The Paradise Trees (4 page)

She turned and smiled reassuringly at Jenny as she spoke. Would her daughter have the same problem with her one day? What a horrible thought. Even more horrible was the fact that the high blood
pressure that had caused her father’s strokes often ran in families. Was disaster slumbering in the depths of her own brain, in Jenny’s? It didn’t bear thinking about.

Frank Carter turned the engine on again. ‘Try to arrange for Margaret to meet Doug Patton while you’re there, he’s great with the patients and their relatives. Another idea
might be to talk to Derek Thorpe, the charge nurse on the admissions ward. He was a local boy too and he’s brilliant with geriatrics - he knows how to get them active even when they’re
confused.’

Alicia nodded. ‘Doug Patton and/or Derek Thorpe. Right.’

Frank grinned. ‘Derek’s really funny. He jogs here from Lower Banford every day, rain or shine. I think he was married once but he keeps quiet about that, he seems to have spent the
last few years lurching from one unsuitable relationship to the next but he can always laugh at himself. Great bloke.’

He drove them home and left, promising to be in touch soon. Alicia went inside. Her father was on his feet, lumbering around the living room, his right arm dangling by his side. She watched as
he lifted her mother’s photo from the mantelpiece and placed it sideways on top of the television. There was no expression on his face.

‘Mummy,’ said Jenny, and Alicia jumped. She hadn’t realised that Jenny had followed her inside. The little girl came and pressed herself against Alicia’s side, staring
unhappily at her grandfather and whispering urgently. ‘What’s wrong with Grandpa? When will he get better?’

Her face was troubled, and Alicia stroked the windswept hair. It was time for plain speaking.

‘Come on, lovey,’ she said. ‘Let’s go out to the garden and have a little chat before lunch, you and me.’

Work over for the afternoon, he stood at his kitchen window, basking in the sunlight and gazing across to the woods. The special place was up there, waiting. It was so
wonderful having Little Helen to think about, sweet child, with her long dark hair and innocent young face. If only he could take her up to the circle of trees and show her where she would very
soon be starting her trip to Paradise. What was she doing right now, his little angel? It was a beautiful day, most likely she’d be outside. In the woods already, perhaps, or playing in old
Bob’s garden. He could go there and see. The idea made him shiver with delight.

Quickly, he pushed his feet into trainers and trotted off through the village. The lane behind the pub brought him to the trail up through the woods. This had been one of his childhood haunts. A
long time ago. He slowed down, the track was steep in places and muddy too, after all the rain that week.

Soon he was walking through the circle of trees, perfect leafy sunshine flickering down on him. The stillness here was positively healing. There was no sound at all apart from the tree tops
rustling and his own feet padding softly on the mossy ground. And... was that a shout?

It sounded like a young girl. Was it his little Helen? Surely it must be, the direction was right. He had come up through the woods from the other side so if he continued straight downhill he
would come to Bob Logan’s place. He jogged on, his breath catching painfully and his t-shirt damp with sweat that had nothing to do with physical activity.

And there she was, running around in the garden, playing with that enormous dog they had. How happy she looked! He’d never had a dog so he didn’t know what that felt like, but for a
little while he’d had Snugglepuss and that had been just as good. At first. And thank God, little Helen had no dreadful pigtails today. Her hair was literally blowing in the wind. All he
wanted was to sweep her into his arms and hold her close and never let her go till she was safe in Paradise with Helen.

But he still had to make his plans about that. Today he could only watch her and dream. He stood by the remains of a dry-stone wall separating the garden from the woods, pleasurably aware of the
greed in his soul, for she was so lovely and she was going to be his. Little Helen was oblivious to his presence, she was immersed in her game and laughing, it made him want to laugh too. Maybe he
could touch her? He drew breath to call her name, but before he could utter a sound another summons came.

‘Jenny! Ice cream!’

And in an instant she was gone, little Helen, running towards the house and ice cream. Slowly, he turned back to the woods.

It was time to start making plans.

