The Paradise Trees (5 page)

Next time, it had been Mummy.

Alicia

Alicia forced her legs out of bed. Shit, she hadn’t felt this knackered since Jenny was a baby and broken nights had been the norm. There was no baby now, though, just an
old man whose mind had gone, and the hard truth was he had been up three times in the night. Each time she’d had to persuade him back to bed and then sit with him, seething with impatience
until he’d fallen asleep again. They simply couldn’t go on like this, she was exhausted already and they’d only been here five minutes. She would ask Frank for stronger sleeping
pills for him and make an appointment for her and Margaret to see round St. Joe’s at the earliest possibility.

Her aunt was scrambling eggs when she went downstairs, and a trail of Coco-pops on the floor revealed that Jenny had already had breakfast. Alicia hesitated in the doorway. It felt a bit odd,
living with Margaret again. The two years in Edinburgh after she’d run away from here seemed like a very long time ago now. Margaret and Jeff had been great, keeping Alicia while she attended
a final year of school and then a year at college before starting her nursing training in Glasgow. Margaret had tried at first to patch things up between her and her parents, but had given that up
very quickly. Her father had been adamant and so had teenage Alicia. A slight reconciliation had occurred years later when Jenny was born – nothing like a new baby to mend family rifts
– but when Alicia and Paul divorced, her father was incensed and the devil triumphant. Good Christian people didn’t divorce. So the contact had ended again, and it had stayed that way
all through Mum’s death and her father’s series of strokes. Alicia had gone to her mother’s funeral, of course, been righteously ignored by her father and had subsequently left
him to it. Margaret had coped well and willingly with things here. Up until now.

‘Morning, lovey,’ said Margaret. ‘The eggs are just ready.’

Alicia wasn’t fond of scrambled eggs but it seemed churlish to say so. It was going to be difficult enough to persuade Margaret that finding a care home was the logical, fairly urgent next
step for them to take. A squabble about the breakfast menu would benefit no-one.

‘Lovely. Margaret, I’d like to go and have a look round St. Joe’s today,’ she said impulsively. ‘It would be interesting to see it from the inside. Frank Carter
said it’s a good place.’

Margaret stirred sweetener into her tea, staring at the mug. Alicia could see she was organizing her argument.

‘You’re giving up too easily, Alicia,’ she said at last. ‘Your father’s a sick man now, but he wouldn’t have wanted to end his days in an old folk’s
home. I know the two of you have never been close, but he’s never asked you for anything either. Until now. So let’s you and me do this last thing, lovey. For Bob.’

Alicia was silent. So Margaret wasn’t above using emotional blackmail.
Why
was it so important to her to keep him here? There was no stigma attached to having a member of your
family go into a care home nowadays, was there? Or was it maybe that her aunt was afraid she’d lose her home here if he was in care? Surely not, Margaret moving in after the first stroke had
been as much about her having a purpose in life after Uncle Jeff had died so suddenly. And whatever happened, they mustn’t fall out over this, because then her father and the devil would have
won not only the battle but the entire war as well.

‘I’m only here for six weeks,’ she said gently. ‘I have a job back home, and Jenny has school. We can’t stay indefinitely. And Margaret, looking after him 24/7 is
more than one person’s job.’

Margaret tutted impatiently out of the room and Alicia sighed. Maybe she should get Frank Carter and Douglas Patton over here for a talk, as it was obviously going to be next to impossible to
get Margaret anywhere near St. Joe’s. And she would phone David in York and ask him to have a word too. He might be able to make his mother see sense where a mere niece couldn’t.

Alone in the kitchen, she opened the back door to get rid of the egg smell. The whole garden, stretching towards the hillside and merging into the woods, had become terribly unkempt. Whatever
had happened to Mr Johnston who used to come every week to mow the lawn and tidy up? The grass was more or less civilised, but the summerhouse in the middle was wild with overgrown brambles and
beyond that again it was an absolute jungle. And where on earth was Jenny?

‘Jen!’ she called, sudden apprehension making her voice catch.

‘Here I am!’ Her daughter ran round the side of the house, and Alicia relaxed. ‘Mummy, can I go and ask at the pet shop how the little kitty is? Please? It isn’t far and
I can take Conker with me.’

