Tree Magic

by Harriet Springbett

  She jerked up her head. There was a noise in the lane. A car slowed down in front of the Drunken House and stopped. She rolled the paper back into the tube and shoved it into her rucksack. Voices approached.

  The water butt was lying on its side near the house. She dragged it over to the ash tree and climbed out of the garden the way she’d come. Then she cut through the coppice and joined the road around the bend, where the people wouldn’t see her.

  In the middle of Saturday night she was woken from a deep sleep by a hand shaking her.

  “It’s time,” came Mum’s voice.

  Rainbow couldn’t focus her sleepy mind on the question she needed to ask. She rolled over and covered her head with her quilt, only to be shaken again.

  “Come on. Put your jumper on and I’ll give you a piggyback.”

  Clothing was eased over her head. She draped herself onto Mum’s back and dropped her cheek onto her shoulder.

  “Where’re we going?” she managed to mumble.

  “Away.”

  They shuffled down the stairs, out of the house and over to the Mini. Through a half-open eye Rainbow saw it was packed full of bags and boxes. Mum released her into a small nest lined with her sleeping bag in the rear seat.

  “But Mum–”

  “Snuggle down and go back to sleep, love.” Mum pulled a blanket over her. “I’m going to lock up.”

  Now she could go back to sleep, she was irreversibly awake. They were going somewhere. Bob wasn’t with them. Maybe they’d collect him from Fraser’s on the way. More importantly, she hadn’t got her keepsake.

  She pushed back the blanket, climbed out of the seat and picked her way back to the house, her feet bare.

  Mum was standing by the kitchen door, searching through her pockets for the key.

  “I must get something,” said Rainbow. She yanked open the door and squeezed through the gap.

  “Hurry up then. Nothing too big.”

  She retrieved the cardboard tube and stuffed a Yorkie bar into her pyjama pocket. Her bedroom was full of things she wanted to take with her. Her eyes alighted on a photo of Mum and Bob and herself, dating from her childhood, when they’d been happy. She picked it up. Knowing Mum, they may be gone a while. She was half-excited, half-scared by the thought of an adventure. She pushed her feet into her trainers and reached for her tree book.

  It had disappeared from her bedside table.

  She ran downstairs. Mum was gazing around the kitchen, the key in her hand.

  “I can’t find my tree book,” said Rainbow.

  “I’ve packed it. Come on, it’s time to go.”

  “Where are we going?”

  Mum looked surprised. “To find you a guru, of course. We discussed it the other day.”

  Rainbow didn’t remember discussing anything. She didn’t even know exactly what a guru was. It was typical of Mum to think that by mentioning something she’d discussed it.

  “Hurry up, love. We’ve got a ferry to catch.”

  Chapter 13

  The yellow Mini bumped out of the ferry’s backside into Cherbourg at dawn. Rainbow’s first thought was for Bob. Here they were, she and Mum, fleeing the weeks and months of fights in a little Mini. They were alone on the European continent. Bob would be worried about them. First, he’d be angry and then he’d be grumpy. Anxiety would seep through his bad mood and leave him stroking his chin as he tried to work out where they’d gone. She could see him doing it. A shadow of regret dulled the view of the busy port around her. He’d have loved this adventure.

  She stretched her leg up over the back of the passenger seat. From the little Mum had said about the trip, Rainbow suspected it had stemmed from an impulse. It was probably a good thing. Mum and Bob would be nicer to each other after a few weeks’ break. And she was definitely on the best side. It was her first time abroad, and she was even missing school. Things couldn’t be better, though she’d have preferred to bring Acrobat and his kittens. As soon as she could, she’d phone Bob and remind him to feed them.

  Mum hunched over the wheel and concentrated on driving on the right-hand side of the road. She ignored Rainbow’s pleas to sit in the front seat, and made no response to her excited exclamations about the foreign things she spotted. There were advertising boards everywhere. The writing on the road signs was skinny compared to the reassuring fat letters on English signposts. And although she knew it was perfectly logical, it still seemed strange to see the French words from schoolbooks on the shop fronts.

