The Summer We Turned Green

by William Sutcliffe

  ‘Me?’ says Laurence. ‘Glued to the road?’

  ‘For example,’ says Mum.

  ‘Or a building,’ adds Clyde.

  ‘What an extraordinary idea!’ says Laurence. ‘To stop the bulldozers?’

  ‘And generate a media response,’ says Clyde.

  ‘Gosh,’ says Laurence.

  ‘Ridiculous!’ says Helena.

  ‘House prices on this street are going to take a huge hit when the building work starts,’ says Mum.

  ‘I know, but—’

  ‘Are you honestly suggesting …’ interrupts Helena.

  ‘The thing is …’ continues Laurence, ‘… it might be rather fun.’

  ‘What did you say?’ barks Helena, staring aghast at her husband.

  ‘I think whatshername’s right,’ says Laurence, wafting a hand towards Mum, who has been his next-door neighbour for more than a decade but whose name has evidently never sunk in. ‘If a bunch of hippies do that kind of thing, nobody’s going to give it a second glance, are they? We’ve seen all that before. If I do it, people might actually notice. These days, news is all about those funny little whatnots that get shared around, isn’t it? That’s the only way to get people to pay attention. It’s moronic, obviously, but if I become one of those, it might be helpful.’

  ‘It certainly would,’ says Clyde, with a grin spreading across his face.

  ‘I might become a … what’s it called? A memmy?’ says Laurence.

  ‘Do you mean a meme?’ asks Rose.

  ‘That’s the one!’

  ‘But … you … he’s talking about gluing yourself to the road!’ says Helena, an octave or so higher than her usual speaking voice.

  ‘Yes, I heard him, darling.’

  ‘You can’t do that!’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘What will people say?’

  ‘I think they’ll be impressed,’ says Dad.

  ‘Oh, and you’d know, would you?’ snaps Helena.

  ‘I’ll be chaining myself to the tree in front of the commune,’ says Dad. ‘The more residents that take part in the direct action the better.’

  ‘Laurence, have you gone stark raving bonkers?’ says Helena.

  ‘I don’t think so, darling.’

  ‘How will you eat?’

  ‘Soup,’ says Clyde.

  ‘If you think I’m feeding you soup while you’re glued to the road in front of our house, you’ve got another thing coming.’

  ‘We’ll feed you,’ says Rose gleefully. Ever since the time her pay was docked for breaking a glass while babysitting, Rose has disliked Helena even more than Mum does.

  ‘One question,’ says Laurence. ‘How would I … relieve myself?’

  ‘You have to be in loose-fitting clothes you can slip out of when you need to go for a wazz, and you have to time it for when nobody’s there trying to arrest you,’ says Sky’s mum. ‘Then you come back, slip into the clothes, and you’re glued down again. That’s how they normally get you in the end, to be honest.’

  ‘How bizarre. Well, I’ll give it a try,’ says Laurence.

  Another round of whooping and cheering thunders through the room. Sky’s mum tries to fist-bump Laurence, but he clearly has no idea what this means or how to do it, and they settle on an awkward cross between a high five and a vertical handshake. Laurence’s decision to join the direct action transforms the atmosphere of the meeting. Soon the whole place is buzzing with ideas, suggestions and offers of help.

  Following on from Mum’s point about the importance of local residents spearheading the media campaign, Clyde ends up proposing Dad not just as cross-street liaison guy but as public spokesman for the whole operation – someone with a foot in both camps, who will be harder for the media to dismiss as a crazy hippie than the other residents of the commune.

  Dad seems surprised to be pushed forward in this way, but everyone in the room (except for Mum) gets behind the idea, and he ends up accepting the role.

  It takes me a while to screw up the courage to speak, but eventually, as the meeting is quietening down and moving to a close, I pitch in with my own idea. ‘A lot of this stuff has to happen at the last minute, doesn’t it?’ I say. ‘As the bulldozers are preparing to roll in. I mean, you don’t want to chain yourself to stuff until you really have to, do you? So what you’re going to need is a lookout.’

