The Faerie Tree

by Jane Cable

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  West Bay was the place. And it was just close enough for a day trip during the Easter holidays. Izzie was keen – she’d never been there and when Claire said we should take some time for ourselves I was glad. I reasoned she’d probably rather be with Jack anyway.

  Jack. I hadn’t expected to bump into him first thing one morning in Netley, especially with a bedraggled brunette in impossibly high heels and no skirt that I could see clinging to his arm. He was going to walk straight past me but I barred his way.

  “Good party, Jack?” I enquired.

  “Oh… morning, Mr Vail. Yes… it was OK.” His eyes seemed glued to the pavement.

  “Did you not invite Claire or did she not want to go?”

  Colour rose in his cheeks and before he could reply the girl butted in. “Who’s Claire?”

  I was happy to supply the information. “Claire’s his girlfriend.”

  The girl’s face seemed to collapse in on itself, but to her credit she had spirit. “You fucking, lying bastard,” she spat, before disentangling herself from his grasp and tottering up the road. After four or five steps she stopped and yelled, “And don’t try to text me – you were a fucking useless lay anyway.” I didn’t wait to hear his response, but carried on into the Co-op to get myself a pasty for lunch.

  When I came out, to my surprise Jack was waiting.

  “Mr Vail?”

  I stopped. “Yes.”

  “Are you going to tell Claire?”

  I considered. “I think I’ll probably tell her mother.”

  He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Could I… I mean… is there anything I could do to change your mind?”

  I shook my head. “Claire’s precious to me. If she’s going to get hurt then best get it over with.”

  “Claire’s precious to me as well.”

  The strange thing was that I believed him. Looking into his eyes, man to man, there was an honesty I hadn’t seen before.

  “Then why did you fuck around?”

  He shuffled and looked down. “You know how it is… I was drunk, it was offered…”

  “Weakness isn’t an excuse, Jack.”

  “I know. I don’t deserve Claire.”

  “No, you don’t. Not at the moment anyway.”

  “I’m so sorry – please don’t tell Mrs O’Briain. Claire’s so different – she’s really amazing and I don’t want to lose her,” he mumbled.

  And there I was, not seventeen, but twenty-three, feeling exactly the same way about Izzie. But I wasn’t going to let him off the hook completely. “I’ll think about it,” I said and walked past him to unlock my van.

  Izzie

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  I am looking at Claire and Robin through glass. I can see them move but I can’t hear them speak. It feels as though I am still dreaming, but I can’t be because I’m standing at the spare room window gazing down on the garden. I pick up an onyx rabbit from the windowsill and it feels cool and heavy in my hand.

  They are marking out a square for the vegetable patch with string. The hole where the fir tree was gapes black and empty. Claire walks backwards with the tape then stops where Robin indicates and puts a peg in the lawn, an expanse of flesh yawning between her skin tight jeans and the back of her sweatshirt. It disappears when she looks up and speaks to Robin and there is a twitch somewhere under his beard which signifies his smile.

  I am getting fed up with that beard. It is tidy now, just one shade lighter than his chestnut hair and just as neatly trimmed, but it hides his face. If I asked him, would he shave it off?

  The glass is cold against my forehead. I am torn between going back to bed and running across the lawn in my bare feet to join them. The sun is shining and it’s the Easter holidays but exhaustion wins and I stumble back to my room and sleep for another couple of hours.

  Later we go to the garden centre to buy seeds. Robin hasn’t finished digging the bed but he needs compost and loads two huge bags into the boot of my car before we have a late lunch in the outdoor café. The warmth seeps through my fleece and Robin stretches in his chair, his legs blocking the gravel path. We list the vegetables we want to grow while Claire texts Sasha and makes a bid for some mushrooms to put in Robin’s omelettes.

  He laughs at the idea they can be planted in a vegetable bed and draws pictures of spores on a paper napkin. If Claire is feigning interest she does it well enough to persuade him to buy a mushroom starter kit for her to try to grow some in what looks like an enormous paper bag. It is to be her special project.