  They drove around Cherbourg three times and then stopped at a service station. Mum asked her to go and buy a road atlas.

  “Me? I can’t speak French,” said Rainbow.

  “Don’t you learn it at school?”

  “Yes, but it’s not the same as real-life French.”

  Mum unfolded her long limbs from the driver’s seat and walked into the garage shop. Rainbow wanted to follow, but was afraid Mum would force her to speak. Mum gesticulated at the little brown-haired, moustached man and then pulled out the plastic bag full of the francs they’d bought on the ferry. She emerged a few minutes later with a wide smile and a Michelin map the same colour as the car.

  “Now we can find Domi,” she said.

  She checked her face in the rear-view mirror, started up the engine and passed a crumpled card over to Rainbow.

  Rainbow smoothed out the postcard. In the photograph there was a brown liquid in a pear-shaped glass, an old-fashioned checked slipper, and the word ‘Cognac’ in swirly letters. The image didn’t say much for the man they were going to visit. She’d never heard of him before Mum had mentioned him on Friday night. She wished she’d listened more carefully. All she remembered was that he was a French friend from her university days.

  On the back of the card were a hand-drawn map and a message:

  Come back and see us soon – you know we love you. You’re always welcome here. Yours forever, Domi.

  Rainbow scrutinised the writing. It sounded suspicious. Only Bob was supposed to love Mum. She conjured up a face for Domi: it was Fraser-shaped, with the garage man’s hair and creepy moustache. The sketch of lines on the postcard led to the centre of Domi’s world, called ‘Le Logis de Châtres’. And there was a date. 1977. The year she was born.

  “Have you heard from him since?” she asked Mum.

  Mum was struggling to wind down the window that was still stuck.

  “Since when?”

  “It says 1977 here.”

  “As long ago as that!” Mum gave up with the window. “So can you find it for us, love?”

  Rainbow sighed. She liked adventures, but didn’t have much experience with maps. She negotiated a place in the front seat and opened the Michelin book. The index gave her the names on the postcard sketch and she began to piece the journey together.

  It took Mum twenty minutes to find her way out of Cherbourg. By the time she was on the road leading south, Rainbow had listed the towns they’d need to pass in order to arrive at Le Logis.

  Maps were like numbers. They looked simple but bore little relation to reality. Mum said the journey would take seven hours. But each time they arrived in a town, they went round and round until the signposts eventually relented and revealed an escape route.

  They stopped for lunch at an aire de repos. When Rainbow rooted around for the food basket, she discovered a tent and the little gas camping cooker. Mum had been surprisingly efficient in packing the car. It had been the same for the passports on the ferry: Rainbow had stiffened in horror when she’d heard the ferry check-in man ask for them. She was sure Mum hadn’t organised passports. But then Mum had whipped out two from her sequinned bag. She buried them just as quickly afterwards. When Rainbow asked to look at them, she refused on the grounds that she didn’t want Rainbow to disorganise the important papers.

  She’d also packed Rainbow’s favourite objects. Rainbow would have added a lot more things if she’d known the real reason for Mum’s question about Desert Island Discs. But she and M
um were rich now. They had a wad of francs with lots of promising zeros, and could afford to buy anything.

  They arrived in the small town of Cognac in the early evening and followed Domi’s sketch towards Le Logis in the nearby countryside. It was impossible to find. Half an hour later they’d almost given up hope when, as they bumped along a potholed white track that wound through a wood, they passed some parked motorbikes and noticed a group of buildings a dozen metres from the track.

  This could be it. The house was completely hidden from the road, as in Domi’s notations. Mum parked the Mini in a passing place next to the motorbikes. A battered vehicle – a cross between a car and a van – took up most of the space. Rainbow read ‘Renault 4 TL’ on its boot door.

  “Suppose he’s moved? It was a long time ago,” said Rainbow.

  “Moved? Why would he do that?”

  Mum smoothed down her hair. Rainbow got out of the car, stretched and looked around. It was a paradise of trees. She was overwhelmed by green: the smell of green tree sap, the grass, the budding vines and the cow parsley that peppered the banks of the track. It was like wearing green-tinted sunglasses.

