Yes, a different approach had worked today. With her dad. With Caitlyn and with Erin.
She saw now that being angry with her dad had been a complete waste of time. She’d been so angry at him for so long that there’d been no room in her head to see his point of view — to see that he wanted to do all those Old Dad things but just couldn’t do them. She’d tried to bully him into doing things. Making him feel even worse about himself. She’d hated Bob for this new life he’d given them all.
Hate and anger simply hadn’t worked for her. Maybe this was where the village was going wrong with the tree? Their hate for the tree was obvious — so obvious that the tree carried the marks of hate on its skin. And the tree hated them back. Immy thought the tree’s hate had leached into the villagers. Made bitterness brew in those who lived closest to it — like Caitlyn and her parents. But what if . . . what if they were all wrong? What if the tree didn’t need to be cut down or defeated? What if . . .
What if what it really needed was to be understood?
It’s what her dad had needed. Maybe the tree simply needed her to meet it halfway as well? Maybe then it would share its secrets with her — tell her why it was angry. Maybe then she’d truly know what had happened to those girls and she’d be able to keep herself safe.
Immy stood and opened the window wider.
“Hello, tree,” she said, after a moment or two. “I think we got off to a bad start. I’d like . . . well, I’d like to be friends. I’m sorry I yelled at you. I’m sorry I was rude.”
Just like on the night before, everything stilled.
Except, this time . . . this time it felt like the tree wasn’t going to slam the window in her face. This time it felt like it was really listening.
Immy cleared her throat. “I know you have problems, too. We all do. Anyway, I wanted to let you know that I’m here if you need me. I could help you with your problems if you like.”
There was a long silence after that, the tree unstirring in the deathly quiet.
Eventually, Immy decided to leave things at that. She didn’t want to scare the tree off. It would need time to think about her offer. To know that it was genuine.
So she went to bed.
For the first time, she left the window open.
Friday was a good day. Caitlyn was away from school, and Immy couldn’t have been happier. It was like a dark cloud that had been hovering over the classroom had been blown away by a fresh breeze. People talked to her at lunch. Swimming was fun. After allotment club, Immy and Erin stood around and chatted for a while. Feeling bold, Immy asked again if Erin would like to come over. She was surprised when Erin agreed. Not too long ago Erin would have crossed the road to avoid walking past Lavender Cottage. What had made her change her mind? Had seeing the tree made her realize it wasn’t as scary as the village made it out to be? Immy decided not to ask any questions in case Erin second-guessed herself. The girls walked back quickly to Immy’s house, where her dad made them a snack while they fed the hoglets.
After Erin left, Immy closed the door behind her and turned to her dad. “Maybe we should have that party after all?” she said to him.
His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Hmmm. . . . You think it’s a good idea?”
Immy shrugged.
“Is it too late to send out invitations? We could make them over the weekend, but you’d have to give most of them out at school on Monday, and that would be less than a week until the actual party on the Sunday.”
“If they want to come, they’ll come.”
Her dad inspected her for a moment. “You’re sure you don’t want to go away?”
“I’m sure,” Immy answered quickly. “I want to stay. I want to be . . . strong.”
“Strong?”
Immy nodded.
“Well, okay, then. I guess we can do that. Together. Come on, then. You start a list while I make dinner.”
Immy and her dad went to an office supplies shop on Saturday morning. After her mother got home from her hospital rounds, the three of them spent the rest of the day making the invitations for the party. By Saturday night they were ready to be given out.
“Maybe I could give Jean’s invitation to her tomorrow?” Immy said as they were getting ready for bed.
“Remember the lovely cake she made us?” Immy’s mum said, dental floss in hand. “You should bake her something and take it around with the invitation. It would be a nice gesture.”
Immy and her dad looked at each other dubiously. Like they’d told Jean, they’d tried baking before. Things rarely went well. Immy particularly remembered the cupcakes they’d forgotten about, which had turned black on the bottom. The top half had been edible, though. Sort of.
After breakfast on Sunday morning, Immy’s mum went off for another round at the hospital, and Immy and her dad found a recipe for some raisin-and-oatmeal cookies. They turned out . . . okay. The problem was, some of the raisins sticking out on top of the cookies were a bit burnt.
“We should consider opening a charcoal restaurant,” her dad said, eyeing the cookies. “I suspect we’d be very successful.”
Immy inspected the cookies as well. “Do you think I should take them?”
“Maybe the less burnt ones.”
“Are there any?”
“At least four. I’m sure of it.”
While the cookies cooled, Immy helped her dad feed the hoglets. Then she put a selection of the less burnt cookies into a plastic container, found Jean’s invitation, and told her dad she was going over there.
Immy knocked on the conservatory door and waited until Jean arrived.
“Hello, Immy!” Jean said, obviously pleased to see her. She paused to smooth her white hair. “I’m a bit of a mess, I’m afraid. I’ve been conquering the housework this morning.”
“I just came over to give you this. Well, two things, really,” Immy said, handing over the container and the invitation, on top of it.
“Two things! My, aren’t I lucky! Well, I’ll tell you what. I was just about to make a cup of tea, so why don’t you come in for a minute and have a hot chocolate with me to keep me company?”
