The Boy Who Hugs Trees

by Dougie McHale

  ‘That’s actually quite beautiful.’

  She looks at him steadily. ‘What about you? What is more satisfying, teaching a class full of students or teaching Dylan, one to one?’

  ‘They're both different.’ He feels they have crossed a line, in a good sense. He is encouraged to be more intimate with her in his thoughts, which is a relief to him. ‘I prefer teaching Dylan. At first it took a while to get used to, but it has become very rewarding and most importantly I think Dylan enjoys it too.’

  She nods approvingly. ‘And that is the highest compliment.’

  He smiles broadly. ‘And so is seeing how relaxed you are about it now, I know how difficult it was for you in the beginning.’

  ‘It was. Each day I expected the worse, and I had no idea what I would have done if it didn’t work out, but thankfully you just seemed to connect with him, or he connected with you, it doesn’t matter. I felt this incredible relief and I knew by coming to Corfu I had done the right thing, but what I didn’t expect was the effect you were having on me and as each day passed I couldn’t help the way I was feeling. I knew I was falling in love with you.’

  ‘Is this right? So soon after what has happened? I don’t doubt my feelings for you, it’s just the timing that’s troubling me.’

  Georgia raises her shoulders so that her posture is erect and sets down her wine glass. ‘It’s not wrong and we shouldn’t chastise ourselves.’

  She looks at him with purposefulness and asks a question that is laced with intent. ‘Shall we go to my room?’

  The joy of anticipation courses through him, like a rapid river. It is an unexpected invitation but one that excites him with the possibilities he has only ever dreamed of in the intimacy of his thoughts. He is astonished at how bold they are becoming. They can never return to the people they were, it is different now. They have entered a new universe, one whose doors are unlocked.

  He reaches over the table and takes her hand, feeling its warmth, and in doing so, he is consumed by a profound need that aches inside him. She raises his hand and bending her head, ever so lightly her mouth opens and she presses her lips to his skin. In that moment he thinks it the most erotic image he can imagine.

  Georgia is lying in bed and studies Adam as he pulls his t-shirt over his head. He notices she is awake and looking at him. He asks if she wants to go for breakfast or he could phone room service if she likes.

  She lies with her hands behind her head, her left breast exposed above the sheet; to her vague surprise, she is not embarrassed.

  ‘There’s no rush, we don’t have to be at the airport until three. Breakfast in bed would be romantic. You choose.’

  He sits beside her and lifts the phone on the bedside table.

  ‘Room service… oh good morning, I wondered if it was possible to order two Eggs Benedict and fresh orange to drink… Yes, perfect, thank you.’ He replaces the phone and looks at her. ‘You are so beautiful.’ It is something he has wanted to tell her for a long time, but couldn’t until now. Her face grows hot. ‘No, I’m not.’ She bends her face into the pillow; it has grown flush.

  ‘I love you.’

  ‘I know you do. I have done for some time.’

  ‘When did you first know?’ he asks intrigued.

  She raises her arm and strokes his face. ‘At Pandelios’ wedding. The way you looked at me was different; there was something in your eyes and in your smile. I saw it all over your face and in your demeanour.’

  ‘It was that obvious?’

  ‘I knew you liked me, put it that way.’

  ‘And what about you?’ His voice is quiet. He feels the softness of the bed sheet as he luxuriates in the scent that is unmistakably her, every time she enters a room or is close to him.

  She speaks slowly. ‘Love is an enigma; it can be fragile and beautiful, it can be tentative or brutal. I have only ever truly loved two people in my life, unconditionally, my mother and Dylan. I know now I never loved Stephen in that way. I believe he loved me in the only way he knew how. What I feel for you is instinctive and overwhelming, it is frightening but infectious, there is a transformation inside me Adam Newman. You make me feel like there is a trapped butterfly in my stomach. I felt that butterfly the day you returned with Dylan when he ran away.’