Alicia stood at the bottom of the garden filling a bowl with fresh raspberries, grinning when she saw how many berries had already disappeared from the canes. Jen, presumably. She herself had
loved doing exactly the same thing as a kid, but of course she hadn’t been allowed to. She’d had to be subtle, just a few berries every day. Jen didn’t have to worry about that.
Now, some cream would be nice with these and there was still the dinner to think about too. Alicia strode back to the kitchen, surprised to see her father standing by the sink.

He stared at the bowl in her hand.

I’m sorry Daddy!

The child’s voice echoed through Alicia’s head, tearful and afraid. What had she been sorry about? ‘Stealing’ fruit, that was what, she had arrived at the back door one
day with a handful of rasps to wash because she’d found a bug in one, and her father had been there. He’d given her a clip round the ear and sent her upstairs and that had been the end
of food for the day as far as she was concerned.

Alicia glared at her father. ‘I remember you punishing me for eating rasps, you know. What a miserable old git you were.’

It was out before she’d thought twice. Thank God Margaret and Jenny hadn’t heard her.

And it was horrible but he started to laugh, wheezing and chortling away as if she’d said something hilarious. Alicia clutched the nearest chair. He had understood that. He had. Quite
definitely. And his laughter wasn’t with her, it was at her. Not trusting herself to speak, she dumped the bowl down beside the sink, and hallelujah, here was Margaret. She could get out of
here for a bit.

‘I’ll do the shopping, shall I? Jenny! Do you want to come to Mrs Mullen’s? I’m leaving now.’

She would just get stuff for tonight’s meal, than she’d have a good excuse for a longer outing to the supermarket in Merton tomorrow.

Jenny came running up. ‘Does Mrs Mullen still have her bag of sweeties at the till?’ she asked hopefully, and Alicia pushed the rasps memory to the back of her mind. In the grand
scheme of things, it wasn’t important. Nothing she couldn’t live with, anyway.

‘Chocolate caramels,’ she said reminiscently. ‘Yup, I think she does.’

Fortunately Mrs Mullen did have a bag of sweeties and Jenny was soon chewing happily. Alicia wandered around the cramped little shop, filling her basket with ingredients for a lasagna, and then
joined the conversation queue at the checkout. Good grief, Mrs Mullen could gab for England, she really could. Jenny soon lost interest and went outside to sit beside Conker, and Alicia started
planning how, exactly, to approach her aunt with the St. Joe’s plan. She would need to present the home in the most positive light possible, make Margaret see that it was a much better option
for the old man than living at home. Not an easy task, she would -

‘Mummy? There’s a car out there with dark windows and I think it’s looking at me.’

Alicia sighed. Drat the whole strangers conversation that morning, she really didn’t want to turn her over-imaginative daughter into a nervous wreck worrying about something that was never
going to happen.

‘Oh Jen darling, please don’t worry so much, you can’t go through life avoiding people you don’t know. As long as you don’t actually go away with a stranger,
everything’ll be fine. Okay?’

The child nodded slowly.

‘Hello again, Alicia. And I’m sure Jenny can manage another sweetie.’

Mrs Mullen was ready for them at last, and Jenny accepted a second caramel, her face dreamy and contented again. Alicia grinned.

That was one problem out of the way. If only the rest could be solved so easily.

The Stranger

It was wonderful. His girls were here, living in Lower Banford, part of village life and on the verge of becoming a big part of his life too. He’d pulled up at the shop
for milk that afternoon and there was little Helen, sitting outside on the pavement hugging the dog. Big Helen was obviously inside. He’d waited in the car, taking small snippets of pleasure
in the way that the child kept looking across at him, such a sweet, worried expression on her face. The tinted windows had prevented her seeing who he was, of course, and his shirt soaked up the
usual sweat as he feasted his eyes. She was glorious. After a bit she’d gone inside to big Helen, but soon they were both out on the pavement again, little Helen the very picture of happiness
as she skipped along towards home, talking animatedly to her mother all the while. Watching them now reminded him oh, so painfully how he’d felt about Mummy, and the hurt he had buried back
then was no less today than it had been when he was a boy.

