Tree Talk

by Ana Salote

  Night-time in the garden is a whole different world. A new cast of characters comes on: hedgehog, fox, bat, a steady stream of cats passing through. The plants, though, are resting. Flowers close, leaves fold and instead of closing my eyes I close my stomata, the little holes on the undersides of my leaves. I drift in and out of rest, catch glimpses of what’s going on: a cat taking a shrew etc; I might join a wakeful group of plants chatting quietly together before I drift off again. I’d recently begun getting open, floaty feelings as though my roots were not in the ground but in the air. Charlie said it was a sign that I would start dreaming soon. At first that’s what I thought it was.

  ‘I’ve finally got that smug old rat where I want him,’ Adolf was saying to Zak. ‘I caught the whiff of him, followed his trail to the office and got there just in time to see him slip inside the safe. My homer stuffed some papers in there and locked him in. I’ve slipped out while they’re asleep but I’ll be back on watch in the morning. I want to be there when he’s found,’ he licked his black lips unhurriedly.

  ‘He’s probably starved or suffocated by now, but the body should still come my way.’

  I checked my roots. The heavy earth held them snug, so I knew it was no dream.

  What could I do? Wilfred was in deep trouble and it was my fault. I couldn’t ask Charlie for help. I’d started all this to keep him out of danger in the first place.

  But an hour later Charlie took matters out of my hands. He slid down the chute and crawled out onto the platform. He was dressed all in black and his face was smeared with dirt. There was a look on his face I’d never seen there before: hard and determined, and he seemed to be ignoring me. He dropped quietly to the ground. Only then did he glance up at me.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘there’s something I have to do.’ His bobbing torch moved towards the Jungle.

  ‘Wait,’ I called after him, and I told him about Wilfred.

  ‘Well that complicates things. But I’ll save him if I can.’

  ‘No, wait – it’s not worth it.’ I was finding out where my loyalty lay.

  ‘I’ll be careful.’

  ‘Famous last words,’ I said, and Charlie turned round and smiled as he always does when I use a line from Brooke Farm without really understanding what it means.

  But I was serious about the last words. It was madness. Anyone would think he’d never watched TV. He would certainly be taken hostage and there would be a police shoot out; someone would end up in a coma and I hoped it wouldn’t be Charlie.

  ‘Stop!’ I tried again, but the torch kept bobbing along. ‘Your dad would be cross,’ I said desperately.

  Charlie stopped. The torchlight dropped in an arc to his side; his head dropped forward. He didn’t turn or answer but pushed on into the trees at a run. He knew the arrangement of every tangle, root and bramble in the Jungle; even so, at that pace he would surely trip or crash into something. A few more flickers of the torch and he was gone. I tried to tune to him and he let me in just long enough to show me a cold, determined energy before he slammed the door of his mind and shut me out.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I signalled. ‘I shouldn’t have said that.’

  But my words bounced back from a dumb, blank wall. Like ivy I crept around it trying for crevices. There was nothing. For the first time since my awakening I had no sense of Charlie’s existence. He was dead to me.

  It was then that I realised the difference between watching a drama from the outside (fun), watching it from the inside (hairy), and being inside and helpless (horrible).

  Desolate, I tuned to the border trees. Sycamore was the first to pick up.

  ‘What’s with you?’ he said, ‘you sound like you’ve been stripped by grubs. Hold on, what’s that light?’

  ‘Charlie’s on his way down there. I need you to watch him and tell me what’s going on.’

  ‘I see him, he’s headed this way and now he’s…,’ Sycamore’s signal dipped, ‘he’s starting to climb me. He’s edging along one of my branches on the border side; he’s right at the edge of my branch, the one that Sperrin lopped. Now he’s swinging out, he’s flying over the fence.’

  Sycamore fell silent.

  ‘What’s he doing now?’

  ‘I don’t know – there was a thud.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I’ve got him. He’s crouching beside that new building.’

  ‘Is he hidden?’

  ‘Only by darkness.’

  There followed a long wait while Charlie remained where he was. Sycamore could tell me nothing else in spite of my nervous badgering. The moon moved another fraction across the sky and I heard the growing drone of a car, unusual at night. The car stopped somewhere close by and a door banged threateningly.

