The Faerie Tree (24 page)

“What's wrong, Izzie?”

I stop and look around me. At the end of a leafy walk, across Shirley Road, I can see the pub. Just like it always was; the downstairs of a 1930's house without an ounce of character or charm. But nothing else is the same – nothing I remember. The flesh on my arms begins to crawl but then I realise why.

“Robin – it's gone.”

“Gone?”

“Those new flats – it was there – a whole terrace – and the path was a proper road then. We were about half way down it. There was a green front door.”

We continue to walk until we reach the main road. Apart from the pub that's changed too; Halal meat store, world supermarket, curry lounge – all new. The dry cleaner is still there though, and the hardware shop.

Robin is looking up and down the street. “Do you remember anything?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “I would tell you… I've never been here before in my life. Except you know that isn't true.”

I try to help him to remember. “When we first moved in we painted the bedroom because it was so grim. We bought all the stuff from Clarence Hardware over there. And there used to be a
bank opposite – we'd get a tenner out of the cashpoint to go to the pub.”

He looks again. “There's nothing, Izzie. Absolutely nothing.” He lets go of my hand and turns back the way we came. “Come on – we'd better go.”

Chapter Fifty-Four

Claire practically follows us through the door.

“You're home early, Mum,” she chirps, giving me a hug.

“My last class was cancelled,” I tell her, hoping she won't probe.

Instead she turns to Robin. “Are you feeling better now?”

He is not such a good liar as I am and he looks surprised.

“It must have been something you ate, do you think?” I chip in and he nods.

“I'm fine now, Claire – quite hungry in fact. I might even start cooking some tea.”

“I'll do it,” I offer.

He squeezes my hand. “We'll do it together.”

“That gets me off the hook,” laughs Claire, and disappears up the stairs to her room.

In the kitchen I pull a bottle of wine out of the rack. “Fancy a glass?”

“No thanks. I don't want to be damaging any more little grey cells.” His joke doesn't really come off.

I put the corkscrew back in the drawer. “Then I won't either. Come on – what are we going to cook?”

We keep it simple. Onions caramelised in olive oil, stirred into hot pasta with a tub of soft cheese that was lurking at the
back of the fridge. It's begging for a glass of white to go with it.

Over supper talk turns to Claire's seventeenth birthday, only weeks away. She wants to know which one of us is going to teach her to drive.

“Proper lessons first,” I tell her. “I'll buy you some for your birthday. You don't want to pick up our bad habits.”

“I'm a white van driver now, Claire,” says Robin, a smile sliding across his face. “And you know what that means. I'm not safe behind the wheel.”

“You're not allowed to park it in front of the house either,” adds Claire.

“I meant to say…” I start, but Robin cuts across me.

“Well no, Claire – I wouldn't want to lower the tone of the neighbourhood. Professional people live here, after all, not manual labourers. Not kids who grew up on council estates.” He winks.

I thump my hand on the table. “I was going to say – you can park your van outside – it's not a problem – you just caught me at an awkward moment the first time.”

“Council estate? Oo, Robin – don't tell anyone. They'll think Mum really does have a bit of rough.” She's curled over herself giggling and Robin joins in. Quip after quip follows, making me out to be some sort of snob. I'm not – I'm not like that, I want to scream. My headache returns with a vengeance – I don't understand what's going on – how can Robin be laughing so easily? How come I can't?

I stand to clear the plates and once they are in the dishwasher I scrabble in the drawer for my strongest painkillers.

“Mum – Mum – what d'you think?”

“Sorry, darling – I didn't hear.”

“I saw a handyman's van painted with the slogan ‘your second husband'. Should Robin do the same?”

I look at them, Claire's cheeks flushed and her face alive, Robin's head slightly on one side as his eyes meet mine. They drop to the packet in my hand.

“It's very funny, Claire,” he says. “But it's not really me, is it?
It'd be against trade descriptions or something – I've never even been a husband, let alone a second one.” He ruffles her hair and stands up. “Headache, Izzie? Why don't you sit down and I'll get those for you with a nice cup of tea.”

