The Paradise Trees (2 page)

This is the bad place. You’ve come back to the bad place.

The young voice was tinged with fear now, a haunting little whisper in her head. Where were these thoughts coming from? Panic fluttering in her throat, Alicia stared up at her father’s
bedroom window. Was the voice her childhood self? A sudden wave of nausea made her gut spasm and her legs shake. Bile rose right into her mouth and she swallowed, desperately trying not to retch.
This was the bad place and for the first time since the night of her sixteenth birthday she was actually going to sleep under this roof. For six long weeks there would be no escaping this house and
the parent she had run from.

The nausea passed as suddenly as it had come. Knuckles still white on the steering wheel, Alicia took a deep breath, cold sweat on her forehead. She needed to get a grip. All that was left of
her father was a frail, old man, and she was an adult now. She could do this. Jenny was staring at her, puzzlement all over her small face.

‘Mummy?’

To Alicia’s relief, Margaret opening the front door created the necessary diversion, for as soon as Jenny saw Conker prancing about the hallway she was off, soft toys forgotten for
once.

Resignedly, Alicia turned and lifted her handbag from the back seat, knowing that all she wanted to do was grab her daughter and drive away and pretend that everything was all right. But
grown-ups didn’t do things like that. They faced reality.

She fixed a brave smile on her face and opened the car door.

His vigil started just after lunchtime. He had been quite unable to stop himself. The thought of Helen coming to Lower Banford, driving along the village street and then up
Woodside Lane... he had to be there to see it. An early-morning visit to the shop yesterday and a casual remark about summer visitors had set Mrs Mullen off, he’d listened to a long monologue
about tourists before she provided him with the only detail he was interested in: Alicia Bryson and her daughter were expected on Sunday afternoon.

At twelve on the dot he stationed his car near the bottom of Woodside Lane, and settled down to wait for Helen. He had an excuse ready, in case anyone saw him and tapped on the window. One of
the houses further up the lane was empty, and he was going up to have a quick look round, wasn’t he? After all, his own place was nothing special. Looking at property was a perfectly natural
thing to be doing.

Nobody noticed him so he didn’t need his excuse. There was nothing he could do except sit and wait, but the thought of Helen driving towards him, getting closer by the minute, nearer and
nearer... how wonderfully exciting that was, an amazing feeling, almost orgasmic. It made his entire body tremble and the sweat, never far off, soaked through his shirt yet again. He was waiting
for Helen... he didn’t want it to end.

And then suddenly, they were here. Fortunately the lane was narrow, so you had to slow right down when you turned in from the main road. Helen’s car crawled past him and there she was, and
oh, she was just as perfect as he remembered, with such a beautiful worried expression on her face. If only he could hold her and kiss that frown away.

An instant later he saw the little girl and knew straightaway that here was another true love, an even greater love, if such a thing was possible. Little Helen, gazing out of the passenger seat
window, and oh! – she’d seen him, she had looked straight at him – what had she thought? Did she realise that here was the man who was going to send her to Paradise? No, of course
not.

But send her he would. And soon. What a wonderful time he would have, planning his ceremony, making sure that the road to Paradise was smooth.

His Helens had arrived.

‘Aunt Margaret! Is that Conker? Can I pat him?’

Margaret was still clutching the front door, and Alicia noticed that her aunt looked as distraught as she herself was feeling. Margaret’s thin face was pale, and the strain was apparent in
her voice.

‘Hello darling. Yes, of course, he loves children. Why don’t you go and play with him round the back? I’ll shout when tea’s ready and you can come in and see
Grandpa.’

Jenny’s face clouded at the mention of her grandfather, but she trotted off obediently with Conker at her heels. Alicia hugged Margaret. However bad she felt about coming here, help was
definitely needed.

‘Margaret, are you okay? How is - he?’

As usual, it was difficult to say her father’s name. She hadn’t called him ‘Dad’ since she’d been a very young child, in fact she didn’t call him anything at
all if she could help it.

‘Hello, lovey, he’s not so good - oh, Alicia, it’s as if there’s less of him every day.’