  ‘Sperrin’s got visitors,’ Sycamore said, ‘two men. They’re carrying things up the drive, round things, like tree trunks, and stacking them by the garage. Sperrin’s coming out with keys. Charlie’s heading for the bushes. If any of them look this way they must see him.’

  Just then Charlie thought of me. I slipped back into his head as torchlight flicked across him. He was standing motionless in a line of topiary soldiers, doing his best to think and look like a tree. Sperrin was only feet away, training the torchlight on the head of each soldier in turn. Charlie screwed his eyes up as though waiting for a blow. All his attention went to his hand which held a little wooden cross bound with red thread. The beam passed down the line, reaching the soldier right next to Charlie.

  ‘Rustle!’ I shouted at the border trees, and again: ‘Rustle!’

  A wave of rustling passed along the border, as though a very large animal was coming through. Sperrin swung the torch around the tree tops surprising a trapezing dormouse.

  ‘Jumpy tonight, Gov,’ said one of the men.

  ‘Keep your voice down will you,’ hissed Sperrin, sorting through his keys. Then the large double doors swung out hiding Charlie from view.

  Across the lawn the door of the house was still slightly open, and Charlie, utterly reckless, was running towards it. If I had a heart it would have had an attack. He stood in the hallway panting. The lights dazzled him, used as he was to dim bulbs and candles.

  ‘I’ll take six more barrels this week. Wait here and I’ll get the necessary.’ It was Sperrin coming in.

  Charlie ducked into the room on the right. It was a small office with a desk piled with slips of paper in bundles, some filing cabinets and a safe. Charlie slid between the filing cabinet and the window.

  The men became involved in a long conversation about money; they wanted more and Sperrin didn’t want to give it to them. At last they reached a deal.

  ‘I’ll give you thirty extra for each barrel, but I want those vouchers shifting by next week.’

  ‘No probs, Guv. We’ve got customers waiting.’

  Sperrin moved towards the safe. There was a series of whirrs and clicks, the door swung open and Sperrin reached inside. Wilfred nipped. Sperrin stepped back swearing, unable to believe what he was seeing. There was Wilfred, lounging in the greatest comfort on a perfectly round nest of shredded bank notes. Wilfred enjoyed the moment for as long as he dared then leaped out and away, but he hadn’t reckoned on the effects of hunger and the lack of air. He staggered groggily. Adolf was ready. He gathered himself to pounce, twitching his haunches for perfect poise and alignment before rushing his kill. Charlie threw himself across the room and Wilfred scuttled for the door. Chaos followed.

  In the hall Sperrin grabbed an umbrella, lunged at Wilfred, missed and crunched Adolf on the curve of his spine. Adolf yowled, turned and swiped at Sperrin’s shins with his devilish claws. Wilfred hurtled through the cat flap with Adolf close behind. Charlie made his own run for the door but Sperrin dragged him back by the collar.

  ‘The Slater brat isn’t it. Come thieving have you? Did she send you? Getting desperate for money now is she? Let’s take you home and see what she has to say.’

  Outside the men dashed about the floodlit garden
after Wilfred, while Oona came quietly up behind Charlie and did a very strange thing. She slipped something into his hand. Charlie looked over his shoulder at her then moved his hand stealthily to his pocket.

  ‘Give it up,’ Sperrin called angrily to the men. ‘Give it up and get out of here. I’ve got other business to attend to now.’

  I felt an indignant paw on my trunk. ‘Wake up will you, I said good evening.’

  ‘Wilfred, are you alright? What about Charlie?’

  ‘Being bundled into a car about now,’ I should think. ‘Sperrin’s bringing him home.’

  Eva kept Sperrin at the front door. I couldn’t tune to Charlie; he was too wretched. I could just catch the rise and fall of voices, then the slamming of the door. Eva’s face was tight with anger as she pushed Charlie into his room, locked the chute and hid the key. I could have told him exactly where she put it. But for once I was with Eva.

  Charlie sat on the bed with his torch, head hanging. ‘Well, let’s see what this is about,’ he sighed, emptying his pocket. ‘Petrol vouchers. That’s what I thought. Sperrin is head of the environment dept at the council. They issue these so Sperrin must be stealing them and using them to get petrol for himself; it also seems like he sells them for cash through these men. I expect he’ll be sacked for this. He might even go to jail. Mum will come round when I tell her.’