He's never been a husband but he should have been. I nod my thanks and wander into the living room. A picture of Connor on the mantelpiece follows me to the armchair at the far end. I close my eyes against the day.

Chapter Fifty-Five

Robin brings my tea and tablets and I go upstairs to have a soak. I hear him and Claire beneath me in the garage; they must be checking out Connor's car. I turn on the taps to drown them out.

I undress in the bedroom while I run my bath. The full length mirror mocks my middle-aged body. I am tired beyond belief. I slip under the sickly scented foam and grasp my tea, wet hands sticking to the hot mug.

Claire. Almost seventeen. Next year she'll be gone; flying the nest to some far flung university. I remember the moment myself, sitting on the bottom stair and opening the envelope. My whoop of joy echoing through an empty house. Bristol had accepted me; get the grades and freedom was possible. For the first time, my future was in my own hands. I was desperate to escape.

I don't want it to be like that for Claire. I don't want her to be running away. I don't want to be the mother-bitch-from-hell. I want her to miss me; text me; phone me. I want to be her friend.

The codeine works its magic on the pain behind my eye and the water soothes the aches in my back. I balance my mug of tea on the corner of the bath. The door clicks open.

“Izzie? Can I come in?”

I twist around and smile. “Of course you can. I heard you in the garage – were you looking at the car?”

“Yes. I showed Claire how to check the oil and the water in the washer bottles.”

“Her father would never have thought of that.”

Robin sinks to his haunches next to the bath. “I'm not trying to replace Connor.”

“You're finding your own way.”

“I'm trying. How are you feeling now?”

“Better. You?”

“Too tired to think about it. The car was a good distraction.”

I reach out and stroke his hair, leaving a soapy trail. He hangs his head.

“Why don't you go to bed? I'll just have a chat with Claire then slip in later.” I pull the plug out of the bath and stand up. The air feels cool and I shiver, so Robin fetches my towel and wraps it around me. “You're the kindest, most wonderful man I've ever met and I love you very much.”

He shakes his head but all the same he smiles. “I love you too, Izzie. You're the centre of my world.”

I am still glowing when I cross the hall to Claire's room. As I push the door she closes down a window on her computer screen.

“Am I interrupting something?”

“No, Mum – not at all.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and smiles at me.

“It's just – I had an idea. How about you have a little party here for your birthday, and invite the people you're going to Newquay with?”

“Mmm… maybe.” She picks at the skin alongside her thumbnail. “Mum – there's something I need to tell you.”

“Yes?”

“I've got a boyfriend.”

“How long has that been going on behind my back?” The words are out before I can stop them.

“Not… not that long. There's just never been the right moment to say. I didn't want it to be something we had half a conversation about on our way to the school bus.”

“There've been plenty of other times.”

“No, Mum – there haven't. Not when it's just been you and me.”

“Don't start blaming Robin for this. He's very good to you, he's…”

“I'm not blaming Robin!” she yells. “I'm blaming you. You're the one who's never got time for me. No wonder I need a boyfriend of my own.”

The truth of what she says hits home and I am able to check myself. “I'm sorry, Claire. We've got time now. Tell me all about him. Is he at sixth form with you?”

“Yes. He's nice, Mum – you'll really, really like him. He's quite tall with green eyes and he makes everyone laugh all the time. He lives in Chandlers Ford and his dad's a dentist. He wants to be a marine geologist – that's how I met him – he's in Sasha's geography group.”

“You haven't told me his name.”

“It's Jack – Jack Granger.”

The name rings a bell so loud it even strikes the right spot in my befuddled brain. “The boy who's organising the trip to Newquay?”

Claire shifts her weight on her chair. “Yes.”

“That explains a lot. So really, Claire – how long has this been going on?”

“Only a few weeks.” But her eyes can't meet mine.

“So he wasn't the reason you were so desperate to go to Newquay? Come on, Claire – I work with kids your age and I'm not stupid.”

