The Faerie Tree (30 page)

“Robin, that's really lame – there are hundreds of cards out there.”

“There's about a dozen in here too.” I pulled a bundle out of the drawer under the worktop. “I keep buying them but none of them seem right.”

“You are useless,” Claire told me as Jack started to laugh. She turned on him. “This might be funny to you but you know how down Mum is and all the time she's suffering because Robin can't decide which card to send. It's pathetic.”

I pushed them across the table. “Well you choose.”

She spread them out in front of her. One was a line drawing of a heron; another had the words ‘I'm sorry' embossed on it in foil letters, but most were glossy landscape photographs – Old Harry Rocks, the beach huts at Hengistbury Head, Golden Cap. For one reason or another I had discounted them all.

Claire held them as though they were playing cards, the pictures facing away from me. She discarded four of them immediately and was left with seven fanned out in her hands.

“Close your eyes and pick.”

“That's a cop out, Claire – you said you'd choose one,” Jack interrupted.

“No I didn't. Robin just asked me to – and how could I tell Mum if I had? No, any of these will do and this is the quickest way.”

“OK.” My hand shot out and picked the one furthest to the left – a gnarled oak tree in the New Forest, its autumnal colours set dramatically against the blue of the sky.

“No, Claire – not that one. Let me pick another.”

She shook her head. “No – and what's more, you're going to write it now.”

“Oh come on, give the guy a break…” Jack interceded on my behalf.

But Claire was adamant. “We'll go and finish our walk and when we come back I expect it to be done.”

Their chatter receded across the garden and I shifted in my chair. Not only had Claire forced my hand but the clues she'd given to Izzie's state of mind spurred me on. I opened the card flat on the table and picked up a pen.

‘Dear Izzie'. That was the easy bit. Maria had asked me what I wanted to say but there were a million things running around my head and I couldn't possibly fit them all into one little card. Most of them I'd never write down anyway – finding the words was impossible. I spun the pen slowly around on the table with my index finger.

‘Dear Izzie, how are you?' It sounded like a polite enquiry but I was desperate to know. But if I was that desperate, why had I left it so long to ask? Tell the truth. ‘I have tried to text or write so many times but have never found the right words. I am glad Claire turned up here this afternoon and made me sit down and do it.'

Was that the right thing to say? Would Izzie think I was only getting in touch because of Claire? Perhaps I should pick another card and start again? I thumbed through them; Old Harry Rocks looked appealing. No; I would finish this one first, and when I
was absolutely happy with what I'd written I could copy it onto Old Harry and be done. I re-read my few lines and realised I had said absolutely nothing. I looked at my watch. Thirty-five minutes had passed.

The ceiling offered no inspiration, but I allowed my eyes to wander along the crack which extended from the light fitting to just above the door. What did I want to happen when Izzie read the card? That was easy – I wanted to see her. Like I'd said to Maria, just to have the chance to talk to her, to see if there was any way… ‘I would really like to see you. Just so we can talk properly about us.'

Yes, that was alright. But what I hadn't done was apologise for running away again, for disappearing from her life when I'd promised not to. But I hadn't really disappeared, not this time. It wouldn't have taken much thought on her part to work out where I was. Maybe all this was futile anyway. Maybe she wanted me out of her life and she'd just laugh at my attempts at reconciliation.

I heard Jack's voice across the lawn. There was nothing for it – do or die. I scrawled ‘love, Robin' and sealed the card into its envelope. I was just writing Izzie's name on the front when they burst through the door.

“You cut that fine,” Claire chided me.

“It's still not right,” I grumbled. “Wouldn't it just be easier if you told her I'd love to see her?”

She rolled her eyes. “No it wouldn't. Honestly, Robin – how old are you? Forty-five or something? Have you learned nothing about women?”

I stood up and handed her the envelope. “Obviously not. Now run along, it'll be your bedtime soon.”

Claire laughed. “You know nothing about teenagers, either.”