  “What’s mine?” I ask him.

  “Sitting in a deckchair looking beautiful,” he grins.

  “No – come on – I don’t want to be a bystander in this family.”

  He flicks his pen between his fingers. “Well you’re going to have more time than me over the summer, so you can be in charge of the salad section; lettuce, radish, that sort of thing. You can plant them at half term and harvest them in the long holidays. How does that sound?”

  A reluctant concession – that’s how. “Oh, so you’re committing yourself to the things that take longer to grow? That’s good.”

  “Izzie,” he falters, “I don’t understand.”

  Claire jumps up. “Oh she’s just stressed, Robin – as per usual – take no notice. I’m off to see the pygmy goats – are you coming?”

  “In a minute,” he murmurs.

  Once she goes his eyes meet mine. “Is it me? Have I said something or…”

  I shake my head. “I’m sorry. I’m just so tired.”

  “It’s been a long term, what with… everything.”

  “Yes. Come on, let’s go see those goats.” I stand and wrap my arm around his waist. Instantly his is across my shoulder, his fingers digging into the top of my arm as he pulls me to him. I whisper my thanks but I’m not sure he hears.

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  I sleep most of Monday. Claire must have crept around the house and when I finally surface I thank her. She makes me tea and gives me a hug, telling me I look better for it.

  On Tuesday Robin and I go to West Bay. The moment we step out of the car the sea air zings into my lungs and through my veins. Robin strides towards the ticket machine; rangy, buttocks taut, shoulders broad. I wish we had booked into a hotel.

  It is almost lunchtime. The harbour is a disappointing concrete-lined rectangle with a row of takeaway kiosks behind it. Salt and fish and burgers. But on their landward side is a square with a pub in one corner. There are a few tables outside and hooks just begging for hanging baskets. Two wooden tubs of tulips flank the door. The river runs close by and I am drawn to it – or more precisely, to the island in the middle.

  It isn’t really an island – there is a footbridge over the water to an enormous boathouse facing downstream. Except it’s not a boathouse – it’s a fish restaurant. We study the menu on the landward end of the bridge – it’s not too pricey, either. I tell Robin it’s my treat, instead of an Easter egg. To my relief he agrees.

  We sit by the window, the river flowing around us, families of ducks bobbing by. Robin’s mood is as reflective as the water. When the waitress comes he breaks his silence to order fish pie while I opt for a crayfish salad. We have a chilled Chablis each. His fingers are damp from the glass as he traces the outline of my hand on the tablecloth, lingering for a moment on my wedding ring.

  “A year,” I tell him. “I’ll wear it for a year for Connor, but that’s all.”

  He pulls away. “I didn’t mean anything by touching it, Izzie – you wear it for as long as you like. I don’t mind. It’s… it’s nothing to do with me.”

  That hint of impermanence again.

  “I can love you whether or not you have that ring on your finger,” he continues. “It’s a symbol – and symbols are important – but it represents something that’s gone. I don’t feel challenged by your memories. They’re precious – keep them safe.”

  After lunch we explore.
We stand for a long while by the charmless harbour, watching a fishing ketch unload its haul. Next to us a man is nailing a sign to the rails, advertising boat trips along the Jurassic coast.

  “Wouldn’t it be nice to come back and do one of those?” I ask.

  “It would be interesting to see it from the sea looking up, after all I’ve wa…” Robin tails off and turns away from me along the harbour.

  “What did you say?”

  “It would be interesting, that’s all.”

  We stroll over cobbles to the old village, dwarfed by the development around it. Many of the cottages have holiday let signs next to their doors. I guess the remaining fishermen prefer the modern houses further from the water. We scrunch along the beach and Robin kicks over pebbles searching for fossils. He finds a small section of trilobite and it is the most animated I have seen him all day.

  We go into a café for a cup of tea. I make a beeline for the ladies then join Robin at the counter just as he is being served.

  “… about then, I think. There was a right old kerfuffle because the design was so modern. It’s odd, because they blend in quite well now.”

