Tree Magic

by Harriet Springbett

  “This is going to be my workshop and art studio,” he said.

  “Really? Do you draw and paint as well?”

  “I sketch.”

  “Can you do caricatures of people?”

  “Of course.”

  Perhaps it would be worth getting to know Michael after all.

  “Would you teach me?”

  “If you like.” He smiled his curly smile.

  “When?”

  He rubbed his bald head. “It’ll have to be after work.”

  “Oh. Isn’t sculpturing your job?”

  “Yes, but I need another job to pay the bills. A day job.”

  Rainbow twisted her finger into a loose curl of hair.

  Michael perched on the huge spider. “You look puzzled.”

  “It’s just that Mum and Bob haven’t got jobs. They’re musicians. I thought artists were like musicians.”

  “Well, if they’re commercially successful, I suppose they don’t need day jobs too.”

  “So you’re not successful?”

  “Not anymore,” he said.

  “What do you mean, not anymore?”

  “I used to make sculptures to sell, ones people asked for. That made me plenty of money but it stopped being art. And I lost a lot of things that were important to me. Sometimes, if you use your gift to earn money, you end up making sacrifices.”

  She nodded, pretending to understand. He talked as if she were a grown-up.

  Michael continued: “So is your mum successful?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  He was waiting for her to say more, but it felt wrong to talk about Mum to a stranger. She picked up her empty bucket.

  “I must go,” she said. “I’ve got to get to the village shop before it closes.”

  He stood up and accompanied her to the front door. “Come back and see me soon. If you’d like drawing lessons, you could pop in on your way home from school.”

  “I’ll think about it,” said Rainbow.

  Chapter 3

  When Rainbow reached her front gate, after her visit to the village shop, she saw that Bob’s dented van was parked askew behind Mum’s yellow Mini. That meant he was either in a good mood or a stinker. When he was his normal grumpy self, the van would be slotted neatly between the Mini and the compost heap.

  She climbed into her tree and emptied the Yorkie bars and her change into the box. Then she glanced out of her new spying gap. Fraser wasn’t loitering in the garden, so she left her den and ventured into the house.

  Once she’d made her usual crab-like entry through the sticking door into the kitchen, she saw that he wasn’t there either. Muffled laughter came from the recording room: Bob’s. He was in a good mood then. His coat and a leather jacket she didn’t recognise were thrown over the back of a chair. The jacket could have belonged to any of the multitude of musicians and groupies who came and went like Bob’s moods.

  She lined up the tins of tomato soup she’d bought from the shop inside the food cupboard, then pulled out the leather jacket and slipped her fingers into its pockets. Keys jangled. She drew them out. They were on the plastic key ring Rebecca had made at school. The jacket belonged to Fraser. Rainbow’s key ring was somewhere under the pile of papers and mouldering food on the kitchen table.

  She dropped the keys back into Fraser’s jacket pocket, pushed it under Bob’s and wiped her hands on her jeans. She didn’t want any contact with Fraser ever again. She’d been wrong to think he was the perfect father.

  When Rebecca had arrived in the village earlier that summer, Rainbow had started to spend all her free time at Rebecca’s house. Her home was like an Enid Blyton story; her mum fussed over her and her dad played games with her and listened to what she said. That was why Rainbow had confided in him.

  She stalked the voices to the recording room and peeped around the open door. Through the sweet smokey haze she could see Bob sitting on the rolled-up mattress. Mum and Fraser were sprawled on cushions. Bob was fingering a guitar that Rainbow hadn’t seen before.

  “I’ve got to have it,” he said.

  “You’ve already got seven too many.” Mum’s voice was sharp.

  “But it’s a bargain. You’re selling it for next to nothing, aren’t you, Fraser?”

  Fraser looked from Bob to Mum. Before he could speak, Mum cut in: “We’ve got more important things to spend the cash on.”

  “What, like mending the mixing desk you spilt coffee on? Or have you signed up for another inspirational retreat?”

  Mum and Bob glared at each other. Fraser eased his guitar out of Bob’s clenched hands.

  “Look, I’ll do you a special deal,” said Fraser.