  An odd-looking tree caught her attention. It grew on the edge of the wood beside the house and was surrounded by oaks, hazel thickets and several species she didn’t recognise. There was something familiar about it, as if she’d seen it in a dream. She breathed in the sweet air of warm, French April and walked over to the odd tree. At the height of her forehead the trunk had split into two, and a long, deep scar gouged its cleavage. Above the split, the trunk became two branches. One was strong and straight, and led up to the sky. The other curved angrily from left to right as if avoiding the sun.

  Intrigued by the tree’s singularity, she reached out and touched the bark with both hands. An image of Amrita flashed into her mind. It was like coming home! Then an icy current raced through her nerves and chilled her whole body. She wrenched her hands away.

  Mum came up behind her.

  “Nice tree to hug,” she said. “It’s a silver maple.” She patted its trunk.

  Rainbow looked at her in horror.

  Mum didn’t flinch. “It looks strong and weak at the same time, doesn’t it? I want to protect it.”

  “Not me,” said Rainbow. “It gives me the creeps.”

  Mum was no longer listening.

  “Let’s see if Domi’s in,” she said.

  The house and its outbuildings lay in a clearing of several acres. They walked across the flattened grass towards the buildings and Rainbow spotted part of a vegetable patch, an orchard and an animal pen. There was a slight smell of farmyard waste. Chickens, ducks and geese clucked and squawked, mingling with a family of goats that was climbing in and out of a lopsided grey van parked under some alders. The front of the house had a ruined feel to it, but when she looked more closely, she saw it was in a good state. The repairs simply didn’t match the original stone architecture of the smallholding. The place looked heavenly for a holiday. It was as friendly as home in its overspill of clutter, with the added bonus of pets.

  Mum pulled the chain of a huge cowbell that hung from the arch over the grand, cobwebby front door. There was no answer. She pulled again.

  Rainbow went round the side of the house to look into the garden. Some adults were sitting around a table made from an upturned electricity-cable wheel. Behind them, standing in a ragged circle in the vegetable patch, she counted seven children. It looked like a scene from one of their parties at home, apart from the children. There were never children at their own parties, to Rainbow’s simultaneous relief and regret.

  The French children were moving towards each other to catch something in the centre of their ring. They advanced a few steps at a time and made ‘shushing’ noises. In the centre she could just make out a small, furry animal.

  Rainbow beckoned to Mum, who joined her. They both peered at the glass-chinking group.

  “Can you see Domi?” Rainbow whispered.

  Mum squinted. “That could be him; the long-haired one on the left in a red-checked shirt. Yes, I’m sure that’s him.”

  There was a chorus of whoops. A teenage boy, a little older than her, swung a rabbit triumphantly into the air.

  Mum started to walk towards the group of adults. She reached for Rainbow’s hand. Rainbow deftly avoided the movement by sticking her hand into the pocket of her jeans and trailed after her. Mum would normally switch into her social mode and ignore Rainbow at this point. Today, she waited for her and placed her hand behind Rainbow’s back so that they approached side by side.

  A lady with wavy grey hair looked up.

  “Bonjour,” the lady said. “On peut vous aider?”

  Rainbow saw that Mum hadn’t understood the second part of the sentence either. This didn’t seem to worry Mum. She replied in English. Her voice was slow and clear like the nurses at the hospital on Rainbow’s first day there.

  “Hello. Is Dominique here?”

  Rainbow heard the word ‘anglaise’ muttered several times. The man in the checked shirt stood up and walked towards them. He was short, with a wiry, tanned body. His long, thick hair made him look younger than the wrinkles on his face showed him to be. He seemed comfortable and wise, like a shrunken oak. He smiled, his eyes fixed on Mum.

  “Jasmine?”

  His voice was deep and calm. His tongue rolled slowly around every letter of Mum’s name as if he were tasting a treat.

  “Domi?”

