‘I met her yesterday,’ I replied. ‘After I arrived and took Rex for a walk.’ I lowered my eyes. ‘Have you heard of the Grieving Tree?’
She sighed. ‘I have.’
‘What do you know?’ I asked, narrowing my eyes. This woman was a fountain of all knowledge when it came to village news. ‘We haven’t had a chance to talk about anything other than teaching. It’s been a whirlwind since I arrived.’
‘Not a lot is known about the Grieving Tree. It appeared one day in a cloud of magic and mystery,’ she replied, wiggling her fingers.
‘Eli was leaving a letter.’
‘Why did you ask her to join our classes?’ she asked.
‘She was dancing in the woods. Pirouetting around the tree. She seemed so joyful, despite–’
‘Losing her mum?’
‘Losing someone,’ I replied, taking a breath. ‘I didn’t know it was her mum until today.’
‘I knew a young girl who appeared joyful when she danced, despite losing her mum and sister.’ I nodded in confirmation. There was no denying I felt a connection to Eli, but discovering the scale and similarity of her loss had only helped it to grow. ‘I’ve worked as a dance teacher for many years, Nat. There will always be students who stand out more than others or with whom you make a connection with. It’s part of teaching. That’s the reason I wanted you to take over. I knew you’d understand the children who need a little bit more.’
‘You’ve given me a gift,’ I whispered. ‘I can feel those connections starting to form already. Not just Eli. I picked out two other girls who I could tell were transferring something through their body. Maybe not grief, but…anger or…frustration.’
‘Yes!’ she said, smiling as her eyes teared up. ‘Sweetheart, your life is going to be so full and enriched.’ She held my cheek. ‘I’m proud of you.’
Tess said as she poked her head around the door, ‘Sorry to interrupt, but is it OK if I leave for tonight?’
‘Of course, darling, just bring me the photo album in the office before you do.’
‘Hang on a sec,’ she replied, disappearing and returning just as quickly. She handed my grandmother a large folder, plum in colour with ornate gold edging.
‘Thank you. See you tomorrow.’
‘Night, Sherrie. Night, Nat. I’ll text you about organising a run at the weekend?’ she asked.
‘Sure.’
‘You did great today. The kids were buzzing when they left.’
‘That’s good to know. See you tomorrow,’ I said, waving as she left the room.
‘You are just what this place needs. An injection of youth. It’s like a breath of fresh air.’
‘You have a good team,’ I replied. ‘The best.’
She nodded in agreement, opening the photo album and thumbing through the pages. ‘I want to show you something before we go home. Ah. There she is. Little May.’ She pointed to a child in the picture, her arms arched above her head in classic ballet pose. ‘She was my angel. A beautiful dancer. Could have gone far.’
‘Could have?’ I asked.
‘Yes. She passed away when she was eleven. I’d say she was around nine years old in this photo. Just before she became sick. Chemotherapy is a cruel medicine, Nat. She lost her hair. Didn’t want to come into class. So, I drove to her home, sat with her on the bed and told her she was perfect. She didn’t agree,’ she said, smiling at the memory. ‘But when I told her she could channel all of her anger at cancer through dance, even just for a day, she came back with me. Walked into that class with her head held high. She danced her heart out.’ She stroked her finger across May’s face. ‘She became too weak after that. But I cherish the memory. The joy on her face. The freedom in her body. Dance was a priceless intervention,’ she said, patting my hand.
‘Her poor family. Losing a child so young, having to watch her get sicker and sicker.’
‘May loved foxes,’ she said, turning the page to show a photo of May crouching on the floor, hands up like paws, an orange snout and whiskers covering her face. ‘This was her competing in a contemporary dance competition telling the tale of Mr Tod, the very cheeky fox.’ She glanced at me and gave me a knowing look. ‘Did you see the fox at the Grieving Tree?’
‘It’s hidden beside the postbox,’ I replied.
‘A lovely touch, don’t you think?’
‘Grandma?’ I said, narrowing my eyes. ‘Is it May’s family who is behind the Grieving Tree?’
