In the Shadow of the Trees (11 page)

The sound of an approaching engine was a blessing. The little red tractor thing came putt-putting along the path, Liam gripping the wheel as if he held the reins of a chariot, his wild hair tugged by the wind. The dogs sat up behind him, their ears flapping, noses savouring the air.

Jason was far too involved with his culinary art to pay much attention to Badger. Sullivan went down to meet him and I wondered how he was going to react to the dogs. But Bramble bounded all over him, paws on shoulders, and he hugged her like a long-lost friend. Then she spotted me and Jason. Everyone got the same doggy treatment, including Liam who had just brought her.

Badger was a different matter. Liam lifted him to the ground where he managed to take a few steps. Sullivan approached him tenderly, kneeling down to stroke his head and whisper gently. I’m sure his mouth trembled and when he stood he brushed his eye with the heel of his hand. Blankets were fetched and Badger was installed on the deck in comfort; each dog was presented with a bone. Bramble had to make the rounds again, showing everyone her trophy.

Liam was introduced to Jason and they shook hands, formal and distant. Then Liam turned to me.

‘A good morning to you, Miss Porter, and a fine Christmas morning it is too.’ Miss Porter? I thought, and what’s with the thick Irish brogue all of a sudden?

Liam and Sullivan joined me on the deck and talked of farming things. The dogs chewed their bones and Jason played with the barbecue and clicked his camera while I mellowed out on the
festive punch. Despite my misgivings the little gathering was turning out to be quite pleasant. Except that, well it was nothing really, but I did notice how attentively Sullivan watched Jason. Even when he spoke directly to Liam or me, he was alert to his son’s every move.

Eventually lunch was ready. We sat around the table while bowls of salad and buttered new potatoes were produced to go with the pile of charred meat. I was served something unique and delicious as promised.

‘Enough of the punch,’ said Jason, ‘I have a couple of bottles of a very special red to go with this. A friend of mine runs a little winery north of town. This is by way of a limited edition. Regan, I know you’ll love this. Have a taste, Dad, see what you think. Now what about you, Connors? I expect you’re a beer man. I can get you a beer if you’d prefer.’

‘No, don’t trouble yourself. I’ll try the wine for a change.’ Liam dutifully took a sip and grimaced. ‘It’s very nice, thank you.’

‘Sure you wouldn’t prefer a beer?’

‘No, no this will do fine.’

‘I was meaning to thank you for the work you did on the deck. You’ve made an excellent studio for my friend Regan. She’s an artist, you know, quite famous. Works in wood.’

‘Oh, is that so?’ said Liam. ‘My uncle was a wood carver. Used to make chair legs.’

‘Chair legs, eh?’ Jason smirked behind Liam’s back. ‘Well, you two will have a lot to talk about then, won’t you?’

I could feel blood flushing my face. How dare he talk to Liam like that, the patronising little brat? And what did Liam think he was doing by playing up to him? Chair legs, my arse! And I bet he knows far more about wine than Jason does. I was about to explode when Liam gave me a covert wink and twitched the corner of his mouth. I bit my lip and let them play out the game. Then I had this awful feeling that it wasn’t a game, not for Liam anyway. He was hiding behind a fool’s mask, only it was Jason
who was made to look foolish. What are you hiding from, Liam Connors? I wanted to ask. But he went on playing the part and somehow I’d consented to collude with it, though God only knew what I was allowing myself to be drawn into.

The meal progressed, with Jason taking sideswipes at Liam and Liam playing the ignorant peasant. Sullivan drank copious amounts of wine and looked as if he would have fallen asleep at any moment if his eyes had not been permanently fixed on Jason.

Christmas lunch was turning into the Mad Hatter’s tea party. Alice, having wandered into it by accident, was trying not to giggle. Sullivan made the perfect Dormouse. Jason, master of ceremonies, was the Mad Hatter. And Liam? He must have been the March Hare. I wondered if we’d all have to change places at three o’clock.

‘Why is a raven like a writing desk?’ I blurted out.

‘What’s that?’ laughed Jason.

‘I said, why is a raven like a writing desk? It’s a riddle. You have to guess the answer. Only there isn’t one.’ My ice cream slipped off its spoon and landed with a splat all over my lap, which made me laugh out loud.

‘I think you may have leaned a little too heavily on the punch, Regan,’ said Jason. ‘Perhaps I ought to make some coffee.’ He left the table and went inside. I looked over at Liam and, for a moment, I thought he was crying. Then I realised he was shaking with suppressed laughter, big tears rolling down his face and into his beard. I’d never seen him laugh before. But, of course, he was the only one who knew what I was talking about.

