The Faerie Tree (18 page)

“Oh.”

“She won't let it rest, Robin – she's like a dog with a bone – it's driving me mad.”

“So has she got the info she promised you?” I picked up the vinegar bottle and sprinkled it liberally over my chips.

“No. Well… some of it – but not nearly enough. Only the dates, and the name of the hostel and how much it's going to cost. But I need to know who's going Robin, how they're getting there, what sort of supervision they'll have… I know nothing that really matters.”

“And does she understand that's what you need?”

“She says I'm being unreasonable.”

“Well you're not.” I put my hand on hers but she shook it away.

“I don't need you to tell me that.”

I turned my attention to my fish but it felt like greasy cardboard in my mouth. I swigged some more champagne but that tasted flat too.

Eventually Izzie said, “I am being unreasonable with you, though.”

“I just don't understand what you want me to do, that's all.”

“I'm not sure I do, either. Just listen I suppose – and if Claire says anything to you then back me up.”

“Sure.”

After a while Izzie picked up her glass. “It's lovely champagne, Robin, but why did you buy it? It wasn't just about half term, was it?”

“Partly. But also because Stephen called to say Jennifer's life assurance has paid out. He's bringing the cheque down tomorrow. I don't want the money, Izzie, but if I have to have it then I thought I'd treat you. But I'll rebook Regginas for one night next week when you've had a chance to rest.”

“You don't need to wrap me in cotton wool, Robin. I'm alright.”

I shared the remains of the champagne between our glasses.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Izzie wasn't alright – the next morning her cold was so bad she stayed in bed but Claire was eager to come with me to Jennifer's house. It was a crisp, clear day and the sight of the garden looking neat and tidy with the crocuses starting to push through the grass made me proud to show it to her.

“What time's Stephen getting here?” Claire asked as we got out of the car.

“About eleven – we're a bit early I'm afraid.”

“That's perfect, Robin. We can go to the Faerie Tree.” She turned to walk down the drive but I called her back.

“No, Claire – there's a quicker way.”

I led her past the house and into the back garden.

“So this is where you lived then, Robin?” she asked.

“Yes – we kept chickens and they used to get everywhere. It all seems very empty without them.”

“Do you think Mum would like some chickens in our garden? Your omelettes would be even better with our own eggs.”

“Maybe one day.”

Claire followed me through the gap in the hedge and along the edge of the field. A flock of seagulls took off from the ploughed earth on our approach, feathers glinting in the sunshine.
We watched them land further away then climbed over the fence. The ground was slippery underfoot so I held Claire's hand as we made our way down the slope.

I expected her to let go when we reached the bottom. “You've got big hands, Robin,” she told me. “It reminds me of being a little girl when Dad used to bring me here.”

“Is that why you wanted to come? To remember him?”

She shook her head. “No. I've got something to ask the fairies.”

I watched as Claire walked around the tree, trailing her fingers on its trunk. There were quite a few coins studding the surface – I made a mental note to pop down in the week and bag them up for Barnado's. After three circuits Claire stopped by the fairies' post box, delved into her anorak pocket and pulled out a piece of paper which she'd folded until it was about an inch square.

“Aren't you a bit old for that?” I asked.

“You sound just like Mum,” she scoffed. “But the fairies always answer – they won't know if I'm sixteen or six.”

“Your handwriting might give it away and anyway, how many six year olds want to go to Newquay surfing?”

“Oh Robin,” she chided me, “you mustn't say it out loud – it won't happen now.”

I looked on helplessly as she poked the letter into the box. There was no way on god's earth she was going to get a reply.

“It probably won't anyway if you keep going on about it to your mother.”

I reached for her hand to help her up the slope but she refused, slipping and sliding after me in silence. I waited at the fence, barring her way.

“Look, Claire – Izzie's exhausted. Just give it a rest until you've got all the information she needs. Then you can have a sensible conversation about it.”

“I've told her everything I know.”

