Never Too Late (30 page)

“You must be very tired,” Maggie was sympathetic. “It’s already what, nine weeks you’ve been here? How much longer do you think it will take?”

Mia laughed hollowly. “Some of the early tree sitters were protecting their forest for a year or more. They built whole villages in the tree tops by the time they were done. We can’t match that kind of commitment. We’ll see it through court and if the judgement goes against us we’ll just have to leave it to the ‘eco-warriors’ you’ve just met.”

“You don’t classify yourself as an eco-warrior then?” Maggie queried.

“No,” Mia shook her head. “I have a philosophical objection to being called a warrior of any description. We are tree sitters, a bit like baby sitters.” She laughed. “Just looking after them until, hopefully, they are safe once more.”

They got down to the river and looked across to the empty fields, and back to the woods behind them. Mia pulled a ragged map out of her pocket and showed Maggie where the boundaries were in the land they could see. Deefor went into the water at the ford and snuffled the water, his attention caught by bits of debris moving through the water.

“It’s a small slice of heaven, isn’t it,” Mia breathed. “I’ve come to these woods hundreds of times and always there’s something new, something different. The seasons change, the light changes, new trees and plants grow, old ones die and a whole new ecosystem thrives on the fallen branches and within the trunk.” She stepped across the stones to the middle of the stream and squatted down to gaze into the water, holding her long dark brown hair back with one hand. “When I was a child I used to bring a jam jar trying to catch sticklebacks. Look – they’re still here.” She pointed and Maggie saw several of the little fish darting towards the streaming weeds. “And there are newts and frogs in the backwaters further down.”

“That’s excellent.” Maggie clapped her hands and held them against her nose, as though in prayer. “Newts are protected by law. It might even be possible to get a triple S I status, a Site of Special Scientific Interest.”

“Yeah, but they’re down here and the wood’s up there,” Mia said forlornly.

“But don’t you see,” Maggie explained, “the woods are important too for biological diversity. At the very least it will mean they have to get an expert to come and do an appraisal of how far back they need to keep their activities so as not to endanger the habitat.”

“Which gives us extra time,” Mia beamed. “Maggie, I’m so glad you came. What other brilliant suggestions have you got?” She paused a moment, then added, “I know you’re not a reporter so can’t help with a more balanced report than the rags have churned out so far.”

Maggie smiled ruefully. “Was it that easy to tell? What gave the game away?”

“It was easy - when Foxy asked you, you didn’t say you were; you wouldn’t lie even though you wanted to give the impression you were a reporter. But your pad’s brand new, you’ve written very little and, most telling of all, you were keen to get away from a confrontational situation which, as a reporter, would have been grist to the mill. Who are you, Maggie Collins? What brought you here today?”

Maggie didn’t really want her connection with her husband’s company known at this stage by members of such a disparate group and declined to answer. “Just know that I’m on your side,” she assured Mia. “That wood will hopefully still be here for my grandchildren and their children to visit. I’m not yet sure what solution can be found, but it has to be one that does not involve such desecration.”

They started back towards the camp, Deefor at their heels.

“Tell me,” Maggie asked as they walked, “what do you know about Foxy and his group? He strikes me as a well educated young man – working class lads don’t use words like ‘denizens’ - but he tries so hard to hide it with that false broad accent and his swearing.”

Mia glanced back at Maggie, surprised. “You’re right, I think, but he won’t say much beyond he lost too many battles trying to do it our way. Now he takes his gang from site to site and tries to prevent developments by the use of force.”

“So it hasn’t occurred to him yet that he can’t win that way either?”

Mia giggled. “Perhaps he’s not as bright as you give him credit for.”

“At least he’s trying though, as you are, each in your own ways. There are too many people who just sit back and let things they don’t agree with happen. Then they still somehow feel justified in complaining that the people they voted for, or not, let it happen.”