  Rainbow sighed. She returned to the kitchen and pulled down a packet of multicoloured pasta twirls. She’d do her favourite meal of pasta mixed with fried courgettes and garlic, held together by tons of grated cheese. That would stop Mum making some horrible tomato concoction.

  As she was emptying the pasta into the saucepan of boiling water, Mum, Bob and Fraser appeared, laughing together as if there had been no argument over the guitar.

  “How’s my favourite sparrow?” asked Fraser, tweaking her hair.

  Rainbow jerked her head back, out of his reach.

  “Doing dinner again, love?” asked her mum.

  “I haven’t done enough pasta for Fraser,” said Rainbow, “though I expect there’s some tomato soup left from lunch.”

  “It’s okay. He’s eating with his family,” said Mum. She hummed as she opened the fridge.

  “Rainbow’s a wonder,” said Fraser. “I can’t imagine my Becky doing any cooking. She’s far too busy painting her face with make-up, or buying new clothes.”

  “At thirteen? I was still playing with dolls,” said Mum.

  “And I was trying to smoke without coughing,” said Bob.

  They laughed. Bob handed around cans of beer.

  “Let’s celebrate our new mission,” he said. “To blues, and to hell with short-sighted recording companies.”

  Rainbow helped herself to a Coke, ignoring Mum’s frown. With Bob in a good mood, Mum wouldn’t nag her about sugar and healthy food.

  “Come and tell us what you’ve been up to today, Rainy,” Bob continued, leading the way outside.

  I discovered I’ve got magic hands, thought Rainbow. The unspoken words sent a delightful shiver down her back. No, she wouldn’t say anything about her tree, not while Bob was in a good mood, and certainly not with Fraser there. Instead, she set the timer for the pasta, dashed to her tree house for her sketchbook and then joined them at the bald bonfire spot.

  “So, what mischief have you been making?” Bob ruffled her hair – something he hadn’t done for months – and made a space for her beside him on the log.

  “I went to see some kittens. Look, aren’t they sweet?”

  She opened her sketch pad and showed Bob.

  “Nice pictures, honey.”

  Bob closed the book and shoved it onto Mum’s lap.

  “This is your way of telling us that you want one,” said Mum.

  She smiled at Rainbow, opened the pad and studied the drawings.

  “Yes. Please, Mum. They’re going to drown them if nobody gives them a home.”

  Mum stopped turning the pages. “Who’s they?”

  “The farmer.”

  Rainbow felt herself colouring under Mum’s scrutiny. “All right, the Bellamys.”

  Mum stiffened. Her smile shrank into a thin, straight line.

  “What were you doing there?”

  “I didn’t go on purpose. I met Patti on my walk and she invited me in.”

  Rainbow fixed her eyes on the hole in the knee of Bob’s jeans so that Mum wouldn’t spot her lie.

  “I hope you’re telling the truth, Rainbow. Next time you must refuse.”

  Rainbow dared a glance at Mum. Her eyes were narrowed in suspicion.

  Rainbow bit her lip. “Why don’t you want me to go there?”

  Mum frown
ed at Fraser, who quickly averted his eyes to the charred logs in the ash. “I’ve already told you,” she said.

  “All you said was that you had an argument with Mrs Bellamy. I don’t see why your argument should stop me seeing Patti. Mrs Bellamy won’t tell me, either. It’s not as if I’m a kid anymore.” Rainbow could hear her voice starting to whine. She stopped.

  “We’re not having a kitten, Rainbow, and certainly not from the Bellamys.”

  “I’ll look after it. You needn’t do anything.”

  “No.”

  Bob laid a hand on Mum’s arm.

  “Come on, Jaz. If any kid can look after a pet, it’s Rainbow,” he said.

  “You’ve changed your tune,” Mum muttered.

  “Don’t be such a misery,” said Bob. “Who cares where the cat comes from?”

  Mum’s expression hardened further, then crumpled. Rainbow thought Mum was going to cry and she wished she hadn’t mentioned the kitten.

  Fraser cleared his throat.

  “If you made up with Becky, you wouldn’t need a kitten for company. You could come round to our house.”

