The Faerie Tree (2 page)

Chapter Two

The determination to wrap Claire's Christmas presents gets me home. There are only a few days left before she breaks up and I need to have them hidden before she starts turning the house upside down looking for them. I wonder if she will this year, without Connor to egg her on. He never grew out of it either – they used to drive me nuts.

I stop in the hall, one arm out of my coat, as the memory assails me. There is no leather jacket on the hook; no violin case propped at the bottom of the stairs. I want to curl up and cry – die, even – as the gap left by Connor rises up to engulf me. I fight it with everything I've got and scramble out of the house and into the car. As my breath slows an idea begins to take shape – a distraction – so I let myself follow it.

It is literally years since I've been to the Faerie Tree and I wonder if it's still there. I know it was when Claire was a child – Connor used to take her because she loved it. I used to tell him it was a load of mumbo-jumbo and he shouldn't encourage her.

Today is a far cry from the late summer afternoon when Robin brought me here; the stripped trees give little shelter from the wind and the sky is a slatey-grey. No dappled sunlight to lure me into mysterious dells; how could I have almost believed the
magic was real? My laugh sends a pair of pigeons flapping from the highest branches. I sound like a bloody mad woman. Thank god there's no-one around to hear me.

I suppose I almost believed in the magic because I was almost in love. When Robin showed me the notes from the children in the letterbox tacked to the tree I cried and he kissed me. The guilt I'd been feeling about my boyfriend was swept away and I couldn't help but want him. And later, after everything that happened, we held hands around the tree to wish, and I begged and begged the fairies to take all the obstacles away so that Robin and I could be together from that moment. Begging? The fairies? What the fuck planet was I on?

It's much too cold to hang around wondering. I march along the path and suddenly the tree is in front of me; taller, broader, but still festooned with ribbons, necklaces and small toys. All around it little plastic folk are perched in shrubs and on tree stumps; Tinkerbells and Wonder Women jostling for position to guard the approach.

The tips of my fingers scrape over the bark. On closer inspection it's studded with coins and I wonder why, but then I spot a note, supposedly from the fairies, thanking the children for the money for Barnardo's. It looks as though it's been there for a long time. The letter box is bulging to the brim and the plastic folder pinned to the back of the trunk is almost devoid of replies. Maybe whoever has been perpetrating this elaborate hoax has finally come to their senses.

Okay, this isn't really the tree that's drawn me back here – there is another one, a willow, close to the river, where Robin and I ran to escape the storm, and where we made love for the first time, with thunder rolling around the valley and raindrops skating down the leaves above us. I remember afterwards he sat against the trunk and I nestled into the crook of his arm, full of hope for a new beginning.

But first I had an ending to deal with: my boyfriend Paul. I told Robin I would do it straight away but he was hesitant. “Don't burn your boats, Izzie,” is what he said.

I sat up straight and pulled away to look him in the eye. “Do you think you've made a mistake?”

He shook his head. “Not in the way you mean. But you've always been open about Paul and I haven't been the same with you.”

I felt my shiny new world slipping from under me. “You're… you're not married are you?”

“No, it's not that. I live with my mother. I care for her – she's in a wheelchair.”

I relaxed back against his shoulder. “Well that's OK, it's not a problem.”

His fingers dug into the top of my arm. “Izzie – it is. It's a major, major thing. I have to be there every morning to get her dressed, every night to put her to bed.”

“But you go to work… and come out…”

“Thanks to the neighbours, my Auntie Jean especially. Mum will have been with her most of this afternoon.”

“So your mum doesn't want you to have a girlfriend?”

I heard the smile in his voice. “Far from it – she'd love me to. She says she doesn't want to ruin my life as well. In fact she knows there's someone I care for at the moment. I've had to promise she'll meet you if, well, if anything comes of it.”

“Something has come of it.” I stood and brushed myself down. “Come on – it's almost stopped raining – I'll drive you home and I can meet her now.”

“Izzie – no – not yet…”

“Yes, Robin. If it's as major a thing as you're making out then I need to meet her before I burn my boats. But I warn you – they're in flames already.”