He had loved Mummy so much. For a long time his favourite game had been knights in shining armour, he’d had a little plastic sword and a hobby horse and he’d galloped around saving
Mummy from all sorts of danger. It was a bittersweet memory, because Mummy hadn’t played back. She’d been too busy, he could see that now, she’d been tired all the time, looking
after her children and the house. And of course she already had her knight in shining armour. Stupid Dad had been by far the most important person in Mummy’s life. That had hurt.

Then, when he was older and out of the knight in shining armour stage, he’d wanted to help Mummy more, but somehow he was always getting things wrong and Mummy would press her lips
together and turn away from him. That had hurt too, it had hurt terribly, and he’d had no idea what more he could do to please her.

His father had worried about him, he knew. Worried that at twelve he was such a Mummy’s boy. A wimp, Dad had called him, but he’d ignored that as he ignored almost everything about
the man. It had been Dad’s stupid idea to get him a dog for his birthday, ‘a man’s dog’, he’d said, one of those dreadful bull terriers. Fortunately Mummy hadn’t
wanted a dog either, in fact she and his sister had always wanted a cat, so she’d bought him the white kitten instead.

Such a darling soft little thing it was! His sister had promptly christened it Snowball, and Mummy had laughed and agreed, but he’d always called it Snugglepuss. After all, it was his cat.
How he’d loved running his fingers through the warm white fur, rubbing his face in it, listening to the purrs, amazingly loud for such a small creature.

For a couple of weeks he’d revelled in being a cat owner. He would rush home from school every day to play games with Snugglepuss, chasing round the living room, pouncing on pieces of
string, cuddling up on the sofa together.

Only gradually had he noticed that Snugglepuss was enjoying their games less and less. For a while he didn’t believe that the kitten could have turned against him. He was the official
owner of Snugglepuss/Snowball, the animal must know that, surely. It was Snugglepuss’
duty
to love him best. But it became increasingly obvious that Snugglepuss preferred the company
of everyone else in the house. When his sister came home, Snugglepuss would run up and wind himself round her legs. When they were all watching TV, it was Mummy’s lap that Snugglepuss chose
to lie on and woe betide anyone who tried to interfere with that. Snugglepuss had sharp little claws and wasn’t shy of using them. And even when stupid Dad appeared with one of the disgusting
bacon sandwiches he was always eating in the evenings, Snugglepuss would be right there beside him, waiting for a treat.

When the family noticed that he was out of favour with his own cat, how they’d laughed. Every evening. Laughed and laughed and said things like ‘Animals always know, don’t
they?’ to each other in loud voices just to annoy him. Yet more hurt.

He’d got his revenge, of course. He arrived home from school one Tuesday to find the house deserted; stupid Dad was at work of course, Mummy was out shopping and his sister was at her
piano lesson. Snugglepuss had tried to streak past him and escape through the back door but he had scooped it up and held it at arm’s length, rage flooding through him.
Snugglepuss/Snowball/Devil-in-disguise had struggled and he had tightened his grip. He literally couldn’t stand the sight of the creature now. In the space of just a few weeks his love had
turned to hatred. Hatred fuelled by rejection.

How well he remembered the feeling of power and triumph as he looked down at the gasping creature in his hands.
Now
stupid fickle Snowball would realise who was important, who was the
strong one here. Who it should have loved. The rage inside him started to build, and without making any conscious decision about exactly what he was doing, he squeezed ever harder while the kitten
mewed pitifully, its small pink mouth opening in distress, panic-stricken green eyes widening. Bones crunched audibly beneath his fingers and the cat’s little face distorted in pain, bloody
froth dripping from its mouth now and splattering on the kitchen floor as he changed his grip and wrenched at the soft furry white neck, and –
crack
– Snowball’s head
hung limply. He knew that his cat was dead.

For a moment he stared at the still-warm bundle in his hands. The end of a dream. The second unrequited love in his life. Well, he’d got rid of this one. He stuffed the body into a plastic
bag, ran down to the weir and tossed his pet into the murky water.

That evening they’d all gone out searching for Snowball/Snugglepuss, and he’d cried real tears – to his father’s disgust – because his cat was gone. But underneath
the tears part of him was laughing. He’d shown Snugglepuss how dangerous it was not to love him as he deserved.

He’d never had another cat, and he’d never again felt anger like that against an animal.