Rowan In The Oak Tree (4 page)

The weather was worsening and she knew she and Peyton
needed to get out of the storm before they got too cold to move. Her socks were
damp and her toes numb with cold because of the holes in the soles of her
trainers. Her hands tingling with the cold inside her thin
woollen
gloves and she squeezed the straps on her rucksack tighter, thinking it would
help.

She looked at the tree, right in front of her now, its
huge pathway branch beckoning her into its warm and
cosy
centre
. She looked across the
bough
,
and put her foot carefully onto the branch before pushing down hard to test its
strength. On feeling no bend from the tree she stepped on with her other foot,
and shuffled forwards slowly, pushing the thick layer of settled snow off the
sides as she made her way to the tree house in the middle. Peyton followed her,
cautious of his footing and most unhappy that he was now off safe ground and up
in a tree.

The moment the companions reached the core they
calmed. The door stuck a little on its hinges and Rowan had to pull it hard to
open it, nearly falling over backwards in doing so, before walking in. The tree
house was warm inside compared to the arctic weather outside, and she and Peyton
were glad to be out of the wind and in the dry.

The wooden walls were thick and kept out the cold, and
the window in the side was a very thick sheet of plastic which was sealed in
with lots of strong glue, preventing any wind getting in. Old cushions
scattered the floor in one corner, and Rowan was glad for the chance to sit
down. Peyton flopped beside her and dropped his head in her lap.

She wriggled out of her rucksack straps and lifted it
onto the cushion in front of her quietly, so as not to disturb her
already-snoozing dog, and began to rummage through for the treats she’d stolen
from the cupboard. She considered herself to have been sensible when she took
two Mars bars, as she’d been listening that day many a year ago when her
maman
had taken her on a long walk, and knew that Mars bars
had sugar in that kept people going. She’d taken Peyton’s
favourite
bone from his corner and shoved it in a carrier bag to prevent everything else
getting covered in puppy slobber, and brought along his bag of treats, thinking
they’d work the same for him as a Mars would for her. Peyton opened his eye
lazily when he heard the rustling sound and leapt to his feet with his tongue
lolling and tail wagging when he saw that she had The Bag in her hands. She
opened the bag and tossed him a treat to eat, before resealing it and hiding it
away in the bottom of her rucksack.

She pulled her
favourite
bear out of the bag and sat him on the cushion so he could see the
room. He was only a very small bear, a small brown bear with moveable arms and
legs, and he had a much squashed face from where she’d cuddled him tight since
the day she was born.

She wandered around the room that made up the entire
tree house, patting her pretty puppy on her way past, and found an old radio in
a box behind the door. Turning the switch on, she fussed through static looking
for a station, and was disappointed but not surprised when it fizzled out on
her; the battery spent.

She chucked it back in the box, and on finding nothing
else of any interest to her in there, she closed the lid with a bang.

She couldn’t stand silence, which is why she most
often talked to herself, but now she wanted music. She recalled her
maman’s
favourite
cd, with songs
about men running in waves, a smart policeman, and mountains, and quietly she
began to hum her
favourite
song. The song always
sounded to her like the two separate and very different instruments were
dancing around each other, and she knew the song inside out. Swaying in the
middle of the tree house to the song she sang, she lost herself in the music.
She could hear the song clear as day inside her head although her ears heard
only her voice. As she danced and swayed she began to warm up, and had soon
thrown her gloves and coat onto the pile of cushions near Peyton, who continued
to chew his treat as if it were sticky like toffee.

As she came to the end of her song she moved to the
window and looked out. The view, though white and rather blurry, was beautiful.
The snow had slowed somewhat and she could see through the faint white flecks
the entire quarry and all the way over to the other side of the valley. On the
opposite hill stood an old church, its clock a beady eye as it looked upon
Rowan in her tree house many miles away. Its bricks, once a sandy yellow, were
now black as night. She knew that that beautiful old church was where her daddy
had married her
maman
, and she felt privileged to see
it with her own eyes. She told Peyton of a photograph she had seen of their
wedding day; her daddy looking every inch the Prince Charming and her
maman
a fine princess, both with a glass of wine and
smiling huge smiles. The photo always made her sad because their smiles did not
last beyond it; now whenever she saw them together all they did was shout. Or
rather, all
maman
did was shout. Daddy would merely
look at her with his patient eyes.

She told Peyton the story of her parents; they’d met
in a forest while her
maman
was picking berries and
her daddy riding his trusty white steed. Daddy’s horse had startled her
maman
and she dropped her basket of berries, and daddy,
ever the knight in shining
armour
, climbed down from
his horse to help her.

Of course, she knew it was a lie, a tale as tall as
the tree in which she stood, but she didn’t care. It made her happy to think of
her parents as happy royalty before her
maman’s
body
was taken over by a cruel and evil witch with green skin and a croaky voice.

She told of how she was named after the berries her
mother was picking that day for the birds in her extensive palace gardens, and
how she was given her own puppy to have as her royal aide.

Once upon a time her daddy-long-legs had called her
his little princess and had told her she needed a prince; the next day he came
home with a puppy in a basket. He told her that his name was Peyton, for Peyton
meant royal, and that he was her prince. He told her that as long as she had
Peyton, she’d never need another.

As she talked, she sat down on the cushions and put
her coat around her shoulders and encouraged Peyton to sit in her lap where she
could stroke him. He still wore his jacket but she knew he would feel her
loving touch, and she wanted him as close to her as possible. She felt lonely
and almost wished to have her
maman
there, even
though she knew she’d be shouting.

Her
maman
used to tell Rowan
of how she reminded her of a poem she knew.

“There was a little girl,” she’d start, with an
angelic look on her face, “who had a little curl, right in the middle of her
fo’red
.” She’d stab herself in the forehead with a chubby
forefinger before continuing.

“When she was good, she was very, very good,” Rowan’s
maman
would put her hands together, palms in prayer, before
finishing, “but when she was bad, she was horrid!” With this, she’d wag her fat
finger right in Rowan’s face.

She picked up the Mars bar she’d gotten out of her bag
and removed its wrapping. She smiled as she looked at Peyton watching her, his
mouth still slap-slapping as he continued to chew on his toffee-like treat. She
knew Peyton wouldn’t want any while his mouth was full and so she tucked in
greedily.

The chocolate had awakened her tummy and she listened
to it rumble a moment before giving in and diving into her bag once more. She
pulled out a jam sandwich and peeled away the cling film. She recalled wanting
some of the beautiful smelling ham that was in the fridge that morning, but
knew that if she was caught with it she’d be ‘for the high jump’. She sniffed
the air as though she could smell the ham in front of her, and took a bite from
the sandwich.

“We’d both be jumping high with ham in our bellies, eh
Peyton?”

On hearing his name, Peyton looked at her expectantly.
Her eyes were closed, her head leaned back against the wall, and the sandwich
she’d started to eat sat in her hand, unfinished.