  Everyone stares at me, suddenly quiet, clearly surprised that a kid has spoken up. I swallow hard and make myself carry on. ‘So how about we build a treehouse at the top of the big oak in front of the commune? Me and Sky will man it, and we can message everyone if we see movement from the bulldozers. Or the police.’

  For a moment I think everyone’s going to laugh at me, or that one of my parents is going to tell me to stop embarrassing them, but the idea is immediately embraced, and a team of carpenters is put together with the car-washing Halloween-hiding man, who works in construction and says he can get hold of a supply of timber.

  The funny thing is, I always wanted a treehouse, until a couple of years ago when I grew out of the idea, but now that one might actually be built specifically for me and Sky, I realise I’ve never stopped wanting it after all, especially one that’s high, dangerous and built not for playing in but as a strategic outpost in an eco-war. I mean, who wouldn’t want one of those?

  By the end of the evening there’s a buzz of excitement in the air that feels almost like a party, as if the threat of demolition is somehow a cause for celebration rather than regret.

  As I’m leaving, passing by Callum, who has returned to his vantage point at the bottom of the stairs, I lean towards him and whisper, ‘Your dad’s lost it.’

  The next day, Mum’s out at work and Dad is doing whatever it is he does to pass the time in the commune, so after a late breakfast and a couple of slightly aimless hours in the park with some school friends, I settle in with Sky for a marathon gaming, TV and snacks session. We also fit in a game of chess, because I’ve been looking up tactics online and am determined to beat her – but, yet again, I don’t manage it.

  Even more annoying than losing to her at chess is the fact that while she’s deciding on her moves I stare at the board, plotting and scheming, but while I’m thinking about mine, she turns her attention to the sketch pad she always carries around with her and scratches away at drawings of birds and dragons that usually end up as good as any illustration you’d find in a book. Maddeningly she often looks as if she’s thinking harder about the drawings than the chess.

  It’s late afternoon before we eventually step outside into the dazzling sunlight and discover that work has already begun on the treehouse. A heap of timber has been dumped at the foot of the huge oak in the front garden of the commune, with a pulley rigged up on a loop over the top branches.

  At the bottom, the pulley is being operated by Rose and Space, who we find tying a stack of planks to a rope. Rose’s T-shirt is dark with sweat, and Space is wearing only sandals and a pair of shorts whose camouflage pattern is almost entirely camouflaged by blotches of dirt. The only thing Space ever seems to wear on his top half is his drum.

  When she sees me, Rose smiles, wipes a forearm across her brow and says, ‘Hi – how are you doing?’

  I can’t remember the last time she greeted me with anything that isn’t a version of ‘What do you want?’, so for a moment I’m thrown by her unexpected friendliness.

  The first reply that occurs to me is, ‘Why are you being nice to me?’ but instead I settle for a simple, ‘Good.’

  ‘The treehouse is taking shape already,’ she replies, pointing upwards.

  It’s hard to see through the foliage, but a couple of people seem to be high up in the tree, tied on with harnesses and ropes. A web of joists has been nailed into place and a platform is beginning to be laid on to them.

  ‘That’s high!’ says Sky, squinting up into the sun.

  ‘Your mum’s at work with a team in the garden making a rope ladder,’ replies Rose. ‘You can go and
see, if you want, or you can give us a hand here.’

  Sky heads round to the back of the house to see her mum (or maybe just to see the rope ladder), but I stay put to help Rose with the pulley.

  ‘Who’s up there?’ I ask, as we set to work securing the next plank.

  ‘Clyde and Martha.’

  ‘Martha?’

  ‘You know – the one that fancies Dad.’

  ‘Someone fancies Dad? Who?’

  ‘Old. Long curly hair. Terrible jumpers.’

  ‘Her? She fancies Dad?’

  ‘She hasn’t said anything, but it’s pretty obvious. She’s always hanging around him.’

  ‘But … why?’ I say.

  ‘No idea.’

  ‘I didn’t know that was even possible.’

  ‘People are weird.’

  ‘Dad’s always with Clyde. It must be Clyde she fancies.’

  ‘You’d think. But I can sense a vibe.’ She turns to Space and adds, ‘I’m right, aren’t I?’