Just then Jason returned to clear the dishes. ‘What’s the joke? Have I missed something?’

That set us both off again and this time even the dogs joined in.

After the party broke up I elected to make my own way back. It was a long walk around to the other side of the lake, but I needed to clear my head. Jason walked with me to the edge of the trees.

‘Are you sure I can’t give you a lift?’

‘Yes, I’m sure. When are you going back to town?’

‘I’ll probably leave tonight. I’ve done my filial duty and there’s a Boxing Day lunch party on Jerry’s yacht. I’d hate to miss it. Everyone will be there. Except you, of course. Sure you won’t come along?’

‘No thanks, I’ve got other plans.’

‘Well, I’ll see you then. Happy New Year.’

‘Yes, Happy New Year, Jason. And good luck.’ I said it as if it were something final.

A
s Jason returned to the Christmas feast, I took the path that went the long way around the lake, a route I had never taken before. But the afternoon was warm with a gentle breeze blowing off the surface of the water and shadows were beginning to smudge the pathway. It wasn’t really a path, just rutted tracks where farm vehicles occasionally passed. Thick grasses grew in tufts between the tyre marks, entangled with wild flowers and alive with the hum of bees.

Trees lined up in ranks to my right, rows of tall pines all standing to attention as if they were on parade for inspection. Not that I would have had the temerity to reprimand them for being improperly dressed, even though their lower branches were a little brown and straggly. I was heavily outnumbered. Besides, I was sure they were whispering about me, a small murmur carried on the breeze from treetop to treetop.

A squabble broke out among the flotilla of small birds bobbing on the water. There was a flurry of wings as they broke from the surface and chased each other, squawking across the path.

The sun stroked my arms and the wine still sang through my blood, flooding my veins like warm nectar. I felt lighter and walked freely as if I had laid down a burden. The tall pines tipped
their heads as I passed and I nodded and smiled and gave a royal wave, thanking God there was no one to see me.

But then I wasn’t so sure.

It was there, a flicker at the edge of my mind, just like when you catch something out of the corner of your eye and you’re not even sure that anything was there at all. Only it was. A slight flutter of a thought, like a feather ruffled by the wind. The shadow of a shadow. I looked around, as I always did, but knew there would be nothing to see. There never was. As I walked on, it kept level with me, moving higher up the slope where the trunks drew tight together and shadows formed dense, matted clumps of magenta. I reached out to it. This was something I was learning to do, to visualise a part of my mind stretching out like a groping hand. I was feeling in the dark, feeling for…what? Another hand? Another mind? And I did touch something, as I thought I had done before. Only this time I was certain. And the something was also reaching out for me. There was a momentary shiver of contact, a consciousness that washed through my head in a wave of grey light. A shadow, yes, but so much more than a shadow. It was watching, that’s all, just watching. Then it let go, ebbing back into the tree line, but watching still.

I was learning well.

The pines broke rank and gave way to bush, thick and tangled, like an unruly mob after the disciplined plantation. Jason must have walked here as a child, with his mother maybe, or after she had gone. I thought about his face as he talked of her. Poor Jason. Poor child.

When I reached the cottage I went straight to the mirror, looking deep into the glass and far away, trying to see what it was that she saw. I tried to see her face in his and the long rope of golden hair. But there was only me. I felt suddenly lonely.

So I tipped out the contents of a holdall and hunted down my mobile phone. Of course the battery was flat, so it was early evening before I was able to make a call. My parents sounded
really pleased to hear from me and they seemed to think it was perfectly natural that I had forgotten all about Christmas.

Sitting out on the deck to watch the early evening sky, I found I was holding the penknife that Jason had given me. It was quite beautiful; he must have had it made specially. The handle was warm rosewood with my name set into it in mother of pearl. There was a long chain attached with a clasp at one end so that it could hang on the belt loop of my jeans and be slipped easily into a pocket. I pried one of the blades open and found it honed to a keen edge. Instinctively I reached for a log and started cutting away curls of wood. Not the best wood for carving, too soft, and this quick-grown stuff is unevenly grained.

I wondered what Liam was doing and if Bramble was still with him. It seemed that this Christmas thing had taken him by surprise too. At first he had been uncomfortable, but once he’d got into his humble Irish workman act he seemed to be enjoying himself, though he did rather overdo it. Not that Jason had noticed. He was too busy showing off. And Liam had shown a sort of gentleness towards Sullivan. Compassion, that’s what it was. Compassion for an old drunk and contempt for a young fool. At least I had made him laugh.

