Tree Magic

by Harriet Springbett

She left her racer propped against the window sill and edged through the brambles sprayed against the side wall. Michael had cut them back to make an access path to the rear of the property. The recent sunny spell had given the thorny tendrils the incentive to stretch out and reclaim what had been theirs for years. Her arms bled and she grumbled as she picked a path to the gate.

  It was padlocked. She smashed the lock against the metal bars. She had to get inside. The wall was as high as her tree house. She had recovered most of her right leg muscles but she knew it was too high to scramble over.

  She could see the ash tree on the other side of the gate. Her eyes followed the lines of its lower branches. The oak behind her was the only solution. Up into the oak, along the branch and down into the branches of the ash on the other side.

  She shuddered. The thought of laying her hands on the bark of a tree, even to help her enter Michael’s garden, was too sickening to contemplate. She yanked at the padlock and willed it to spring open. It didn’t. She turned her back on the secret garden and pushed back through the bushes into the lane.

  At the front of the house she ran her fingers around the window boarding and searched for a hole to lever a board away. There was nothing. The owner had done a serious job. Perhaps he thought Michael had exorcised the house’s reputation and that druggies would come and squat in it.

  She could hear a car coming from the village. It sounded like the nippy hum of the Mini engine, pushed to its limits by Mum. She always waited until the last second before changing gear. Rainbow pushed herself away from the facade and turned her bike around to face homewards. A few moments later the dim lane was filled with bright yellow. Mum slowed to a stop and turned her head sideways to speak through the gap where the window was stuck.

  “Are you all right, love?”

  “I’m having a rest. You were quick.”

  “Don’t overdo it. See you at home in a minute.”

  Mum smiled at her – the worried smile that had replaced the old, vacant one. Then she pipped the horn and drew off without looking behind her. Rainbow waited until the car had disappeared around the corner. Then she dropped her bike and searched under the stones in case Michael had hidden a spare key.

  The whine of an engine reversing filled her ears. Before she could spring back into place, the Mini hurtled backwards towards her. It pulled into the side of the road and Mum opened the door.

  “Mum! You shouldn’t do that. There could have been something coming the other way.”

  “I just wondered what you were doing at that old house.”

  “I’m not at the house. I stopped for a rest.”

  Rainbow wiped her earthy hands on her jeans. She still hadn’t told Mum she’d known Michael. Mum had somehow found out that Rainbow knew where he’d lived, and Rainbow didn’t want her to guess anything more.

  She could now spend whole minutes at a time thinking about him, but the idea of speaking his name and explaining how much he’d meant to her was overwhelming. In any case, there was no point telling Mum about the art lessons now that he was dead.

  “His family came and took his things away,” said Mum. She reached out and touched Rainbow’s shoulder.

  “I know, you said.”

  “I expect some new people will come to live here now.”

  Rainbow nodded and pulled up her bicycle. Mum rested on the Mini door frame and watched her.

  “It wasn’t your fault, love. You know that, don’t you?”

  Rainbow straddled her bike. “Yes.”

  Of course it was her fault. She was the one who’d killed him with her stupid antics in trees. She wished she’d never discovered her gift.

  “Don’t listen to what anyone says,” continued Mum.

  Rainbow’s head jerked up. “What do they say?”

  “Fraser told me the kids at school have been giving you a hard time.”

  “Oh, them. I don’t care what they say.”

  Mum’s eyes were sad. “Don’t hang around here. It won’t do any good. Why don’t you come back with me? Bob can pick up your bike later.”

  “No, I’m fine. I need to exercise my leg.”

  Mum slid back into the car and motioned Rainbow to pull out in front of her. There was no excuse. Rainbow wobbled into action and puffed her way up the lane with Mum following like a sheepdog. She’d come back another time. There had to be something for her inside the house; an overlooked object she could keep as a souvenir. She must get it before the next lodger moved in.