She chuckled. ‘There are lots of rumours. Most of them centre around May’s family. It could be a way for them to channel their grief. Honestly? I don’t know.’
‘Do you keep in touch with them?’
‘Occasionally. They don’t live in the village anymore. It was too hard for them to stay after May passed,’ she said.
‘When did the Grieving Tree appear?’ I asked.
‘Hmm. Let me think. A few months, possibly?’
‘When did May die?’
‘Seven years ago,’ she said.
‘It could be a delayed reaction to grief or a way for them to keep her memory alive,’ I replied, jumping when three thunderous knocks rapped on the door. ‘Come in.’
I turned to find Alexander in the doorway. He was no longer in his Burberry raincoat but now wearing a white shirt with a black sweater pushed up to his elbows. A perfect dusting of dark hair ran across his arms. A heavy, silver watch glinted in the light.
‘Miss Bevan. Sorry to intrude.’ He nodded curtly to my grandmother who slowly stood up and reached for her walking stick.
‘Elise’s father. Mr?’ she said, extending her hand.
He took it.
‘Burnett. Alexander Burnett.’
Burnett?
‘Hold on,’ I said quickly, folding my arms defensively as I tried to make sense of why he was giving a different surname. ‘That’s not your name.’ Alexander Blayren was how he was known in his professional field. I’d read his website and searched for upcoming performances using the name Blayren, not Burnett.
‘I think I should know my own name,’ he replied as my grandmother raised an eyebrow.
‘I’ll leave you to it. Shout if you need rescuing,’ she said, closing the door. Alexander’s head snapped behind him, my grandmother’s shadow disappearing from the frosted glass before he had the chance to throw a spiky comment.
‘Alexander Blayren was who I saw play cello with the London Symphony Orchestra,’ I said, meeting his confident stance before folding my arms and offering a small smile. ‘You’re an imposter, Mr Burnett.’
He sighed in annoyance. ‘Burnett is my birth name. Elise’s surname. I didn’t want to cause confusion.’
‘I think you’ve already failed in your quest,’ I replied as I started to put away the chairs. ‘So, you have a stage name? How very musical theatre of you.’ I gave him jazz hands and I swear I almost saw a twitch of a smile before he pulled it back in.
‘It’s common in my field. And necessary. I have a private life to protect. My daughter to consider. Anything to do with her is done in my birth name. I don’t want her to feel different. I’m sure you’ll be discreet,’ he said, walking towards me, eye contact maintained. Completely calm.
‘Of course. I don’t know what kind of school you think we run here, but we’re exceptionally discreet.’
‘Good,’ he replied with a firm nod.
‘And professional.’
‘Excellent.’
‘What can I help you with tonight?’ I asked. ‘Have you come back to go through my bio or perhaps peruse my CV?’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ he replied.
‘I can get you some references. Maybe dance for you again?’
‘Anytime, Miss Bevan,’ he replied, one side of his mouth quirking up. A two-lined dimple appeared and I almost moaned. When it disappeared into a frown, I missed it immediately. Alexander took off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. I wondered why he was so tired and imagined him furiously playing his cello into the early
hours of the morning to get a piece of music just right. Seeing him without them reminded me of the night of his concert, the confident man behind the cello, not the moody authoritarian who stood before me.
‘I didn’t recognise you with your glasses,’ I said, looking a little too closely.
‘Sorry?’
‘The morning we battled it out over a taxi.’ I smiled. ‘It wasn’t until I saw your cello that I put two and two together. You didn’t wear them when I saw you play. They suit you. Make you look – more distinguished.’
He breathed out a laugh. ‘A look I’ve been striving to achieve my entire life.’
‘Congratulations, you made it.’ I smiled, liking the opportunity to make small talk. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I like the contacts too.’ He fixed his gaze on me, narrowing his eyes in question before replacing them. ‘That was just for your information,’ I mumbled. ‘I don’t know why I said it, you must think I’m…very strange. Anyway, why are you here again?’
‘Elise has lost her…’ He started circling his head with his hands.
‘Crown?’
‘Yes. That’s the one,’ he said. ‘It’s a battle to get her to bed. She likes to sleep with it sometimes. There was nothing else for it, I promised I would come back and…establish if you’d found it.’
