by Jane Cable
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Stephen all but ran across the lawn to meet me.
“Robin – what’s wrong?”
“Just hungover. I went for a walk…”
“But you’re crying.”
“No I’m not.”
He reached up and touched my cheek and I realised it was wet and that I could taste salt in my beard. My head felt as though it was made of cotton wool.
“How odd,” I marvelled. “I didn’t even know.”
He took me by the hand and led me into the kitchen where Gareth was making a pot of tea.
“Hey, Mr Psychobabble,” I told him. “Looks like I need your help – I’ve been crying and I didn’t even know it.”
“Denial – you’re a master of it.”
“It’s nice to be good at something.”
He shook his head as he sat down next to me. “Self esteem issues, too. You’ll have to watch yourself.”
“I bet I tick all of your boxes. I’m a freak. Izzie thinks I’m a freak so I must be.”
“Bullshit.”
“What did you say?” I moved my head from side to side to try to clear the fuzz.
“Bullshit. You’re not a freak. You’re just an ordinary bloke struggling to deal with a relationship breakdown and a massive hangover.”
“Of course I’m a freak; I’m a gardener with a degree in botany, for god’s sake. If I have any belief at all it’s heathen and I’m piss poor at that. And you don’t want to know what’s wrong with my memory… except… except…” I felt the tears start again.
“Except what?”
“Except it’s not my memory – it is Izzie’s – I have proof. My Post Office book – I found it in the attic – like a passport – stamped with the places I went.” The torrent of emotion sweeping over me was unbearable but somehow I caught a foothold in it. “Look,” I told them, “I’m babbling like a madman – I’m probably still drunk – I’d best go and sleep it off, OK?”
Stephen forced a mug of tea into my shaking hands. “Take this up with you and drink it first.” His kindness almost killed me.
He woke me hours later to ask if I wanted him to stay. “Gareth has to go back, but I could…”
I propped myself up on my elbow. “No – I’ll be alright. I’ll get up in a minute – make some toast.”
“You’re sure? I had the fright of my life when you weren’t here this morning but I guess that was just me.”
“I won’t run off again, Stephen, if that’s what’s bothering you. Last time… well… I just kind of flipped. I was at the end of my tether, anyway, but it was wrong of me to do that to you. I don’t think I’ve ever apologised either, but I am really sorry for the hurt I caused. I just didn’t realise that I would.”
Stephen smiled down at me. “Thanks, Robin. That means a lot.”
Chapter Seventy
Despite my piss poor performance at Beltane my vegetable patch was growing nicely. I crouched over a row of beetroot, teasing out the smallest plants to give the others a better chance. A cabbage white butterfly fluttered onto the purple sprouting. I watched it a little guiltily; if I wanted a decent crop then I’d have to spray them but I hated to harm even the most destructive of my winged visitors.
“You didn’t reply to my letter.”
I leapt up and spun around, almost losing my balance in the process. “Claire!”
“The one I wrote to the fairies. You answered the others but you never replied to me…” her voice was breaking, taking my heart crashing down with it. I held out my arms.
For one dreadful moment I thought she was going to ignore my invitation, but then she barrelled into me, burrowing her face into my fleece as I held her as tightly as I possibly could. Over the top of her head I noticed Jack.
“Hello, Mr Vail.”
“Thanks for coming. It means a lot to me.”
“It does to Claire too.”
It took Claire and me a few moments to compose ourselves then I led them into the kitchen. There were two questions at the top of my mind but I was only brave enough to ask the stupid one.
“So how did you know it was me who writes the fairies’ letters?”
“Like you said – I recognised your writing. I was looking in the folder for one addressed to me and I knew straight away it must be you. Then… then I read some of the others and I realised… you know… well, I remembered more than realised… you’re kind of special, Robin, and I wanted to see you again.”
“I’m glad you did. I was watching a learner driver the other day and wondering how you were getting on.”
“I… I haven’t started yet.” We both looked at the table.
It was Jack who spoke. “If you don’t mind me asking, Mr Vail, how did you end up writing those letters?”
“It was Jennifer – the lady who owned this house. I don’t think she began the whole Faerie Tree thing – she told me it just happened over time; a ribbon here, a necklace there – human nature, she said it was. Then the wishes started to arrive. At first they were just tiny pieces of paper pinned to the tree and Jennifer liked to read them. Then one day a child had written quite a long letter to the fairies so she decided to reply.
“It was years after I came to live here she told me what she was doing, although I had already guessed. I saw her going to the wood one night and I followed her. As I watched her kneel by the tree I thought it was some sort of ritual, but even if it was she was collecting the letters as well.”
Claire was hesitant. “You said… at Easter… Jennifer was pagan too.”
“Pagan.” Jack sounded thoughtful. “Does that mean she believed the fairies existed and she was doing their work?”
I shook my head. “Not in the sense of little people with wings living in holes in trees, no. But that nature is full of spirits, something ephemeral we can never quite touch but need to respect, then yes, I think she did.”
“And do you?”
