The Faerie Tree (21 page)

He nods.

“I couldn't help but notice it, could I? It's parked half way across the drive.”

“Oh, Izzie – it isn't. It…”

“Well it's completely blocking my view for getting out tomorrow morning.”

He puts his hand on my arm. “Well if I don't go first then I'll see you out. But I don't really know where else to leave it. I mean, once I've loaded up my tools I'll want to be able to keep an eye on it.”

I fold my arms. “I don't want some bloody great white van parked outside my house all the time.”

“But you said I should use some of Jennifer's money to get a van and so I have. Where did you think I was going to keep it?”

“That's not all you've been buying, is it?” I flash.

“No, and I'm beginning to regret the Blackberry.” He tries to smile. “A normal phone would have been much simpler and I'm not sure how many of my customers are going to email me anyway.” He puts it down. “Come on; let's eat.”

I shake my head from side to side, trying to shift the dull ache starting behind my eyes. As Robin opens the oven door mince and tomato and cheese and all homely things rush out.

“I thought I'd make a cottage pie so it's easy to warm Claire's when she comes in. Comfort food. She sounded a bit nervous about this evening, I thought.”

“Nervous? I thought she'd gone swimming.”

He shakes his head. “Not about that. About Sasha's mum bringing her home so you can talk about Cornwall.”

“Well I've said she can go – what's to be nervous about? Does she think I'll go back on my word?”

From the look on Robin's face I can tell that she does. “Why doesn't she talk to me?” I burst out. “She's my daughter.”

Robin puts down his fork. “I think, because she's worried about you. In Cornwall, sometimes, it was almost like you weren't with us and she thought you were drinking quite a lot.”

“That old chestnut. I was on holiday – I wanted to unwind. What's wrong with the odd glass of wine?”

“Claire doesn't see it like that. She's…”

I push my plate away and gravy slops onto the table. “If my daughter has something to tell me then she can say it to my face – and not – I repeat not – through you.”

Robin spins his knife slowly around on the table. It reminds me… of something. His face is pale, contrasting with his eyes which seem to have disappeared back into his head. I expect an outburst but all he says is, “You put me in a difficult position, Izzie. Am I to live here and not listen to Claire? Or listen to her and not tell you about it?” He looks down. “Or do you want me not to be living here? Have you changed your mind?”

“Hah! The get out clause – make it my fault when you disappear again. Because it's a habit, isn't it? It wasn't just me – it was Meg as well – and goodness knows who else I don't know about, because you hopped out of my bed and into hers pretty quickly.”

A muscle under his beard twitches. “I don't know what you mean.”

“It's no good coming Mr Innocent with me – Ed spilt the beans. He told me about Meg – he said she died not knowing what had happened to you – just like I could have done – just like I wish I'd done right at this moment. No wonder I was drinking on holiday, with Claire manking on about surfing all the time and your past coming back to slap me in the face. No wonder…”

But I don't have an audience any more because Robin grabs his keys and slams the kitchen door behind him. His knife spins towards the edge of the table.

I think he would have slammed the front door too but I hear
voices outside. Robin's, gruff and deep, drifts over our abandoned meals. “I'm off to B&Q before it closes… need something for a job tomorrow… yes… Izzie's just finishing her tea.” I stare at the pepper grinder, gazing right into its grain. I know I have to move; one, two, three… I put my palms on the edge of the table and lever myself up, brush imaginary crumbs off my jeans and waltz into the lounge, shutting the kitchen door behind me.

“Angie – lovely to see you. Glass of wine?”

She gives me a tiny hug and air kisses my cheek. “Great idea – I've got the L-plates on the car – Sasha can drive me home.” The evening has started all over again.

Two long glasses later they leave. Claire rushes into the kitchen, claiming she is starving, so I put the cottage pie into the microwave to warm for her. I look at my own plate, orange-coloured fat congealing around the edges.

“I'll heat mine too – finish it off.”