  But she didn’t. Not for days. She was still shaken and very cross.

  ‘Promise you’ll never do anything so silly again. Don’t even go near the fence. You don’t know how risky that was. He’s a very bad man.’

  ‘But it wasn’t…’

  ‘I don’t want to hear it – I thought I could trust you. It’s half my fault I know. I confide in you too much, then you take it on yourself to solve my problems. Still you mustn’t take things so far.’

  Charlie stomped out of the house, looking for sympathy, but I had to tell him that I agreed with Eva.

  ‘You shouldn’t have done it,’ I said, ‘it was too risky.’

  ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I’m not stupid. I did my homework first - trust me.’

  But I carried on nagging; I couldn’t let it drop. Even to myself I sounded like Sally Durrell, the nag of the North.

  ‘I had allies,’ he said at last, ‘here let me show you.’

  Chapter 14 Strange Allies

  And he opened his memory. Just as I’d shown him what the rings in my trunk held, he took me back a few months.

  ‘Watch.’

  I found myself, or rather Charlie’s self, on the High Street. On either side of him white-washed windows and closing down signs. At the fruit shop he swerved out into the road where reaching and grabbing bodies pressed around a stand of bananas. The shoppers looked like hunters. From the old TV shows I’d seen, I knew that things used to be different. Shoppers then, swung glossy carriers and their faces had a spoilt, come-on-tickle-my-fancy look. Charlie walked past Radeby’s, a big department store. Its windows were dusty with old stock. A naked dummy lay on its side; dead flies lay on their backs. He made for the one spot of colour on the High Street: the Rainbow Café. It sat in its own glow. Underneath the outdoor tables lush grass grew through cracks in the pavement.

  Charlie found a small table under the notice board. He pretended to read some very commendable leaflets about hugging trees while he waited for the cheapest thing on the menu, watery squash.

  A woman leaned over Charlie. ‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘excuse me a minute,’ and she scribbled down the date of a lecture: ‘Towards a Simpler Life.’

  Charlie looked up from behind his menu.

  ‘Hello Mrs Sperrin,’ he said tentatively.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, her face leaping into a smile. ‘It’s Charlie isn’t it.’ There was a well-meaning pause. ‘I’m just having another drink. Can I get you one?’ What have you got there – squash? We can do better than that,’ and she ordered hot chocolate with marsh mallows and cream and chocolate curls.

  I felt Charlie sink in warm chocolate bubbles. He watched Oona lick a line of froth from under her nose and knew that he could trust her.

  They talked politely for a few minutes, then Oona put her head on one side and gave Charlie a very searching look.

  ‘Funny how you seem very old and very young at the same time,’ she said, and then she started to talk. She was like a fizzy drink shaken up.

  ‘You do understand?’ she kept saying. Charlie nodded and that was all she needed.

  ‘I thought that boys gave you headaches.’

  ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘Mr Sperrin.’

  ‘Charlie, it’s Mr Sperrin who gives me a headache. Oh!’ she covered her mouth, ‘I can’t believe I just said that. Well I’ve said it now,’ and she laughed with a kind of relief. ‘Somehow you make me honest.’

  The wall clock whizzed round. Oona ordered custard slices.

  ‘The world’s in a mess Charlie,’ – custard oozed messily down Charlie’s hand – ‘and there are people, even on sinking ships, who try to gain some advantage over the rest. Do you understand me? They think they’re clever; they think they’re in control, but they’re little people Charlie, and I’m sorry for what he’s done, sorry that I ever went along with it. The letters were the worst… oh, I mean, well I’d better not say any more.’

  I was confused. ‘Is she speaking in code? Can you rewind that bit?’

  ‘You have to learn to read between the lines Ash. I’ll just tell you the rest. We met up at the café a few more times. Oona wanted to know more about us and how we were managing to live.’

  ‘I hope you didn’t give anything away; she could be a double agent.’

