The Faerie Tree (25 page)

Jennifer had always said the candle was a gift for the hidden folk who guarded the tree. I never thought she meant the words literally until I read that even today a majority of people in her native Iceland don't discount the existence of elves and fairies. But by then it was too late to ask her; she may have understood the question, but I could not have trusted her response. Could I trust my own?

I had no-one to turn to; no-one who would understand how the yawning gap in my mind was threatening to swallow me. No-one. Not any more. Unless… of course, I couldn't talk to Jennifer about this, but I could be near her – in a way. I almost sprinted up the slope, gathered the remaining candles from the earth and jumped into my van.

I parked at the top of the woodland burial site and made my way through the trees. I had done this only once before, with Jennifer, when she was well enough to want to come here and choose her final resting place. As we'd emerged into the clearing she had gasped at the Solent set out before us, the Isle of Wight rising from the hazy sparkle of the sea. She'd turned to me and nodded.

“I'll rest well here, Robin,” was what she said.

Her grave was to the far left of the clearing. The earth had yet to settle and a flinty mound marked the place, a terracotta pot of tete-a-tete at its centre. Stephen. I should have guessed he'd been coming here. My own visit was long overdue.

I took the candles out of my anorak pocket and set two at her head and one at her feet. The clearing was sheltered so they lit easily and I sat back against a nearby tree to watch them burn.

On the other side of the burial ground was a coppice of firs. I had watched Jennifer's funeral from amongst their shadows. I had come there to wait; days of agony when nothing happened and I wondered if Stephen had forgotten her wishes. Or if there
were more sinister reasons for the delay. I haunted the little wood, by day and by night, and at last the grave diggers came.

Across the field was a manor house, its garden neglected as builders worked to convert it into flats. Roses climbed the walls; a few miraculous blooms had evaded the frost. At dusk I went to pick them, but they crumbled to petals in my hands. For a moment I was dismayed, but then I gathered them up and spread them at the bottom of Jennifer's grave, a scented mattress to help her rest.

I watched the funeral from the coppice. Neighbours, clients, people I knew from the village. Farmer Westland helping the Major and Maria down the slope. Undertakers carrying a simple wicker coffin and behind them, Stephen and Gareth, a woman in a black coat and another man.

As the service began I studied the strangers. Too far away to see their faces I could only assume that the woman was Susan. The man was younger, fair and solid-looking and I guessed it was Toby. They stood apart from Stephen, who was held upright by nothing more than Gareth's arm. I should have been there, on the other side of him. Thirty paces and I would have been. But my courage failed me and I'd slunk away. “Forgive me, Jennifer,” I whispered.

The sun crept along the edge of the wood, warming my legs as I stretched them across the earth. My fingers dug into the chalk around the tree roots, meeting an acorn, rolling smooth around my hand. And in my mind I travelled with Jennifer, her memory fragmenting, flitting from present to past, from anguish to peace and back again. And then, as I closed my eyes, she came to a place of light and she turned and seemed to say ‘Your journey is different'.

I shared her tranquillity until the candles burnt themselves out.

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Claire's schoolbag corkscrewed across the hall and thudded into the bottom of the stairs.

“Come on,” I joked. “It's Friday – you ought to be happy – no more college for a couple of days.”

“I'd rather be there than here,” she stormed.

“Hey – what's up?” I leant against the doorjamb.

“Don't pretend she hasn't told you.”

“I'm assuming ‘she' is Izzie?”

“Well who else would it be?” She planted her hands on her hips.

“Could have been the cat's mother, the way you said it…”

“Oh don't start being the disapproving parent – it doesn't suit you.”

“And being a stroppy teenager doesn't suit you. So why don't we just cut to the chase and you tell me what's wrong?”

Claire sank onto the bottom stair. “I can't make her listen – she doesn't believe me – and I haven't lied to her, well, not really.”

“I'm afraid none of that makes any sense to me at all.”