He stood up and took me in his arms. “You're wonderful, Izzie,” he murmured, “a dream come true.” Only it was a nightmare that was about to begin.

Robin

Chapter Three

The tide of Christmas fair washed me down the High Street. The Salvation Army band was gathered near the Buttercross, the trumpet player's scales rising into the air and mingling with the scent of roasting chestnuts. Further on the traffic lights glowed into the leaden morning; red, yellow, green. The colours were coming back.

Towards King Alfred's statue the pavements narrowed. Opposite the bus station tourists streamed from a coach, Welsh accents filling the air. I pressed myself against the railings of the park but in truth I need not have bothered. I seemed to have perfected the art of creating an empty space of at least a yard around me. Despite being invisible. One day I'd laugh about it – I hoped.

It was ice cold next to the river. The wind had torn down the High Street after me, ripping away any hope of shelter by the water. It was no surprise that most of the benches were free. I put the carrier bag containing my belongings on the first one I came to and crouched beside it in a fruitless bid to escape the worst of the gale.

The Itchen was in full spate. A drake huddled on a flat rock,
hunkering down to avoid the wind but finding himself splashed by the freezing waters instead. The gardens rising up on the other side of the river were stripped for winter, naked branches shivering. A single holly bush stood out glossy green, a miserly few berries left by the birds. Red and green; colours again. Piercing the fog in my mind, even as my body battled the cold.

I knew when the colours had started. I was on the steps of the Buttercross, nursing the paper cup. Empty now, I turned it in my hand; royal blue with a firmament of Christmas stars. Izzie. A heart-stopping moment of joy, confusion, then shame. But all the same I couldn't tear myself away; waiting for her there every morning, just in case. I could still taste the coffee – bitter, hot and strong.

The faintness of my memory of meeting Izzie for the first time had been frustrating me. It was as if she had faded into view; a navy trouser suit at a business breakfast, a shock of blonde hair across a bar, manicured nails clutching a leather filofax, and laughter, always laughter. Sitting opposite me, trying to sell me stationery. And succeeding.

In the mid-eighties graduates in dead end jobs were not uncommon and Izzie and I were in the same boat. The mathematician and the botanist discussing the relative merits of Tippex and Snopake, Biros and Bics, across a pine boardroom table, our filter coffee (brought in and served by a secretary, naturally) in chunky Denby cups and saucers. I had a habit of spinning the sugar bowl under my hand – it drove Izzie to distraction. The first time she touched me was to give me a slap to make me stop.

I was office manager for one of the biggest firms of solicitors in Southampton. My mum was so proud – watching me go off to work in a suit and tie. It was what graduates did in her book, but it wasn't what botany graduates who'd dreamt of travelling the world did in mine. But it just wasn't possible – the moment one of her more violent boyfriends had pushed her down the stairs and left her in a wheelchair, my horizons had narrowed too.

My situation led me into a duplicity that was not in my
nature; it was Thatcher's Britain, remember, a dog-eat-dog sort of place where I knew you wouldn't succeed if you were encumbered by a disabled dependant. So I told no-one. But deception takes emotional energy – although I was too young to know it at the time – and that is the only reason I can think of why I didn't see the tidal wave that was Izzie until it sent me cart-wheeling up the beach.

Solicitors use truckloads of stationery and our regular meetings gravitated first to Friday afternoons and then to the wine bar. And the second time this happened I found myself raising a glass to a beautiful young woman and…

I ran my finger around the damp collar of my shirt. “So what are you up to this weekend?” I asked. “The weather forecast's looking good.”

“I hope so – I'll be on the water.”

“Sailing?”

“No – rowing. It's our big regatta in two weeks' time so it's non-stop practice.”

I gaped at her minuscule frame. “You row?”

“Of course I do.”

I must have looked embarrassed because she put her hand on my arm and continued, “I did get into it by being cox at uni, but when I joined the club at Hamble they persuaded me to have a go myself and I love it. Lesley and I are hot favourites for the ladies' two-handed sprint I'll have you know.”

