The Boy Who Hugs Trees

by Dougie McHale

  ‘I will, I promise. I’m going for a shower.’ Stephen crushes the empty beer can and lobs it into the bin. ‘We should eat in the village tonight.’

  Later that night, after they return from their meal, Georgia invites Adam for a drink on the terrace. Stephen has been drinking all night. He pours a generous amount of wine into a glass and offers it to Adam before topping up his own to the brim.

  ‘There you go, get that down you.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Adam sits opposite Georgia. ‘How was your meal?’

  ‘It was nice.’ Georgia smiles solicitously.

  ‘Never had a bad one there so far, have we Georgia.’

  ‘No, we haven’t,’ she says warily. Georgia is slightly concerned, Stephen can become argumentative if he drinks too much, but it’s late now to ask him to slow down.

  ‘Shouldn’t have had that fudge cake, it's coming back up on me.’ Stephen burps.

  Georgia is regretting asking Adam to join them and wishes they had gone straight to bed. She offers Adam a slice of melon cake Theresa has made that afternoon.

  ‘Not for me.’ Stephen gesticulates with a hand. ‘I hear you’ve been fishing Adam.’

  Adam smiles. ‘Yeah, I went this morning. I brought some fish back, Theresa gutted them for me. I wouldn’t have a clue what to do, she’s going to cook them for lunch tomorrow.’

  ‘Excellent, I’m quite partial to fish.’

  Adam eats some of the cake. ‘Mm, very tasty.’ He is feeling emboldened.

  ‘So you’re settling in then, making new friends, playing chess, going fishing, God, you’ve even built a fence but most importantly, Dylan seems to like you.’

  ‘He’s a nice lad; we’re getting on just fine.’

  ‘Good, I’m glad to hear it; puts my mind at ease.’ He drains his glass.

  ‘That’s the bottle finished, we’ll call it a night I think,’ Georgia says.

  ‘Nonsense, Adam hasn’t finished his drink. It would be rude not to have another.’

  ‘Your fine, I don’t mind, here have some of mine.’

  ‘I’ll get my own, it’s a bottle I need.’ Stephen stands and stumbles against Georgia as he heads inside the house.

  ‘I’m sorry Adam, Stephen’s always like this; he doesn’t know when he’s had enough. I don’t know what I was thinking; we should have just turned in.’

  ‘It’s alright, you don’t have to apologise. It’s fine, honest.’

  Stephen returns brandishing a bottle of wine, ‘What happened in Glasgow Adam?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Something must have happened, what are you running away from?’

  ‘Stephen,’ Georgia intercepts, prickly with alarm.

  ‘You don’t just give up your job on a whim and decide to run off to teach someone you don’t know and in another country. Doesn’t make sense to me Adam. What are you hiding? Should I be worried?’ There is a steely tone to his voice.

  ‘You’ve got it all wrong Stephen. It wasn’t like that,’

  ‘Oh really, then how was it?’

  ‘That’s enough Stephen. I think it’s time we all went to bed.’

  ‘Oh I don’t think so Georgia, I’m just getting started. I want to know what’s in his filthy little mind. Do you fancy her is that it? When you're all alone with my wife, who wouldn’t look at her. She’s any man’s dream. Are you just waiting for the perfect opportunity, or is it, Dylan?’

  ‘For God’s sake, that’s it; I’ve had enough of this. I’m so sorry Adam.’ Georgia stands and moves towards Stephen who turns to face Adam.

  ‘You bastard,’ Stephen growls and swings the wine bottle.

  Adam moves to the side as the bottle just misses his head and, as he tries to stand, Stephen is already moving towards him. Adam attempts to avoid him but, in his confusion, his shoulder strikes Stephen’s chest, who stumbles backwards, winded. The bottle drops from his hand, smashing into sharp fragments, covering the floor in a blood red stain.

  Georgia grabs Stephen’s arm. ‘Enough.’ There is steel in her voice.

  ‘Mum, what’s going on. Why are Dad and Adam fighting?’ They all turn. Dylan is standing in his pyjamas.

  ‘It’s ok Dylan,’ Georgia says soothingly.

  It is enough to bring Stephen back to his senses.