Alicia bit her lip as she remembered Kenneth Taylor’s shining, round face, and the way he had known her name.

‘Not today, sweetheart,’ she said. ‘Mr Taylor said he would get in touch and I’m sure he will if no-one claims the kitty. But we don’t want to make a nuisance of
ourselves. After all you don’t really know him, do you?’

How mean she was, playing on Jenny’s nervousness about strangers like that. After everything she had said yesterday too. But she did
not
want Jen visiting the pet shop owner by
herself.

‘Oh!’ said Jenny, pouting. ‘Well, alright. Then can I take Conker up into the woods and play? We won’t go far.’

Mother’s dilemma, thought Alicia wryly. You can’t say ‘no’ all the time, even her own mother hadn’t. She could remember playing in the woods with Cathal
O’Brian next door, and wow, what a rarity, a good memory of her childhood. It just felt different now when it was her own daughter about to vanish into the undergrowth. But the woods
literally were an extension of the garden, Jen would be within shouting – well, yelling – distance all the time. She nodded, and Jenny whooped.

Alicia watched unhappily as her daughter and Conker raced into the jungle behind the summerhouse and were gone. Margaret had gone to see a neighbour, and it was time she got her father up.

She ran upstairs and paused at the threshold to her father’s room, pushing the door ajar to see if he was awake yet.

This is the bad room.

The young voice was brittle with panic. Alicia held her breath as another wave of nausea swept through her, even stronger this time. She stood there retching, quite unable to control her
gut.

Oh God. What did it
mean
, ‘the bad room’? The bad room in the bad place? Shivering, she took a deep breath. What was this little voice in her head trying to tell her? She
leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes.

The bad room. Her father’s room. Why should the child’s voice – her own voice? – warn her so insistently that her father’s room was bad? What had happened in this
room? Something a whole lot worse than bible-reading or no dinner? Worse than having her hair hacked off, something so ‘bad’ it had literally made her retch, all these years later? But
she couldn’t remember, she just couldn’t remember.

A bang from inside the room brought her back to here and now.

Her father was wandering about in urine-soaked pyjamas. He didn’t look at her. Alicia stood in the doorway staring at the spot on the floor where she’d lain - no, where he’d
held her down while he cut off her hair. Why hadn’t she told a teacher what had happened? She hadn’t been able to admit that she’d needed help, that was why. She’d laughed
at herself with the ‘pixie’ cut – Mum had evened it out a bit – and everyone had laughed with her. They hadn’t seen the hurt because she’d hidden it very
carefully, and anyway by the time she arrived at school the next day she’d already decided to leave home just as soon as she could.

Stepping into the room, Alicia grasped her father’s arm and stared into his face. He still wouldn’t meet her eye. God, what use was all this soul-searching? He was a demented old
thing now, old before his time, there was nothing of him left to be accountable for what he had or hadn’t done.

‘You cut my hair off right here on the floor,’ she said. ‘Remember that, do you? I was terrified.’

He gave no indication of even having heard her, sitting passively on the bed while she removed his pyjamas and took out clean clothes. There he was, naked and vulnerable, and for the first time
she was the superior one, the one in control.

Forcing the uncomfortable thoughts away, Alicia showered him and took him downstairs, where he wandered round after her like a lost sheep before eventually settling into his chair by the
fireplace. Now at least she didn’t have to touch him for a while.

‘I
was
a good child, you know,’ she said, speaking before she had even thought. He stared at her, making eye contact for the first time that morning, then the one-sided grin
spread over his face and he wheezed his horrible Aaaah-ha-ha-ha, his eyes never leaving hers.

Alicia swallowed. Did he see how difficult this was for her? Was he behaving like this to taunt her? Was he thinking about the day he cut her hair off? They would have to find out exactly what
he could understand. It was a long time since the last speech assessment; a good therapist might be able to help them now. If his mind really was gone Alicia knew she would feel a whole lot better
about having to care for him. Illogical but true.

She bent towards him in his chair. ‘Do you understand? Can you give me a sign? Yes? No?’