  She was sitting on the floor behind the settee, skimming through a copy of Lady Chatterley’s Lover, when she heard Mum and Bob arguing outside the door. She slid the book back under the tasselled russet settee cover and waited in her hiding place between the wall and the back of the settee for the voices to pass.

  They didn’t pass. Mum walked into the sitting room. The tassels lifted a few centimetres as Mum sat down.

  Bob followed.

  “You don’t practise anymore,” he said, “that’s why. We were continually covering for you last night. It’s not good enough.”

  Rainbow frowned. Their arguments rarely touched on their music.

  Mum let Bob pull her performance apart without defending herself at all. This was really bad. Rainbow sensed a shift into a darker future.

  “You’ve lost the plot, Jaz,” Bob said. “Where’s your bite? Where’s the movement? You looked more like a school kid reciting lines than a performing blues singer.”

  “I’ve got other things on my mind right now.” Mum’s voice was dismissive.

  Rainbow grinned as she imagined how frustrated Bob must be looking.

  “Like what? Rainbow’s better. She’s off her crutches. She never mentions the accident.”

  Bob sat down too.

  “Exactly! She doesn’t talk about it.”

  “So she’s over it. Full stop. Turn the page.”

  “I’m worried about her. The kids say she’s got the evil eye.”

  “They’re teenagers, Jaz.”

  “And she hasn’t got any friends.”

  “Goddammit! Get over it, Jaz. She’s a tough thing; much tougher than you give her credit for.”

  “But she’s being victimised.”

  “Stop mollycoddling her and concentrate on your own problems. You haven’t written a song since the accident and now you can’t even sing decently.”

  “I’m going to take her out of school.”

  “What?” Bob exploded. “Because of some smart-arse kids? Besides, where else would she go?”

  “I could get a teacher in. Or teach her myself.”

  “You really have lost the plot. We can’t afford a teacher, and you wouldn’t last two minutes. Since when have you had the slightest interest in her school work?”

  The tassels bounced back and touched the ground. Mum swept out of the room. Rainbow heard Bob mutter a swear word as he followed her.

  She stood up. She’d love to leave school, but the idea of Mum giving her lessons was ridiculous. Mum saw complications in the simplest explanations. Rainbow had felt more confused than ever on the rare occasions Mum had explained something to her. If Mum took her out of school, she’d have to make sure someone else gave her lessons. But Bob would never agree to her staying at home all day. The best solution would be to show Mum that everything was all right. Things would go back to normal. Mum would get that distant look back in her eyes and start muttering song lyrics to herself again.

  The trouble was, everything wasn’t all right. For starters, Acrobat was padding all over the house, mewing, unable to settle in one place. Rainbow watched him claw his overweight body up onto one of the easy chairs, knead the frayed cushion and then plop back down onto the floor. He sniffed and miaowed at her. When she walked into the kitchen, he curled around her ankles and then crept into the open cupboard under the sink. She pulled him out and lugged him outside. He was too heavy to carry. She put him down. He looked up hopefully at her and then waddled along the overgrown path towards her tr
ee house. Was he trying to show her something?

  She hadn’t been inside since the accident. Simply standing in front of a tree made her want to retch. Today, her curiosity overcame her dread and she followed him. His belly swayed comically from side to side. He needed to go on a diet.

  He stopped at the foot of his pole bridge and started mewing again. Then he wobbled up to the top. Relieved by his safe arrival, she stared at the doorway and waited for him to reappear. He was taking his time, not that it mattered. She had plenty of time. She folded her arms and drummed her fingers on her biceps. What did she use to do on Sunday afternoons? Weekends, which had always seemed to pass in an instant, were now interminable. It was as if her life was on hold and, like Acrobat, she was unable to settle to any activity. Of course, she knew perfectly well what she’d done with every spare minute since Magic Hands Day last August. But she was trying to forget that period. The question was what she used to do before she found trees.