“You mean she really hasn't told you?”

I shook my head.

“We had the worst row we've ever had last night and she
didn't tell you? She probably isn't even upset about it. I think that's worse, I think… all day…” Her head fell towards her knees and she started to sob.

I crouched down beside her. “Sshh – I'm sure your mum is upset if you've had a fall out but perhaps she wanted to keep it private between the two of you. And anyway, I was fast asleep when she came to bed and there's never any time in the mornings.”

“That was my whole point – there isn't time to talk in the mornings so that's why I didn't tell her, but she thought I was hiding it deliberately, but if that was the case then I wouldn't have told her at all, would I?”

“Told her what?”

Claire's chin jutted out. “That I've got a boyfriend.”

I considered the news. “And Izzie isn't happy about it?”

“She… she didn't seem to care one way or the other. She just went off on one because she thought I'd hidden it from her.”

“What made her think that?”

“Because it was Jack who organised the trip to Newquay, so she thought I was so keen on it because I was going out with him then.”

“But you weren't?”

“No.” She twisted the ends of her scarf. “I did fancy him, though. I did, you know, want to impress him. And… and… when we went to Newquay at half term and you, like, knew everyone and we went in the sea, he thought it was well cool and I think it was then he started to notice me.”

“And your mum didn't believe that?”

“I never got the chance to tell her the full story – she wouldn't listen.”

I hauled myself up on the newel post. “Well she is a bit stressed at the moment.”

“She's always stressed.”

“Claire, she does her best. She's had a bloody awful seven months.”

“But she's got you now.”

A car slowed outside then turned into the drive. Claire leapt to her feet.

“Go and wash your face,” I told her. “I'll try and square it with your mum but I can't promise it'll be straight away – I'll need to find the right moment.”

I was still standing in the hall when the front door opened and Izzie appeared.

“Hello, Robin – what have you been up to today?” she asked as she put her briefcase on the bottom step.

“I went to Jennifer's,” I told her, “to plant a few vegetables. I hope they grow before Stephen decides to sell.”

“You could plant some here, you know.”

“Oh, I don't know…”

“Rather plant them at your real home, would you?”

An argument was the last thing any of us needed so I took Izzie in my arms and held her until I felt her shoulders relax. “Sorry,” she murmured.

“It's OK. Claire told me you'd had a row so I rather expected you to feel shitty.”

Izzie looked up at me. “She's home then?”

I nodded.

“What did she tell you?”

“That you wouldn't listen to the full story. She was crying, Izzie – she's really upset. Just like you,” I added as an afterthought.

“I wasn't very fair on her, really.”

“Then go and tell her so.”

She disentangled herself from my arms. “I can't do that. Honestly, Robin – you know nothing about parenting.”

“I know that two people I care about are hurting.”

Her eyes dropped away from mine and after a few moments she said, “You are so wise sometimes.”

“And so stupid at others.” I gave her a little shove. “Up you go and sort it out. I'll walk into town for a swift half and bring us back some fish and chips.”

She turned to me from three steps up and smiled. “And a bottle of white to go with them.”

It was Friday, after all.

Chapter Fifty-Eight

I was glad to be left to myself in the garden. Izzie and Claire were friends again and had headed off to Chandlers Ford for Izzie to meet Jack. I'd been invited but I'd declined; I wanted to start on our new vegetable patch.

Before she left Izzie and I picked the place. The garden wasn't large and the lawn grew right to the fence on the left hand side. An old Christmas tree had been planted half way along, but if that was removed then the area would catch a great deal of afternoon sun so I set to work with my chainsaw.

I have never liked killing healthy trees but sometimes it has to be done. In truth it was hard to call this woebegone spruce particularly vigorous and once I had resolved to take the logs to Jennifer's for the Aga I felt better about it. Nevertheless it showered me with evil brown needles which stuck to my hair and my jumper.

