The Faerie Tree (12 page)

Jennifer's land amounted to almost two acres. The chickens had a substantial wire-fenced run but very often escaped into the rest of the garden, scratching around on the lawn and sometimes leaving their eggs in the overgrown shrubbery. All this was on the Hamble side of the house, facing the woods. Most of the rest of the land was to the left as you looked towards the river and half of it was covered with fruit trees. Nearer the house itself was a huge vegetable plot and further away a neglected paddock.

Apart from the vegetables the only part of the garden which was in any way well looked after was the relatively narrow strip between the front of the house and the road. Behind high beech
hedges were a neat lawn and a long rose border. Roses, I was to discover, were one of Jennifer's passions. But back then, in those short November days, I knew as little about her and she did about me.

It took us quite a while to deal with the apple trees. I still felt numb but at least I didn't cry again. Then while we were having lunch on the third day Jennifer's phone rang and it was one of the neighbours who'd noticed our tree clearing and wanted to know if I could do some for him too.

“What do you think, Robin?”

“Of course I'll help out.” I didn't have anything else to do anyway.

“How much will you charge?” I was stumped. I had no idea and I told her so. “Alright,” she said, “I'll tell him £5 an hour.”

“That's way too much.”

“No it isn't; getting people to clear wood at the moment is like hen's teeth, you're a hard worker, and he's a pretty wealthy man.”

I knew I wasn't worth such a princely sum but the neighbour seemed happy to pay it so I set off up the street with Jennifer's chainsaw. I spent four long days sorting out the mess two pine trees had made of his shrubbery and came away with £160 in cash. I passed it straight across the table to Jennifer.

“For the use of your chainsaw and my keep.”

Carefully she counted out £40 and gave the rest back to me. “I think perhaps 25% of what you earn is about the right amount.”

I shook my head. “This might be all I earn. You take it – you've been so kind.”

“I doubt it. Two more people phoned this afternoon. News of a man with a chainsaw gets around.”

I felt myself smiling although I couldn't have said why.

“It's amazing what the ability to earn does for a man's self respect, Robin. But I suspect the actual working also makes him hungry. Go and wash your hands and I'll dish up our tea.”

Over the next few weeks my tangled emotions started to settle down. I felt flat, but it also brought a sort of calm – or
perhaps that emanated from Jennifer. Although as I was to find out, she had troubles of her own.

It was as Jennifer was opening the first of the Christmas cards to tumble through the letter box that I asked her if she would be seeing her family over the festive season. She set down her paper knife and looked across the table at me, shaking her head.

“No, not anymore.” There was such sadness in her voice that I put my toast back on my plate and gave her my full attention.

“Why, what happened?”

“It was after you rescued the boys from the river. Susan was furious with me – said I wasn't fit to be a grandmother and she wasn't going to let me near her children again.”

“But surely that was just the heat of the moment – she couldn't really mean it.”

Jennifer's voice was even. “She did. Every time I tried to phone she hung up on me.”

“That's awful. Doesn't she realise she'll only ever have one mother? It's not worth splitting a family apart for – the boys were OK, it was just a bit of mischief.”

“It wasn't just that, Robin – although it was the final straw. Susan and I weren't close anyway and then when her father died I did something she found it very hard to forgive.” Her long fingers reached for the paper knife but she quickly put it down again.

“Am I allowed to ask what it was?”

“I sold most of our land. We had quite a sizeable smallholding and I couldn't cope with it on my own. But Susan said it had development potential and I'd done the family out of millions of pounds by my stupidity. I hadn't; although she never listened long enough to find that out. But there's no chance of the land going for houses anyway – not this close to a protected wood.”

“Falling out over money – that's even worse.”

Jennifer shrugged. “That's Susan.”

“But what about the boys?”

“They're too young to understand. But I miss them dreadfully. They'll forget all about me in time – she'll demonise me, and that will be that.” She started to stand.

“Then don't let her.”

Her fingers gripped the back of her chair. “How can I not?”

“Write to them – send them cards and pictures and letters about your life. Perhaps she'll stop them reading them, but maybe she won't – maybe they'll get to watch for the post – you never know…”

“Do you really think so?”

I wasn't completely sure but I wanted to give her hope. “It's worth a try,” I said. And then I got up and walked around the table and gave her a great big hug. It was the moment we started to become close. Never quite a mother and son relationship, but all the same…

I had talked myself to a standstill.

“Izzie,” I faltered. “I really am much too tired to carry on. Anyway, I must be boring you rigid.”

“No – it's fascinating – but it will keep.” Her eyes were full of sympathy. It wasn't what I wanted to see.

I hauled myself up from my chair and shuffled out of the kitchen like an old man.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

It made no sense. The trees were bare, a chill mist hanging between them, yet the fleeting glances of Izzie I caught against the milky sun were yellow; she must be wearing her summer dress. I wanted to catch her; no, I needed to catch her, but in the way of dreams I couldn't, my legs heavy and lumbering as though they were encased in mud. But I had to reach her; had to stop her. I started to shout her name.

Then her hands were in mine, her voice low and urgent. “Robin – are you alright?”

The strip of light from the landing beat a path to my bed, and sitting on it was Izzie, wearing a pale blue dressing gown. I couldn't work out why.

“Robin – what's wrong? You were calling me.”

“It was a dream,” I gasped between breaths which were every bit as laboured as if I had actually been running. “Give me a moment, I'll be OK.” But I didn't let go of her hands; I wanted to remember the small coolness of them.

She didn't withdraw either, holding my fingers in hers as I struggled to control my breathing. In the end I started to cough and I had to let go to cover my mouth.

When I recovered myself I apologised for waking her.

“It must have been some dream.” It was a question rather than a statement.

“I can't remember. Probably just as well.”