She picks up Robin's knife from the floor. “Why didn't…”

“So are you pleased now the whole Cornwall thing's sorted? Perhaps you could invite everyone who's going to supper one Saturday, then I could meet them all. I wouldn't embarrass you, I promise.”

She gives me a hug. “Oh, Mum – you never do.”

I take another glass of wine to the study with me. I check the clock on my phone – B&Q will have closed ages ago. Every time I hear an engine in the road I prick up my ears, wondering if it could be his van.

In the end there are footsteps, echoing down the pavement. A long stride, but a slow one. The click of the latch on the gate and a key in the door. I didn't know I had been holding my breath. I put the cap back on my pen and I'm waiting for him at the top of the stairs. He looks at me, silent, uncertain. I take his hand and lead him into the bedroom.

We sit down on the bed together. “Where have you been?” I ask.

“To B&Q.”

“That's what you told Angie.”

“Yes. It's where I went.”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “It was open. I looked at power tools until they closed. I picked up some leaflets, read them over a pint in the pub. I'm going to need a new hedge trimmer.”

“Where's the van?”

“Outside the pub.”

“Because you've had a pint?”

“Because you don't want it here.”

Tears spring into my eyes. “Oh, Robin – I am so sorry. I just feel so… so…”

He pulls me to him, rocking me back and forth. “That's it, Izzie, have a good cry. You'll be better for it, I'm sure.”

Will I? Will the tears wash away the terrifying momentary blankness of memory which means I don't know which classroom to go to? Will they soothe the rising panic that lurks in unexpected corners, waiting to catch me out? Can I even tell Robin these things when it's the fear of losing him again that's causing them?

But here I am, my face squashed against his jumper, in a grip so vice-like it seems he will never let me go.

“Robin – promise me – you won't just disappear again.”

“I won't,” he murmurs. “Last time – last time I was ill. For years really, after I lost Mum. I wanted to contact you but I just couldn't do it, and then, when I did try, they told me you'd moved on. I couldn't stay with Megan either – not when I still loved you. And there was no-one else, Izzie. Not ever.”

And I cry some more. Because I so, so, want to believe him.

Robin

Chapter Forty-Eight

The earth turned beneath my spade, releasing its loamy scent as my namesake bird hopped next to me, looking for worms. Under the trees the daffodils I had planted what… five, six, years ago… shone yellow in the pale sunlight. The freshness of it all, the sense of beginnings, stirred my spirit and my mood was improved even further when Maria, the Major's Cypriot wife, came out with a mug of coffee and a plate of her homemade biscuits.

It knew it would be ten past eleven exactly, and was my cue to put down my spade. The Major – I always thought of him as that, although he insisted I call him George – would be taken his at eleven o'clock and then Maria would bring me mine. But today she was not alone; the old man limped down the garden after her, coffee mug in one hand, the other grasping his stick.

“Beautiful morning, Robin,” he called.

I nodded. “It really feels like spring. Even the blackbirds think so.” I indicated the hedge. “I'll have to give it a good trim later, before they start nesting.”

“You nesting too, I hear,” said Maria, her black eyes sparkling behind her glasses.

“Don't be so nosey,” her husband scolded, but I knew that wouldn't stop her.

I smiled. “If you mean I have a lady friend, well you're right.”

“I am so pleased for you, Robin,” she said. “After all those years looking after dear Jennifer you deserve some life.”

“I was very happy with Jennifer, you know. She was like a mother to me after I lost my own.”

The Major snorted. “You were more than a son to her. Look at our boys; here we are, old and decrepit, and we never see them.”

“Oh, George, you know that is not true.” Maria leapt to the defence of her beloved sons. It was an argument I had witnessed several times before. I sipped my coffee, nibbled my biscuit and let my shoulders relax in the sunshine.

“Well, Robin, what do you think?”

I jumped. “I'm so sorry,” I said. “I was miles away, I…”

Maria laughed heartily. “Thinking thoughts of your lady, no doubt. She is beautiful, Robin?”

“Yes, very. I… I knew Izzie years ago and we met again just before Christmas. She's a widow now so…”

“Ah, that is so romantic, Robin. She is lucky lady.”

