The Twist in the Branch

by Melanie Smith

  ‘You couldn’t find me?’

  ‘No – I stopped at the river and turned around.’

  ‘What colour was the river?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The river – what colour was it?’

  ‘Brown as usual – why?’

  ‘That’s why you couldn’t find me.’

  He looks slightly confused, but disregards this and moves on.

  ‘I knew you’d be ok.’

  ‘I’m glad somebody did.’ My body starts to shake uncontrollably. Panic. Dread. Fear. Disgust. Shock. Too many things to feel all at once.

  ‘It’s ok,’ he says, gripping me, holding me so that I can’t erupt. I must let out a signal that it hurts.

  Everything hurts.

  My chest and ribs are bruised and sore, yet free of the weight that has been pressing on them. My skin is tight with the filth that it is covered in. Face splattered with blood. Arms caked. Feet and ankles, torn and red.

  I am a red lady.

  My hands are black with dirt. Gabe wraps me in a blanket and picks me up, carrying me like a child.

  ‘I’m ok – I can manage. Please.’

  He doesn’t argue with me, placing me gently on the ground. I flinch, and my legs strain against the slope of the road up to the house. Gabe helps me as best he can, trying not to cause any concern should my mother be looking out from the window.

  Before we get to the top I stop and turn. I turn to the tree. Like I’ve always done. Like I was right to do.

  He is gone, nothing left, not even the twist in the branch that had wrapped around his neck. Just the tree, like any other tree that decorates this countryside. Black branches, leafless, storing its life in the roots underground, until the time is right.

  The winter-white sun shines low behind it, forcing its rays through the black bare branches. Its arms stretch out against the snow-white sky.

  I am home.

  Epilogue

  SUNLIGHT MOVES IN.

  It feels nice.

  I lay in bed, savouring the strange feeling; this forgotten thing. As the March sun seeps in I feel a sense of distance between what has been, now that I’m in this new place.

  The rucksack by my bedroom door is waiting, and I know where I will go today – where I often went – where this all began, and that feels nice too.

  Once I’m up I pull the curtains back to let in more light and see Gabe pottering away in the barns outside, back and forth between the cold stones of the building and his van that is parked outside. As I stand and watch he must sense that I’m there, as he turns and looks up, smiling when he sees me. I smile back and say, ‘I’ll be down now,’ not that he has any chance of hearing me, but I don’t want him to leave without speaking to him.

  I pull on a pair of jeans, and a jumper and run downstairs, through the house, and out to the backdoor.

  ‘You’re not leaving yet are you?’ I shout at him.

  ‘No – probably after lunch,’ he calls back, still shuffling about.

  ‘Good.’

  I use the bathroom to freshen up, then grab a cup of coffee, sitting in my usual spot by the fire to drink it. The flames dance gently, and the house feels warm and light as if it is coming to life. I feel like I could sit here all day, just taking in that feeling, but I’m eager to get going so make some more coffee and take it out to Gabe.

  ‘Wow. Up, dressed and a cup of coffee!’ he says jokingly.

  ‘Yep – it’s my New Year’s resolution.’

  ‘It’s March 21st.’

  ‘D’you want it or not?’ I’m trying not to smile.

  ‘Too right, cheers,’ he says taking it from me and chugging it down.

  I’m not sure how to bring up the subject with him, but I can’t be bothered with making small-talk, so the only thing to do is to dive straight in.

  ‘I’ve decided it’s time.’ The words leave me and I feel lighter as they do, even though I sense his jaw tense.

  He carries on with his coffee, looking out past the barns and over to the hills beyond. My eyes are taken there too – through his – out to the large mountains of earth that cradle our home. Only a few months ago they felt like prison walls, pressing down and closing in. Not now.

  ‘I’m so proud of you Seph.’ His words take me by surprise, embarrass me even, and completely out of nowhere the emotion floods me; hot tears running over my cheeks, a burning feeling on my skin as the energy is released. I wipe the tears away with the inside sleeve of my jumper, as his hand rests on my shoulder.