Alicia allowed herself to be led into the gloominess of the living room. Her parents had preferred to keep the place frozen in the 1930’s when the house had been built - or maybe modern
fittings and light were part of the devil’s works too. The furniture was mahogany, dark and heavy; the thick brown curtains were worn stiff with time, and even the paintwork was brown,
providing a muted contrast to the walls, where the wallpaper was a nondescript beige flowery pattern that had possibly looked fresh just after World War Two.

Her father was sitting by the fireplace, at first glance a distinguished old man... except he wasn’t old, not by today’s standards. And as for distinguished...

‘Hello,’ said Alicia, bending down until her face was level with his. His eyes lifted slightly but didn’t quite meet hers, and his face remained expressionless as his gaze slid
round towards the television. Like many stroke patients, his arm was more badly affected than his leg, and his right hand lay stiff and useless on his lap. Alicia bit her lip. She hadn’t
expected him to say anything; the first stroke four years ago had robbed him of his speech as well as the use of his arm, but even last Saturday there had been some kind of recognition,
acknowledgment that someone was there. Today there was nothing.

Margaret pulled her over to the window and they stood watching Jenny and Conker running round the neglected garden.

‘He’s been like this since he woke up,’ said Margaret in a low voice. ‘The doctor’s been, he said it might have been another mini-stroke in the night. He’s
coming back tomorrow. I don’t know what to do, poor Bob – he can still walk alright but his arm’s stiffer than it was and – it’s as if he doesn’t know me
anymore.’

Alicia looked back at her father, sitting sucking his teeth, blank-faced. A tyrant no longer, in fact he seemed little more than a vegetable now. What a terrible way for anyone to end their
life. Even him. The devil’s works again...

She blew her nose. ‘Margaret, we’ll have to find a place for him somewhere. He can’t stay here like this.’

Margaret drew herself up. ‘Alicia, he can. It’s only his mind. He’s still quite alright on his feet and it’s so much better for stroke patients to be in their own
familiar surroundings. You know that yourself, you’re a nurse for heaven’s sake. I won’t consider him going into a home.’

She swept out to the kitchen, presumably to make tea, and Alicia stared glumly after her. Championing her baby brother was the habit of a lifetime for Margaret. She had never stopped idolising
him, not even when his ‘religion’ had led him to break away from the rest of the family. But what was Margaret expecting now? Did she think Alicia was about to move in for the duration
and care for him like a dutiful daughter? Well, she wasn’t. He’d been no kind of father and Alicia was going to get him into a place where he’d be looked after by professionals.
It was more than he deserved.

She flopped down on the sofa and sat staring at her father, whose eyes were fixed on the blank TV screen. They’d been older parents, him and Mum, both nearly forty when she was born. Now
he was simply a wretched old man, broken in body and mind yet still managing to make his family unhappy. She almost felt like a teenager again, rebelling against his restrictions, his
righteousness, and his... punishments... and...

Why had that little voice, that
very young
little voice, come into her head today, talking about ‘the bad place’? The events she’d been remembering during the long
drive north had all taken place in her teenage years, but the little voice in her head had been much, much younger. What other bad things had happened here? Something she’d been too young to
remember? But if it had been so bad, surely she wouldn’t have forgotten?

Or maybe it was better to forget.

They were here, his darlings, and he had seen them. Helen would have unpacked by now, they might even be having tea. Or maybe his wonderful girls were snuggled up on the sofa,
whispering and exchanging sweet little kisses. How he would love to snuggle and kiss with them.

Soon he would have to make a difficult choice. Big Helen or little Helen, which of them should he take first? The little girl was wonderful: long dark hair, and such a sweet face, so very like
his first Helen. He would never have thought he could love a child this way. His own Helen as he had never known her. How lucky he was to have her now.

He would make plans carefully. He would meet them around the village first, talk to them and gain their friendship, maybe make occasional visits. Then one by one he would take them to the
special place in the woods and send them off to Paradise where they belonged. Little Helen first, yes, that would be best, because then big Helen would turn to him, her friend, in her grief. He
would comfort her, hold her close to his heart and feel how trusting she was and how grateful, and she would hold him too, moaning in her distress and oh, how good it would feel, and then he would
tell her gently that he was sending her to join little Helen in Paradise. She’d be pleased, of course, but afraid, too, and the very thought of it was making him shiver and sweat all over
again. It would be so perfect, so holy, yes, truly something sacred. Soon he would have three Helens in Paradise.