I chose my words carefully. “When I take something from the trees, like my yule log for example, I stop to ask first, but I couldn’t tell you who or what I think I’m asking. It’s about respect, really. The natural world is so incredible there has to be some greater force behind it. I mean, when you think, a tiny seed can turn into a tree which gives you fruit for generations it’s pretty awe inspiring. I guess for me it’s finding a way to make a connection with something bigger and better.”
“That is just so cool,” enthused Jack. “I’m going to look it up on the internet when I get home.”
“Well I wouldn’t tell your parents – they’ll think I’m a weirdo as well as a low life gardener. Not that it matters now, I guess.”
Claire’s eyes met mine. “Robin, do you miss Mum?”
“Of course I do. I’ve tried to text her loads of times…”
“She never said.”
“That’s because I never press send. I can’t get the words right. Then one of my clients told me I should send her a card instead but I can’t seem to find the right one.”
“Robin, that’s really lame – there are hundreds of cards out there.”
“There’s about a dozen in here too.” I pulled a bundle out of the drawer under the worktop. “I keep buying them but none of them seem right.”
“You are useless,” Claire told me as Jack started to laugh. She turned on him. “This might be funny to you but you know how down Mum is and all the time she’s suffering because Robin can’t decide which card to send. It’s pathetic.”
I pushed them across the table. “Well you choose.”
She spread them out in front of her. One was a line drawing of a heron; another had the words ‘I’m sorry’ embossed on it in foil letters, but most were glossy landscape photographs – Old Harry Rocks, the beach huts at Hengistbury Head, Golden Cap. For one reason or another I had discounted them all.
Claire held them as though they were playing cards, the pictures facing away from me. She discarded four of them immediately and was left with seven
fanned out in her hands.
“Close your eyes and pick.”
“That’s a cop out, Claire – you said you’d choose one,” Jack interrupted.
“No I didn’t. Robin just asked me to – and how could I tell Mum if I had? No, any of these will do and this is the quickest way.”
“OK.” My hand shot out and picked the one furthest to the left – a gnarled oak tree in the New Forest, its autumnal colours set dramatically against the blue of the sky.
“No, Claire – not that one. Let me pick another.”
She shook her head. “No – and what’s more, you’re going to write it now.”
“Oh come on, give the guy a break…” Jack interceded on my behalf.
But Claire was adamant. “We’ll go and finish our walk and when we come back I expect it to be done.”
Their chatter receded across the garden and I shifted in my chair. Not only had Claire forced my hand but the clues she’d given to Izzie’s state of mind spurred me on. I opened the card flat on the table and picked up a pen.
‘Dear Izzie’. That was the easy bit. Maria had asked me what I wanted to say but there were a million things running around my head and I couldn’t possibly fit them all into one little card. Most of them I’d never write down anyway – finding the words was impossible. I spun the pen slowly around on the table with my index finger.
‘Dear Izzie, how are you?’ It sounded like a polite enquiry but I was desperate to know. But if I was that desperate, why had I left it so long to ask? Tell the truth. ‘I have tried to text or write so many times but have never found the right words. I am glad Claire turned up here this afternoon and made me sit down and do it.’
Was that the right thing to say? Would Izzie think I was only getting in touch because of Claire? Perhaps I should pick another card and start again? I thumbed through them; Old Harry Rocks looked appealing. No; I would finish this one first, and when I was absolutely happy with what I’d written I could copy it onto Old Harry and be done. I re-read my few lines and realised I had said absolutely nothing. I looked at my watch. Thirty-five minutes had passed.
The ceiling offered no inspiration, but I allowed my eyes to wander along the crack which extended from the light fitting to just above the door. What did I want to happen when Izzie read the card? That was easy – I wanted to see her. Like I’d said to Maria, just to have the chance to talk to her, to see if there was any way… ‘I would really like to see you. Just so we can talk properly about us.’
Yes, that was alright. But what I hadn’t done was apologise for running away again, for disappearing from her life when I’d promised not to. But I hadn’t really disappeared, not this time. It wouldn’t have taken much thought on her part to work out where I was. Maybe all this was futile anyway. Maybe she wanted me out of her life and she’d just laugh at my attempts at reconciliation.
I heard Jack’s voice across the lawn. There was nothing for it – do or die. I scrawled ‘love, Robin’ and sealed the card into its envelope. I was just writing Izzie’s name on the front when they burst through the door.
“You cut that fine,” Claire chided me.
“It’s still not right,” I grumbled. “Wouldn’t it just be easier if you told her I’d love to see her?”
She rolled her eyes. “No it wouldn’t. Honestly, Robin – how old are you? Forty-five or something? Have you learned nothing about women?”
I stood up and handed her the envelope. “Obviously not. Now run along, it’ll be your bedtime soon.”
Claire laughed. “You know nothing about teenagers, either.”
Jack reached out to shake my hand. “That’s not true though, is it Mr Vail? In the end I… I told Claire about when we met that morning, but you never let on, did you? That was pretty awesome.”
I nodded. “I had a bet with myself you cared enough about Claire to do the right thing. Now bugger off the two of you – I need to get back to my vegetable patch.”