  ‘Shall I come with you?’

  ‘No – I mean thanks, but I’d rather go alone.’

  ‘Ok.’

  ‘I’ll take the car, maybe go for a drive first to clear my head. I’ll need the-’

  ‘I’ll get the bag for you,’ he interrupts, so I don’t have to say the words.

  ‘Thanks Gabe, for all of it,’ and I turn and run back towards the house so that I don’t have to look at him again, as even more tears erupt from the great well at my eyes.

  ‘I’m going to miss you,’ I say before I get there, and I know that he has heard me. He always does.

  ***

  The car door is stiff as usual. I heave it open and put the key in the ignition then open the boot as Gabe appears from the side of the house, carrying a brown bag.

  Neither of us speak.

  He hands it over and I put it inside the large red rucksack that I found in the cupboard under the stairs, place it in the boot and close the door. Then I get into the driver’s seat, trying my best not to think about the contents of the bag only a few feet away from me, and start the car. The engine starts first time. Gabe smiles flatly and shuts the door after me.

  ‘Tell Mum I’ll be back soon,’ I say rolling down the window, before making my way slowly down the drive and out onto the lane, the radio on full-blast, and the bones rattling behind me.

  The roads are quiet, as I wind my way through the now- familiar landscape – foot on the pedal, volume up on the radio, the car on the right track.

  I pull over at the familiar spot, get out, slam the door, open the boot, sling that rucksack on my back, close the door and throw myself up that hill – step after step – higher and higher, until I’m at the top, breathless and hot.

  My eyes are closed and I centre myself, try to slow down, get my breath back.

  I look out with new eyes.

  Out across the landscape, down the valley and across to the other side. All the usual sights; the houses, the village, the green and my house, nestled amongst it. The tree. All of it.

  The bag slips off my back and onto the ground, the contents crashing together inside. A deep breath, before reaching in and pulling out the brown sack.

  The rope comes loose easily, and even the breeze and the great expanse of fresh air can’t ease the stench. My grip settles on the bottom corners of the brown cloth, and then, with everything I have I fling the contents over the side of that cliff, spewing them up and out into the air before me, with a force that surprises me, as it moves up from the pit of my stomach, up into my throat, out through my mouth with all the rage of a thousand storms.

  But they don’t all fall.

  Some tumble to the ground below, smashing upon the rocks before disappearing, but others hang there in the air, refusing to give in to gravity, dispersing into a grey dust; a dust that takes his form.

  Turning sharply around I pick up the rucksack and make my way back down the hill. His voice follows me, calls my name, and I can sense his dust-bone body nipping at my arms, my legs, my hair.

  But I am gone.

  Going. Going. Gone.

  I do not belong to you.

  Wiping the tears that are smeared across my face, smiling, laughing, running over the morning-wet grass, leaning down and picking a stem, feeling it touch a place deep inside of me that brings more joyful tears.

  Climbing into the car I don’t even look back. Key in ignition, first gear, I move swiftly down the road ahead of me, feelin
g freer with each metre that passes, radio on, window down, the fresh air spilling in.

  As I get close to the village I see someone walking along ahead. Immediately I know that it’s him. He must hear the car coming, so stops and moves closer into the hedgerow, where I pull up next to him. Evan opens the passenger door, smiles and gets in. He places a delicate kiss on the side of my face.

  Once again my foot is on the accelerator, and we take off down the road. As we pick up speed the stem of grass I placed behind my right ear catches the wind that rushes in. Through my rear-view mirror I see it tumble through the air – taking flight – before disappearing from view, forever.

  About the Author

  Melanie lives in Wales with her family. She writes (mostly) dark stories for young adults. The Twist in the Branch is her debut novel. She is planning on a new release for October 2017. When not working on this she will continue to read and watch too many films and TV programmes about zombies, gangsters, fairy tales and things that go bump in the night. Follow Melanie on Facebook and Pinterest. Website coming soon!