  ‘I have a … theory,’ says Space very slowly, ‘that … actually … in some way … everyone fancies everyone. It’s the human condition.’

  ‘Do you fancy everyone?’ says Rose, with an edge to her voice.

  ‘No, of course not!’ says Space rapidly. ‘OK, it’s not a very good theory.’

  Space puts his head down and goes back to tying planks together.

  ‘And that’s Martha up there now, building the treehouse?’ I ask.

  ‘Yeah. Apparently she was an academic, then she retrained as a psychotherapist, then as a carpenter now she lives here. She’s the one who pointed out the totem pole was going to kill somebody and fixed it.’

  ‘And you really think she fancies Dad?’

  ‘Can we please stop talking about this?’ she says. ‘It’s gross!’

  ‘I don’t think he and Mum are talking. They had a huge row a few days ago.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘You didn’t know?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, maybe you should talk to her,’ I say.

  ‘I am talking to her.’

  ‘You can’t be. If you were talking to her, you would have talked to her about how she isn’t talking to Dad. The argument was on Saturday.’

  ‘It’s been a few days. I’ll give her a call.’

  ‘Just go and see her!’

  ‘It’s easier on the phone,’ says Rose. ‘And I’m not not talking to her. It’s Dad I’m not talking to.’

  ‘Do you think it would be better for the whole family if we could all … just … ?’

  ‘No. Take this rope. Hold tight.’

  I squeeze the rough, twisted surface of the rope. Rose and Space grab it behind me and the three of us haul together, yanking a bundle of planks jerkily up the tree.

  I’m still working at the pulley, and have built up a sweat myself, when Mum gets back from work and reverses into the driveway. She steps out of the car, watches from our front garden for a while, then crosses the road and joins us at the foot of the oak.

  ‘Treehouse is looking good,’ she says, peering up into the foliage. ‘You’re fast workers.’

  ‘No time to waste,’ says Rose.

  ‘Well … it’s impressive,’ replies Mum, smiling at Rose.

  ‘Not just a bunch of useless slackers, then?’ she replies.

  ‘I never said you were.’

  ‘You thought it though.’

  ‘You don’t know what I think, Rose.’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘Maybe I’m capable of changing my mind.’

  ‘Are you?’

  ‘Yes,’ says Mum.

  The two of them share a moment of intense eye contact, then, suddenly, as if things weren’t awkward enough already, Dad’s there, still wearing his illegal jeans.

  Mum looks at him, expressionless, not speaking, probably wondering, among other things, where he got his trousers.

  ‘It’s taking shape, don’t you think?’ says Dad. ‘The treehouse.’

  Mum nods.

  ‘Great idea of Luke’s, wasn’t it?’

  This time Mum doesn’t even nod. She just looks at him and frowns.

  ‘There’s going to be a barrier at the edge. We’ll make sure it’s safe.’

  ‘You’d better,’ says Mum, with all the warmth and tenderness of a polar blizzard.

  Knowing he’s beaten, Dad turns to me and says, ‘You looking forward to going up?’

  I’m desperate to say something that might dispel the tense atmosphere, but a brain freeze gets the better of me, and all I manage to come out with is, ‘Yeah. It looks good.’

  ‘I’m heading home to make dinner. Want to join us?’ says Mum, angling her body so it’s clear her invitation is to Rose and not Dad. ‘Both of you,’ she adds, gesturing towards Space. ‘You look like you could do with a break.’

  ‘No, thanks,’ replies Rose. ‘We’re on the rota tonight for washing-up, so …’

  ‘Maybe tomorrow,’ says Mum.

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘I’ll make something veggie.’

  ‘We’re vegan.’

  ‘That’s what I meant. OK. Bye, then. See you tomorrow, maybe.’

  ‘Bye.’

  Mum walks home, and almost immediately Dad heads off in the opposite direction, back into the commune.

  Rose and I look at one another.

  ‘That was weird,’ I say.

  Rose shrugs. ‘It’s not my fault,’ she says.

