Mum’s smile was something Meg missed a great deal, so she was delighted when her mother wore it to the breakfast table.
“What shall we do today?” asked Mum.
Meg shrugged. “You should choose, Mum.”
Mum grinned. “Well, it’s beautiful outside, and I’ve been too tired to notice it all week, so we should go out.”
“Where should we go then, darling?” asked Dad, coming into the room and kissing his wife. She smiled and reached up to pull his arm down around her shoulders. She leaned into him and relaxed.
The spring sunshine cast rays into the dining room. “We should have a picnic,” Meg suggested. “Not far, because you’ve been so tired, but we should get out in that sunshine!”
Mum nodded eagerly. “We should, and it’ll be fun! But not too local, let’s go to the beach!”
Meg’s smile broadened, and she busied herself searching the rather scantily stocked kitchen for picnic ideas. She watched as her mum’s face dropped. “We haven’t been shopping!” she exclaimed. “Oh, Paul, I didn’t go shopping this week and I don’t actually know what we’ve got!”
He patted her arm. “It doesn’t matter, it really doesn’t. We’ve coped so far!”
“We’ll go traditional Mum,” said Meg, “Sandwiches—cheese and tomato, and apples.”
◆◆◆◆◆
Dad drove down to the beach, and Mum relaxed, staring out of the window. She was animated and enthusiastic, pointing out everything that caught her eye.
“Have you ever noticed that house?” she cried as they passed the local manor.
“Just a few times!” said Dad.
It wasn’t far before she squealed. “Did you see that?”
“What, Mum?”
“Didn’t you see it?”
“No, what was it?”
“Oh, a cat, but it was cute.”
Meg grinned.
◆◆◆◆◆
The ocean lapped at their wellington booted feet as Mr and Mrs Frost walked hand in hand, and Meg kicked through the sea, splashing and sploshing, watching her parents out of the corner of her eye.
They walked from one end of the shore to the other. The stretch of sand opened out into a huge bay hemmed at the furthest point with a barrage of rocks, and they made their way across to the boulders at the back. Meg took the rucksack from Dad and unpacked the sandwiches she’d made. They settled on flat-topped rocks as they ate.
Waves slapped the rocks a little way off and gulls circled. Cliffs rose behind them with narrow caves carved into their base. Rock pools glistened in the sun, surrounded by rocks draped with bright-green sea kelp. Olive-brown bladderwrack undulated on top of the pools, its pods gleaming like natural bubble wrap.
Meg sat contented, the sea breeze wafting gently through her long hair. She clutched her plastic cup of lemonade and giggled as the bubbles travelled up her nose, making her snort in a most unladylike way!
All three laughed and shared the apples. The crisp, green apples matched the fresh, light wind roving across the sea, and Meg relaxed.
She saw happiness in her father’s eyes as he watched his wife. Meg’s mum stared out at the ocean from her perch on the rock, her gaze completely surrendered to the huge sea before her. Meg followed her eye and scrutinised the sea, rolling unperturbed at the attention it garnered. The crash and swell, rise and fall, hypnotised Meg. Her heart beat in time to the rhythm of the waves, each wave continuous and constant, ending only as it dissolved on the sandy shore.
Meg tore her gaze away and looked back at her mother. Mum was intent, focussed and absorbed with the relentless surge, in the same way that her husband was with her. Dad reached up and moved a lock of hair that hung in front of his wife’s face and leaned across to kiss her. Mum’s smile broadened, and she turned to kiss him back. Meg looked away and watched a seagull float on the currents above.
She got to her feet and wandered to the shoreline. Water lapped over her boots and Meg moved deeper, enjoying the water rushing around her feet. She walked and kicked and swished through the foam, not worrying about the splashes raining down on her jeans. Then she stood still and let the sea move around her.
For a few minutes she was lost in the lapping ripples; then she glanced around her with concern. She turned and ran back to her parents, who still sat like soppy teens holding hands.
“I think the tide’s coming in!” she exclaimed, waving her hands at the sea. “It’s definitely coming in!”
Dad stared at the water.
