by Bee Lewis
‘You silly girl, why on earth didn’t you say anything last night?’ He stroked her hair, his eyes full of concern.
‘I know. I’m stupid and stubborn. But Dan, I was frightened when I called for you and there was no answer. What if I did need help? What if there was something wrong with the baby? We’re so isolated.’
He nodded. ‘I have it covered. Trust me, I know what’s best. Once the phone line is fixed, you’ll have more peace of mind. We both will.’
‘I need you to check my leg. What do you think?’
He took her right thigh in his hands, watching her wince.
‘It’s certainly inflamed and you’ve broken the skin in a few places. I’ll bandage you up and then I’m putting you on bed rest. No arguments.’ He reached into her bag for the bandages and anti-septic cream. ‘The minute – I’m serious, Esther – the minute the pain gets worse, tell me and I’ll go up to Mike’s and ring the doctor.’
‘Okay,’ she said, her voice small, her spirit defeated by her body.
‘What would you do without me to look after you, eh?
She gave a small smile in return. Wasn’t that the very thing she was most frightened of?
For most of the morning she slept soundly, the kind of deep sleep that comes only when the tiredness is bone-deep. She had no recollection of her dreams when she finally woke just before midday and she lay there for a few minutes, yawning and stretching. Her muscles had begun their protest at the exertions of the previous day, but her leg seemed to be no better, or worse.
While she’d been asleep, Dan had put a little hand bell on the bedside table, with a note saying ‘Ring me.’ She smiled, wondering if he’d consciously referenced Alice in Wonderland, then dismissed the idea. He was just being practical. She rang the bell.
‘One sec,’ he shouted up the stairs to her.
She could hear him pottering about in the kitchen below and after a couple of minutes he appeared with a tray.
‘I thought you might be hungry, you missed out on dinner last night, and you have to keep your strength up.’ He set the tray down beside her and sat on the edge of the bed.
‘Thank you.’ She smiled at his thoughtfulness, wishing at the same time that she didn’t feel like such a burden to him. ‘I’m sorry, Dan. I’m really sorry.’
‘How are you feeling now?
‘Better, rested. I slept well, but the painkillers are wearing off.’
Wordlessly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out two blister packs of tablets: paracetamol, and ibuprofen. He popped two tablets from each blister and handed them to her, with a glass of water from the tray.
‘You had me really worried.’
To anyone else, it might have seemed like a reasonable statement for him to make, but she could hear the mild rebuke, the spike of disappointment in his tone where she should have heard concern. She knew she’d be saying sorry to him for a while yet.
‘I won’t do it again, Dan. I was going stir crazy being cooped up.’
He nodded, seeming to accept what she said, but she knew it wouldn’t be that easy.
‘You know, Es, your mood has been really up and down since we arrived here. It’s kind of pissing me off, to be honest. I think we should get the doctor out to see you, after all.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m worried about you.’
‘But why? I feel okay. My leg will be alright in a day or two.’
He turned to face her, with no trace of the softness in his eyes that she’d been used to seeing.
‘I’m not talking about your leg. I think the stress of the move on top of everything else has unsettled you and I’d prefer to get you checked over.’
‘Unsettled me?’ She held his gaze, not liking what was reflected back at her.
‘I’m no expert, but you’ve been saying some very strange things recently – and Mike said you pretty much accused him of keeping something from you. I think you’re becoming unhinged.’
She laughed, expecting him to join her, but when he didn’t she stopped, abruptly.
‘Oh, God! You’re serious? You think I’m having a breakdown?’ She could barely get the words out.
‘I’m saying I don’t know, but I think you need help.’
Major Tom nosed through the crack in the bedroom door and tried to jump on the bed. Dan swatted the cat away with his hand and it slunk off, tail twitching.
‘I don’t want that thing around until you are feeling better. Nasty, disease-ridden creature.’ He squirted some hand gel onto the palm of his hand and started his cleansing ritual.
Esther took a small bite of the toast. It scratched her throat, like forcing down thistles. He wasn’t going to make things easy at all.
‘Es? There’s a box here you might want to put somewhere safe.’ Dan put the box down next to her side of the bed.
‘What’s in it?’
‘Papers and funny things you’ve collected over the years.’
‘Is my diary there? I can’t remember where I left it.’
‘No.’ He smiled at her. ‘Trust you to lose it. You are a scatterbrain sometimes. It’ll turn up.’ He ruffled her hair and went back downstairs, whistling.
She smoothed her hair down again. He was right. She needed to pay more attention to things. But that was the problem – she knew she’d been careful with her diary. The photos of her mum and dad were precious to her and she wouldn’t risk losing them. Her stomach lurched. What if she hadn’t put it in one of the boxes but instead left it in her handbag? She could have left it on the counter at a service station on the way up, or dropped it on her way back to the car. It could be anywhere.