  Rainbow ignored him. Mum wasn’t crying. She just looked resigned, like the times when Bob decided to play at a gig she disapproved of and she couldn’t find a reason to stop him going.

  “Please, Mum. I promise I won’t go round to Patti’s again.”

  Her mum sighed and took a long gulp from her beer can. “All right.”

  “Thanks, Mum. Thanks, Bob, you’re fab!” Rainbow jumped up and clapped her hands, dropped a kiss onto Bob’s greasy hair and hugged her mum. “Can I get it now?”

  “I thought you were doing dinner,” Bob said.

  “And you’ve just promised not to go there again,” said Mum.

  “Oh, yes. I’ll ring Patti and ask her to bring it over.”

  Rainbow checked the timer and rushed back indoors. A kitten! She’d have to go and get it, though. She wanted to see them all before she decided which one would love her most. She’d sneak off tomorrow, before Bob changed his mind and before Mum got up.

  She’d only been on the phone to Patti for a minute when Bob threw open the kitchen door and signalled that he wanted to use the telephone. Of course, it was Saturday: first the garden, then the house would be overrun by musicians and groupies until the early hours of Sunday morning.

  She relinquished the sellotaped handset of the red dialphone and took her pasta up to her bedroom to eat. On her bedside table was the copy of Just Seventeen Patti had lent her. She flicked through it as she ate. It was the first time she’d had the magazine to herself. Before long, she was absorbed in the articles she and Patti had pretended to scorn that morning, fascinated by the strange details of other people’s lives.

  That evening she was attracted downstairs by laughter. Usually, the early-soirée murmurings of adult conversations crescendoed into forte voice-battles and then subsided into pianissimo humming and strumming. Mum was the Grand Finale, her husky voice rising through the contentment around the fire, tingeing the atmosphere with melancholy.

  Tonight, however, the party sounded fun. She was curious to see what was amusing them so she slung her jeans on over her pyjama shorts, pulled on a jumper and jogged downstairs. An abandoned glass of beer sat on the kitchen table. She swallowed a mouthful and grimaced at its bitterness. Coke was far nicer. She tried a second sip, but it was no better. She eased open the kitchen door and crept outside.

  Mum and Bob’s friends came from the pubs and festivals where they gigged. Rainbow nodded hello to the few who noticed her. The laughter had died down. People milled around the bonfire, the hammocks and the kitchen window, where the tin bath Mum and Bob had picked up from a tip had been turned upside down and now served as a table for bottles. The biggest group was gathered around Mum; the groupies were sitting on logs and listening to her recounting an anecdote. Rainbow sidled up and sat down outside the circle, wondering what could be so enthralling.

  Mum was different in a group. Rainbow watched her shake her hair and raise her arms in imitation of some politician. She was in constant movement, leaning forwards with her hands outstretched; shrugging her shoulders; looking round at her audience. None of these people would recognise her faraway mum during the daytime hours.

  Nothing was any different tonight, after all. The longer she studied her mum, the smaller Rainbow felt in comparison. A man in a black silk shirt and tie jumped up to fill Mum’s glass as soon as it was empty, but Bob wrenched it out of his hand and filled it himself. He glared at Silk Shirt. Mum, apparently oblivious to Bob’s gesture, stood and stretched. Then she bent down to listen to an earnest girl who couldn’t have been much older than Rainbow. She laid a hand on the girl’s shoulder and said, “It’s the creative process. Don’t worry. I’ll help you out if you like.”

  The girl’s back straightened and she appeared to expand with importance. Rainbow stood up, her chest burning with a sudden hate for the stranger, and shoved two men aside to reach her mum’s elbow. Mum saw her and stiffened.

  “Rainbow! Aren’t you in bed yet?” Her voice was bright and clipped.

  “I had a nightmare.”

  Rainbow slipped her hand around Mum’s arm and pulled her close. Mum patted her head and then unhitched her elbow from Rainbow’s grasp.

  “Never mind, love. Off you go, back to bed,” she said, and turned back towards Earnest Girl.