Jack reached out to shake my hand. “That's not true though, is it Mr Vail? In the end I… I told Claire about when we met that morning, but you never let on, did you? That was pretty awesome.”

I nodded. “I had a bet with myself you cared enough about
Claire to do the right thing. Now bugger off the two of you – I need to get back to my vegetable patch.”

Claire gave me a rib crushing hug. “Whatever… whatever happens between you and Mum, can I come to see you again?”

“Claire, I would absolutely love that. But you must be honest with Izzie about where you're going, that's all I ask.”

“I will, I promise.”

She tucked the card into her pocket and they set off down the drive, clasped hands swinging between them. A thought struck me.

“Jack,” I called. “It's Robin – not Mr Vail.”

He turned and grinned at me, raising his thumb.

Chapter Seventy-One

Twenty minutes for Claire to get home, then perhaps another five while she said goodbye to Jack. Then maybe five or ten to give the card to Izzie. My index finger marked each segment of time on my watch. I went back into the house to fetch my phone.

I finished thinning the beetroot and started to rake a patch of earth for some radish seeds. An hour had gone by. Perhaps Jack had stayed for a while. Maybe Izzie had gone out. Maybe she'd ripped the envelope to shreds and thrown it into the bin. More than likely I would never know.

I worked in the garden until the light faded, my phone obstinately silent. I wasn't hungry but I made myself a ham sandwich and a mug of tea, sweeping the abandoned cards back into the drawer before I sat down. I flicked through the TV pages of the local freebie paper but nothing grabbed my interest.

I picked up my phone, searching for a flashing red light. I turned it off and on again. Silence. There was nothing for it but to go to bed.

I was too hot with my duvet and too cold without it. Lying in the tangled sheets a part of me travelled with my card, back into Izzie's room. I could see her wriggling out of her jeans and pulling her T-shirt over her head. The curve of her breast as she turned towards the bathroom was so real I could touch her, the
warmth of her flesh beneath my fingers. The pain of loss had never been so intense.

I must have slept a little because I dreamt about the Faerie Tree – and it was calling me. I stumbled along the landing and knocked a picture off the wall in my attempt to steady myself. My head was full of oak leaves catching the wind, coloured ribbons whispering the faintest suggestion of my name.

I stepped into the shower and drenched myself with icy water but the tree held me back from wakefulness. When I opened the window the dawn air was still, but all the same the branches stirred in my mind, more insistent with every moment that passed. There was nothing for it – I had to go to the woods.

Even from the top of the slope the damage was obvious; every offering within reach had been stripped away and was lying on the floor, a muddle of broken toys and beads and seashells. The box for the children's letters was smashed against a nearby stone and the plastic pocket for the fairies' replies nowhere to be seen. I was filled with rage as I flung myself into the centre of the carnage.

I was not alone in my anger. Kneeling on the other side of the tree was a woman, digging between the roots with her bare hands, her invectives mingled with sobs. “You bastard, bastard tree – it's your fault – you started it.”

Izzie.

I must have said it out loud. She glanced up, hair a mass of rats' tails; eyes sunken holes.

“Bastard tree – oh, you bastard tree.” Her fingers returned to gouging the earth.

“Izzie – stop.” But my words were useless. I dropped to my knees beside her and pulled her hands away, pinioning them at her sides.

“Let… me… go.” The bitterness of alcohol was hot on my face.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Bastard tree… started all this… split our lives in two… it was here… the storm… bastard, bastard, bastard…”

She was fighting to escape my grasp but I was stronger.

“Izzie, slow down – I don't understand.”

“But it's your tree… your bastard, bastard tree… it took you from me – made you forget… made you lie… made you come back here and not to me… oh, Robin…”

“Izzie – it's just a tree. It can't make anyone do anything.” Yet it had called me this morning – and she was right; all those years ago it had made me come back.

She must have sensed the shiver run through my body because she twisted away and a hand came free. Her fist headed for my jaw but I caught her wrist again. She cried out.