She picked up the box and set it onto the bed. Her life in a box. Nostalgia swept over her as she took the lid off and surveyed the contents. Her 25-metre swimming certificate. Two badges that were never sewn onto her Brownie uniform: Hostess; and Book Lover. She remembered looking down the list of badges and feeling overwhelmed. They all seemed so difficult or needed things she didn’t have access to. In the end, she settled on the two that seemed the easiest to get. She’d loved books and reading from a young age, so that wouldn’t be a hardship for her. The Hostess badge was trickier, but she’d be able to practise setting the tea tray at home. Anthea would help her with the kettle on the gas stove.
Going to Brownies hadn’t lasted long. Her father had been keen for her to go, to make friends with other girls her age, but her mother was less enthusiastic. Why was that? Was it because Anthea wanted Esther at home with her, as a form of protection? It hadn’t stopped the arguments; her parents fought whether she was there or not. She continued rummaging through the box. If only things weren’t so complicated. Anthea was so reticent to talk about Patrick and Esther’s memories of him were distilled into a dozen, maybe slightly fewer, anecdotes. She longed to be able to have conversations with Anthea that began, ‘Mum, remember when we all . . .’ but each time, Anthea would shut her down by changing the subject and so Esther learned to stop asking about her father at all.
She spotted a dog-eared and stained envelope addressed to Anthea. On the back was the start of a shopping list and a reminder to pick up a prescription. She opened it and in doing so, one of the sides came apart in her hands, and a handful of photographs spilled out onto the bed. Young faces beamed out at her full of hope, swagger, opportunity. In one, Patrick was sitting on a sofa, with a mini-skirted Anthea on his knee. Friends flanked them on either side and everyone in the photo was smoking or drinking, or both. In another, Anthea stood holding onto railings, looking out to sea. Her hair was blowing in her eyes and she was squinting into the sun. The mustard coat she wore was too big and she’d pulled the belt at the waist tight in an obvious effort to stop it flapping in the wind. The seafront looked like Blackpool, or Morecambe.
Esther scrutinised the photo; Anthea was wearing a wedding ring. Wa
s this their honeymoon? Esther had seen the photos before, many years ago, but couldn’t remember her mother giving them to her.
In another, both her parents were on the beach, him in trunks and her in a swimming costume. Anthea was holding out a towel to the side and Patrick was pretending to be a charging bull. Esther gave a short laugh at the sight of them, the fun evident on their faces, captured forever. She may not have found her diary, but these photos were better than the dog-eared one tucked inside it. She mouthed a silent prayer of thanks.
When did it stop being fun? When did he start drinking? She had so many questions. The prospect of being a mother brought it all into sharp relief for her. She wanted her baby to know where she’d come from, who her grandparents were, how she and Dan had been shaped and formed. She couldn’t put it off any longer, she had to get Anthea to open up. Maybe the idea of being a grandmother would soften her, make her more interested in participating in their lives. Location needn’t be an issue as the phone and internet would be installed next week. Esther resolved to try to make progress with her mother, little by little, both to improve communications between them and to help with her search for Patrick. That just left Dan to deal with.
‘Do you want some company?’ Dan appeared in the doorway, bearing a tray of soup, sandwiches and a pack of playing cards.
Esther smiled. The pain in her leg was easing and she felt fully rested. She moved the magazines and books she’d been leafing through in between dozing and made a space for him to come and sit down next to her. Her stomach rumbled, she was hungrier than she’d realised. She hoovered up the soup and demolished the sandwich, barely pausing to breathe as she ate.
He reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair away from her face. ‘Fancy a game of rummy?’
‘Why not?’ she replied, arching an eyebrow in acceptance of his challenge. It was a shared joke between them that he always beat her at cards. One day, his luck would run out.
Dan dealt and Esther picked up her hand. A pair of kings and a pair of threes, straight from the deal. She tried to keep her face solemn.
‘How are you feeling now?’ He picked a card up and laid a four down.
‘A lot better. Thanks for putting up with me.’
There was a flicker of a smile from Dan as she laid down an eight. He picked it up. ‘That’s my job.’
She’d have normally bridled at his response, taken it the wrong way, like he thought she was a burden to him. Looking at him now with his head bent in concentration, she understood he didn’t mean it that way, that he thought his role as her husband was to look after her. There were so many ways they miscommunicated.
She picked up a card from the pile, shuffled it into her hand, then laid it back down, trying to put him off the scent.
His eyes gave nothing away as he also discarded a card he’d picked up from the pile. A king.
Instinctively, she snatched the card then cursed inwardly. She should have paused, lingered, pretended to consider. This was why he beat her at games: she was too open. Perhaps the only way to win was to turn to stone. She looked at the remaining cards in her hand and put down a six.
‘Are you still hungry?’
She shook her head.
He placed a three down and her body tensed, ready to snatch the card off the pile, but then she relaxed, took her time, thought it over. She made as though she was going to lay one of her cards down, then at the last minute, changed her mind and picked up his three. Better. Now he wouldn’t be so sure what her strategy was. She needed one more card, a king or a three, to win.
‘Were your parents happy, Dan?’
‘Yeah, I guess. What makes you ask?’ He put his cards face down on the bed.
‘I was going through that box earlier and I found some photos of Mum and Dad. They looked really happy and it just got me thinking about what could have gone so wrong between them.’