“Then you don't know enough.”

“You just don't understand, do you?”

I thought about it. “I can see this means an awful lot to you, Claire, but what I'm not sure of is why.”

She kicked at the fence post with her wellington. “I just want to go like everyone else. It's only a week, after all.”

I sighed. “Look, just tell your mother who else is going, who'll be in charge, how you're going to get there and all that stuff. Then she can decide.”

“What's the point? She'll say no anyway.”

“She'll certainly say no if you don't find out. What have you got to lose?” I turned away and hopped over the fence, striding out towards the house. I had nothing else to say on the matter.

I was half way across the garden when Stephen appeared through the French windows.

“There you are, Robin. I wondered where you'd got to.”

We embraced in the middle of the lawn. “I took Claire down to the Faerie Tree,” I explained.

“Oh – this must be Claire. Hello there.”

I turned to see a smiling teenager approach us, cheeks pink from exertion and blonde hair flying behind her.

“Hello Stephen,” she said, grasping his outstretched hand. “I've heard so much about you from Robin.”

I was beginning a crash course on adolescence – just at the stage in my life when I could barely remember my own.

Chapter Forty

When we got home I rushed up the stairs two at the time to see how Izzie was. But instead of being tucked up in bed I found her in the study, staring at her computer screen.

“You're not working, are you?”

She turned to me and beamed. “No. I've being doing something I'm sure both you and Claire will approve of. Where is she?”

“Washing the mud off her wellies.”

“Fetch her, will you?”

I called down the stairs. “Claire – have you got a minute?”

Back in the study Izzie had a picture of a staggered terrace of modern apartments on her screen. There were balconies on the first floor and a parched scrap of grass in front. An azure sky stretched into the distance beyond their flat roofs.

“What do you think?”

I leant over and peered at the computer. “They look OK.”

“I've booked one. For later this week.”

I frowned. “Where are they?”

“Newquay.”

“Mum, oh Mum – that's amazing.” Claire folded her arms around Izzie and gave her a huge kiss.

“Well I thought we could all go and check it out together. It
would be a lovely break and as Robin's lived there he can show us the sights.”

I tried to laugh, “It's donkey's years since I've even been there.” It was pointless saying I didn't want to go back.

Izzie

Chapter Forty-One

The patio door sticks in its metal runners. I grip the handle more firmly and tug until it rasps open to let the salty air flood into the apartment. Below me Robin is lifting a box from the car, tucking it under one arm before slamming the boot and striding across the lawn. He doesn't look around him, or up at me.

The balcony rail sends a chill through the sleeves of my jumper but the view is magnificent. Beyond the narrow road is the sea, churning and green. Dark clouds loom over the headland but Fistral Beach stretches towards them like a strip of pale gold, dotted with walkers. There are even a few surfers and I call to Claire for her to come and see.

The breeze flicks the hair from her face as she hugs me. “Oh, Mum – this is just so perfect – thank you.” For once, it seems I have done the right thing.

Somewhere in the apartment a door slams.

“Robin – come and look – there are people surfing,” Claire squeals.

It takes a moment for him to appear. “There always are in Newquay,” he shrugs.

“Can we go, Robin? Will you start to teach me?”

He shakes his head. “No – it's much too cold.”

“But they're out in it.”

“They're experienced surfers, Claire, and they probably have top of the range drysuits. There's an awful lot of hanging around in the water waiting for a wave when you're learning – we'd be frozen within minutes.”

There is a moment when childish petulance crosses Claire's face but then the young adult re-asserts itself. “It just seems a shame to come all this way and do nothing towards it.”

“We're not going to do nothing, Claire,” I remind her. “We're going to check out that hostel and the courses they offer for a start.”

“And I can show you the different types of wave, and tell you about the tides and currents,” Robin offers. “That's the trickiest bit – knowing which waves you can catch and which to leave.”

“Shall we go for a walk along the beach now?” Claire is practically jumping up and down like she used to when she was tiny.