“Paul?”
“I think she’s right…”
Meg glanced across the beach, and the stretch of sand they’d wandered down earlier was much thinner.
“We’d better get going.” Dad hitched the rucksack on his shoulder and grabbed Mum’s hand. “C’mon.”
They began traipsing back across the sand, moving quickly.
“Is there another way off the beach?” asked Mum.
“Yes, but it’s miles over fields and I have no idea where it goes.” Dad’s voice betrayed his alarm.
“Then let’s run!” cried Meg, breaking into a sprint.
“Not so fast!” called Mum.
“No, Meg, run, we’ll follow!” urged Dad.
Meg ran. It had taken over twenty minutes to leisurely traverse the beach, and now as she ran, the sea crept closer and closer. She glanced over her shoulder; her parents weren’t too far behind, and she was surprised that instead of her mother panicking and crying, she had a big smile on her face as she ran with her husband.
“Keep running!” shouted Dad. “Don’t worry about us, save yourself!”
Meg grinned and kept moving, and so did the sea. Within moments the waves spread across the sand right beneath her feet, and every footstep splashed up her legs as she ran. Panic rose as she looked over her shoulder. Her parents splashed through the surf, catching up with her.
Dad grabbed her hand, and all three dashed through the rising water. The headland stretched before them, and the water rose fast reaching the rock pools as they hurried.
Meg gasped, “My boots are filling with water!”
“Don’t worry!” cried Dad. “We’re almost there!”
Meg darted out in front, up to her knees in the ocean. She laughed, almost hysterically, and tried to run faster.
Mum laughed. “And mine, my boots are full!”
“Keep moving!” yelled Dad.
The three waded clumsily through the water as they rounded the headland and out onto the main beach. The sand stretched gloriously before them, and they waddled through the water. A couple on the beach, walking their dog, stopped and stared as they tumbled round the corner, soaked up past their knees!
Meg giggled as they splashed out of the lapping sea. Her feet squelched with every step, her socks squishing and sucking in her wellies. Her parents joined her as she dropped down onto the sand and tugged off her boots. Her soggy socks glistened as she peeled them off and squeezed them out.
“Ugggh!” She grinned.
“I’m not taking mine off!” said Dad. “I think I’ll wait until the privacy of our own home!”
“Oh, you have to empty them!” cried Mum, pulling her boots off and tipping them. The ocean flowed out, pooling at her feet.
He sat on a rock and leaned back, sticking his leg up in the air. Water poured out of the Wellington boot and down the back of his soaked jeans, and the three of them collapsed onto the sand in hysterical laughter.
The hilarity continued into the car. Mum leaned on Dad as they swaggered across the car park, still laughing. Meg wandered after them, squelching in her wellington boots and giggling, and her smile remained firmly in place as they drove home. Mum chatted incessantly for the first half of the journey, giggling like a teenager and reliving their ‘near drowning’—then silence abruptly reigned as she fell asleep.
Meg caught Dad’s eye as he glanced at her through the rear-view mirror; she smiled wryly. Mum’s sleeping habits were becoming familiar.
Mum dozed for the
entire weekend, and Monday morning came all too fast. Meg had no intention of going to school, but this time Mum was up before Meg’s alarm. Meg knew as Mum opened the curtains that she would insist she returned to school.
Mum struggled to keep her eyes open but made it downstairs and prepared her daughter’s packed lunch. Meg mooched, trying to think of reasons not to go, but Mum sent her off to the school bus with what Meg imagined was meant to be an enthusiastic wave.
Kids piled into the bus, greeting each other with a yell, or a smile, or a high-five, but no one noticed Meg. Meg settled into her seat, slouching like the ghost she was.
The bus pulled up at school and Meg huddled close to the window as everybody hurried off. For a moment, she thought she could remain hidden in her seat, invisible. She could curl up and ignore the rest of the day, buried in the bus as it returned to the depot. She could happily hide all day if she had to—and go home on its return journey—but someone was calling from the front of the bus. Meg looked up.