“Okay,” Immy said, though her stomach was jumping around a bit at what Jean would say about the invitation — what she’d think about them having a party in their back garden and about the fact that they weren’t going away.
Jean puttered around, making the tea, and Immy helped fetch the hot-chocolate powder, sugar, and milk and some little plates. They sat down at the table and Jean opened the plastic container.
“Now, what do we have here?” She took a cookie out.
“It’s all right, you don’t have to actually eat them,” Immy told her. “I’ll just tell dad you did.”
Jean laughed. “You really don’t do much baking at home?”
“No. We prefer edible food.”
Jean took a bite of the cookie and chewed thoughtfully. “Oh, come on, now,” she said after she’d swallowed. “They’re not bad at all.”
Immy gave her a look.
She waved a hand. “They’re really not. Next time, just set the timer for ten minutes and watch them from then on. Ovens are all different, you know. Do you have a thermometer inside the oven? It helps.”
“Okay. Thanks for the tip. I’ll get one for dad for Christmas. He needs it.”
Jean laughed. “You are terrible. And how is he? I was so glad he took the hedgehogs. It made me very happy indeed.”
“Things are better,” Immy said quietly. “Better than before.”
“I’m pleased to hear that.” Jean smiled. “Now, what’s my second thing?” She picked up the invitation and opened it.
She began to read it, and her brow creased.
Immy’s stomach churned again.
Jean put the invitation down, her hands making the paper shake lightly. Their eyes met.
“You’re not going to Paris?” Jean asked.
“No,” Immy said. “Mum couldn’t get the time off work.”
The room was quiet.
“I know you’re worried,” Immy said hurriedly, wanting to fill the silence. “About what could happen. The night before my birthday, I mean. But it will be all right, you’ll see.”
Jean studied her. “How do you know?”
“I just . . . know.” She didn’t. Not at all. But she knew it would be wrong to run away. To think only about herself and the fact that she was scared. She needed to know the truth about the tree. The village needed to know, too. Especially Jean. “You will come? To the party?”
“Nothing would give me greater joy than to come to your eleventh birthday party, Immy.” Jean’s words were loaded with meaning.
Immy knew what she meant. The party would be on her actual birthday. If she was there at the party, then everything was all right. She hadn’t been taken.
They sat quietly for a moment or two, Immy staring at the untouched cookie on her plate.
“I have to tell you something,” Jean finally said.
Immy looked up. “What’s that?”
Jean’s expression was dead serious. “It’s about Elizabeth. In the days before she disappeared, she said she saw something. In the tree. That was all she said, and when I questioned her about it, she wouldn’t tell me anything more. She said she was being silly, that she was seeing things and was sorry she mentioned it. I’ve always wondered . . .”
Immy sat forward on her chair. “Did you tell the police?” She asked the question even though she knew that Jean had. She remembered that someone had told the police that Elizabeth had seen something in the tree, and that someone was obviously Jean. This was why the police had thought Elizabeth had run away.
“Oh, yes, of course I told them. I was sorry I did in the end, because it was when they gave up on her, really. They decided she’d simply run off. They figured it had been a person she’d seen. That someone had been climbing up to her window. Someone she knew. And they thought this person had persuaded her to leave with them. But . . .”
“What?” Immy urged Jean on.
“Well, I don’t think it was a person.”
“What do you think it was?” Immy said, her heart racing. “What do you think she saw?”
Jean stared into the distance, frowning. “I . . . I don’t know. Maybe something . . . magical. I know it sounds silly, I know it does. But that knot appearing overnight. Oh, it was very strange.” She put a fluttery hand to her chest.
“Elizabeth didn’t say . . . well, she didn’t say she heard anything as well, did she?”
Jean snapped to attention, her eyes focusing in hard on Immy. “Why would you say that?”
Immy pulled back in her chair. “I . . . I don’t know. I just thought maybe if she’d seen something, she’d also heard something.”
“You’re sure that’s all you meant?”
Immy nodded. She wasn’t lying. Not really.
Jean’s eyes remained on her for what felt like a long, long time. It felt like forever before she spoke again. “One of the last things Elizabeth told me about the tree was that she’d heard the rhyme. You know the one — about the tree. She said she’d been hearing it in her head. As in, when no one else was around. The police didn’t know what to say when I told them. Anyway, when I woke up one morning with the rhyme in my head, I was so scared. And then I got angry. I went straight out and yelled at the tree. I kicked it and I punched it and I told it I hated it. I told it I wouldn’t be paying any attention to it — to things in its branches, or rhymes. I told it I’d never forget it had taken my friend. That I’d never forgive it and would come every day and leave a flower for Elizabeth. That I wouldn’t forget her. Strangely, after I said my piece, it never bothered me again. Maybe because I was as angry as it was. Oh, I don’t know what to believe about the tree. I never have. I only know it had everything to do with my best friend’s disappearance. Everything. So please, Immy, if you see or hear anything, tell me. And do be careful as your birthday approaches. We can’t have you disappearing, too.”