  ‘We’re just mucking around, playing a silly game, aren’t we Adam?’ Stephen says needy.

  ‘Your Dad’s right Dylan.’

  ‘There’s blood on the floor, why is there blood on the floor?’ Dylan turns and runs into the house, the darkness swallowing him.

  Georgia and Stephen have not returned, leaving Adam who remains outside, trying to make sense of what has happened. After a while, Adam decides to tidy up. When in the kitchen he can hear muffled voices from upstairs that gradually become heated. He feels a concern for Georgia and is undecided what to do, when there is a silence which lasts, a truce has undoubtedly been established and the house remains silent.

  Once he has cleaned up, Adam sits outside on the terrace. Four small crumbs have fallen from the cake Georgia ate and lie scattered where she sat. It is the only physical evidence to show that she sat in his company.

  When he looks at her, he is overwhelmed by a want to touch her, trace her skin, feel her in his hands. It is a desire he has fought, taking the breath from him. She speaks with her eyes and he is mesmerised by them; the whites of her eyes, the inscrutable green irises converse with him. Only now does he appreciate what is meant by the window to the soul, for he is plunged into mesmerised reverence. He observes every detail, the wavy shine of her hair as it sways and falls brushing her shoulders, the shine of her lips, the crease in her nose when she laughs and smiles; all of these things he studies, his senses unfurl like electricity, he is alive.

  After tonight, there is a sense of having been caught. There is a pulling in his chest, summoning an undercurrent of emotion that quickens inside him. He feels a pronounced protectiveness towards her but he knows it is impossible for him to stay in the house, not now. He feels his world has deflated around him. Tomorrow he will go to the village and find somewhere to stay until he can make arrangements to leave the island.

  Chapter 22

  The Search

  It is morning. Voices, faint at first, travel through the house. The closed door obscures their timbre. Adam encounters Theresa in the hallway.

  ‘It is Dylan.’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘He has not slept in his bed. He has gone. Georgia is phoning the police.’

  In the kitchen, Georgia is speaking on her mobile. She glances at Adam and then looks out of the window as if something has snagged her attention. She looks vulnerable, like a child.

  ‘Where is Stephen?’ Adam asks.

  ‘He has left, to look for Dylan. We should do the same.’ There is an urgency to Theresa’s voice.

  ‘No, the police are coming, they need a photograph of Dylan, some details also,’ Georgia says, fiddling with the mobile. ‘I need to find a photograph, something recent.’ She waves her hand in despair and averts her eyes. A feeling of panic has tightened around her heart. She needs to keep busy. Georgia looks pale, her eyes red, blotchy and brimful of tears.

  ‘Look, I don’t need to be here. I’ll go into the village and see if anyone has seen him.’ Adam doesn’t wait for Georgia’s approval.

  He walks down the lane, scanning the trees and immediate landscape. He has the feeling that his altercation with Stephen is responsible for Dylan’s disappearance. His guilt forces him into a jog.

  Upon seeing the beach, he decides to check there first. His feet sink into the sand. He thinks about removing his shoes but in his indecisiveness, the sea has lapped over them. The beach is empty and, because of this, it feels bigger than it looks from the lane.

  Adam calls Dylan’s name. The rippling surf is all that answers. Georgia’s pain looked insufferable; as he watched her exterior crumble, it felt palpable. His instinct was to console her, cradle her grief and d
issolve it in his arms. As he walks, he feels shameful that he could do nothing; it covers him like a shawl. He can’t imagine how Georgia is feeling; the thought stings him. He wants to be with her, not on this beach, that on any other day would be an idyllic retreat.

  A pervasive melancholy sits on him as he reaches the end of the beach. He scans the rock formations that sit at odd angles, like giant boulders resting in the sea; secluded inlets and a menacing cave offer shelter and a place to hide. Frothy foam cascades over deep indigo rocks, wet and slippery. He looks up towards the tree-covered hills and speculates that if Dylan left the house during the night, he could be miles away by now.

  In the periphery of his vision, something moves in the thicket.

  ‘Dylan is that you? It’s all right, no one is angry with you, your Mum just wants you home. She is worried, we all are.’

