THE TRYSTING TREE (10 page)

ANN

Phoebe was asleep. Impervious to booze, she’d always been a night owl, partying like someone half her age, but nowadays pain exhausted her. She sat slumped in her chair, her head falling forward, a heap of bony limbs. Connor and I regarded her in companionable silence, then he looked at me and whispered, ‘Perhaps I’d better stop reading.’

‘Yes. She’d hate to miss anything.’

He closed Hester’s diary. ‘Call it a day then?’

‘I think so. You must be tired of reading in any case.’

‘Not really. It’s nice to have such an appreciative audience.’ He stood up and stretched his long limbs. ‘Ann, I really don’t need to stay over. I can ring for a taxi.’

‘No, of course you must stay,’ I said, collecting our wine glasses and placing them quietly on a tray, so as not to wake Phoebe.

‘I don’t want to put you to any trouble.’

‘It’s no trouble at all, but I can’t promise you’ll be very comfortable. It’s just an old Z-bed. Your feet will probably stick out the end.’

‘Oh, I’m used to that.’ Connor opened the door for me and followed me into the kitchen. ‘You’re sure? I mean, you didn’t really get to vote, did you? It was Phoebe’s invitation.’

‘She’s your number one fan, you know. If she were ten years younger—’

‘And I was ten years older,’ he answered with a grin.

‘Oh, no, she’d take you as you are. And younger.’ The glasses slid as I set down the tray and one almost toppled over. As I caught it, I was aware I must have drunk more than I thought. The conversation felt slightly out of control, even indiscreet, but I found I didn’t care. It was nice to have someone to talk to.

Leaning against the worktop, I said, ‘Age has never really meant much to Phoebe – physically or morally. When I was young, I used to be very shocked, but now I rather admire her attitude.’

‘So do I,’ Connor replied. ‘And I’m flattered you think if I played my cards right, I could be in with a chance.’ His face was deadpan, but I must have stared, because he cracked eventually and laughed. ‘Don’t worry, I have no designs on your mother. But I
am
very fond of her.’ He continued to look at me and said, ‘I’ve grown fond of you
both.’

I smiled, feeling pleased but also awkward. ‘Phoebe’s a person who’s easy to admire, but not, I think, easy to love. There have been times – difficult times – when I’ve asked myself if I actually love my mother, but I’ve never doubted how much I respect her.’

‘As an artist or a person?’

‘Both.’

‘But I shouldn’t think it’s been easy being her daughter.’

I looked at him, surprised. ‘No, it hasn’t.’ Once again I had that vertiginous feeling. It might have been the red wine or the apprehension that I was saying – and thinking – too much. ‘I’ve always thought I fell short in various ways. She’s never actually
said
I’ve been a disappointment to her, but…’

‘You think you have.’

‘Yes… Well,
no
, not really. I mean what did she expect? That an artist of her calibre would produce another? That just doesn’t happen. And I hardly think she can be disappointed my marriage ended. It lasted fifteen years – a lot longer than hers. She’s never expressed the slightest interest in grandchildren, so I don’t think she holds that against me.’

Connor folded his arms and regarded me thoughtfully. ‘So maybe Phoebe
isn’t
disappointed in you.’

‘You mean, I’m just paranoid?’

‘Possibly.’

I laughed, delighted. ‘Come on. Let’s get you settled in the studio.’ I picked up the key to the studio and opened the back door.

I led Connor out into the darkness. I heard him inhale the night air and I did likewise, glad of the bracing cold after the smoky wine-and-wood burner fug indoors. I stopped and glanced up at the stars, to check they were still there. They were. ‘Perhaps you’re right, maybe I
am
paranoid. After all, my five year-old brain had to find some reason for my father running away.’

I unlocked the studio door, opened it and switched on the light. ‘You’re in luck. I always leave the stove ready to light so I don’t have to start my working day laying a fire.’ I knelt down in front of the stove, opened the door, struck a match and lit the firelighters. As I watched them burn, I sat back on my heels and said, ‘I must have thought Dad left because I’d done something very, very bad.’