The driver sat up at the front leaning out into the aisle, looking back down the bus. She reluctantly moved across the seat, pulling her bag with her. She dragged herself down the bus, her legs as heavy as lead and her bag weighing as much as her heart. “You okay?” the driver asked. “Haven’t seen you for a while.”
She nodded again, reaching the front of the bus, and tears stung as she realised someone had noticed she’d been missing. “I’m fine, sorry. I was just lost in thought…”
He smiled. “Thought you were thinking of staying for the day!” he joked, unaware of how close he was to the truth.
She gestured towards the building. “School…”
He laughed and waved her off.
Meg dawdled across the playground off to the shadiest, loneliest corner until the bell rang. She loitered, following the last, late stragglers in.
The building loomed with all the appeal of the dentist. She clenched her fists and swallowed hard, her heart hammering as she convinced her legs to move. Students barged past, and she finally reached her class, slipping in quietly, unseen, amongst the uproar of hormones, body spray and late homework.
She slid into her desk and dropped her head onto her folded arms.
Their teacher, Mr Collins, strode in, clutching his bag to his chest. He flicked on the computer, ignoring his class completely while he searched his bag, and the class responded likewise. He suddenly rapped the table and glanced up. The noise calmed, and chair legs scraped the floor.
Mr Collins returned to the computer and began reading names. One by one the class answered, and the word “Here,” rang out in a dozen different voices.
“Meg?”
Nobody reacted when she failed to reply.
“Anna?”
“Here.”
“Sienna?” The names continued, and Meg remained silent. She closed her eyes, her head buried beneath a waterfall of hair and waited. Her heart raced and she barely listened to the teacher’s monotone. Finally the bell rang out and chairs screeched as everyone got up. Meg rose with them and hurried out with the throng.
She felt a nudge which became a poke and then a shove. “So Meg’s not here…” Sienna sneered. “Couldn’t even be bothered to answer her name.”
“Nothing new there,” said Lucy, elbowing past. “She’s never here. I don’t even know who she is!”
“Nor does anyone!” said Sienna.
Meg’s cheeks flamed. She held back as Sienna jostled past, purposely knocking Meg’s bag from her arms. Meg’s legs wobbled as she melted into the wall. She froze while the hall emptied then slid down the wall and grabbed at her belongings littering the floor.
She heard the classroom door open, and she scrabbled amongst her books and pens, trying to cram them into her bag then she grabbed her bag and ran. “DON’T RUN!” Mr Collins bellowed down the hall.
Meg tore round the corner, desperation controlling her legs. Meg careened down the corridor, dodging and staggering between pupils dawdling to class. “Hey!” and “Watch it!” followed her, and she elbowed past a group of sixth formers, who grabbed at her. She evaded their clutches and lurched towards the canteen. Just before the double doors into the food hall was a small exit leading out to the rear of the school field. She bolted through and out into the cool shade.
She paused, leaning against the cold brick, sweating and shaking. Then she started like a deer cornered by a hunter and shot across the back of the field, ducking down and through the well-known skiver hole in the wire mesh fence, and raced down the riverside path.
Sun sparkled on the river as Meg jogged towards town, her ragged breath burning. She stayed on the towpath for as long as she could, unwilling to break into the busy community. As she ran, her tears dried on her cheeks, and the tightness in her chest dissipated. As the steps up to the bridge and town edged closer, Meg slackened her pace. Eventually she walked, hauling herself up the steps with leaden strides.
She hurried through town until she was clear of the town centre, unhindered by people and out on her own. She jogged along the main road home her rucksack bouncing on her back. Her legs drove her on, and by the time she reached her road, she was calm, and the only worry scratching at the back of her mind was in what condition she’d find her mother.
She slowed as she turned up the street, trying to ignore the nagging sense of foreboding. She checked the time, not far beyond ten o’clock, and nerves grew with every step she took.
Next door’s curtain quivered as Meg glanced at the window. She recognised her elderly neighbour’s shadow standing behind the thin, lace curtains. She smiled. That was the second time today that someone had actually noticed her. She wanted to acknowledge the old lady, and her smile grew wider. She kept her eyes on the curtain and tentatively lifted her hand to wave. As she did the curtain rose, and when Meg’s hand curved in a small flutter, her neighbour showed her face.