The noise of the chainsaw meant I didn't hear my phone. It was only when I wandered up the garden to get myself a drink from the outside tap that I noticed the missed call. Stephen. I rang him back.

“Hi, Rob – learned to use your voicemail?”

“I can even text quicker than a word a minute too.”

Stephen laughed. “I'm very glad to hear it. Now, the reason I
called was that Gareth and I have come down to Gran's for the weekend – do you and Izzie fancy supper at the Robin Hood tonight?”

“I'd love to, but Izzie isn't here right now. Can I call you back?”

“No – text me. I'll book a table for seven anyway. It'd be lovely to see you both.”

Hoisted by my own petard. I lowered myself onto the edge of the patio, found Izzie's number and fumbled my way across my Blackberry's ridiculously small keyboard.

The paving beneath me had been warmed by the sun. I traced its rough edges with my fingers and looked around me. Beyond next door's fence an ornamental cherry was bursting into life and daffodils waved in the breeze along the border. A pair of sparrows were picking around in the mess of pine needles that surrounded the tree stump; if I went back to my work straight away I would only disturb them. It was a good excuse.

I closed my eyes and let myself drift. My phone buzzed. I jumped. I read the message. I smiled. ‘Dinner sounds great. So's Jack. Love you loads
xxxxxxxxx
'

Chapter Fifty-Nine

After supper we stayed at our table as the restaurant emptied and the bar became louder. I prevaricated over having another beer as we had to collect Claire from the cinema but when Izzie suggested I stayed with the boys I was easily persuaded. She drained the last of her coffee and kissed Stephen and Gareth goodbye before weaving through the bar.

Watching her make her way to the pub door, Stephen said, “She's a lovely lady, Robin.”

“I know – I'm so lucky. Who'd have thought I'd find her again after all these years.”

“Is she still OK about you forgetting, you know…”

My hand locked around my glass but to my surprise the words ran out freely enough. “She's been amazing – especially as it's much worse than one incident. It's months… months of a life with Izzie I've just blotted out.”

Gareth leant forward. “What do you mean, blotted out?”

So I told them. Stephen stared into his glass the whole time I was talking. After a while I ground to a halt.

But Gareth kept asking questions, especially about my memories of that time.

“I walked away from it all. I couldn't be in the house – Mum was everywhere – so I went on a walking trip. I never came back.”

“Where did you go?”

“Along the south coast as far as Looe then I cut inland over the moors and ended up in Newquay for the summer. And I know I was there because when we went down at half term we met someone I used to know. But that would have tied in with the time Izzie and I split up – I could have just gone straight to Newquay.” I picked up my beer glass then put it down again.

“So you both knew you were at Jennifer's beforehand because she validated your memory and you both knew you were in Newquay because someone else did.”

“Pretty much,” I shrugged.

“Robin, how stable would you say Izzie is?”

“What do you mean?”

“Just humour me a moment. It's just… she seems a bit brittle to me.” He steepled his little fat fingers together in a way which seemed calculated to irritate me.

“Of course she's stressed. I mean, she's only been widowed seven months…”

“And how did she cope with that?” Gareth jumped in.

I took a deep breath. “From what I can gather she was strong while Claire needed her to be but then she did fall apart. She had to take a month or so off work but she went back in January. Since then she's had me to cope with – and Claire – and her job's pretty stressful too. But I'm still not sure what you're getting at.”

“I'm wondering – and it's just a hunch, mind you – if this is more down to Izzie than you.”

I leant forwards. “How do you mean?”

“Well let's just suppose that seeing you believe her version of events puts her in a position of power in the relationship and that would make someone who's pretty fragile feel more secure.”

“Oh come on, that's just the worst sort of psychobabble shit.”

Stephen shifted on his chair. In losing my temper with Gareth I was letting him down all over again. I ran my hand through my hair and muttered an apology.

“No offence taken. It's a big thing to throw at you. I can see
it hasn't even occurred to you that your memory could be right and Izzie's wrong.”