“Why don't you and Izzie go? I'll unpack then see what I can cobble together for tea.”

“Please come with us, Robin.” I don't want to leave him on his own – it's a family holiday and he's part of the family now. But he has already gone back into the apartment.

While Claire and I find our coats and scarves the clouds above the headland lift. But the wind still whips in from the sea and white horses glisten in the distance. My walking shoes sink into the sand and I wish I was barefoot so I could feel the softness between my toes.

“So when did Robin live in Newquay, Mum? Was it before or after you met him?”

I consider. “I think it must have been after, because he never mentioned it back then.”

“He told me his mum died and that's why he went away.”

“Kind of, yes.”

“So what happened?”

I stop and look at her. “On the very day Robin took me home
to meet his mother, she died. It was one of the best and worst days of my life. There I was with this wonderful new boyfriend and we were so happy, and it was all shattered the moment we walked into the house. She was slumped across the kitchen table – it was just awful. Robin screaming at her to wake up and trying to revive her, then the ambulance men turning up and then a neighbour – just one terrible blur.”

“What had happened to her?”

“We… we never really found out for sure – the inquest was inconclusive. But she'd been in a wheelchair for a couple of years and Robin had cared for her; as well as finishing his degree, as well as working. He never talked about it though – I guess he thought it would put me off and he'd only told me that afternoon, but Jean who lived opposite filled in the gaps. It… it hit him so hard.”

Even at this distance in time the memory punches a hole in my happiness. I turn my face into the wind so that my eyes smart from the salt and the sand. “I suppose… when you lost your dad… that was why I was so scared for you.”

Claire's arms wrap around me. “It was different for me, Mum.”

“Different? In what way?”

“Well I've still got you, haven't I? Robin didn't have anyone once his mum was gone.”

“But he did; he had me, he had Jean, he had friends…”

Her grip tightens. “It's not the same, Mum – it's not family.”

So here is my sixteen year old daughter telling me about grief.

“You wise old thing, Claire,” I tease.

She bites her lip. “It's not wise; it's having been through it I think. I still miss Dad terribly but…”

“I miss him too.” I am saying it to comfort her and it makes me feel guilty as hell. Yes, Connor is often around the corners of my mind but if he was actually here… “You know, Claire, just because I'm with Robin now doesn't mean I've forgotten him.”

“I know that. You're not a forgetter, Mum. You never forgot
Robin, did you? I mean, you knew him the moment you saw him.”

“Yes.”

“I'm glad you did, you know. You needn't feel bad about Dad. He'd have wanted you to be happy and I can see with Robin you are.”

I link my arm with hers. “And I'm happy you're happy. Come on, let's go back. We mustn't abuse his good nature by letting him do all the chores. It's meant to be a holiday for him too.”

As we approach the apartment Robin is on the balcony, silhouetted in the light from the living room. I wave at him and he raises his hand. In it is a glass of wine and I see him mouth the word ‘cheers'.

“Pour one for me,” I call when we get close enough. He nods and disappears, the patio door grating shut behind him.

Chapter Forty-Two

The sand here is different; wet and shiny from the out-going tide. I press the toe of my shoe down and water oozes into the hole. Music from the bar drifts across the emptiness and out over the waves.

Robin is different too, thank goodness. Last night – I don't know what it was – but he wasn't himself. Yes, he cooked us a lovely tea, had a few glasses of wine, but he watched TV from the sofa with half closed eyes. When Claire wanted to talk to him about surfing he feigned sleep. And then he was awake most of the night, grumbling about the bed. He hasn't been like that since… well, just since.

But the sun is shining this morning and he suggested Watergate Bay rather than the town. Over breakfast in the beachfront café he came to life, teaching Claire surfer slang; beached is apparently more to do with eating too many sausage muffins than ending up in a heap on the sand, and once Claire starts to surf – and Robin gets back on his board – we will both be honeys. I'm not quite sure how I feel about that.