No Daddy no!
The child’s voice again and she was crying hysterically.

It was like a waking dream, a long-forgotten memory slowly rising towards the surface.

What the hell had he done to her?

Sickening thoughts of abuse, rape and paedophilia flashed through her mind. But surely nothing like that... This was her religious father she was thinking about, she was being melodramatic.
Maybe the child’s voice was simply her own reluctance to deal with the situation that had developed here. Her father had been a terrible parent and with perfect justification she had broken
off contact. Now circumstances were forcing her not only to live in this house again, but also attend to her father’s intimate care. That was all. Not easy even for someone with nursing
training, but it would pass. Things would get better.

Her mobile rang in the kitchen while she was still helping her father with his breakfast. She set the mug of tea on the mantelpiece where he couldn’t reach it, and gave him the slice of
toast in his good hand. He might eat it if he was holding it.

‘Hello?’ It was difficult not to sound harassed.

‘Hi, Alicia, it’s Paul. How are things with you?’

‘Paul?’ She repeated the name stupidly.

‘Your ex-husband? The father of your child? Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten all about me?’

Alicia sank onto a hard kitchen chair. Hell, this was the last thing she needed. Paul hadn’t been in touch for nearly a year and that suited her just fine.

‘Paul. We’re... okay. Visiting Lower Banford just now. How are you?’ There was no point going into details he wasn’t interested in hearing.

‘Very well indeed. I’m in England on business at the moment. Home’s in Singapore now, as you know, and, actually, Alicia, I remarried at Easter. A wonderful girl from China.
Siu-pen. So Jenny has a stepmum.’

‘Oh - congratulations. Jen’s not here at the moment, she’s um, out with a friend.’

‘Never mind. Alicia, I want Jen in Singapore for a holiday in the autumn. I want her to get to know her stepmother.’

‘No,’ said Alicia immediately. It was another gut reaction. ‘You have a
nerve
, Paul. She doesn’t even know you properly and that’s because you’ve
never bothered with her. No way am I letting you take her to Singapore.’

‘We’ll see about that. I have a stable home to offer her now, with a stay-at-home mum and a new little brother or sister expected at Christmas. I could get custody. Think about that,
Alicia.’

The connection ended abruptly, and Alicia stared at her phone. He could never get custody, surely. Even if his wife was everything Jenny could wish for in a stepmother, that wouldn’t undo
the years of neglect that Paul had inflicted on his daughter. He’d been a useless father right from the start, leaving when Jen was less than a year old. Alicia had scrimped and saved by
herself ever since; the irregular and inadequate sums of money Paul sent them would barely have financed a cat, never mind a growing child.

A crash from the next room jolted her attention back to the present and she ran back to her father. He was standing by the fireplace, looking down at the remains of the mug he’d obviously
managed to reach after all. The rug and his slippers were soaked with tea. Tired tears of frustration welled up in Alicia’s eyes, then she tilted her chin determinedly. If Paul sued for
custody she might have to prove soon exactly what a super-mum she was, so she would just start right now.

Alicia

She was pegging out the washing when Frank arrived, emerging from the back door with Bob following behind.

‘He was wandering around in the hall,’ said Frank, and Alicia sighed. She should be keeping a better eye on him, she knew that. He could open the front door and walk off into the
sunset if he put his mind to it. Christ, if only he would. She watched as Frank lowered the old man onto the wooden bench by the back door. He sat there, clutching his cloth cap in his good hand
and sucking on his teeth.

Frank straightened and stepped closer, concern on his face. ‘You’re tired,’ he said.

Alicia shrugged. Not the best way to make a girl feel great. But then he was a doctor, he was allowed to say things like that and the mirror had told her exactly the same thing anyway.

‘Tired? I’m half dead,’ she said, hearing the gloominess in her own voice. ‘My father spent half the night trying to go walkabout and then he wet the bed, plus it’s
almost impossible to get him to eat a respectable amount of anything. Then my ghastly ex phoned, he’s threatening to fight for custody of Jen and take her to Singapore. He’s married
again and thinks he has a ‘stable home’ to offer her. And Margaret just
will not
see that my father would be better off in St. Joe’s.’