“It wasn't like that, Mum, honestly…”

“Don't use that word with me, Claire – not unless you mean it,” I snap. “You're almost seventeen – have a boyfriend – why not? But don't start lying to me and hiding things from me or…”

“I'm not. You just won't listen,” she screams.

I watch my hands as they stretch to shake her by the shoulders.

“Don't you dare – don't you dare touch me – I'm not a child!” She shrinks against the wall and I back away.

I am trapped in the funnel of the landing and I grip the radiator for support. It burns my hand but I can't let go. I cannot move; not back into Claire's room, nor cross the invisible storm to my own. I close my eyes and fight to control my breath; it is all I can hear; a panting dog chasing me.

The feeling I am about to die recedes. I raise my hand and flex my throbbing fingers. Claire's muffled sobs squeeze under her bedroom door and I escape to my study.

I have visited this internet page so often the address springs into my browser when I type just the first few letters. Symptoms of stress: feeling overwhelmed, moodiness, constant worrying, panic attacks, headaches… these are all familiar. But memory loss – on a huge scale? I search the list again and again but it isn't there.

Robin

Chapter Fifty-Six

I didn't even unlock Jennifer's house but went straight to the garage. There, piled on the workbench, were airtight boxes containing half empty packets of seeds. I checked the dates; some would do. Carrots, beetroot, a handful of broad beans. It was enough – for this year anyway.

It was how Jennifer and I had always done things at the spring equinox. ‘More than a nod to heathenry' she'd laughed, but it fitted in with the view of the world we'd come to share. In the drawer of the dresser were some candles and I planted one in each corner of the vegetable bed and lit them. There was hardly a breeze and the flames burnt low and true as my spade cut into the earth, chopping and turning to release its goodness.

I marked drills for the carrots and beetroot and scattered the seeds before raking the soil over. The beans I planted in pairs. It would be a scant crop compared to previous years and if Stephen was to sell up I wondered who would be here to harvest it. It didn't matter; it would be a gift to the house's future from its past. A past that was not as solid as it seemed.

I'd worn myself into a state of exhaustion gnawing at how Izzie's recollection of events could be so different to mine – and
yet I had no answers. I'd watched Jennifer's brain fragment as the Alzheimer's took hold – was the same happening to me?

The damp from the earth seeped through the knees of my trousers. I had been here, in the garden, when Jennifer had told me of her fears – before that we'd just laughed when she'd forgotten someone's name or couldn't remember where the milk pan was.

It had been spring, too, but later, probably April. I was doing the proper planting; burying runner bean seeds in the trench we'd kept open all winter. I didn't hear her approach.

“Robin?” I looked up. “Robin, I'm scared.” Her best grey cardigan was wrapped tightly around her, but she was shivering.

“What is it?”

“The doctor's referred me to a consultant. These memory lapses… he thinks… they might be… significant.”

“Surely he's just being cautious?”

She shook her head. “Who knows?” There was a chatter of magpies in the distance. “Actually, I think I'd rather not.”

“That's silly, Jennifer. It might be something perfectly treatable.” I stood up, wiping the earth off my hands on my trousers.

“And if it isn't?” She wasn't a woman who cried, but her voice was shaking now.

“Then I'll look after you.”

“Robin – no. You don't know what you're offering…”

I wrapped my arms around her and she felt frozen to my touch. “No. But we'll find out together.”

Now, I took a handful of earth and crumbled it through my fingers. One of the flames guttered. The rite was not complete.

I hauled myself up on my spade and extinguished three of the candles. The other I picked up and, shielding its flame, carried through the gap in the hedge and along the bottom of the field. The air was filled with birdsong and the trees fuzzy green with new life.

I paused at the top of the bank. Below me a dog was nosing around the Faerie Tree so I knew people would not be far away.
Before long two women came into view, deep in conversation. They didn't even glance at the tree and soon they were out of sight again. I slid down the slope and placed the candle between the oak's roots.