A car drew up outside and we heard Claire call her goodnights. Izzie jumped from the bed.

“I'm fine now – sleep well, Izzie – and thank you.”

“And you.”

She shut the door behind her and I heard her scurry along the landing.

I listened as the front door opened and shut. Claire took two steps across the parquet floor of the hall then there was silence until the tap started running in the kitchen beneath me; she must have taken off her shoes. After a little while I heard a creak on the stairs and a click as the strip of light disappeared from underneath my door.

I lay awake for a long while, remembering Izzie's hands in mine and wondering how such strong feelings could survive, untended and largely ignored, for almost half my life. The whole of my life with Jennifer. Talking to Izzie about the early days had been like stirring a muddy pool then watching the silt shift beneath the surface. Shadows and leaves… golden and russet oak leaves… jewels of colour in an otherwise murky world.

I don't remember the date Jennifer took me to find our first Yule log but I would wager it was the 21
^st
of December. It was a bright, frosty morning and I was splitting firewood. The chickens scratched nearby, pecking in the sawdust for the grubs and bugs my work occasionally released. They were undemanding companions.

I stopped to stretch my back and saw Jennifer approaching across the lawn, carrying a garden trug.

“Fancy a break, Robin? I thought we could walk down to the wood and see if we can find a Yule log.”

“Of course, Jennifer. That would be nice,” I replied. There was no enthusiasm in my voice but I expect she had become used to that.

As we walked around the edge of the field I asked her what sort of log we were looking for.

“Oak is the best,” she told me, “but ash would do nicely as well. The most important thing is that it fits in the fireplace. We'll know it when we see it.”

I remember thinking it didn't really matter what size it was; one swift blow with my axe would make it fit anyway.

At the corner of the field where the track led down to the Hamble was a holly bush and Jennifer took her secateurs and cut half a dozen pieces, mainly without berries.

“I know people think they're pretty, but they're for the birds really, not for us.”

We wandered on towards the Hamble past a mass of fallen trees.

“There were a couple of big old oaks near here,” Jennifer told me. “When they fell their top branches ended up in the river so I suspect some of them have been washed away.”

The tide was on the half and the mud golden with oak leaves. It shimmered in the sun and I turned my eyes skywards, seeing only blue. The white of a heron's wing flashed across the river and as it called something began to resonate inside me.

Jennifer led me between the fallen branches, weaving our way beyond the high water mark. She prodded one piece of wood after another.

“That one looks about the right size,” I offered.

She shook her head. “I'll know it when I see it.”

She hunted for a little longer while I stared up, up, into the amazing blue, only coming back to earth when she exclaimed “Robin – that's the one – the one sticking up with mistletoe on the end.”

I looked – it was some yards ahead of her, pointing proud towards the sky, a trail of berries wrapped around it like Orion's belt.

I moved forwards. “It'll be easier for me to reach it than you.”

“No, Robin – stop a moment. We have to ask the tree first.”

I looked at the devastation around me. “It doesn't look as though it's in much of a position to refuse.”

Jennifer's head jerked up, and then she began to laugh. Underneath my beard I felt my facial muscles contorting into an unfamiliar pattern.

Jennifer looked at me for a long moment then touched my arm. “I have always believed that human beings are better off when they are in tune with the turning of the earth.”

I was getting used to smiling now. “And I'm in tune because it's a bright day and I can feel the greyness lifting?”

“Something like that. Now let's ask the tree and then you can collect our log.”

“Ask out loud?”

She shook her head and we stood in silence for a few moments. A pheasant's call split the air, answered by another across the river. Jennifer said nothing more, but I knew the moment to edge into what would have been the canopy of the oak. I grasped the log in both hands and brought my weight onto it. It snapped from the trunk with a loud crack and gathering the trailing mistletoe I carried it back to Jennifer.

“In the autumn I made some cider,” she told me. “I thought I would be drinking it alone to celebrate my Yule log but I'm glad I will be sharing it with you.”

I bowed my head. “Thank you, Jennifer.” Her words meant the world to me.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

I slept long into the morning. Izzie was alone in the kitchen when I finally made my way downstairs.

She looked up from her newspaper and smiled. “Hello, Robin. How are you today?”

“OK, thanks. I thought I might take a walk up the road, get some fresh air. Start my rehabilitation.”

“I've got a better idea. How about we have some lunch then go to Netley for a stroll along Southampton Water?”

I hesitated. “It sounds nice, but I'm not sure I'm up to a proper walk and I don't want to spoil it for you and Claire.”

She laughed. “I'm not proposing a three mile hike.”

“I reckon I'd be pleased with a three hundred yard one.”

“OK, then we'll take a flask and the paper and you can do your bit then sit in the car while Claire and I step it out.” She stood up and walked towards the kettle.

“No – really, Izzie. I'll just go around the block. You're already doing too much for me.”

“It's nice to have you here.”

How nice? I sat down with my head in my hands.

“Robin, what is it?” she asked.

I tried to gather my thoughts. “It's all too one-sided. My
life's a bit of a mess at the moment – not really the best time to see you again.”

There was a short silence and then she replied. “I was thinking about it last night. I'd kind of assumed you'd been homeless for ages, but if Jennifer died so recently, that's not the case, is it? What happened – did her family finally show up and chuck you out?”

“No. Not at all. Stephen… remember, the older boy… he came back years ago.” I paused, the memory warmed me a little and I managed to look up. “It was when he was eighteen – he'd quite deliberately chosen to come to Southampton to university and practically the first thing he did was come to find his gran.

“It was a beautiful October morning and I was up a ladder at the front of the house pruning one of Jennifer's climbing roses. I didn't hear him come up the drive, but when he spoke and I looked down I knew who it was instantly. In most ways he hadn't changed since he was a small boy; still that very earnest look and a nose covered in freckles.