Connor was standing behind me and didn’t speak. I imagine he was hypnotised by the flames too, or just tired. It was late and he’d worked hard in the garden. Eventually he said, ‘Did your five-year-old brain come up with anything?’

‘No. I was always a very well-behaved child. I didn’t even do much in the way of teenage rebellion. My mother was an embarrassment to me with her bohemian friends and young lovers, so I was rigidly conventional. That was how I rebelled.’

Connor sat down on the shabby
chaise longue
. ‘But you thought you must have driven your father away.’

‘Something like that. I remember it as a bad time, but I don’t recall any details. I can remember Phoebe shouting. Going ballistic. And there was a lot of crying – hers and mine. But I don’t remember what it was all about. I don’t think anyone actually explained things to me. Dagmar – Phoebe’s agent – came down from London and whisked me away. She took me to her flat where I ate lots of sweets and ice-cream. I can remember throwing up. And she bought me a new doll. I’d never owned anything so lovely. I was almost scared to play with her, she was so beautiful. Dagmar read to me at bedtime, which was a real treat. She tucked me up in a little box room with an old patchwork quilt on the bed and I can remember thinking, “I don’t ever want to go home.” I wanted Dagmar to be my mum.’

‘So in fact,’ Connor said carefully, ‘it’s you who’s disappointed in Phoebe, not the other way round.’

I looked up, shocked by his words, but unable to deny the truth of them. ‘I was very young. I could be bought with dolls and bedtime stories. Speaking of which,’ I said getting to my feet, ‘This one’s gone on long enough. I should let you get some sleep. I’m being a very boring hostess.’

‘Not boring at all. In fact a lot of what you say strikes a chord with me.’

‘Really? Well, that makes me feel slightly better.’

‘Phoebe never actually told you she was disappointed in you. My father said little else from my teens onwards. He wanted a clone, not a son and I… well, I wanted to do something different with my life.’

The stove was burning nicely now, so I went over and sat beside Connor. ‘Didn’t you say your dad was in the army?’

‘Yes. He assumed I’d follow in his footsteps. That’s often the case. You get army families. Ours was one until I let the side down. So I know what it feels like to think you don’t measure up, how tough it can be to go your own way without any support or even encouragement.’

‘How old were you when you lost your mother?’

‘Four. I don’t remember anything about her. She’s just a photo album. I sometimes wonder if that’s why I grew up so interested in archive stuff. Letters, diaries, photos… Those people all seem real to me. Well, as real as my mother.’

‘Do you have any brothers and sisters?’

‘I had one brother, much older. He went into the army and got himself killed.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry.’

‘Ivy was like a life force. She was the one who shared my interest in growing things. She was the one who taught me to garden, much to Dad’s disgust. Then when he realised I wanted to make a
career
out of it…’

‘He wasn’t happy?’

‘He was angry. He talked about horticulture as if it was hairdressing and about as useful. Dad was an army surgeon, so I could see where he was coming from.’

‘Oh dear. Medicine
and
the army. That was a lot of pressure.’

Connor shot me a grateful look. ‘Yes, it was. But Dad wasn’t just angry, he was ill. He’d seen a lot of appalling things on active service. Not just mates dying. Civilians. Children. It affected him deeply. Permanently. He thought the world was a terrible place and he only saw the bad. So he drank a lot. Said it helped him relax, but I can’t say I ever saw it mellow his mood. He had a vile temper. And he lost control a few times.’ Connor paused and I noticed his big hands were clenched as they lay on his thighs.

‘Did he ever hit you?’

‘Occasionally. Then I got to be taller than him and hit back. He left me alone after that, but it was shame, not fear. Dad didn’t do fear. It was a point of honour with him.’

‘How horrible for you. For
both
of you.’