  “What blends in?” I ask.

  “Those flats. Your fella here could remember them being built.”

  Robin puts his arm around my shoulder and points out of one of the windows. “Those, Izzie – the ones on an angle to the beach, with all that plate glass.”

  I wait until we are sitting down before I shoot at him. “You didn’t say you’d been here before.”

  He looks at his hands. “Didn’t I? It’s not important. I just brought Jennifer here once to visit a friend and I wandered around while they had a natter.”

  “Oh, OK.”

  He picks up the tea pot and starts to pour. “I couldn’t quite remember when it was. That’s why I asked the lady at the counter if she knew when the flats went up. It was something to say to her, anyway.”

  “You’re not bothering to make much conversation with me today.” My finger starts on a figure of eight on the plastic tablecloth. Robin’s eyes follow it.

  “I’m sorry, Izzie.”

  “Is it because coming here’s made you think of Jennifer?”

  He shrugs.

  “Robin – why did you want to come here?”

  “Because I remembered it as a nice place and I thought we’d enjoy a day out together. Only clearly you’re not enjoying it.” There is no rancour in his voice, only sadness.

  “No, Robin – that’s not the case. I’ve had a lovely time but I’m just a bit worried about you, that’s all. You’re so quiet.”

  “I guess even a chatterbox like me shuts up sometimes.” But then he talks and talks, all the long miles to Chandler’s Ford to collect Claire.

  It is a surprise when Jack’s mother invites me in for a drink. Robin has stayed in the car so I fetch him. He rolls his eyes.

  “I know,” I tell him. “I feel rather underdressed for the occasion too – Jack’s mum looks like she’s just stepped out of a beauty parlour.”

  Robin smiles. “She still won’t hold a candle to you.”

  “Come on – let’s get this over with and we can go home and be scruffy in peace.”

  We are ushered down a narrow hall into a room overlooking the garden. Pale blue curtains in a quiet floral pattern frame an enormous expanse of glass and the cushions on the cream leather sofas match them. I wish I had taken off my deck shoes at the front door; I’m sure I am trailing sand and shingle through the house. Robin’s trainers look huge and grubby.

  “Colin’s just home from work – he’s freshening up. We thought it would be a nice opportunity to meet you if you’re not in a rush.” The comment sounds barbed – the few times I have collected Claire I haven’t even crossed the threshold.

  “Term time’s just so hectic,” I offer by way of excuse.

  “Oh, but those lovely long holidays you have. I do so envy you.”

  “It has its advantages.” Teaching has its disadvantages too, but I want to be polite.

  Louise pours me a gin and tonic and fetches a coke for Robin from the fridge. Jack and Claire tumble down the stairs, making me wonder what they’ve been up to in his bedroom. A chat about something closer to home than the birds and bees seems somewhat overdue.

  Claire hugs me and then Robin. “Did you have a good day?” she asks.

  “Lovely thanks. We had a gorgeous lunch in the fish restaurant and then just wandered around. Robin found part of a trilobite on the beach.”

  “Super cool, Mr Vail,” says Jack, but he doesn’t look at Robin. Or at me.

  The silence is broken by a stocky man in chinos and a Ralph Lauren polo shirt breezing in. He shakes our hands and introduces himself. When Robin stands to greet him he towers over him. Colin bustles away to the granite slab in front of the fireplace and remains there until Robin folds himself back onto the sofa. Claire bounces into the empty seat next to him.

  “So nice to meet Claire’s parents at last,” Colin says as Louise hands him his drink. “Isn’t it, darling?”

  At last? Once again I ask myself how long this relationship has been going on.

  “Oh, but Isobel was saying how busy she is in term time, darling. She’s a teacher.”

  Colin looks at Robin. “And what’s your line of business?”

  “Gardening.”

  “Design or contracting?”

  Robin’s beard twitches. “Just gardening. And handyman work, decorating, putting up shelves – you know the sort of thing. You probably pay someone to do those jobs yourself.”