Maggie was relieved to find there seemed to be a truce between the two factions and mugs of coffee were being passed around. Maggie spent a couple of hours with them, chatting in general and finding out what she could about the individuals and companies concerned, and the history of the land. As she left she gave them her mobile phone number and they promised to keep her updated on any developments.

As she and Deefor got settled in the car for the drive back to Tom’s she congratulated herself on achieving something she would have thought herself incapable of just a few short months ago.

“Well Deefor,” she said, rubbing his jaw, “what an interesting report I have to give tonight.”

*

It was difficult to tell who was most nervous – Keela or James. They stood outside a gracious Georgian building, once a home but which now housed several medical consultants. They held hands, each waiting for the other to give the impetus to enter. They looked at each other and James leaned over to kiss his wife, then put his arm behind her back and urged her forward. Today they would both be under the spotlight, their most private feelings and actions being questioned by a total stranger.

“It’ll be fine.” He tried to sound confident and reassuring, while feeling the need of reassurance himself.

The wide front door had a discreet brass plaque headed ‘Please enter’ and listing underneath the practitioners to be found within. In the black and white tiled hallway a board displayed a plan of the house and showed where each consultant was located within the building.

They ascended the wide sweeping stairway to the first floor. Dr Wilson’s door was second on the left. A middle aged, elegantly turned out secretary sat behind a PC, busy typing up some notes. She rose as soon as they entered and came over to greet them.

“Mr and Mrs McTavish?” she queried.

James cleared his throat nervously. “Er, yes, we have a…”

“Two thirty appointment,” the secretary finished for him with a smile. “Dr Wilson will be with you very shortly. Please take a seat.” She indicated leather chairs either side of a low coffee table. “Can I get you a drink? Tea, coffee, water?”

“No thanks,” Keela answered, and James shook his head too.

“I’m Daphne,” the secretary told them. “No doubt we’ll be speaking to each other quite regularly for a while. If you need to get a message to Dr Wilson, or have any queries I might be able to help with, don’t hesitate to phone me.” She returned to her desk and sat down. “And don’t worry,” she added before returning to her work. “Dr Wilson doesn’t bite – well not often, anyway.”

Keela’s lips twitched.

“Thank you - you’ve just managed to make my wife smile for the first time today,” James said.

Five minutes later the door to the inner room opened and a short woman in her late fifties came out. She wore a navy skirt and jacket with a cerise silk blouse which looked very smart against her short, silver-white hair. She was rather overweight and the skin under her jaw bagged into the collar of her blouse. James found himself thinking of grandmothers and cuddly laps, and felt he could tell this woman anything and she’d understand. Grandmothers always did, didn’t they?

“Please come through, Mr and Mrs McTavish,” she beckoned. “Let’s start getting to know each other. Would you bring through some tea please, Daphne?”

The thick sage green carpet cushioned their feet as they entered. Dr Wilson invited them to sit around a low circular table in a very light and airy high ceilinged room. The room was calming with its understated luxury. There was a medium sized antique rosewood desk with a blotter pad, a fountain pen and a green shaded lamp. Books lined one wall and there was a mahogany cabinet against another.

Keela looked around at the mint and cream walls and the elaborate floral arrangement on a plinth between the two sash windows. The freesias in the display delicately scented the room.

How many times will I sit here before I’m pronounced ‘cured’?

Dr Wilson kept the conversation general while she poured out the tea and handed it round. “Now then,” she said, “you can call me Dr Wilson or you can call me Amelia, whichever you prefer. What would you prefer for yourselves? First names or surnames?”

They all agreed on first name use. It felt like the only option to James and Keela – formality would have felt strange when talking about such intimate details of their private life.

“That’s fine,” Amelia said. “It tells me straight away that you have come here with the intention of doing your best to make progress. There’s no place for reticence in this situation, and no need for any embarrassment. I’m not looking for blame or fault and neither should you be. Sometimes things just happen in our lives, things that we have no control over, but they affect us for years to come. If the effect is detrimental to our lives then we have to address the issue and find a way to move forward beyond its influence.