Claire gave me a rib crushing hug. “Whatever… whatever happens between you and Mum, can I come to see you again?”
“Claire, I would absolutely love that. But you must be honest with Izzie about where you’re going, that’s all I ask.”
“I will, I promise.”
She tucked the card into her pocket and they set off down the drive, clasped hands swinging between them. A thought struck me.
“Jack,” I called. “It’s Robin – not Mr Vail.”
He turned and grinned at me, raising his thumb.
Chapter Seventy-One
Twenty minutes for Claire to get home, then perhaps another five while she said goodbye to Jack. Then maybe five or ten to give the card to Izzie. My index finger marked each segment of time on my watch. I went back into the house to fetch my phone.
I finished thinning the beetroot and started to rake a patch of earth for some radish seeds. An hour had gone by. Perhaps Jack had stayed for a while. Maybe Izzie had gone out. Maybe she’d ripped the envelope to shreds and thrown it into the bin. More than likely I would never know.
I worked in the garden until the light faded, my phone obstinately silent. I wasn’t hungry but I made myself a ham sandwich and a mug of tea, sweeping the abandoned cards back into the drawer before I sat down. I flicked through the TV pages of the local freebie paper but nothing grabbed my interest.
I picked up my phone, searching for a flashing red light. I turned it off and on again. Silence. There was nothing for it but to go to bed.
I was too hot with my duvet and too cold without it. Lying in the tangled sheets a part of me travelled with my card, back into Izzie’s room. I could see her wriggling out of her jeans and pulling her T-shirt over her head. The curve of her breast as she turned towards the bathroom was so real I could touch her, the warmth of her flesh beneath my fingers. The pain of loss had never been so intense.
I must have slept a little because I dreamt about the Faerie Tree – and it was calling me. I stumbled along the landing and knocked a picture off the wall in my attempt to steady myself. My head was full of oak leaves catching the wind, coloured ribbons whispering the faintest suggestion of my name.
I stepped into the shower and drenched myself with icy water but the tree held me back from wakefulness. When I opened the window the dawn air was still, but all the same the branches stirred in my mind, more insistent with every moment that passed. There was nothing for it – I had to go to the woods.
Even from the top of the slope the damage was obvious; every offering within reach had been stripped away and was lying on the floor, a muddle of broken toys and beads and seashells. The box for the children’s letters was smashed against a nearby stone and the plastic pocket for the fairies’ replies nowhere to be seen. I was filled with rage as I flung myself into the centre of the carnage.
I was not alone in my anger. Kneeling on the other side of the tree was a woman, digging between the roots with her bare hands, her invectives mingled with sobs. “You bastard, bastard tree – it’s your fault – you started it.”
Izzie.
I must have said it out loud. She glanced up, hair a mass of rats’ tails; eyes sunken holes.
“Bastard tree – oh, you bastard tree.” Her fingers returned to gouging the earth.
“Izzie – stop.” But my words were useless. I dropped to my knees beside her and pulled her hands away, pinioning them at her sides.
“Let… me… go.” The bitterness of alcohol was hot on my face.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Bastard tree… started all this… split our lives in two… it was here… the storm… bastard, bastard, bastard…”
She was fighting to escape my grasp but I was stronger.
“Izzie, slow down – I don’t understand.”
“But it’s your tree… your bastard, bastard tree… it took you from me – made you forget… made you lie… made you come back here and not to me… oh, Robin…”
“Izzie – it’s just a tree. It can’t make anyone do an
ything.” Yet it had called me this morning – and she was right; all those years ago it had made me come back.
She must have sensed the shiver run through my body because she twisted away and a hand came free. Her fist headed for my jaw but I caught her wrist again. She cried out.
“Izzie, please – just stop. I don’t want to hurt you – it’s the last thing. Please – just calm down and come to the house so we can talk.”
“You don’t want to talk – you just want to save your precious tree.” Her voice was more slurred than angry now.
“No – I want to save us.” I let go of her wrists and wrapped my arm around her shoulder, pulling her to me.
“Robin – it’s not fair. I know you’re lying but I feel so… so… safe… like this.” She was barely coherent through her sobs.
So we knelt under the tree and I held her until I heard an early dog walker moving through the woods. I stood up and hauled her to her feet. “Come on – time we weren’t here.”
I resisted the temptation to lock the kitchen door behind us. Instead I pulled out a chair and Izzie sank onto it.
“First things first,” I told her. “Where’s Claire?”
Her brow furrowed. “At home. Asleep.”
I looked at the clock. “She won’t be for much longer. Give her a call and let her know you’re safe with me.”
Izzie’s eyes were blank. “Where’s my handbag?”
“It wasn’t by the tree.”
She fished in her jacket pockets but pulled out nothing but her keys and a crumpled tissue. “No phone.”
“Use mine, then.”
I put it into her hand and she looked at it for a moment. “No – you do it. I’m… well, I’ve had a bit to drink and she doesn’t like that.” It was the first thing she’d said that made any sense.