The Faerie Tree (14 page)

I had what I wanted so I could get out of there. But first I had to do my duty by the fairies. I returned to the kitchen and pulled out the children's letters and my notepad. Each reply had to be different, but they all began with the same apology; the fairies and elves of the forest had been called to help Father Christmas in Lapland and had only just got back home. In the chill of the kitchen I felt the warmth of Jennifer's hand.

It took me a long while to write all the letters and by the time I left the house it was drizzling again and what little daylight there had been was fading. Sheltering next to the garage wall were some snowdrops, so I picked a handful and set them in a little vase by the silent Aga. Then I locked the back door and slipped along the line of outhouses, across the hedge and into the wood.

Chapter Thirty-One

I wondered why someone was tapping a nail into the Faerie Tree but as I came to I realised they were knocking on my bedroom door.

“Robin – are you alright?” It was Izzie.

I struggled to open my eyes. “It's OK – you can come in.”

She peered around the door. “I was just a bit worried, that's all.”

“No, I'm fine – just overstretched myself today I think.”

“You've been down into town – shopping, by the look of it.” She folded her arms.

“I wanted to say thank you to you and Claire.”

“You shouldn't have – you've worn yourself out and spent far too much money. It's not necessary.”

The inflection in her voice put me on my guard. I asked her what was wrong.

“Nothing. It was just odd, that's all – coming home to a dark house with… with flowers and wine and chocolates in the kitchen and not you.”

“Well I'm here.”

“I didn't know that,” she burst out. “Your coat wasn't on the hook and I thought… I thought… you'd gone away… especially when I saw that stuff. It was a horrid trick to play.”

“Izzie – it wasn't a trick. I was just so exhausted I…”

But she was gone, running down the landing and slamming her bedroom door behind her.

I looked at my bedside clock – half past seven. I wondered where Claire was then remembered she was at the cinema with her friends. I stood and stretched, picked up my anorak from the bedroom floor and hung it up in the hall on my way to the kitchen. If Izzie hadn't eaten then my very simple plan was to cook a meal to entice her back downstairs.

She may not have eaten, but she had certainly had a drink. Although the bottle of wine I'd bought was untouched, a tumbler was abandoned on the draining board next to a bottle of tonic water. I picked it up and sniffed it. Gin.

In the fridge were a couple of peppers and some eggs. I found an onion in the vegetable rack and started to fry the vegetables. Once they were ready I turned off the gas and went to find Izzie.

To my surprise she was sitting in the darkened living room.

“Are you hungry?” I asked, “I'm making an omelette as a peace offering.”

“It's me who should say sorry.” The only light came from the kitchen and it was impossible to read her expression.

“No – I should have left a note – I should have realised you'd come in and wonder, and that you'd be tired too after your first week back at work.”

“It was fun to be back at work,” she replied, tilting her chin. “But it was knackering all the same.”

I put my hand on her shoulder. “Come and have something to eat.”

She nodded and followed me into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine.

While I finished the omelette she put the tulips in a vase. “They are lovely, Robin – I can't remember the last time anyone bought me flowers – but you really shouldn't have spent the money.”

“It's OK – I have some money now – just a bit – enough for me to buy some thank yous and to pay my way.”

Izzie's eyebrows furrowed. “But if you had money, why were you on the streets?”

“I have some money now – I didn't then – well, not enough.” I forced a laugh. “I had all of sixty quid in my pocket and that wasn't going to get me very far.”

“But what happened today? How come you've got money now?”

I somehow managed to overcome my embarrassment. “I finally plucked up the courage to go back to Jennifer's and pick up my bank card.”

“You mean you actually lived on the streets rather than go back there? Why?”

I focused my attention on the omelette, taking it off the gas and halving it, sprinkling some grated cheese and putting it on our plates.

“Why, Robin?”

“I just didn't feel that I could.” It was only half the story, but it was the best I could manage. To deflect her attention I asked about her day.