  He quickens his pace and almost stumbles. The sand is deeper, holding on to each step, it has become an effort, the more he tries, the slower he progresses, like the unsettling dreams he had as a child. There is no sign of Dylan, just bushes, dust and trees. It is then Adam remembers Dylan’s routine after his lessons. Dylan goes to the bottom of the garden and into the trees. Amongst the pine and cypress, there is a small clearing where a tree stands alone. The tree Dylan hugs.

  When he reaches the clearing, he is exhausted. Sweat stains his t-shirt, tracing his spine. He slumps against the tree; a pulse in his head threatens to explode as he tries to catch his breath.

  ‘Dylan, where are you?’

  ‘That’s the question we’d all liked answered,’ Stephen says, walking towards Adam. ‘The police are at the house, I’ve just seen their car.’

  ‘Let’s hope he hasn’t gone far. I went down to the beach and thought I saw something but it was probably just an animal, I’m going to go into the village, someone might have seen him. Do you want to come?’

  ‘I’d better go back to the house and see what the police intend to do.’ He looks at Adam a moment longer. ‘Georgia will need me.’ He starts to walk away and then turns, ‘Oh and by the way, I’ll tell Georgia we’ve made up but, between you and me, I’ve seen the way you look at her. You keep the fuck away, do you hear me?’

  ‘Look, Stephen, I don’t know what you think you saw but you’ve got it all wrong.’ Adam argues in his defence.

  ‘Well then, treat this as a warning. The best thing for you to do is stay as far away as possible from Georgia. Now since you’re living in the same house, that’s going to be difficult.’

  ‘You don’t have to worry about that. I’d intended to look for a place to stay this morning.’

  ‘If it was up to me, you’d be on a plane back home by now but Georgia values your teaching. It’s the only thing that’s keeping you here.’ Stephen walks off towards the house.

  Is it that tangible or just coincidence? Is Stephen just paranoid? Under normal circumstance, Adam would feel his position weakened but considering Stephen’s behaviour of late, Adam attributes Stephen’s threats to Stephen not wanting him around. His anger towards Adam has been like water hissing in a pot, eventually boiling over.

  Adam believes Stephen is denying his own misgivings and camouflaging his failings by using the made up scenario that Adam is attracted to Georgia as a threat, even though Adam thinks Stephen doesn’t believe it himself.

  But there is the irony of it all. Stephen is right, of course. Adam has imagined kissing her clavicle, tracing the construct of the bone, copiously brushing the skin of her shoulders with his lips and then the spot where her throat subtly protrudes, the curve of her neck and finally her lips luscious to his eye.

  Not much is moving when Adam walks along the main street of the village. He passes the empty Kafenion. He closes his eyes. When he opens them, he rubs them, they are beginning to ache. The sun is hot on his skin. He catches sight of the sea between the buildings, shimmering in elastic transparency, reflecting the sky and saturated in deep lucent blue. How can it look so perfect, at a time like this, as his life crumbles around him? As do the lives of others: Georgia, Theresa, even Stephen. Dylan’s disappearance has a rippling impact, like a stone thrown into water. His mind curdles with possible eventualities.

  Adam tells himself he has a purpose here, in this landscape, in the lives he has touched. He looks around, reflecting, thinking. There is a period of stillness. The sun has warmed the air and is breaching the rooftops of terracotta tiles and solar panels. A line of trees follow the street; beyond them, the street curves, shimmering like liquid. Tables set for customers’ sit, shaded by draping vines. Here and there, purple bougainvillaea colonise archways, above cobbled lanes where sturdy doors and window frames pepper white-washed walls in leprous blue, prominent and intense as if splashed from the sky. Adam catches sight of Giannis’ hunched shoulders as he tends to a display of fruit and vegetables outside his shop. Adam walks over to him with purposeful strides.

  ‘Kalimera Adam, You are not often in the village at this time of the morning.’

  ‘The boy I teach, Dylan, he’s gone missing.’

  ‘That’s terrible. Have you been in touch with the police?’

  ‘Yes, his mother has. I’ve been out looking for him.’

  ‘What was his name again?’

  ‘Dylan, he’s thirteen and small for his age.’ Adam wishes he had a photograph.

  ‘Is that you talking to someone again instead of working? Hurry up; I need you to move those boxes in the back room,’ Eva instructs from inside the shop.