“Now, I’ve asked you both to come for the first session so that I can get a feeling for how you interact as a couple. We’ll have half an hour together to talk about your past. Then I want an hour with each of you separately, with the final half hour back together to discuss the future. Yes, I know it’s going to be intense, and you’ll feel absolutely drained afterwards, but I can assure you it is the best way. It will give us the fastest possible start and put us firmly on the correct treatment regime right from the off.” Amelia raised her spectacles from her ample bosom, where they had been hanging on a silver chain, and opened their file. “OK, let’s start with you, James. Would you like to tell me about how you met Keela and what attracted you to her?”

That first thirty minutes passed very quickly as James and Keela talked about their time in university, how James, who was in his final year and helping with freshers’ week had been bowled over by the beautiful young woman with a soft, melodious Irish lilt in her voice who had just arrived from Liverpool. They had known from the first they had met their soul mates, and kept in very close touch after James graduated. They had married as soon as Keela had completed her finals and never regretted their choice of life partner.

The tension returned when Amelia indicated that it was time for their separate sessions. First it was James’ turn. James and Keela hugged each other. It was going to be a difficult afternoon. Keela returned to the outer office and James and Amelia regarded each other steadily.

“In your own time, James,” Amelia said, “I’d like you to tell me what it is that’s troubling you so much, what it is that you have both carefully avoided mentioning so far.”

He took a deep, shuddering breath, wondering how to start. He’d gone over it in his mind so many times since the appointment with Amelia was made and thought he was well prepared, yet now felt tongue tied. Amelia sat quietly, giving him time. James raised his hands helplessly and jumping up began pacing the room.

“It’s OK, James,” Amelia said softly. “What you tell me here is between the two of us. You’re not being disloyal to Keela in bringing her here, or in talking to me about her, and talking about your relationship. We both want very much to help her, and we can’t do that unless you are open and honest with me.”

He turned and faced her, then nodded and returned to his seat opposite her. “Keela wants a baby, we both do. But I’ve refused to make love to her any more.” James rubbed his face with both hands, a picture of misery.

“And why is that?” Amelia prompted after a minute’s silence. “You’re both very much in love, anyone can see that, so tell me why making love is such a terrible thing to you.”

James looked at the floor as tears started to roll down his cheeks. “Because we don’t make love. Because she makes me rape her,” he sobbed.

Amelia pushed a box of tissues closer to him. He had made the first and hardest step. Now she would give him time to tell her what she needed to know. Now he could give her the vital clues she needed for the following hour with Keela.

Outside Keela sat hunched forward, biting her nails and slowly rocking. Her long black hair swung forward to hide her face, locking her into her own world, rejecting her surroundings and any contact with the secretary. Her thoughts were in turmoil.

I don’t need this, I really don’t. I just need James to give me a baby, that’s all.

She checked her watch repeatedly. She did want it all to be over and go home. She didn’t want the hour to pass and have to go back in there. Time passed too quickly and passed too slowly.

What’s he saying in there? It isn’t true! It is true... It doesn’t matter how, I just want a baby. He doesn’t have any right to refuse me a baby. Why doesn’t he love me enough to give me what I want?

The minute hand moved round the dial relentlessly and the hour did pass. James came over to her and she fended him off with outstretched hands, her whole body taut as a fully wound spring. He hesitated then nodded and turned to leave.

“I’ll just go for a little walk,” he told Daphne on the way out. “I’ll be back in time for the final session.”

Amelia stood in the open doorway to her inner sanctum and watched him leave. “Keela,” she called, “would you like to come through now?”

Reluctantly she complied.

James was totally unaware of his surroundings as he walked through the London streets. All he was aware of was time passing as, like Keela, he checked and rechecked his watch repeatedly. This was make or break time for them – he could not and would not change his decision. He would not abuse her any more, no matter how much she begged him or fought with him over it. He loved her too much to want sex at any price. They made love like any other two ordinary people, or they never slept together again.