I managed to recover myself enough to say, “I don't doubt it – but you don't look as though you have the build – unless you're hiding your muscles under that dress.”

Izzie almost blushed, I am sure, but still laughing she rolled up her sleeve. “Tiny muscles – but they're strong, so that's enough.”

“It's funny,” I mused, trying to drag my eyes away from the delicate skin of her upper arm, “I love the water myself, but I know nothing about rowing.”

“So do you sail?”

I shook my head. “I like to get closer to the sea than that;
surfing, swimming, snorkelling – even scuba diving when I get the chance.”

“Lots of exotic holidays, then.”

“No – I've lived around here all my life and there's plenty of coastline to explore.”

“But diving? And snorkelling?” Her perfectly shaped eyebrows arched.

“I don't dive so much now because of all the kit, but you'd be amazed what you can see with a snorkel and mask, just within half an hour's drive.” I plunged in. “If you want I'll show you.”

I felt a moment of triumph as the grin spread across her face. “I'd love that.”

“Well if you're busy this weekend, how about next Sunday?”

“That sounds perfect. My boyfriend will be working so I won't have to hang around waiting for him to want to do something interesting.”

And my bubble burst – of course she had a boyfriend – all the nice girls did. But the way she spoke about him that made me think perhaps all hope was not lost.

Chapter Four

Eight days to wait; eight days to plan. The fact it was a Sunday made it easy because Mum always insisted that was my day off. Once I'd got her up in the morning she'd either kick me out of the house or have me wheel her to Auntie Jean's so that I could go back to bed. She knew, far better than I did, what you needed to survive as a carer.

So Mum wasn't the problem; it was the car – there was no hiding the fact it was adapted to take a wheelchair. And the problem wasn't even the car – it was inside my own head. What I should have done was taken it along; used it as a way to let Izzie know about my situation. But by then I wanted her far too much.

If only I'd known then what I know now… I'm sounding like an old man but I'm only forty-three – it's just you can learn a lot in twenty years if you have the right teacher.

Back in 1986 I lied. I phoned Izzie a few days before our date and told her my car was off the road, but it would be fun to get the train to Bournemouth instead. Of course then she offered to drive and I wavered, because all along I'd wanted to take her somewhere better than Bournemouth. And going in her car would have been OK – except she wanted my address to pick me up.

That was a real no-no. If I didn't want anyone to know I cared for my mother there was no way I'd admit to living on a council estate. Even work had the address of my old student digs. But I managed to dream up some story about going out with friends the night before so it would be easier for Izzie to meet me in town.

There was only one place I wanted to take her for her first taste of snorkelling and that was Kimmeridge. I knew the traffic would be rubbish on a sunny weekend so I asked her to pick me up outside Southampton railway station at eight o'clock. Leaving the town and the docks behind us we drove towards the New Forest, a Beach Boys' cassette playing in the background and the breeze from the open window wafting Izzie's perfume past my nose.

“If I'd known you wanted to go surfing I'd have brought my board,” I teased.

She smiled, looking gorgeous in a red and white strappy top. “Maybe another time,” she said and I wanted to punch the air. ‘Maybe there's a way to make this work,' I kidded myself.

When we arrived at Kimmeridge the car park was already half full; children and dogs running around on the grass and groups of youngsters heaving ghetto blasters out of beaten up Fiestas and lugging them onto the beach below.

I looked at Izzie. “You up for a bit of a walk?”

“Of course I am.”

I pointed to a rock ledge way to the left of the bay, beyond the fishing boats on the slipway. “It's a bit more peaceful around there and a better jumping off point to get into the water.”

She picked up her beach bag. “Come on then – I can't wait to get in.”

To say that Izzie in a bikini was a distraction is understatement of the century. As I said, she was small, but she had a few curves and they were definitely in the right places. Up until then I'd always gone for the more buxom type, but watching Izzie pull off her top and jeans certainly re-educated me to the attractions of a taut stomach and small, firm breasts. My fingers fumbled as
I tightened the mask I'd lent her, trying not to touch her skin, but somehow I managed it and then we were clambering across the boulders and into the bracing waves.