  ‘No Ash, I did what you taught me to do. I checked her aura. It’s shell pink, and a bit timid, as though she’s afraid to glow, but it’s constant. It doesn’t waver and wobble like a liar’s. And you know the mystery gift we got in the post, the bundle of notes, I didn’t tell Mum, but the scent that came out of the envelope, a smell like clean washing, that’s the scent of Oona’s clothes. Sperrin made her type all those letters but she hated doing it. That’s why she sent us the money. And that’s why I risked going into the house. She wouldn’t have let him hurt me.’

  ‘So she was your ‘associate?’

  ‘And Graham. He was the ‘burglar’ doing a bit of spying of his own.’

  ‘Why would he do that?’

  ‘Because he cares about… us. He shadowed Sperrin’s car as well. Then there’s your pal the rat. He’s awesome isn’t he? So you see, it wasn’t as risky as it seemed. I knew there was help if things got really sticky - and I had this.’

  He took the Rowan cross out of his pocket, held it up and chanted, ‘‘Rowan Ash and red thread, hold the witches all in dread.’ Ancient rhyme, protects from evil. It worked too. I stood in full view and they looked right through me. Now I’ve shown you my memories I think it’s time you showed me yours. What’s all this nonsense about Graham?’

  ‘Like I said, he’s hiding something.’

  ‘What about his aura – it’s gold and rock steady.’

  ‘I know, but you haven’t seen what I’ve seen.’

  ‘Show me then.’

  ‘Alright you asked for it, but prepare to be shocked.’

  I found the point just a few cells thickness back from my newest growth, there was a flash of Adolf prowling around the orchard. ‘Oops sorry, wrong place. Aah, here we are.’ The terrible scene floated between us:

  There was the poor man in the round sunglasses, a bandanna on his head, a very long beard split into two plaits, leather trousers.

  ‘He looks interesting,’ said Charlie.

  ‘Yes, poor thing,’ I said.

  Graham came at the man from behind with the drill, marking him terribly. It was worse than I remembered. But Charlie seemed untroubled. The memory ended.

  ‘Well, is that it?’ he said smiling.

  ‘That’s it,’ I said beginning to feel an unfamiliar prickling.

  ‘Ash, Graham was g
iving that man a tattoo – a decoration on his skin. He won the world tattooist championships in Japan five years ago. He only tattoos friends since he started doing comics and fantasy book covers.

  The prickling was my first ever taste of embarrassment. ‘Well you seem to know a lot about Graham. I didn’t realise you two were so thick.’

  ‘The only thing Graham is hiding is how much he likes Mum, so I had to check him out.’

  To me this was an exciting development. Romance is one of the more intriguing aspects of human behaviour. I knew the signs from Brooke Farm. It starts with eyeballing and moves on to word games. The couple drink strange potions, spray themselves with flower scents and eventually press their eating organs together – you couldn’t make it up.

  Sensing my excitement Charlie looked at me with something like exasperation.

  ‘Fickle’s the word for you,’ he said.

  Aren’t you pleased then?’ I asked.

  ‘Charlie, come down.’ It was Eva. Charlie inched over to the trapdoor on his belly and looked down. ‘I know you only wanted to help,’ she said. He had shown her the petrol vouchers that morning, she’d listened to his side of the story and had some time to think.

  ‘Come up,’ Charlie said.

  Eva’s head came through the hatch, a twig stuck in her curly hair. She leaned her elbows on the platform. ‘I just don’t know what to do about all this.’

  ‘Yes, the spit’s really hit the fan,’ I said –cleverly, I thought.

  Charlie gave a hysterical whine.

  ‘Well, I’m glad you can laugh about it,’ Eva said wonderingly.

  Charlie recovered. ‘You’ve got to report him. We can’t let him get away with it.’

  ‘No. No we can’t. I’ll speak to Karen tomorrow.

  ‘Will they give you your old job back Mum?’

  ‘I doubt it but I can try.’

  ‘They’re all in it, I swear,’ said Eva when she got home the next day. ‘Karen said she couldn’t do anything without real proof. ‘These are serious accusations,’ she said. ‘What are a few dirty oil vouchers and the word of a little boy - an imaginative, mischievous little boy, a little boy who’s allowed to go trespassing, alone in the dead of night.’ She made me feel like a bitter, vengeful woman, and a bad mother. Maybe she’s right.’