He ran his hands through his hair, the waves falling back into place. He had nice hands. Long fingers. I wondered if he played the piano as wonderfully as he played the cello.
‘Well, I can establish, that I’ve not. We can take a look though. You’ll be amazed at what you find under these drapes.’
‘I’m sure,’ he replied without a hint of humour, following me to the large bay window where the sheer drapes were bunched up onto the wooden floor. They were light and almost see-through but gave enough protection from the sun when we needed it. I lifted one side but didn’t find anything apart from dust. Alexander ran his hand slowly down the fabric, feeling the softness, bunching it in his fist before lifting it off the floor. It was entrancing. Alluring. Sexy. Like he was undressing a woman, releasing her, revealing the soft planes of her curves before worshipping every inch of her skin. I tried to convince myself it was perfectly normal to fantasise about a man undressing a…drape. Who was I kidding? I was a super perv. What was he doing to me? I watched in fascination as he dropped the drape to the floor and it puffed out like a billowing cloud.
But still no crown.
‘Did she enjoy her first class?’ I asked, slightly breathless as he pushed up his glasses.
‘Yes. If her incessant talking is anything to go by.’
‘I’m pleased.’
‘What about you?’ he mumbled. ‘How was your first class?’
‘It started off terrifying,’ I replied. ‘Demanding parents can be a challenge.’
That two-lined dimple appeared again. ‘You handled yourself well.’
‘In your expert opinion?’
‘Yes,’ he said with a streak of confidence that was steady and unfaltering.
‘Hold on. I can see something shining under the piano.’ I walked towards the glint of silver and picked up a tiny crown. ‘There you go. She’ll sleep tonight,’ I said as I passed it to him.
‘Fingers crossed.’
‘She has a great dad,’ I said, smiling. ‘Not many parents would come all the way back to find the little princess her crown.’
‘It’s my fatherly duty,’ he replied sternly. I thought about how hard he seemed, how unemotional. Eli needed warmth and kindness to fill the void, not this unflinching robot.
‘Is being a father to Eli a duty?’ I asked, dipping my head.
‘Miss Bevan. How many times do I have to tell you that my daughter’s name is Elise?’
‘I’ll respect your wishes outside of these walls but to make her feel comfortable and to honour her identity we’ll be calling her Eli during class.’
‘Respect my wishes in these walls,’ he hissed, pushing the crown into his pocket.
‘Don’t be so harsh,’ I replied, narrowing my eyes. ‘Are you like this with her? My goodness, Eli needs comfort and warmth–’ It was like I’d lit a fuse. There was no way back. His hands clenched at his sides and his back straightened.
‘I don’t know who you think you are and what gives you the right to tell me how to raise my child, but I suggest you stop. Stop now. You know nothing about our circumstances.’
His wild stare was untamed. I took a step back just as a safety precaution. ‘I’m sorry,’ I replied, biting my lip to hold the emotion in my voice. ‘I may not know your family, but I know grief…I know loss…and I want to help her as much as I can.’
He looked at me with sympathy, a brief look of kindness and compassion before it sank away. ‘You may have experienced loss, Miss Bevan, but no loss is the same. Please don’t raise this matter with me again.’
‘Matter? You mean Elise?’
I switched off the back lights, plunging Alexander into steady darkness, half illuminated by the soft spotlights at the other end of the room. I dropped my pleading stare, couldn’t look at him any longer. I found it hard to catch his gaze without letting it instantly fall away. I knew it wasn’t only because my heart was breaking for Eli and the coldness Alexander exuded like a breeze, it was also because he was flawless like a painting, a photo, a captured image so perfect that it was hard to take in.
‘My daughter is not your project, Miss Bevan.’
‘I’m sorry you feel that way.’ I wrapped my arms around myself. ‘I didn’t mean to cause you distress–’
‘In future I suggest you stick to what you know best. Teaching children jazz hands and convincing yourself you’re a refined dance teacher despite having very little experience.’ His dark eyes narrowed again, focusing on my mouth. I nodded lightly, looked to the floor before regaining my composure.