  Her eyes wandered from tree house to tree. She took in the weeping willow’s shape and the lime-green brightness of its branches. The longing to touch it rose up from her coiled intestines like a snake. I’ve tasted it and now I’m addicted, she thought. That’s what Lucy Carter said when she boasted about being a smoker. You must stop, it’s bad for your health, she replied to herself. Everyone knew that smoking would kill you, but people did it anyway.

  There was a thud inside the tree house. Rainbow called out Acrobat’s name. He mewed, but didn’t reappear.

  “Are you all right, Batty?”

  There was no miaow in reply.

  “Batty?” She took a step towards the rope ladder. She didn’t want to climb up there. She couldn’t even place a foot on the first rung. She took another step closer and looked up.

  Acrobat peeped down at her.

  She breathed out a sigh of relief.

  “I’m going indoors,” she said to him.

  He miaowed and returned inside the cosy den.

  That night, he didn’t come indoors for his dinner.

  Chapter 10

  Rainbow shivered. The April night was cold. She shouted Acrobat’s name into the darkness.

  “Where did you last see him?” asked Bob.

  “In the tree house this afternoon.”

  “Well, get your arse out there and bring him in.”

  Rainbow wrapped her arms around her shoulders. “I can’t.”

  “Of course you can.” Bob handed her the halogen torch and gave her a push. “Don’t be such a wimp.”

  Rainbow retreated into the kitchen, away from the black night.

  “He’s probably asleep.”

  “Well, make up your mind. Either go and get him or stop making a fuss. And shut the door. You’re letting out the heat.”

  He stomped across the kitchen and into the music room.

  Rainbow hovered on the threshold. “Grumpy git!” she muttered. She gripped the torch, stepped out of the house and slammed the door shut behind her.

  The wind had dropped. Dew soaked through her trainers and into her socks as she picked her way to the weeping willow. She pointed the torch downwards. The trick was to concentrate on what she could see in the light – and not on the noises outside the wavering circle. Not on the screeches from the wood, nor on the sudden whirring of air as something passed above her. Not on the tock-tocking from the vegetable patch, nor on the regular swishing that could have been footsteps crossing the grass. She ignored the heavy menace of the thick air behind her. Instead, she studied the bruised grass on the path to her tree.

  The drive would have been drier and less scary than the path, but she wasn’t in a hurry to reach the tree. Acrobat always chose this path. She called his name. The solid sound of her voice would ward off any loitering ghosts.

  At the foot of the tree she heard Acrobat answer. He miaowed, purred and then miaowed again. She could hear him moving about. But there was more movement than one cat could possibly make. Something else was in there with him. Perhaps he was cowering from the homeless tabby tom. The tabby regularly fought with the neighbour’s Yorkshire terrier, and Acrobat would slink away when he saw him. The tabby’s ripped ears, mangy fur and scars were not caused by neglect.

  She shone her torch directly into the tree house. Three metres higher, the light was a pathetic yellow glow rather than the bright white she’d hoped for.

  “Tabby! Get out of there!”

  The only response was a plaintive miaow. Acrobat was in trouble.

  “I’m coming up, Batty. Hang on in there.”

  It was easy to say. She placed the torch on the ground and wedged it on a stone so that it shone up the rope ladder. Then she glanced at the trunk and wiped her sweating palms on her jeans. She wouldn’t have to touch the tree. She could climb up the ladder and then pull herself into the tree house using the floor of the den. Coming down again would be tricky; she usually swung herself out of the shelter using a branch. If she lay on her tummy, slid backwards over the edge and groped with her feet, she’d be able to get hold of the ladder. So it was no big deal. She could do it. She wiped her hands once more and grasped the third rung of the rope ladder.

  It was difficult to climb the ladder without touching the tree. She usually climbed up the side of it, like a trapeze artist, but this meant leaning her back against the tree. It was out of the question now. Her legs stretched out in front of her, making an L with her body, and she struggled to pull up her weight. No wonder Mum never came up.

  She grasped bar after bar, until her eyes were level with the floor of the tree house. The light was at the wrong angle to see much inside. In any case, her most pressing need was to relieve her arms. She slotted her stiff fingers into a gap between two wooden boards and yanked herself onto the platform. She was in.