Meg waved properly and smiled, and was rewarded with a broad smile back.
Meg’s heart soared; she wasn’t invisible after all.
All was quiet as Meg opened the front door, only Indy yowled from the top of the stairs then trotted off to find a warm place to sleep. Meg closed the door and tiptoed into the empty lounge. She inched up the stairs and listened outside Mum’s room. The door was almost shut and it was dark. She gently pushed and peered round it, holding her breath. Mum slept peacefully, cocooned in the duvet. Meg left.
At lunch time Meg heard the floor creak and glanced up at the ceiling, but the movement stopped and her mother didn’t appear.
All of a sudden, she didn’t want to be found at home.
Her neighbour watched as she hurried down the street, and Meg sent another smile towards the twitching curtains.
There was only one place to go.
Meg sat on the grass, some way off from the tree. Leaves began to erupt and bloom across the oak’s canopy, bringing life to the skeletal branches. Meg threw her bag on the ground and pulled out her book. She was soon lost within the words. An hour later, she closed her book and yawned. She put it away getting to her feet.
She grabbed the lowest branch, pulled herself up, shimmied along its breadth and sat at the narrowing end of the bough. Leaves burst forth, and she grabbed a twig twisting the flexible young stalk, breaking it off. The knobbly, grey twig contorted and Meg caressed its tiny virgin leaves, marvelling at their perfection and the tiny veins running through them. She gripped the twig in one hand and began to shuffle backwards again along the bough.
She began to feel dizzy and clutched at the branch as it swayed. Fearing another fall, she gripped tightly with her legs, holding on with both hands. Vertigo overwhelmed her, and she fell forward, hugging the branch. She rested her head against the bough, her cheek touching the rough bark, and closed her eyes. Her head weaved, and she struggled to cling on.
When she came round, she was still on the branch, but the branch stretching out on the opposite side bounced gently to and fro. Hanging from the bough was a piece of rope. Meg gul
ped. Then she focussed and saw a second piece of rope. They both hung low gripping a thick piece of wood. She sighed; it was a swing, a simple, makeshift swing.
A teenage girl, in blue jeans and an olive green shirt, pushed out with her arms and pumped long, slender legs. Her mousy-blonde ponytail bounced, and blue ribbons rippled in the breeze. Happiness and contentment filled Meg, and she gazed at the girl, swinging, lost within her dreams. Gently the swing slowed, until it swayed lightly beneath the girl’s weight, then she slipped off and brushed her hand across the wooden homemade seat. She wandered away from the tree and into the undergrowth.
Meg watched as she bent to pick bluebells. She soon had a small bouquet and reached up into her hair to pull out her ribbon. She tied the bunch of bluebells with the ribbon and shook out her hair. She turned briefly towards the tree grinning and then shot away down the field, through the long grass.
Meg frowned. The girl’s smile remained fixed in Meg’s mind. She closed her eyes, trying to remember where she’d seen the smile before and then clung to the branch as another wave of nausea washed over her. When she opened her eyes, she was alone, back in the present and still haunted by the smile.
Mrs Frost began to wake up.
Meg said it was so they could enjoy the summer holidays on the horizon, but her mum just said she was finally beginning to feel like a real person again. For several months she’d barely been able to communicate, feeling groggy, nauseous and hugely headachy. There had been days of cohesion, days of lucidity, like their trip to the beach, but for the most part, Mum had slept.
Now she began to wake, and Meg noticed real differences in her mother. Gone was the tension, the pressure and stress. Gone were the panic attacks that began at dawn and worked themselves up into afternoon storms. Her headaches vanished and she felt good. Fatigue still hung about like a bad smell, but both Meg and her father preferred tired and happy to stressed and frazzled.
Mum was happy, and she was calm and collected. She felt better!
Meg…” Mum yawned. “You don’t need to do dinner again.”
Beneath the Old Oak Page 7