“You don't want to tell me, do you?”

I put down my knife and fork. “It's not that I don't want to tell you” I lied, “I just don't want to talk at all at the moment.”

“When it was bad, you never did.”

I didn't understand what she meant but I guessed she was still spoiling for a fight. “Izzie, please – let's not argue – we're both tired and it isn't worth it. Ask me again when I've got a bit more mental energy and I'll tell you exactly what happened, I promise.”

She drained the last of her wine and stood up. “You have changed, Robin, but for the better. I'm off to bed now – goodnight.”

And I was left staring at a half eaten omelette, listening to her footsteps on the stairs and puzzling over her words.

I was still there when Claire came home. Immediately her eyes fell on the almost empty bottle of wine.

She was characteristically direct. “If you don't mind me asking, how much of that did you drink?”

“None of it.”

“Do you not drink for a reason?”

“What, you mean like I'm a recovering alcoholic? No. I've just got out of the habit really – although I have to admit I was toying with the idea of polishing that one off.” I picked up Izzie's plate and started to scrape congealed omelette into the bin.

“Where's Mum?”

“She's gone to bed.”

“Was she very drunk?”

I straightened up. “I think she was just very tired.”

“You can tell me if she was drunk, you know – I've seen it all before.”

“It worries you, doesn't it?”

Claire sat down at the table. “Yes, because she's using it as a crutch and I know that's not a good thing. Do you think that between us we can get her to stop?”

“That rather depends on whether she wants to.”

“Well of course she doesn't want to or she wouldn't do it.”

I returned to my seat. “Sometimes it's not that simple. We don't know her reasons for drinking and perhaps neither does she. Maybe she doesn't even know you think it's a problem.”

“Well I've told her often enough.”

I smiled at her. “I expect you have. But I also suspect she wasn't listening.”

“She'd listen to you – you're not a child.”

“No. I'm a homeless man who up until today was entirely dependent on her charity.”

Claire sounded cautious. “What happened today? You're not going anywhere are you?”

“Today I finally managed to get access to my bank account. I bought your mum some flowers and a bottle of wine – which on reflection might have been a bad move – and I bought you some Maltesers.” I pushed them towards her. “I hope you like them.”

“That doesn't mean you're leaving, does it?”

I leant back. “I haven't had that conversation with your mother yet.”

“Please don't go, Robin. I… I'm not sure I can cope with Mum on my own anymore.”

Her voice was breaking and I reached across the table, her hand vanishing under my own. It hadn't occurred to me what a responsibility it had been for a sixteen year old to be living with a mother with depression – especially when she was still struggling to come to terms with her own loss.

“Claire – I don't want to go, but I can't live on charity either. I need to get back on track – get working, earning some money. And I'm pretty much well now – she mightn't want me to stay.”

“She will – I know she will,” she sniffed.

“Well let's see what she says.”

“Will you talk to her tomorrow?”

“I don't know, Claire.” I wasn't sure I would be ready to have the whole conversation Izzie would want just yet.

“Oh please, Robin – promise me.” She looked so young, so vulnerable, her big grey eyes swimming with tears, that there was nothing I could say other than yes.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Saturday dawned crisp and cold and Claire lost no time in suggesting that Izzie and I made the most of the weather by going for a walk while she got on with her homework. It sounded like a most obvious ruse to get us out of the house together and I thought Izzie would be suspicious, but instead she said it was an excellent idea, provided I was up to it. With Claire looking daggers at me from under her fringe I had no option but to agree.

We went to Swanwick. It was only a few miles down the Hamble from the Faerie Tree but it was over a year since I'd been there. Towards the end of her life Jennifer had been reluctant to leave the house, imagining burglars – or worse – would descend the moment we did, so my world had shrunk to the size of hers.