“Izzie, please – just stop. I don't want to hurt you – it's the last thing. Please – just calm down and come to the house so we can talk.”

“You don't want to talk – you just want to save your precious tree.” Her voice was more slurred than angry now.

“No – I want to save us.” I let go of her wrists and wrapped my arm around her shoulder, pulling her to me.

“Robin – it's not fair. I know you're lying but I feel so… so… safe… like this.” She was barely coherent through her sobs.

So we knelt under the tree and I held her until I heard an early dog walker moving through the woods. I stood up and hauled her to her feet. “Come on – time we weren't here.”

I resisted the temptation to lock the kitchen door behind us. Instead I pulled out a chair and Izzie sank onto it.

“First things first,” I told her. “Where's Claire?”

Her brow furrowed. “At home. Asleep.”

I looked at the clock. “She won't be for much longer. Give her a call and let her know you're safe with me.”

Izzie's eyes were blank. “Where's my handbag?”

“It wasn't by the tree.”

She fished in her jacket pockets but pulled out nothing but her keys and a crumpled tissue. “No phone.”

“Use mine, then.”

I put it into her hand and she looked at it for a moment. “No – you do it. I'm… well, I've had a bit to drink and she doesn't
like that.” It was the first thing she'd said that made any sense.

Claire sounded as though she'd been asleep and I apologised for waking her. “I needed to tell you that your mum's with me.”

“Why – what happened?”

“Err… I don't know. Perhaps once you gave her my card…”

“I didn't. I told her we'd seen you, but when I said it was you writing the letters for the fairies she went off on one so I didn't think it was the right moment. But whatever I said worked if she's there now.”

“Well… yes. We're going to spend some time together, see what we can work out. You'll be OK getting into college on your own?”

“No problem. I can catch the bus from the village.”

“Good girl. If you need us call on my phone – you'll probably trip over your mum's handbag in the hall.”

“She must have left in a hurry. Is she OK?”

I looked at Izzie trying to disentangle the tissue from her keys. “Yes. Bit emotional, but then we both are.”

“Sounds promising. Give her my love – and you, too, Robin.”

“Thanks, Claire.”

I turned to Izzie. “Now, black coffee, hot bath, or both? Or would you just like to go to sleep?”

“Are you emotional, Robin? You're hiding it well if you are.”

“Of course I am.” I spread my hands on the table. “Churned up, scared… full of love for you, really. It's hard to put it all into words.”

“You'll… you'll make me cry again.”

“No – I don't want to do that.”

“I'll have that bath then.”

“Come on – I'll find you a towel.”

I took Izzie upstairs to the bathroom I thought of as Jennifer's. It was clean but not very warm so I turned on the heater and went to hunt in the airing cupboard for a towel. Yellow and white stripes to match the curtains. Yellow and white tiles too; Jennifer had loved it, said it was a slice of spring even in the winter.

Izzie was sitting on the edge of the bath. “So this must be where Jennifer put the boys after their dip in the river.”

“Yes.”

“That was really when I started to love you; the way you were that day. And I did peep when you were in the shower – and I wasn't disappointed.”

I sunk down next to her. “Whatever happened, huh?”

I meant it in a self-deprecating way but she carried on, her face serious. “We're going to find out, Robin. As soon as I've had this bath we're going to retrace our steps. First your version of events and then mine. It's got to jog some memory, stir something in one of us at the very least. I can't go on like this.” She looked up at me, her pupils huge. “Or do you think I've lost the plot completely?”

“No. There's always a chance…” I stood up. “Right. I'll get us some breakfast.”

But in reality I stood on the landing for a long while, listening to the pipes creak and groan as the water gushed into the bath and the gentle sloosh as Izzie slid into it. Comforting as the sounds were I felt sick inside – the moment of reckoning had finally come.

Chapter Seventy-Two

We retraced our steps across the garden, along the bottom of the field and into the woods.

At the top of the slope Izzie paused. “This was it, wasn't it? We were OK until we reached the tree – everything was the same.”