On Monday, Immy gave out her party invitations at school. She left one on everyone’s desk in the classroom and gave one to her teacher. She kept Mrs. Garland’s invitation in her pencil case and waited until lunchtime and her usual library visit to give it to her.
Except when she got to the library, another teacher was there. Apparently it was Mrs. Garland’s turn to do playground duty. After she’d been told this was the case, Immy stood at the library door and thought. She didn’t want to go out to the playground, but the invitations really needed to be handed out today. She would have to do it. And by herself, too. She couldn’t even ask Erin to come with her, because Erin’s mum had picked her up early from school today for a piano exam.
Immy pushed open the library door, crossed the short expanse of hallway, and scanned the playground through the nearest window.
Mrs. Garland was at the edge of the asphalt playground.
And Caitlyn was nowhere to be seen.
Immy took her chance and ran out.
“Ah,” Mrs. Garland said after reading the invitation. “Yes, Mum told me about your party.”
Immy watched her expression carefully to see what she thought.
“I’d love to come, Immy. I’ll let your mother know I can make it.”
“Great!” Immy breathed a sigh of relief. Still not having had a chance to speak to Mrs. Garland about the one thing she was desperate to know more about, she took this as her cue to ask one more time for information. “Is there . . . is there anything else you can tell me about the tree?” Jean’s words had spooked her slightly. If there was anything else anyone could tell her, she needed to know.
Now.
Mrs. Garland’s gaze had been skating over the playground, but it came down sharply upon Immy now. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly, “I really shouldn’t have spoken to you about the tree at all. The staff has decided it’s not something we want to encourage the students to discuss.”
“Oh,” Immy said. “Okay.”
Mrs. Garland smiled. “That said, I think it’s a great idea that you’re having a party. Hopefully it will put all the silly rumors to rest.” A screech came from the monkey bars. “Oh, dear. I’d best run and find out what’s going on over there. Excuse me.” And with that, she’d hurried off.
It was only then that Immy saw Caitlyn standing close by. She’d sneaked up from behind and had obviously heard the whole conversation.
Saying nothing, Immy turned and started in the direction of the library. Caitlyn ran over, cutting her off.
“What now?” Immy said, every muscle in her body tensing.
When Caitlyn didn’t reply, Immy finally found the courage to look at her properly. She seemed to be struggling to say something. As if she wanted to but couldn’t find the words, or something was stopping her. If anything, she looked scared rather than angry. Immy noticed something else as well. Caitlyn’s eyes — they were different. They looked lighter. They’d been so dark before, and now they were definitely lighter.
Caitlyn’s mouth opened yet again. She whispered something. At first, Immy thought she’d said the words I’m sorry, but that couldn’t be right.
“What did you say?” she asked.
Her words broke the spell. Caitlyn shook her head. And then she turned and ran from the playground.
Immy watched her go. What was going on? This place — it was so strange; so full of secrets. So many things didn’t add up. Didn’t make sense. She thought that by now she’d have found out lots about the mulberry tree. About Bridget. About Elizabeth. About what had happened to them. Now she saw that no one was going to be able to tell her the truth about what happened to those girls.
Because they didn’t know.
No one knew.
No one except the mulberry tree.
Only the tree had seen what happened on both those nights. Only the tree knew the truth.
Immy went straight to the tree as soon as she got home from school and was shocked by what she saw. She hadn�
�t paid too much attention to the tree over the past few days — she’d been busy planning her party. But now she saw that it had changed. It looked droopy. Shrunken and unwell. She put both hands out without hesitation to hold on to the trunk and gazed into the bleakness above. She wasn’t surprised that she didn’t feel the pulsing of anger that she’d felt before. The tree simply didn’t look up to it. Instead, the tree seemed tired. Tired and weak and sad. Always sad.
Immy also couldn’t help but notice that one of Jean’s roses was still wedged into the bottom knot, even though it was late in the afternoon. The tree didn’t even have the energy to spit it out like it usually did.
What was going on?
As Immy inspected the tree’s branches, she remembered Jean’s words and wondered what it was that Elizabeth had seen. Was it a person after all? Had someone persuaded her to run away?
“What happened to those girls?” Immy asked the tree. “Did you see? Do you know? You have to tell me.” Her eyes moved downward to the tree’s trunk and came to rest on the vicious marks that she and her dad had noticed weeks ago. She wondered if anyone had actually asked the tree what had happened before. Or had they simply come after it with axes and hate? “You can trust me,” she told the tree. “I won’t hurt you. I promise.”
But the tree only continued to droop and offered up no answers.
That evening, Immy’s mum had gotten home early, and they were about to have dinner. Immy was setting the table when there was a knock on the front door.
She went and opened it.
She almost dropped the cutlery in her hand when she saw who was standing outside — Caitlyn’s mother. Immy had been right that day when she’d gone to get her uniforms. It had been Caitlyn’s mother who’d been gossiping with the two other women. She and Caitlyn had the same dark hair. The same deep brown eyes. Caitlyn’s mother walked her daughter to school each day, and Immy was very careful to avoid them both.
The Mulberry Tree Page 11