  He says it so pleasantly I wonder why I feel embarrassed. Louise laughs. “I wish we did but Colin loves having a go and it’s not his forte at all.” I look around the immaculate room. “You’re so lucky, Isobel, having a man who’s good with his hands.”

  “Yes, and I suppose gardening follows logically if you have a degree in botany.”

  Colin and Louise look suitably surprised. That’ll teach them to be so fucking judgmental. I squeeze Robin’s hand and sneak him a triumphant glance. He’s isn’t looking at me though.

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  The conversation I know I have to have with Claire looms over my week. It’s not that there isn’t the opportunity – Robin is working long days painting the cricket pavilion at Burridge – it’s just that I am too much of a coward to take it.

  In my mind we talk a hundred times and it never turns out well; Claire laughs at me because she slept with Jack weeks ago, Claire goes off in a huff, Claire lies to me again… I am sure other mothers don’t make such a hash of things. I wish I had kept up with some of my girlfriends then I would have someone to ask. But somehow, over the years, I’ve not been good at keeping in touch with people. On Easter Saturday afternoon I have a few glasses of wine – Dutch courage – but all that happens is I fall asleep on the sofa and only wake when Robin comes home.

  On Easter Sunday Robin gets up first and is already in the kitchen with Claire by the time I come down. I give her her egg but instead of saying thank you she asks why I haven’t bought one for Robin.

  He turns from making the toast. “Your Mum and I had a deal, Claire – she bought me lunch on Tuesday instead. Fish pie it was – lovely.”

  “Fish pie isn’t very traditional,” Claire grumbles, breaking into the cardboard wrapping to free her Maltesers.

  “Neither is chocolate,” Robin replies.

  “Yes, but eggs are.” Claire pops a sweet into her mouth. “Like hot cross buns.”

  “The stone in front of the tomb and the crucifixion,” I join in.

  Robin puts the toast down on the table. “Fertility and Eostre.”

  He says it in a strange way – not like Easter at all.

  “Eostre?” Claire mimics him.

  “Yes – the goddess of spring in the old calendar.”

  “The old calendar?”

  “Pre Christian. Before they came and nicked our beliefs,” he laughs.

  “So the word Easter c
omes from before Christ?” Claire is clearly enthralled.

  “It’s possible. She was an Anglo Saxon goddess associated with the spring equinox but her name could be much older. In heathenry many rites are celebrated by baking and her symbol is a cross. And to pagans a cross means giving in all its forms; so a fish pie definitely counts.”

  “You know a lot about it.”

  Robins nods. “It comes from Jennifer. Her knowledge, her beliefs – I kind of absorbed them over the years. They made more sense to me than any organised religion.”

  “So you mean you’re a pagan? Wow.”

  He shrugs. “I suppose. If you must label it.”

  “What, druids and stuff, and dancing naked under the trees at dawn?” She leans forwards but I am pinned to the back of my chair, the wooden bars eating into my spine.

  Robin’s laugh ricochets around my head. “Not on your life! For us it’s more about respect for the natural world. Yes, we have rites and celebrations…”

  Tea slops over the table as I put my mug down. “You really believe in all that mumbo jumbo?”

  He frowns. “It depends what you mean by ‘all’, Izzie.”

  “All of it? Any of it! Worshipping rocks and trees? Are you completely stupid?” My voice has risen to a scream.

  Robin shoots back in his chair. “Izzie – please – calm down.”

  “But it’s what you believe – it’s important.”

  “Yes, it is. But only to me – I’m not asking you to buy into it. Or insult me because of it either.”

  I ignore the warning note in his voice. “But it’s not normal: Paganism… it’s some kind of warped freak show…”

  He flings his knife from his hand and it spins across the table, his face a sudden storm of anger.

  “Yeah – a freak – that’s just exactly what you think I am, isn’t it? Dodgy memory, dodgy bank balance, dodgy job and now I’m stupid as well. Well on that count at least you’re right.” Three strides and he is at the kitchen door. He twists around to face me. “You can forget it, Izzie, just forget it, OK?”