  He bends forward, she opens her mouth, and he kisses her, her breath brushes his lips as they part. ‘I can feel the butterfly’s wings.’

  Chapter 48

  I Have Discovered Something Today

  1972

  Thursday 31st August 1972

  Paul has returned from his tour of the States, which then included stop off trips to Munich, Paris and then a further week in London, negotiating a new contract with his London and New York publishers. He is happy with the outcome. He is now selling more books in America than his sales in the U. K. and Europe combined, so he could virtually name his price. I have never seen him so upbeat and positively brimming with confidence in such a long time. He returned two weeks ago and slept for a solid twelve hours. He has been physically exhausted but, at the same time, he is full of purpose. His notebook is full of ideas, scenes and dialogue for his next book which is due to be published next May. So far, it is untitled.

  There seems to be a palpable euphoria about him, compounded by his consumption of wine during the day and whisky in the evening. There is a certain time of the evening I retire to bed and leave him to his own devices. I fear it is only a matter of time before his thoughts will be accompanied by a state of melancholy and once again, as they always have done, his demons will return and cloud his mind. Until then, his writing is giving him real pleasure.

  My involvement with Gabriella has brought a mixture of intense purpose and remorseful impulses. Let me explain.

  I am now working for three enchanting days of the week in Corfu Town. I have a small office above the shop, where I work on the promotion and marketing side of Gabriella’s business while she concentrates on the designs and the day to day running of the shop. It fills me with such effervescence it frightens me at times.

  I was travelling each day to and fro from the house which, at first, was manageable; however, I soon realised it could not be a permanent occurrence. I’ve never been a confident driver in the dark, and Gabriella and I often stayed late working on a specific project. The haphazard road home filled me with such a desperate panic that something had to be done.

  The solution came when Stelios insisted that I stay at one of his apartments in town on the days I worked. To my surprise, Paul was amenable to this arrangement.

  Stelios and I are always cautious and discreet; we go out for dinner on occasions, Gabriella accompanying us before heading off to some bar or night club with friends leaving Stelios and me alone.

  In the mornings, I make him breakfast, which we eat in bed and I am always mesmerised by the shafts of sunlight that spear the shutters. Other times, we have coffee on the balcony which faces a quiet and small square that is always deserted at that time of morning. After breakfast, we often make love and his touch and grace enfold me like a shawl. Afterwards, it is a struggle to get washed and dressed and resume our normal lives, until we met again for lunch or dinner.

  We talk continually; Stelios is always interested in my life before I met him; Edinburgh, my job, my business. He is fascinated and listens with intent but, at the same time, he seems duly perturbed if I mentioned Paul and he never asks about him. That troubles me; he is blanking Paul from his mind and the association is always with us, lurking in the background. I feel the weight of guilt and I assume Stelios does too, but we have stepped over the threshold, two willing adults. I often wonder what is going to become of us. But mostly, I feel humble with gratitude for this pleasant existence, this new life has given me. I know I am being outrageously unfair to Paul, who seems indifferent. I suspect he knows, but is content to allow me my indulgences as I allow his.

  I have discovered something today that will change the course of my life. It was one of those dramat
ic moments that live with you forever. I had suspected it but I needed confirmation and there it was, facing me, I am pregnant.

  Chapter 49

  Learning to be Humble

  Georgia walks as fast as she can, breaking into a small run, as she hurries down the lane. She is not aware of the beach being busy that day; a coach full of tourists has arrived, descending on the village and its trinket shops, eating lunch at Pandelios’ and now most of them are populating the beach and swimming in the small, tranquil bay.

  Georgia’s mind is preoccupied with thoughts of her mother and the revelations of the diary that have been kept from her all of her life.

  It pains her to think of Paul, her father, did he know the truth? There is only one person alive who can answer that question.

  Georgia glares around the square. She knocks into the shoulder of a young woman, taking a photograph of an older woman and man, who pose awkwardly and stiff, the woman is smiling the man is not.