“Well I don't know about that, but I do my best.” I picked up my spade.

“Before you get going again, Robin – we wanted to plant something new to remember Jennifer and we wondered if you had any ideas as to what would be best,” asked the Major.

“She loved her roses. Perhaps if I took a cutting from one of them? It's time I gave them a short back and sides anyway.”

“Take a few cuttings, my boy – they're notoriously fickle plants to get going.”

“Do you know, it would be lovely to think of them growing somewhere else. It sounds silly, but I do worry about her plants. If Stephen decides to sell the house whoever bought it might dig them all up.”

“You should take some for yourself, too.”

“I will – when I have somewhere permanent to plant them.”

Maria stepped forward and gave me a hug. “One day, with your lady…”

“I hope so.” But last night I had realised just how fragile my happiness was.

I watched them return to the house, Maria walking two steps behind her husband and carrying the mugs. I crouched close to the earth and held out my hand, the last of the biscuit crumbs stuck to my fingers. I stayed very still, but today the robin wasn't brave enough to take them so I tipped them into the soil where he would find them later.

After I finished at the Major's I made my way to Jennifer's house, grating the van's gears as I reversed into the drive. The damn thing was hard to park anywhere – I'd need to practice. I was also reconsidering putting my name on it after the way Izzie had been last night. Perhaps she didn't want the neighbours to know I was a gardener and handyman.

She'd been better this morning, though. She had cried herself to sleep, so exhausted she lay motionless in my arms all night. But her breathing was steady and shallow and when she woke she said she felt totally different; refreshed and ready to face the day. I didn't know how long she'd been holding those tears inside but it must have done her good for them to all come out.

Rather than unlock the house I made my way across the lawn and through the gap in the hedge onto the field. The turned earth was fuzzy with tiny stalks of corn and the sky was a clear, pale blue. To my right in the woods every leaf seemed to be a different shade of green. As I slid down the bank to the Faerie Tree I noticed the first signs of bluebells pushing through. The wheel of the year was turning; the winter of loss relaxing its grip. Everyone was better off when they were in tune with nature so the timing of Izzie's tears had been nigh on perfect. I looked through the branches to the sky and whispered some words of thanks.

Closer to the tree I stopped and listened. I could see no-one, but people give their presence away first through sound. A dog barked, but that was some little distance away so I opened the
box on the side of the tree and crammed the letters into the my pocket before scrambling back to the hedge. I knew Claire's was one of them, but now that her wish had been granted I didn't feel so bad about not being able to reply.

Back in Jennifer's kitchen I set the kettle to boil and pulled my pad and pen out of the drawer in the table. I loved opening the children's letters, freeing myself to sink into their world of innocence where the fairies came properly to life. For Jennifer I think the hidden folk always had been real; for me, well, it was different.

Of course there was the occasional child who didn't believe but was after material gain; Xboxes had been the thing last year and I had been able to fob most of them off by explaining the fairies didn't know what an Xbox (or a Wii) was. Children like that didn't tend to have the patience for a long conversation with the hidden folk.

Another popular desire was for a puppy or a kitten and there was one of those today. Samantha, with very wobbly handwriting. The fairies explained that you could love all animals without having a pet of your own and that all the rabbits and mice in the wood would be her special friends. It was a fairly standard reply, to be honest. Jennifer had been much more creative. I often wondered what the parents would think if they knew the fairies' letter writer was a forty-four year old childless man; probably that I was some sort of pervert.

I hadn't planned to read Claire's letter but curiosity got the better of me. I thought I might find out just why she was so set on going to Newquay but to my absolute amazement it wasn't even mentioned.

The letter was about Izzie; how Claire was worried about her drinking because it was making her act funny and forget things. About how scared she was that her mother was falling ill again. And how afraid if she did get ill then she would push me away and I was so good for her. And because she was afraid I might go she couldn't ask me what to do, and anyway I didn't take the drinking thing seriously at all. It wasn't so much a request for help, more of a desperate outpouring.