  There was no point trying to compete. Rainbow took a step away and bumped into a man standing behind her. His beer spilt over her jumper and his sleeve. He stared down at her in surprise. A wave of hair hid most of his face but the little she could see showed he wasn’t as old as the rest of the men. He looked like the model called Brad she’d seen in Just Seventeen.

  “Aren’t you a bit young for this kind of party?” he said.

  “No, I’m eighteen,” she lied. She swept back her hair like she’d seen Mum do.

  “Gosh, I’m sorry. Where did you come from? I didn’t see you earlier.”

  Rainbow waved an arm airily towards the house. “I was on the phone to the gallery. I’m exhibiting at the moment. Someone made an offer and I had to negotiate.”

  Brad raised his eyebrows. “An exhibiting artist at eighteen? Wow! Can I get you a drink?”

  “I’ll have a beer.”

  “Cool. Don’t go anywhere.”

  Brad strode off towards the tin bath. Rainbow folded her arms and watched him rinse out a glass and fill it with beer. It was lucky she’d read ‘Ten Sure Ways to Grab His Attention’.

  When he handed her the glass, she tilted it to her lips for several seconds so it looked as if she were drinking it.

  “So what kind of stuff do you do?” asked Brad.

  Rainbow shrugged. “Everything really. Contemporary, of course; abstracts.”

  Brad nodded and she quickly described the modern-art exhibition Fraser had taken her to at the beginning of the summer, pretending it was hers. Brad’s attention slid from her face. He was staring at something behind her. A hand touched her shoulder. She turned around.

  “Rainbow! How come you’re still here? Who’s your friend, love? Are you going to introduce us?” Mum held out her hand and shook Brad’s. “I’m Jasmine Linnet.”

  “Alastair Knight,” he replied, “from Barely Blues magazine. I loved your gig last week at the Seaman’s Arms. You’ve really got something special. I hear you write for other singers too?”

  “Oh, has Rainbow been giving my secrets away?” laughed Mum.

  She put her arm around Rainbow’s shoulders. Rainbow shrugged it off. She must look about ten years old to Alastair.

  “You should be in bed, love,” added Mum. “Go on, now.”

  Rainbow struggled to find an honourable way of leaving.

  Alastair took a step closer to Mum and asked when she was performing again. He seemed to have forgotten he’d been talking to Rainbow. It was just like when Mum had met Fraser for the first time, last month.

  Rainbow sloshed her be
er over Alastair’s foot and stamped back to the house.

  Chapter 4

  Rainbow’s first thought when she woke up was that she could get her kitten that afternoon. She rushed downstairs, ready to forgive Mum for stealing Alastair away from her last night, and whirled into the kitchen.

  Her cheerful “Morning!” fell into the vacuum between Mum and Bob, who were sitting at the table, eating breakfast. Rainbow plumped into a chair and studied them while she ate her cereal: Bob’s mouth was a short, straight line and Mum had slipped into sadness. Last night’s laughter had disappeared into the sky with the smoke from the fire.

  Mum spilt milk over the letters that had been pushed to one side to make room for the bowls. Bob growled at her. Mum sighed, mopped up part of the mess and stirred her tea. Stirring was a bad sign – she’d given up sugar several months ago with the arrival of the health-food fad, and only stirred her tea when she was particularly distraught. Bob rolled a cigarette and lit it instead of eating his usual toast and home-made jam. It was difficult to breathe in the same room as them. Rainbow bolted down the rest of her cereal and stood up.

  Mum held out her arms. “Give your mum a hug, love.”

  Rainbow gave her a quick squeeze and started to extricate herself.

  “Leave the girl out of it,” Bob snarled.

  Rainbow’s arms went slack. “Out of what?”

  Neither replied.

  “Leave me out of what?”

  “Nothing, love. Bob’s not feeling well. He had too much to drink last night.”

  “Shut it, Jasmine!”

  Rainbow glared at Bob and wound her arms back around Mum.

  “Shall we go and hug some trees?” she whispered.

  Mum stroked Rainbow’s thick hair. “No, love. I’ve got to finish Jeff’s song. He’s coming to pick it up today.”