  Georgia makes her apology without stopping, determined to carry on. She turns left into a small warren of lanes, and runs. Her face is flushed; she stumbles, avoiding a skinny black cat that has jumped into her path from a step. Georgia’s heart is pounding; she can feel rivulets of sweat run down her spine.

  Suddenly, she is standing before the door of a modest two-storey house. It has been years since she has been here. She raises her hand to knock and realises she is terribly afraid. For a brief second, she considers turning around and walking back towards the square, but something in her demands she knocks on the door.

  ‘Kalispera Georgia.’

  ‘I need to speak with you, Theresa.’

  ‘I know, I’ve been dreading this day ever since you found your mother’s diary. Please come in.’

  Georgia looks around the kitchen. It is smaller than she remembers, but then again she was all but a child, when she used to visit Theresa to play with her two children, Elpida and Aris. Theresa has poured two glasses of lemonade but they remain untouched. Georgia looks at her. Theresa’s hair is long, thick and wavy; she has a touch of red lipstick and eyeliner. She looks extraordinary for her age, Georgia thinks.

  ‘Why?’ Georgia asks.

  Theresa reaches over and takes Georgia’s hand.

  ‘Oh Georgia. She wanted to tell you, ever since you were old enough to understand, but somehow life seemed to always get in the way.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘The last time we spoke.’ Theresa hesitates. ‘It was just a few weeks before she died. It haunted her for years. She agonised over it but, in the end, she felt content within herself. She came to realise that telling you the truth would be the same as betraying the memory of Paul, your father.’

  ‘But that’s the point, he was not my father.’

  Georgia was only four years old when Paul committed suicide with an overdose of pills and a bottle of vodka at a book fair in London. It was his third attempt by then; he had refused all medical intervention for his alcoholism and depression. It was 1976. Emily did not return to Corfu until six years later. During that period she rented out the house as a holiday home, Theresa continued to clean and supervise its upkeep.

  Posthumously, Paul’s books sold well. The steady income from their royalties and the house allowed Emily the privilege of bringing up Georgia secure and comfortable.

  Gradually, Emily returned to Corfu and the house, spending the school holidays there, summer, Easter and Christmas and it was the first time Georgia could remember the house feeling cold and Emily bought portable heaters to heat the rooms. Georgia grew to know the house as her second home and it became a treasure trove of fond and happy memories.

  ‘Emily didn’t want to cause you any pain. The thought of hurting you with such a revelation would have been something she would never have come to terms with. The last time she tried to tell you about your real father was on the day you told her you were pregnant with Dylan. How could she rip that joy from you? By then, she knew she was dying and the truth would die with her.’

  Georgia’s eyes are wide, her hands tremble. She struggles with conflicting emotions that surge within her. As a daughter, she can only think of this man, who is her father, but as a mother herself, a part of her is also sympathetic towards her mother’s plight.

  ‘Georgia, what would it have achieved?’ Theresa squeezes Georgia’s hand. ‘Another father you didn’t know, a stranger to you? Emily wanted to spare you that torment.’

  ‘Did Dad know?’

  Theresa sighs. ‘He did. You need to understand Georgia. By then, that part of their married life was non-existent, and it had stopped long before Emily became pregnant. They loved each other in their own ways, but as a marriage, it was over by then.’

  ‘And he accepted it, Mum being pregnant?’

  ‘It was hard for him at first but, yes he did, and in his mind, you were his daughter. He loved you as if you were his own flesh and blood.’

  ‘Even when he knew who the father was? Did Mum stop seeing Stelios? Did Stelios have any contact with me as a baby?’

  Theresa looks at her as if she has just seen a ghost. ‘You don’t know?’

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘What else was in the diary?’

  ‘Nothing. It stopped there, although mum must have written more as the last pages were missing. It looked like they were removed.’