He was going to be rich.

Of course the first Helen had been a mistake. He hadn’t meant for her to go to Paradise, she should still be here, with him, on earth. But accidents happen and Helen had died, and in a
strange kind of way it was better like this, otherwise he’d never have known how sweet it was to have an angel in Paradise. Ever since then he’d been searching for another Helen. Many
times he’d thought he’d found one, only to be disappointed. Now he had two at once. And when it was all over, surely then he would have some sort of peace again, because the thought of
darling Helen alone in Paradise was just too unbearably sad. Helen needed company, a sister and a little daughter. Soon now she would have them. How happy they would be.

‘Mummy? What did Aunt Margaret mean last night when she said there were too many strangers in the village?’

Alicia smiled, brushing out Jenny’s tangled curls. Trust Jen. She had ears like an aerial, constantly picking up signals not necessarily meant for her. Margaret had been speaking
generally, but the bottom line was she didn’t approve of the fact that villages were for commuting from nowadays, which meant people moving in and out. Change and strangers all over the place
in what had once been an intimate, stable community.

And her aunt must know, deep down, that big changes concerning her own life in this house would be inevitable soon. But none of this was explainable to an eight-year-old. Alicia reached for
Jen’s hair slides.

‘Nothing really. A lot of new people have moved into the village this year, that’s all.’

‘So they’re not bad strangers?’ Jenny’s eyes were still troubled, and Alicia shook her head.

‘Nope. Just people,’ she said firmly. ‘But the rules here are the same as at home, never go anywhere with someone you don’t know. Okay, that’s you.’

Jenny ran to the window and waved down to Conker who was sniffing about the grass below. Alicia smiled ironically. At least her daughter was going to have better memories of Lower Banford than
she herself had. And actually, she was beginning to realise just how few memories she had of her pre-teen self in this house. Years and years of life and almost no memory of them. Was that
normal?

It was horrible, living here again. Twice that night she’d wakened, her heart pounding. And that same lingering feeling that she had been afraid like this before, a long time ago when she
was even younger than Jenny. She’d been so vulnerable back then, so afraid of... of what? Was that one of the blanked-out memories? Or maybe it was just the whole situation with her father
that was making her so uneasy now.

Jenny grabbed her sandals, as yet unworn. ‘Woohoo, summer holidays and new sandals! Can we go to the river today? And the woods?’

Alicia nodded, trying to smile. This ‘holiday’ was going to turn into a constant battle to keep Jen happy, and at the same time sort out things that had to be sorted. Margaret was
obviously going to need a considerable amount of persuasion about the whole care home idea, and Jen would want to be here, there and everywhere. Diplomacy would have to be the name of the game and
there was no time like the present to start.

‘Grandpa’s doctor is coming after breakfast, and I want to see him first,’ she said, shaking out the duvet. ‘Then afterwards we’ll do something together.
Alright?’

‘S’pose. But I do want to go and see the river today, okay?’

Jenny raced downstairs, and Alicia sighed. The river they would manage, but oh for some eight-year-old energy. All the same, having fun here with her daughter might help her lay some ghosts to
rest.

She finished tidying the room and stepped across the landing, taking care to avoid the creaky floorboard in case it woke her father. She could hear his breath rattling as he snored away, and
realised that she felt no emotion towards him whatsoever. Except contempt. Hell, was it normal to still resent your father at her age?

His bedroom door was half open, and Alicia glanced in. The old iron crucifix was still hanging above the bed, stark against the whiteness of the wall, and she could feel her heart thump as she
stared at it. Something here really was giving her the creeps, a horrible sense of unease was crawling over her skin. And yet she had lived here for years... she had been born in that bedroom, and
apart from a few days spent with Margaret every summer she had slept in this house every night of her life until she was sixteen. There had been no escaping the bad place for little Alicia. Thank
God she’d be able to talk to the doctor today and set the ball rolling about finding a place for her father.