  ‘Eva, the young boy at Villa Katrina has gone missing. Have you heard anything?’

  ‘No, but I will phone Vasso, she might have heard something.’

  With a lazy shuffle, Giannis makes his way to another stall where an array of melons is displayed.

  ‘Do you want me to help you? I can do with the walk and the change of company.’ He nods towards the shop and Eva’s relentless chatter. ‘A plague of blisters wouldn’t stop that stubborn tongue.’

  Adam fears Giannis would slow him down. ‘No you’re fine, just keep an eye out and if you do see Dylan, let the police know.’

  ‘I will Adam. I hope the boy is found soon.’

  He is making his way along a coastal path that fringes thick shrubs and an army of pine. A clutch of anxiety sits in his stomach.

  He remembers last night when Dylan saw the scuffle. Dylan’s face is freeze-framed in Adam’s thoughts, a fragment of clarity, as vivid as the surrounding scenery. He recalls Dylan’s static confusion, his dancing eyes intoxicated with fear. Adam is driven by guilt, from which there is no negotiation; it prevails in profound waves.

  Occasionally, he catches himself wondering if he should have stayed in the house this morning. Georgia’s grief was like a vice around him. He felt an imposter; most of all he wanted to preserve her dignity and that could only be rescued by allowing her the privacy to be alone. He had ached to comfort her; all he wanted to do was embrace her and melt the tension from her, clasp her face in his hands and kiss the tears from her skin. That is the world he cannot enter; he’s not even sure if Georgia has sensed his gaze upon her and read the intent in his eyes.

  The sun is blinding as he squints upon a dark figure. He draws nearer and to his surprise, it is Elena; she is crouched over, looking down a steep slope that falls into an olive grove. She points an assertive finger, ‘Ayopi.’ (Boy)

  Adam is immediately overwhelmed with an urgent need to run. When he reaches Elena, he peers in the direction of her outstretched hand. Her goats are grazing amongst the olive trees; for a moment he is disorientated. His eyes are wide, anticipatory, darting from one tree to the next.

  ‘Ayopi,’ Elena spits.

  It is then Adam catches sight of a small bundle lying beside the twisted trunk of an olive tree. He scrambles down the slope and thicket, stumbling over a rock, but managing to stay on his feet.

  ‘Dylan, are you alright?’ Adam shouts, gasping for air between his words.

  Dylan is motionless, and a fear sei
zes Adam. When he reaches Dylan, he can hear the boy moan; he hunches beside him and shakes him by the shoulder. He puts his ear to Dylan’s mouth and can see his chest rising and falling. Adam watches Dylan’s face. Dylan’s eyes flicker and half open, heavy with effort.

  ‘Thank God, are you hurt?’

  Dylan moves and tries to sit up. ‘Aw, my ankle it's sore.’

  Adam helps him to sit against the tree and then inspects Dylan’s ankle.

  ‘I think it’s just a sprain. There doesn’t seem to be any bruising.’

  Dylan looks gaunt and tired; Adam can see a few tiny scratches on his forehead and his hair is matted with dust.

  ‘What were you thinking? Your mum’s in a terrible state. Why did you run away?’

  Dylan stares at the ground, he fiddles with the zip on his jacket.

  ‘I’m hot, I need a drink.’ Dylan screws up his face in pain.

  ‘I need to get you back to the house,’ Adam says, concerned.

  ‘I know you were fighting with my dad so don’t lie. I saw the blood.’

  Adam thinks for a few seconds. ‘No. That was wine.’

  Dylan is quiet. ‘I thought... I thought it was blood. I don’t understand why you were both fighting. People fight when they don’t like each other.’

  Adam tries to be diplomatic. ‘I think your dad would prefer a woman teaching you and not me... a man.’

  ‘I’ve been taught by men before… at school.’

  ‘He views this situation differently, it’s not like school. You went home after the school day. The teachers didn’t stay at your home.’

  ‘So Dad doesn’t like you because you’re staying with us in the house. Well then, you can find somewhere else to stay.’

  ‘I’d planned to look for a place in the village before you took off.’

  ‘But I’ve not been on a plane.’

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I meant when you decided to leave the house last night.’