THE TRYSTING TREE (30 page)
Authors: Linda Gillard
‘
Mum?
... Is something wrong?’ she asked, frowning. ‘Where’s Connor?’
‘He’s still here,’ Phoebe said, pointing towards the door.
‘I was about to put your fish pie in the oven,’ he said, approaching the bed again, glad to see recognition and relief in Ann’s eyes.
‘We can all have a lovely midnight feast!’ Phoebe announced with a fixed smile.
Ann looked from Phoebe to Connor and said, ‘What happened in the wood?’
‘Tonight?’ he asked.
‘No. Forty years ago.’
‘Phoebe will explain. I’ll be downstairs if you need me.’
He closed the door behind him and began to descend the stairs. Glancing at his watch, he saw it was almost 2.00am. Still a long time till dawn, but at first light he would go up to the beech wood and take down the swing before Ann had a chance to set eyes on it again.
ANN
By the time Ann arrived at the clearing in the beech wood Connor had already taken down the swing. She stood at a distance, watching him, trying to remember what life was like before yesterday; before Connor rang the doorbell on a rainy January morning and asked to view the house; before he’d come to seem so very necessary in her life. She couldn’t remember that time. There was only now.
She walked on towards him, stepping carefully on the mossy ground, heavy with dew. She made no noise, but he looked up, suddenly alert. Winding long pieces of rope round the swing seat, he said, ‘You’re up. How are you feeling?’
‘Very strange. Fish pie for breakfast was a new experience. It tasted surprisingly good.’
‘You can’t beat home-made.’
As he bundled the seat into a holdall, Ann said, ‘No, don’t. Show me. I’d like to see it.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Yes, I’m sure. Phoebe said you borrowed one of my books on William Morris.’
‘For the decoration. I know you love what he does with plants.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Phoebe said. She explained about the Morris room. How he was your hero.’
She smiled. ‘You like Phoebe, don’t you?’
‘I think I love Phoebe.’ He held Ann’s eyes. ‘But not as much as I love you.’
She said nothing and looked down. When she felt able to speak, she said, ‘Show me what you made.’
He unravelled the ropes again and displayed the wooden seat. A pattern of carved beech leaves curled around the edge and in the centre it said
Ann de Freitas 2015.
‘I wanted to make something to remind you of the time we spent here. And I’m not really up to making garden benches.’
She traced the shape of a leaf with her finger. ‘It’s beautiful, Connor. Such a thoughtful present. Thank you’
‘I didn’t know—’
‘No, of course you didn’t.’
‘And I wanted to give you something that would last.’
She looked up into his face. ‘Oh, believe me, you have… If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like you to hang the swing back up for me. It belongs here.’
‘No trouble at all.’
He bent to put to the seat down. As he straightened up, Ann put her arms round his waist and laid her head down on his chest. He folded her in his arms and they stood in silence until she said, ‘Phoebe always said he loved us. She insisted on that. I suppose that love just wasn’t enough.’
‘If you’re very ill, sometimes it’s not. My Dad didn’t love me enough to stop drinking.’
‘She talked about him recently. Sylvester. I’d brought the subject up. I said I wondered if he ever thought of me, the way I often think about him. She said something rather odd. It seems even odder now that I know.’
‘What did she say?’
‘She said, “I’m absolutely convinced, wherever he is now, your welfare still matters to him”.’
‘I think she believes that.’
‘Do you?... I wish I could.’
‘You could try. Can’t do any harm, can it?’
‘No, I suppose not.’
She laid her head down again and they listened to the silence of the beech wood until Connor whispered, ‘Could you use some coffee? Let me make you some.’
‘That would be nice.’
He took her hand and they walked through the wood, past the laughing Green Woman, into the spring sunlight.
Connor looked up at the cloudless sky and said, ‘It’s going to be fine.’
‘Yes,’ Ann replied. ‘I think it is.’
THE BEECH WOOD
She has remembered what she saw long ago, what she found. There was a dark place in the wood and in her heart, a place that held secrets. Now nothing is hidden. Now she can grieve. Forgive. Love. Her life is full.
We, who have lived long, have borne witness to these things.
Were we human, we should rejoice.
Were we human, we should weep to see what we have seen, see what we see.
~~~~~
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I’d like to thank the following people for their help and support in the writing of this book: Tina Betts, Clare Cooper, Amanda Fairclough, Lorna Fergusson, Margaret Gillard, Amy Glover, Philip Glover, David J. Hogg, Bill Marshall, Erica Munro, Joanne Phillips, Sally Salmon and Katherine Wren.
I would also like to thank the staff of the National Trust at Tyntesfield, Somerset.
~~~
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~~~
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~
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~~~