‘Yes, it was all pretty undignified. Ivy was always trying to patch things up between us, but Dad insisted on seeing my rejection of the army as a rejection of him and my brother’s sacrifice. That’s what Dad always called it. Kieran didn’t just die, he made the ultimate
sacrifice. When I rejected the army, Dad said I was rejecting generations of Grenvilles, even rejecting being a man. He just didn’t get it. But his head was a mess, poor sod. Combat didn’t ever stop for him. He was always looking for a fight.’

‘He’s dead, I take it?’

‘Yes. His battle ended some years ago.’ Connor gazed at the flames dancing behind the glass door of the stove. ‘But the guilt… and the disappointment… Well, you would know. They go on and on, don’t they?’

I felt an impulse to put an arm round this sad young man, to offer some sort of indeterminate comfort, but there seemed to be no context in which to touch him and I began to doubt my motives for wanting to do it.

Connor leaned forward and clasped his hands loosely between his thighs. Staring at the floor he said, ‘At Dad’s funeral all his army mates told me what a great bloke he was. Fearless. A natural leader. One of the best. They said I must have been very proud of him.’ He sat back and sighed. ‘I suppose I would have been if we’d ever really known each other, if he’d ever talked – really
talked
about his work, instead of giving me all the understated, stiff upper lip crap. I tried to feel proud of him at the funeral but I was just… angry.’

‘Do you know why?’

‘Oh, yes. I was angry because he was gone and he’d never, ever been proud of me. And now he never would.’ Connor looked up, his eyes moist, beseeching. ‘But how can you be angry with the
dead
?’

‘Very easily. For a start there’s no chance of them ever coming back to apologise. And it’s all over, isn’t it? Finally. You’re lumbered with a bad ending. Or just not knowing what was really going on.’

His smile was lopsided and uncertain. ‘So… I’m not just paranoid then?’

‘I don’t think so. But what do I know? You said
I
was paranoid.’

He tilted his head to one side and looked at me. ‘In the nicest possible way.’

‘Thank you. I
think
.’

‘You know what I’m talking about then? The anger?’

‘Oh, yes. Sylvester hardly knew me. He never saw what I became or what I did. Okay, I haven’t done anything important, but I would have liked him to know me. And of course I would have liked to know him.’ I hesitated, shot Connor a sidelong glance, then said, ‘For what it’s worth, I’d just like to say, that… well, that
I’m
proud of you.’

He turned and stared. ‘Whatever for?’

‘The way you’ve worked in the garden, giving it all you’ve got. The way you’ve befriended Phoebe. She’s really not the easiest of people, but you’ve given her a new lease of life. She looks forward to seeing you. We both do. And I admire what you’re doing for Ivy. In her memory. Trying to understand what went wrong.’

He frowned. ‘Is that what I’m doing? I suppose it is. To begin with, I was just curious, but it’s become a bit of an obsession now. I mean, what could be so bad, you actually want to destroy your past? Your
memories
? I just don’t get it.’

‘Me neither, but I’m sure you’re doing the right thing. I think it’s important to understand where we’ve come from. To make sense of things and try to make the best of them.’

‘Have you forgiven him?’

‘Sylvester? For leaving?’ I got up, opened the stove door and threw in another log. ‘No, I don’t think so. Not really. My own marriage failed, so I can understand what he did. But I don’t think I’ve forgiven him. Not yet.’

‘That’s the hard bit. Still work in progress for me.’

‘And me… Look, I think I’d better go back and check on Phoebe. The loo’s through that door,’ I said, pointing, ‘and you’ll find towels and probably a new toothbrush in the cupboard. Oh, and there’s milk in the fridge. Make yourself tea or coffee in the morning, then come over for breakfast when you’re ready.’

He stood up. ‘Thank you. And thanks for listening – to Hester’s story and mine.’

‘It’s been a pleasure. Truly. I can’t wait for the next instalment.’ As I looked up at him, I realised, had I been taller, I would have kissed him on the cheek. In the few seconds’ hiatus, I sensed Connor having the same thought and wasn’t surprised when he bowed his untidy head and brushed my cheek with his lips.