I looked at the piece of wood I was hacking at and found it was shaping itself into the head of a dog. It looked a bit like Badger, so I worked on it for a while longer until the sun went down.

A whole day’s work had been lost, so I was up with the first light of dawn and out in my studio. It was a glorious morning and not to be wasted, but I could feel the heat building behind the horizon and by midday it would be too hot to move. Lately, although I felt I’d been working hard, I’d begun to put in less and less time on the actual sculpture and more time studying the subject matter, which was also a vital aspect of the work. But, as a result, the progress of the piece had certainly slowed down over the past
few days. I determined to move it forward that morning and set to while the dew was still clinging to the grass. I had been hard at it for several hours before Bramble decided it was time to go and visit Badger.

I found Liam chopping wood at the edge of the clearing. When he saw me coming he lodged the axe in a length of trunk.

‘Happy Boxing Day,’ I called. ‘Strange sort of Christmas, wasn’t it?’

‘Strangest I ever had.’ He wiped his hands down his trousers and came to meet me.

‘I made something for you. It’s a sort of belated present.’ I held out the little wooden dog. ‘To be honest, I only made it last night. But I suppose it still counts.’

He took the carving and turned it in his hand, stroking the ears and nose. ‘Well now, that is something. A Regan Porter original. And you made it for me?’

‘Well, sort of. I started making it and when I saw what it was going to be I thought you ought to have it.’

‘I think it’s the best gift I’ve ever had.’

He didn’t look at me again but went inside to put the kettle on. I went to say hello to Badger, who was looking much brighter and obviously frustrated by his inability to return Bramble’s physical assault. I distracted her by throwing a stick until coffee arrived.

‘So what else did you do last night?’ he asked.

‘Phoned my parents. Lots of apologising. I didn’t even send them a card.’

‘Were they upset?’

‘No. I think they’re used to me by now. I’m glad I rang them, though. It was good to talk.’

‘What are they like?’

‘My parents? Oh, they’re great. My father’s a lecturer at Otago University. Economics.’

‘Your mother?’

‘She teaches piano. Tried to teach me when I was little. I
think she had hopes of me being the virtuoso performer she never was. But I wouldn’t practise and I used her sheet music for drawing paper. And poor Dad couldn’t understand why his little girl needed to play with mud. Eventually they gave up and sent me to art school.’

‘It must have been difficult for you.’

‘It was more difficult for them. But they’d do anything for me. They’re like a pair of bewildered sparrows who’ve hatched out a cuckoo and don’t know how to feed it. Thank God they have my brothers.’

‘Older? Younger?’

‘I’m in the middle.’

‘Ah, that explains a great deal.’

‘Does it? And what about you? Do you have a family?’

Liam drained the last of his coffee and set his mug down. ‘I was going to take Badger for a walk. You want to come with us?’

‘But he can’t even cross the yard yet.’

‘True, but I have a cunning plan. Wait there.’

I watched Liam disappear round the corner of the woolshed. He was back in a few moments, pushing a wheelbarrow. ‘Look. I found this cushion from an old car seat to pad the bottom. Fit for a prince, eh lad? Come on your majesty, let’s try it for size.’

Badger got the hang of it straight away. We must have made a bizarre spectacle, the family out for a Boxing Day stroll, with Liam pushing the pram and Bramble running on ahead like an excited kid. He saw it too, and when I caught his eye we both started to laugh. It was good when he laughed, made him seem almost human.

‘So what was all that about yesterday?’ I asked.

‘What was all what about?’

‘All that not knowing about wine crap.’

‘Did I do that?’

‘Oh, come off it, you know you did. Why pretend to be something you’re not?’

He frowned, thought for a moment. ‘He’s an odd one, that Jason. I don’t feel comfortable around him and it’s obvious he doesn’t think much of me. He comes home to find a stranger with his feet under the family table. He wanted to make sure I knew I was only the hired help. It wouldn’t do to put his nose out of joint if I want to keep my job, even if he does act like a jumped-up little prick.’

‘Yes, I see your point, but don’t you think you were overdoing it? Look, I knew what was going on, Liam, you were taking the piss. If anyone was having a dig it was you.’

He gave me a wicked grin and walked on, taking a pathway up through the bush. After a while I said, ‘You were right, it wasn’t him.’