He looked like he was about to say something, then changed his mind. Instead, he half-shrugged. ‘Who knows what goes on inside a marriage? People change, move apart. What does Anthea say about it?’
‘You know she doesn’t talk about it. Don’t you think I’ve tried? Do you think the same will happen to us?’
His face clouded. ‘Why would it?’
‘I don’t know, Dan. I just feel like we aren’t on the same page at the moment.’ She plucked at imaginary hairs on the duvet cover.
‘I don’t know why you’d say that. We’re here, making a life together. What else do I need to do?’ His tone was clipped, tense, ready to retaliate.
‘I was so frightened this morning. I thought I was alone and it made me realise how much I depend on you.’
He scooted up the bed and lay beside her, his head on her chest. ‘To have and to hold, in sickness and in health. That’s what we said to each other and it’s as true today as it was when we took those vows. More so now that this little fella is on the way.’ He passed his hand over her swelling stomach.
She played with his hair. ‘That’s it, though. We’re so far from everything here. I don’t know where the nearest hospital is, or even how to contact a doctor. Dan, what if something goes wrong?’
‘Don’t be silly. Nothing’s going to go wrong, you said so yourself. Besides, you’ve got me to look after you.’
‘We’re totally trapped here.’ I’m totally trapped here.
He didn’t answer and she realised from his steady, rhythmical breathing, that he’d fallen asleep. Without disturbing him, she eased out of the bed and started to gather the cards up. She turned over his hand and saw that he’d had one of the cards she needed to win. Some things never changed. The thought should have been comforting to her; she knew she was fighting against all the changes she was facing. But as she held onto the card, a lick of resentment flared inside her. Dan always had the upper hand.
*
Outside, the earth wore the fog like widow’s weeds. But below the surface, the transformation had begun. Flint chafed against amethyst. Lead rubbed against mica. The spaces between rocks, mulch, stones, expanded and contracted, expelling the seeping damp.
The mountains, ominous by day, sheltered the glen at night. Moonlight picked out paths through the trees, ready to lead her to the places in between, and the cathedral of trees rejoiced in the knowledge that soon she would claim her rightful place.
7
GOOD FRIDAY
The forest was different tonight, more vivid. Like it accepted her – like she’d passed some kind of test. The sentinel oaks whispered their welcome, ushering her forward. She didn’t need to look down to know that she was again evenly connected to the ground, she felt the balance from within.
An owl hooted in the distance, echoing through the pews of spruce, breaking the silence. A thin mist chased into the shadows, searching out the secrets that lurked there. Esther wanted to stay in this moment, wanted to savour the anticipation she felt. The oaks took up their hymn, reminding her that he was coming. Like she could forget. Like he’d let her forget. But for now, a curious peace settled over her, spiralling outwards from inside her as she walked through the grove.
For the first time, she noticed the changing colours of the bark, through the length of each trunk. She could see the difference between the dense blue-grey spruce and the Scots Pines. The spruce grew straight up from the ground, spear-carrying warriors, but the branches of the pines twisted and curled, like signposts offering different choices of route to take. Near each base, the gnarled covering was russet-coloured and the deeply-rutted surface formed a network of pathways and footholds for squirrels and insects to navigate. At eye level, sections of the bark had been stripped away and the exposed wood resembled the milky-almond hue of the lattes she used to buy on her way to work each morning. Bristol. So far away now. Daily, she felt its influence slipping from her and, for the first time, she didn’t feel the customary sting of regret.
; Towards the crown of the tree, the colour changed again; a subtle shift through amber to a deeper red, like the orange-pink light reflected from an open fire. How had she not noticed the range and depth of all the different colours before?
She brushed her hands over the trunk of the nearest tree, feeling the roughness of its skin against hers. The bark gave slightly, under the pressure of her fingers, rippling to close the gap between the outer and inner layers. The sensation was familiar to her and she smiled, wryly. In the past year, she’d developed her own bark and fitted it tightly around her. Time had moved things on, stretched her protective covering and she knew the day was coming where it would no longer hug her close.
The forest floor flexed beneath her feet as she walked. Crushed leaves, mosses, and fallen pine cones created a musky incense as she passed. The moon smiled down on her, its light dancing with the shadows created by the feathery canopy overhead. The resistance Esther felt to the world around her had almost disappeared. Before she knew it herself, the landscape had detected the change in her and welcomed it, marking time until she embraced the earth for what it was – solid, ancient, and nurturing.
She wouldn’t wait for the hunter tonight. Instead she pressed on, deeper into the trees. He would find her in the end, but for now she was content to explore her surroundings and take in all the detail she’d previously ignored: rowan trees, warding the pines from evil spirits; the withered, white wood of the holly; bark nibbled by red deer and mountain hares.
She plucked a holly leaf from a nearby bush and studied it. She considered the contrast between the plumpness of the waxy leaf between her fingers and the sharpness of the spines, pushing the pad of her index-finger gently against the jagged edges. What did the forest want her to know? A twig snapped behind her and she took flight, instinct carrying her to the burn and closer towards the doorway in the tree.