  I hadn’t said (or thought) that it was, but now she’s jumped so rapidly to deny it, I can’t help feeling that maybe the whole thing is her fault. If she hadn’t come into my room that night, borrowed a sleeping bag and moved out, everything would be different. At the very least, we’d all be living in the same house.

  There’s no point in saying anything though. Who is to blame for the ongoing family hostilities is irrelevant now, and there doesn’t seem to be much to gain by confronting or accusing Rose, especially with her beginning to show signs of recognising that I am an actual human being – a sibling, even.

  A voice calls down from above requesting more planks, and the three of us get back to work.

  ‘Family, eh?’ says Space, after a while. ‘Can’t live with ’em, can’t live without ’em.’

  I have no idea what he means, and no desire to ask.

  ‘You live without yours,’ says Rose.

  ‘Yeah, well, I’m lucky,’ he replies.

  Within a couple of days the treehouse is finished, complete with built-in seating, a roofed area for shade and rain shelter, a safety rail to stop us falling out, a basket that can be lowered to the ground for sending up supplies, and access by a long snaking rope ladder which can be raised to keep out intruders.

  As I climb up there for the first time, my heart races with a mixture of fear and excitement, which, by the time I’m halfway up, turns into just plain fear. The higher I go up the swaying rope ladder the more convinced I become that, instead of getting closer, the treehouse is retreating skywards with every step I take, but if I pause to catch my breath, the slippery treads under my feet lurch forward, leaving me hanging at a painful and frightening angle. Higher and higher I go, wondering what I’ve got myself into, cursing myself for coming up with the idea, because, having thought of it, there’s no way I can bail out now. However terrified I am and however much I hate it, there’s no option except to press on to the top.

  The transition from the rope ladder to the platform is the most sickening part of all, with my hands struggling to find a good grip while my legs sway and judder on the top few rungs. I somehow manage to clamber on, and immediately lie flat on my stomach to recover something resembling a normal heart rate.

  When I finally build up the confidence to look down, I’m convinced that I am now twice as high as I thought I’d be when I was looking up from below. My eyeline is level with the rooftops. If I fell out, I’d die.

  ‘How is it?’ Dad yells up from the foot of the tree.

  It’s
a while before I can summon enough breath to answer. I don’t want to say anything negative, but I’m reluctant to lie, so I just say, ‘High!’

  ‘Does it feel safe?’ shouts Martha.

  ‘Er … it feels solid. I need to get used to it.’

  ‘You will!’ says Clyde. ‘Are you ready for Sky?’

  ‘OK.’

  She starts her climb confidently, but I’m relieved to see that she appears to hesitate in the same way when she hits the midpoint. Her face is pale and bloodless when she appears at the top of the ladder. I grab her upper arms and help her with the final scramble on to the platform.

  A chorus of whoops and cheers rises up from below.

  ‘You OK!?’ yells Rose, cupping her hand beside her mouth.

  ‘Fine!’ I lie, peeping over the edge and waving back. The people at the bottom look alarmingly small, and I’m still wondering if this whole treehouse plan was a good idea.

  ‘Well done, Sky,’ shouts her mum. ‘You did great!’

  I’m sitting up now, but Sky is lying flat, hugging the boards underneath her. She doesn’t look like she can speak.

  ‘Tell them I’m fine, but I’m catching my breath,’ she mutters hoarsely.

  I pass on the message.

  ‘Take your time!’ calls Clyde. ‘There’s no hurry!’

  ‘This is really high,’ says Sky quietly.

  ‘It is, isn’t it.’

  ‘Do you think we’ll get used to it?’

  ‘I hope so. I feel about as relaxed as you look.’

  ‘How do I look?’

  ‘Terrified.’

  ‘Are you all right?’ calls Dad. ‘Do you want me to come up?’

  ‘No! We’re fine!’ I call back. The idea of another body up here on the cramped area of flooring, particularly a large and clumsy one, feels petrifying. As things stand, there’s space for Sky and me to spread out while we get used to the dizzying height.

  After a few minutes Sky sits upright, and not long after that she inches herself to the built-in bench, crawling on all fours, then slowly pulling herself up.

  ‘Look at this view!’ she says, staring out through the crown of the tree at the roofscape spread out around us.