‘Who wasn’t what?’

‘It wasn’t Sullivan who did the shooting. I asked Maggie and she said he was in the bar at the time.’

‘Ah, the lovely Maggie, did she now?’

‘Besides it was the wrong sort of gun. Sullivan takes a shotgun when he goes rabbit hunting. The dog would have been full of pellets. The vet said it was a bullet that passed right through the shoulder, so it couldn’t have been him, could it?’

‘I suppose not. Don’t know much about guns myself.’

We fell silent again. I had spent so much time alone in the bush that it was strange having someone with me, although I admit I did feel comfortable with Liam, despite his prickly armour. He didn’t seem to want anything from me, there was no pressure.

I looked around, alert for that familiar sensation of being observed. No, it was either not there or it had backed off: at least I couldn’t feel that familiar tingle on my spine. Perhaps the Watcher did not approve of me having company.

The morning was reaching its height. Cicadas screeched nonstop until the sound cut through my head. I could feel the ends of my hair sticking to my neck and a trickle of sweat running down my back. Liam manoeuvred the wheelbarrow around tree
trunks, his arm muscles tightening into hard knots; I think it was proving harder work than he had envisaged. Eventually the path widened into a clearing and there was my giant friend. I ran up and laid my hands on the trunk in greeting.

‘Liam, come here, let me introduce you to the Lord of the Forest.’

Liam came up as I asked and laid his hands on the tree, leaning his head against the dry bark.

‘Can you feel the energy?’ he said. ‘It’s like standing next to an electricity sub-station.’

‘Yes, I know what you mean, I’ve felt it here before.’ I slid down to sit on the roots, leaning against its body. ‘You talked about trees once, said they were filled with some sort of Earth energy. You said it could be sensed by some people. Is this what you meant?’

‘The ancients were more in touch with the natural world. They were aware of the life force all around them, in the trees, the earth, running water. They saw these things as living beings, minor gods if you like. That’s how they worshipped God—through nature.’ He sat down beside me. ‘They would find places where the energy was strongest, a pool, a rock, a special tree like this one, and come to say a prayer or ask for a favour. They would make a small sacrifice, a piece of bread, some wine. Lots of pieces of jewellery have been found in streams, bronze bangles and brooches. Gifts for their personal gods.’

‘Perhaps we should make an offering,’ I reached for the bottle we had tucked into the wheelbarrow, unscrewed the top and poured some of the water over the roots. ‘There you are, Tree, it’s not much but you’re welcome to share what we have.’ I took a long drink myself and handed the bottle to Liam.

‘You’d have made a fine pagan,’ he said. He gulped the water down, and then shared the rest between the dogs, cupping it for them in his hands.

‘You don’t sound much like a Catholic yourself, or is it Protestant?’

‘Neither,’ he replied. ‘The Church is no master of mine. It certainly put an end to pagan worship. Locked God up in a prison of stone, it did. Laid the creator on an altar with a railing in front to keep the people out and a priest standing guard to bar the way. For over a thousand years now it’s held my country in fetters, crippled their minds and bled their bodies dry while it filled its own purse. No, the Church is no master of mine.’

I was startled by his bitterness and the hatred in his eyes. I waited for his next words with no idea how to respond. Instead Liam jumped up and grabbed my hand, hauling me to my feet.

‘Come, we’re supposed to be walking the dogs,’ and he snatched up the barrow handles and swung around onto the path, setting off at a breathless pace. I struggled to keep up with him, watching his shirt stretch across his shoulders as he bumped the wheel over jutting roots. Fern fronds slapped my face and the midday heat drew beads of sweat from my skin.

After a while Liam’s pace slowed, his shoulders relaxed and I felt it was safe to speak again.

‘You were saying how the ancient people knew about the energy in trees. That’s something I’ve always been able to relate to. You know, pagan ideas about the forces in nature. Do you know something about that? Can you tell me some more about the trees?’

He was silent for so long I thought he hadn’t heard me. Then he said, ‘Well, if you think about it, to the Celts, in fact most other races throughout history, the trees were essential for survival. The forests provided building materials for their shelters and the fuel for fires to cook their food and warm their bodies. They carved weapons from wood for battle and for hunting. Later they fashioned yokes for the plough beasts and put up barns to store the harvest grain. Then, when they discovered the secrets of metal work, they needed fuel to fire the furnaces. Trees were to them what electricity is to us, the power that sustained their lives. Is it any wonder they believed that trees had magic powers?’