‘Mr Burnett,’ I said softly, measured and sure. ‘I’d like you to leave.’
An exasperated sigh left his throat as he watched me tentatively. He didn’t move for a few seconds, held his hands to his hips, dropped his head on a shake like he was scolding himself internally. He parted his lips, ready to speak, but held them firmly together as he changed his mind. He pulled the door open, almost pulling it from its hinges. A loud bang followed as the front door crashed behind him and I was left frustrated and breathless in the soft light that, despite Alexander’s harsh words, still seemed to suit him so well.
8
Nat
There was no doubt in my mind that grief had changed me, leaving a heavy thumbprint on my genetic make-up. When you’re young, you never fully consider your own mortality. It’s not until death kicks you in the gut that you realise the day you expect to come tomorrow may never actually arrive. Life was as precious as a diamond, but it was often treated as insignificant as the soil under your feet.
That’s why grief had changed me.
And I wanted to live my best life.
I was never as headstrong and truthful to my beliefs before grief. I always considered the change in my personality to be one of the good things that came out of the bad. I thought back to my first audition where I was told my body shape would hold me back from being cast in lead roles. My grandmother had always said she’d seen more fat on a butcher’s pencil. I remember looking at the producer who could afford to lose a few pounds himself, thanking him for his suggestion and asking if he wanted to join me at the gym the next morning.
I felt liberated.
Powerful.
Like nothing could get in my way.
Yesterday was the first time one of my outbursts had caused me to feel guilt.
The backwards-and-forwards monologue in my brain was having a hard time keeping up. I’d been honest with Alexander, truthful about my concerns for Eli, but hadn’t approached it in the most productive way. I should have been cautious, waited more than a day after meeting the family before I proceeded to tell the child’s father his parenting skills needed fine-tuning.
Nat,
what have you done?
I decided to walk out my frustrations as I didn’t have class until early evening. I grabbed Rex’s collar, bribed him with dog biscuits and made my way through our overgrown garden to the wobbly gate. Rex gave me a glare as I put the packet of dog treats into my rucksack, but he plodded along behind me, salivating as I headed towards the Grieving Tree.
It was beginning to feel warmer as spring was stepping aside to let summer come through. Slices of light through the trees had morphed into slices of warmth. I lifted my face to it. Smiled. Instantly feeling better. The forest was warmth to me, holding nothing but good memories. As soon as I was old enough to come here by myself, and Bec was old enough to join me, we explored these trees together.
If I sat down amongst the leaves and twisted tree roots, I was sure I’d still be able to catch her bright, rumbly laughter. So that’s what I did; reaching the clearing at the Grieving Tree, I sat down. Rex joined me, enjoying the scruff I was giving to his jowls when I heard the rustle of footsteps and the sharp crack of tree branches.
I stood up and in a spilt second I saw a figure dressed all in black. A hoody, jeans possibly. Definitely a beanie hat and a backpack.
‘Hey!’ I shouted as Rex started barking, dropping his lead as I started running after the figure. ‘Stop!’ Whoever it was, was too quick. I lost them, too frightened to go any further because I’d left Rex barking furiously but still plodding along behind me like he had all the time in the world. ‘Are you the Grief Fairy?’ I shouted, still able to hear the rustle of leaves and quick footsteps, but no longer able to see the dark figure in the woods. ‘Can you believe that, Rex? I think we’ve just stumbled upon the Grief Fairy. I wonder if they were collecting the letters?’ Rex cocked his head in contemplation.
I maneuvered my way back to the clearing, carefully walking over branches and helping Rex along the way. The postbox caught my eye and I headed for it, dropping my backpack at my feet. The postbox was tall and slim, painted bright red with gold trims. It wobbled slightly as I placed my hand on top. There was a door at the front that opened as I pulled it, and sure enough, there were several letters sitting in a pile at the bottom. Eli’s letter was amongst them, covered in purple kisses, the one she left the other day. I wondered how often they were collected, thought about who’d spent time writing them. Children. Adults. Grieving partners. Inconsolable daughters.
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