  Their smiles became a stereo laugh. Domi opened his arms wide and Mum launched herself into them. They hugged and then pulled back to examine each other more closely. Rainbow took a step back to avoid being knocked over by Mum. She folded her arms. Domi looked ridiculous so close to her tall mum.

  “And this must be–?”

  “Rainbow,” interrupted Mum.

  Domi looked surprised. He hesitated. Rainbow waited, unsure if she was supposed to do the French thing and kiss this stranger. Then he stretched out his arm and shook hands with her.

  The contact made them both jump. Rainbow tried to pull her hand away, but Domi held on tight.

  “Rainbow,” he said. He lingered over her name as much as he had done with Mum’s. “Don’t fight it. Let yourself go. I won’t hurt you.”

  Rainbow opened her mouth to say she wasn’t fighting anything. But Domi was looking at Mum, his eyebrows raised in question. They appeared to be having a telepathic conversation. Mum nodded slightly. Rainbow closed her mouth without saying a word.

  “Welcome to Le Logis,” he said, letting Rainbow’s hand go at last.

  “Thanks.”

  Rainbow massaged her hot right hand with her left one.

  Domi turned back to his friends, who were watching, and introduced Mum and Rainbow to them in French. They all stood up and flowed forward in a wave to cheek-kiss and practise their limited English. Only Domi spoke English without an accent. Rainbow was intrigued. She wanted to know more about him.

  Later, as Rainbow unrolled their sleeping bags onto the bouncy double bed in the big room upstairs, Mum told her that Domi was half-English and half-French. That explained why he didn’t have the ’Allo ’Allo accent she’d expected.

  Mum leant out of the window and stared at the moonlit vines on the other side of the track. Rainbow crawled into her sleeping bag and yawned.

  “How long are we staying here for?”

  Mum closed the windows and turned around.

  “Don’t you like it here?”

  “It’s all right, but the kids aren’t very friendly,” said Rainbow. “And I’m worried Bob might forget to feed Acrobat.”

  “I’m going to ring him now. I’ll remind him.”

  “Can I speak to him?”

  “Another time. I don’t want to talk for too long because it’ll cost a bomb.”

  “Okay.”

  Rainbow closed her eyes. Mum came and sat on the bed, and her weight tipped Rainbow towards her. It was nice to have Mum to herself like this. She mustn’t
let Domi steal Mum away.

  “Do you love Domi?” she asked.

  She opened her eyes to see everything Mum might not say.

  Mum smiled. “A long time ago I did. We’re friends now; old friends who haven’t seen each other for ages.”

  She paused. Rainbow held her breath. Mum was going to make some kind of revelation.

  A knock on the door killed the moment. Mum told the woman, Chantal, that she’d be down in a minute. She pulled a blanket over Rainbow’s sleeping bag, leant forward and kissed her on her forehead.

  “Sleep tight, my little healer,” she whispered. She stood up and left Rainbow in the silver shadowed room.

  Rainbow closed her eyes again and wriggled inside the sleeping bag. So Mum and Domi had been lovers, like Lady Chatterley and her gamekeeper. Lovers. The word sent pleasant shivers along her arms and down her back. It must have been back in 1977. That would explain the postcard. Domi had sent it when Mum left the commune to go back to England. To England, where Rainbow had been born.

  Rainbow opened her eyes. She stared at the cross of the window frame. 1977. She could have been conceived here, in the commune. Her dad had been here. Domi must have known him. But if Domi and her mum had been lovers, then Domi must be her dad.

  Rainbow’s heart thumped. She sat up. Suppose Mum had lied to her, and her dad wasn’t really dead. Suppose Mum had invented his death so Bob wouldn’t hassle her with his jealous fits. Now that she was fed up with Bob, she’d come back to Domi. He was short like Rainbow. He had brown hair like Rainbow. He had magic hands. She was sure he was her dad. She knew it in the same way she’d known there would be a keepsake in Michael’s house.

  She lay back down and tried to calm the excitement surging through her. What could have happened? In 1977 Mum might have had a mega-argument with Domi and left the commune. She’d gone to England, where Rainbow was born. Then she’d met and married Bob and told him that her baby’s father was dead.