We parked the car at the top of the creek. The tide was up and two swans glided down the river as we walked along the path to the marina. So we talked about birds, and the boats moored on the opposite bank, and how Izzie had given up rowing when she was expecting Claire – anything to avoid the conversation I knew would have to come. I didn't even know how I was going to start it.

I shouldn't have worried – the moment we decided to go into the coffee shop, money reared its ugly head.

“I'll get these,” I told Izzie and immediately she started to argue, right in front of the counter. “For god's sake, woman, let me have some pride,” I hissed and she retreated to a table in the far corner.

I apologised even before I put the tray down in front of her.

“I have some pride too,” she told me. “Don't ever speak to me like that again.”

“I'm sorry, Izzie,” I said. “But I'm getting too uptight about this – we need to get the money side of things sorted now I'm in a position to do so.”

“So how much money do you have in your bank account?” I could see where Claire got her directness from.

“I don't know – a few hundred pounds I think. I need to get earning again but to do that I need a proper base.”

“So you're going to move on?” She started to take our cups off the tray.

“I can't live on your charity, Izzie. You've been amazing already, taking me into your home and letting me get well. And I've loved being with you and Claire, but…”

She cut across me. “You don't have to go.”

“Then we need to come to some proper financial arrangement.”

“It's really not necessary. Connor's life insurance paid off the mortgage and I'm on a good salary. I don't need a contribution from you.”

“But I need to make one – can you understand that?”

She was stirring her cappuccino, her spoon scraping the edges of the cup, mixing the froth into the coffee. She looked at up me. “Tell me why you had to leave Jennifer's house in the first place.” It wasn't a question, it was a command. But I wasn't ready to share those awful moments yet.

“You know when… something hurts so much…” And then I thought of Claire.

“You're not going to tell me, are you?” Izzie filled my pause.

I shook my head. “I am. You'll just have to bear with me if I struggle.”

In truth it was hard to know how to start. I knew when, of course. With the moment I found Jennifer dead on her bedroom
floor, buttocks and stick thin legs protruding from under her faded pink nightie. There in the café I could see her; I could hear the hiss of the coffee machine but all I could see was that awful indignity.

“What did you do?” Izzie prompted.

“I picked her up and put her on the bed. Just to be sure… I mean, I knew, somehow, but all the same. It sounds silly… I tucked her in, and then I went downstairs to phone Stephen, and then the doctor.

“He seemed to come almost at once but I think that was because I'd lost all sense of time. I know that because Stephen and his partner Gareth arrived just afterwards and they'd had to drive all the way from Brighton. I was still in my dressing gown. Stephen was in tears. Gareth kind of took over with the GP but before he left he asked me all sorts of questions. I told him I'd found her in her bed.

“A while later Gareth suggested I got dressed. Jennifer's bedroom door was closed and I went in one last time and sat beside her. There was peace, Izzie, peace in that room. She had gone and it was right. It made me feel better so I had a shower and wrapped up warm ready to go and feed the chickens.

“When I went back into the kitchen Stephen had stopped crying and Gareth was explaining that they would be coming to take Jennifer's body away shortly, and asking if he wanted to see her first. I tried to reassure him, telling him she looked very peaceful, but he was unsure, asking Gareth what would happen next. The answer was a post mortem.”

I coughed a few times then cleared my throat. “You couldn't get me another coffee, could you?” I asked Izzie.

The words ‘post mortem' had not so much stopped me in my tracks as sent me hurtling back twenty years. Uncertainty. Suspicion. But Jennifer was old, wasn't she? She'd had Alzheimer's. I asked Gareth why and he said it was routine under the circumstances. What circumstances? But I didn't ask. I put on my anorak and went outside.

The crack as the ice broke on the water troughs in the coop took me back to my first morning at Jennifer's. I almost heard her
voice, but when I looked up, of course she wasn't there. Instead an insidious thought took root; I'd found her on the floor, not in her bed. I'd lied. Suspicion. Questions. I couldn't go through it again.