  ‘Oh my child, Stelios was killed in a car accident the very day your mother found out she was pregnant.’

  Georgia bends her head and begins to sob; sharp tears behind her eyes. Theresa kneels and embraces her and Georgia buries her face into Theresa’s hair.

  ‘Oh Theresa, that’s awful, so unfair. My God, how did she cope?’ She says in a small humble voice.

  ‘She was a remarkable woman Georgia. How can we even contemplate what she must have gone through? That’s why you shouldn’t judge her, you were not there… I was.’

  ‘Why did she keep the diary at the house? Why didn’t she destroy it? She must have known it would be found.’

  ‘Those were her memories. I suppose it kept Stelios alive. As time passed, she felt that was where the diary belonged, in Corfu, not in Edinburgh. She knew it was a risk.’

  ‘Maybe she wanted me to find it… Oh, I don’t know.’

  Georgia sighs and wipes the tears from her cheeks.

  ‘It has come as a shock; you need time Georgia to accept what you have learnt.’

  Georgia looks at Theresa, her green eyes wide and filled with tears.

  ‘Emily made a brave decision. She knew Paul would know the baby was not his, yet she told him she was pregnant. An abortion was out of the question. She was willing to lose everything she had, everything she loved, the life she knew, for her unborn child, for you Georgia. She was prepared to face the consequences, however terrible they were, and she did, with grace.’

  ‘What happened when Stelios died, how did she cope?’

  ‘It was terrible. She hadn’t told Paul by then; she had only just found out she was pregnant. Paul had just returned from America, obviously, he had no idea what was going on or what had caused this immense grief in Georgia. The funeral was a big affair; he was an important man in Corfu. Of course, Emily could not go. How could she? She didn’t know his family, they didn’t know her and certainly, no one knew of their affair. It was devastating. I stayed with her that day and did my best to console her.’

  Georgia tries to imagine how her mother must have felt, but she can’t contemplate the enormity of her grief and loss.

  ‘So you see Georgia, Emily lost the man she really loved, but she was also prepared to lose Paul. You were all that mattered to her.’

  Georgia is seeing a different Emily, one who projected unconditional love in the face of adversity. She now thought of her with admiration.

  ‘This is all too much Theresa. I didn’t really know her.’

  ‘Of course, you did. This is the woman who brought you up on her own with love and security; you are who you are toda
y because of that. I see a lot of your mother in you, Georgia.’

  Georgia smiles. ‘She knew me better than I sometimes know myself.’ She pauses for a moment. ‘I had two fathers, and I didn’t even know them. I’ve very few memories of dad, but I remember sitting on his lap as he wrote on his typewriter. He got me to type my name. He showed me where the letters were, I could have only been three years old. Other than that, there is nothing, apart from photographs at Christmas, my birthday and some taken at the house. In my mind, I can’t remember what he looked like. I only know because of the photographs.’

  Theresa brushes Georgia’s hair with her hand; she rises stiffly and sits back on her chair.

  ‘Apart from Mum you were my family,’ Georgia says. ‘I loved coming to Corfu and playing every day with Elpida and Aris, collecting cockroaches and insects. They all ended up in the same jar, we even tried to catch lizards but they were always too quick for us. Remember the sleepovers at the house, one night would become two and then before we’d know it, a week had passed? Mum loved having them over.’ She smiles at the thought.

  ‘It’s good to see you smile. Elpida often speaks about that time when she is home.’

  ‘She lives in America now?’ Georgia asks.

  ‘Yes, Boston, she loves it. She’s married now, she met Bill at work, and he’s a doctor as well. They visit when they can. I’ve told them that when they have children, they will have to visit more often and I want my grandchildren to speak Greek as well as English of course.’ Theresa laughs. She takes a sip of lemonade and sets it down, thinking. ‘Our happiness doesn’t depend on the things that have happened to us Georgia, but on the way we view those things, your mother knew that. Knowing what you do now, please don’t judge her badly.’