Sam. We must be brave.’

  Chapter 47

  Sam rang on the doorbell. A quick, joyous double burst at first and then a longer, lean-on, fully committed ring afterwards, the sort of ring that implied that the visitor was not in the mood to be ignored. Sam knew Hattie was in. There were windows open at the front of the house and a radio had been playing as she walked up the path but had been silenced as she reached the door. While she waited for the door to open, she looked around her at the front garden. The grass hadn’t been mown and was in poor condition. It didn’t look deliberate. It looked desperate. There were deadened patches of yellowing vegetation betraying the outlines of lost detritus that had been left outside for far too long, killing the grass and allowing the earthworms to colonise these dank habitats. And, Sam thought, wrinkling her nose in displeasure, it smelt a bit like all the local cats might be using it as their public convenience.

  Sam leant on the bell again, noticing the slug trails that traversed the doorstep and wound their way up the side of the doorframe.

  Eventually the door opened.

  Hattie blocked the entrance with her body, holding the door open just enough to use it as a barrier. She looked at Sam coldly but said nothing.

  Until this moment Sam hadn’t decided what form her attempt at reconciliation would take. She hadn’t yet decided if she was still angry or ready for a more submissive truce, just that a confrontation of some sort must happen. Hattie’s unequivocal and stubborn refusal to concede any ground tipped the scales that had been hanging, quite evenly balanced. Sam bristled.

  ‘Are you not going to invite me in, Hattie? You were very keen to make friends when you came to see me with cake.’

  Hattie’s lip wobbled in an unrealised sob. ‘You were very cruel to me, Sam, I’ve barely slept a wink. I’m utterly exhausted.’ She made to close the door, but Sam blocked her with the toe of her trainer.

  ‘I wasn’t mean to you, I was truthful.’

  ‘The truth can hurt, Sam, and you need to think about the impact your words can have.’

  Sam felt something well up in her, a crescendo of outrage that began in the pit of her stomach and rose to the base of her throat, but she quashed it, forcing Diana’s words to the front of her brain, allowing them to drown out Libby’s predilection for combat. ‘We’re all liars, either to ourselves or to strangers or to the people we love. It doesn’t matter which, we’re still liars.’

  She swallowed, physically suppressing her instinct to rebut the slight. ‘I’m sorry if I was abrupt, Hattie, but perhaps we can begin again? May I come in?’

  Hattie’s eyes darted around, she looked frightened, but after a further hesitation she opened the door to let Sam in.

  The house was a mess. Toys littered the hall, spilling a trail of cheap, brightly coloured plastic, creating a path that led all the way to the kitchen. The toys looked abandoned as if a volcano had erupted and ossified them as they fell. Hattie pushed some aside with her foot and picked up a couple more, as if picking up a fragment of the mess might imply the problem had been dealt with.

  ‘The littlest is taking her nap. I was just about to start picking up after them.’

  ‘I can only imagine what it’s like,’ said Sam, her nose wrinkling at some unpleasant smell leaking from
the cloakroom as she passed it.

  The kitchen was a mess too. Traces of breakfast still hung around on the table and on work surfaces.

  Hattie didn’t apologise any further, she just moved the cups and toast rack off the table and put them by the sink, she brushed the crumbs on the table to the floor with a sweep of her hand. Most crumbs fell, but some clung to a small patch of something sticky.

  Sam watched Hattie, whose shoulders now sagged in defeat. As she felt Sam’s scrutiny, Hattie pulled the cuffs of her cardigan over her hands, which Sam interpreted as a subtle expression of shame.

  She softened.

  ‘I’m sorry. Coming to visit me and bringing me a cake was very kind. You couldn’t possibly have known what you were wading into and I regret making you feel bad. I really should have kept my feelings under wraps.’ We’re all liars, either to ourselves or to strangers. Diana’s words echoed in Sam’s mind, as if giving her permission to speak the words Hattie needed to hear in place of the words she wanted to say.

  Hattie, who had clearly felt wronged by Sam, looked like she was weighing up a peace proposal.

  ‘I’m sorry, too. Perhaps I was insensitive. It’s hard to know what to say in that sort of situation.’

  Sam crushed her natural response and let Hattie continue.

  ‘The truth is, I really didn’t know what to say and I don’t know what to say to you now. I was so excited to have a new neighbour, and I’d watched you walk past my house to the shops a couple of times, so I knew you didn’t work. I rather thought we would be friends. But the hope that we might have something in common sort of disappeared immediately when you said all those horrible things about children.’

  Sam looked at Hattie, at her sad reddened eyes that sagged in exhaustion. She looked around the draughty kitchen noticing the ingrained dirt that had settled in beneath the surface mess. She looked at the open cereal packets lying on their sides on the table and she realised what a huge effort making that cake must have been. Hattie was right, they had nothing in common.