  She rolled onto her side and squinted into the dimness. Acrobat miaowed. She located him with her ears rather than her eyes. His head rose out of the wooden box. He must have nosed off the lid, because it lay with one corner propped against the side. She sat up to caress him and peered inside.

  “Where’s that bully gone?”

  She tickled him behind his ears. He purred richly. Then he dropped his head back into the box and miaowed again.

  “What have you got in there? A mouse?”

  She slid her arms into the box and felt for Acrobat’s front legs. Circling his tummy with her hands, she pulled him out.

  Two things happened in quick succession: Acrobat wriggled in her grasp and slashed her face with a claw; and something dropped back into the box with a thud.

  She released Acrobat with a cry of surprise. He’d never attacked her before. And neither had a male cat ever given birth to kittens. Michael had been wrong about ginger cats always being male. She grinned, despite the blood trickling down her cheek, despite the pain that came from thinking about Michael.

  Acrobat mewed, purred and licked the kittens. Rainbow’s eyes had grown accustomed to the dimness and she could see four mole-like shapes in the bottom of the box. She knew she mustn’t touch them, in case her human odour caused Acrobat to abandon them. She contented herself with stroking Acrobat while she wondered what she should do.

  “I’m going to get you some milk.”

  She reached absent-mindedly for the branch to swing herself onto the rope ladder, wondering how she would carry the milk up the tree. Her hands touched the branch.

  Everything went black. She screamed. A din of white noise deafened her and she was glued to the trunk by a ferocious wind. It was like opening the window of a train as it hurtled through the night. Tree dust clogged her lungs. The willow sucked her in. She was no longer in control. Her hands were burning, clutching, writhing. Her body flattened into an infinitely thin skin around the trunk and seeped into the ridges of the bark. She was being absorbed; dissolving into the tree. The brightness of it! The life of it! The sap-beat. She was the sap-beat. The sap, beating her into the pulp of itself: powerful, thirsty and vengeful.

  And then someone else�
�s hands were clawing at hers. Warm hands. The hands yanked her away from the tree. It hadn’t absorbed her after all. She heard her name being cried out. It was like that other time. The accident. Mum.

  She let go, expecting to fall into swirling-leaf oblivion like last time. But the darkness of reality greeted her. She was sprawled on the ground, her arms wrapped around the trunk.

  “Rainbow, love, what is it? Why were you screaming?”

  She twisted away from the willow and collapsed into Mum’s arms.

  “It’s the tree,” she whispered.

  “Did you fall?”

  “I don’t know.” She held tight onto Mum.

  “What happened? You were in a trance.”

  “I touched the tree.” Rainbow calmed her ragged breaths. “It’s been so long.”

  “This is because of the accident, isn’t it?” said Mum. She stroked Rainbow’s hair and eased out a twig lodged in a tangle.

  Rainbow drew back and studied Mum. Mum looked strong in the torchlight. She looked protective, like Acrobat with his kittens. Rainbow needed Mum’s strength. She needed her, even if it meant that Mum might float away into her spiritual explanations. She grasped Mum’s hand in an effort to anchor her.

  “No, Mum. The accident was because of this.”

  “It wasn’t your fault. Don’t pay any attention to the children at school.”

  “It was my fault.”

  “It was an accident, love.”

  “No. Listen to me.” She took a deep breath. “I overstretched the branch and broke it.”

  There was a short silence.

  “Overstretched the branch?”

  “Yes. It’s because of my gift. I abused it. I forced the beech to stretch against its will.”

  “What gift?”

  “I’ve got magic hands, Mum. I can communicate with trees and get them to stretch.” Saying the words out loud made her gift seem more solid. There was no going back now.

  Mum took Rainbow’s hands in her own. She ran them across her cheeks, turned them over and then held them close to the torch.

  “You’re right. They’ve become healer’s hands.”