Authors: Linda Gillard
‘You’re kidding? When is it?’
‘Next week.’
‘Could we throw a surprise party?’
‘The surprise would be, she’d walk out.’
‘You’re not going to let her get away with this?’
‘No, I’m scheming.’
Connor smiled appreciatively. ‘If you need a co-conspirator, you know you can count on me.’
‘Yes, I do. Thank you for being so understanding. About everything.’
He waved a muddy hand, dismissing my thanks and resumed his digging in silence. I watched him for a moment, then went indoors to make tea and scheme some more.
~
Phoebe was adamant she didn’t want a party. She said variously that she couldn’t afford it, we didn’t have room, she didn’t want people to know how old she was. She even tried, “I’ve got nothing to wear.” She didn’t volunteer what I suspect was the real reason: her fear that people might not come. Phoebe had been out of circulation for so long, she must have wondered if her old friends and colleagues would make the effort to trek down to darkest Somerset for what she referred to as “a pensioner’s knees-up”.
‘Half the old crowd are dead,’ she claimed. ‘And if the
Guardian
art critic is to be believed, so am I!’
Phoebe forbade me to organise any kind of celebration, but when I remonstrated with her, she said she might enjoy a nice little dinner with Connor.
‘That’s a lovely idea. Am I invited?’
‘Of course. You’ll be doing the cooking.’
‘Dinner at
home
? Oh,
Mum
!’
‘I’m not dressing up! And I can’t afford to pay restaurant prices for the quantity of booze I intend to drink. You’re a jolly good cook, Ann. Make us something special. Get in a few bottles and invite Connor. I like that boy and he likes us. It’ll be fun! But tell him, no presents. He can’t afford it. I forbid him to waste any money on an old trout like me. But a special evening, just the three of us, raising a glass to seven decades… Well, that might be very pleasant. Can I leave it with you?’
Phoebe left it with me.
~
‘I can’t buy
anything
?’
‘Shhh! Keep your voice down. She’ll hear you.’
Connor and I were drinking tea in the kitchen, waiting for the rain to stop.
‘Can I give her something if I don’t spend any money?’
‘I suppose so. But she really doesn’t want anything, just your company.’
‘Well, that’s very sweet of her, but it’s also very boring.’
‘I know, but she doesn’t want any fuss. She hates being another year older, with so little to show for it. Well, that’s the way
she
sees it. The rest of us think she’s a hero to try to keep working.’
‘That sketch she did of me – it was good, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, it was, by any standards.’
‘She says she wants to paint my portrait.’
‘Let her. If you’re prepared to sit for her, that is. It’s hard work, harder than you might think. And she can be a real bully if she’s not happy.’
‘Can’t wait,’ Connor said, aimiably. ‘But is there really no way I can cheat with a present? What can I give her that doesn’t cost money?’
‘I don’t know. She’s made it very hard… Do you own a suit?’
‘A
suit
?’
‘Yes. Could you dress up a bit for dinner? I think she’d enjoy that. She once said she thought you’d scrub up well. Her phrase, not mine. If you wore a suit it would make the occasion seem a bit more special.’
‘You’d dress up too?’
‘Of course.’
‘Okay, you’re on. But I have to give her
something
,’ Connor said frowning. ‘She’ll be seventy!’ After a moment, his face brightened. ‘Do you think you could get her out of the house for a couple of hours on the day? Take her shopping or something?’
‘She hates shopping, but I could drag her off to the hairdresser. She’d probably like to have her hair done for her birthday.’
‘Could that take a couple of hours?’
‘Easily, if I take her into Bristol.’
‘Great! Make the appointment, but don’t tell her what I’m up to.’
‘What
are
you up to?’
‘It’s going to be a surprise. For both of you.’
‘Will you need a key?’
‘No, I’ll be working outside.’
‘On what?’
‘I’d rather not say.’ He tapped his head, looking mysterious. ‘The concept is still evolving. But I’ll need a photo of Phoebe. Full-face, nice and clear. And if you can find a profile shot as well, that would be handy.’
‘I’m intrigued. Will you need anything else?’
‘A chainsaw. But don’t worry about that, I’ll bring my own. Any more tea in the pot?’
~
On her seventieth birthday I presented Phoebe with champagne, an outrageous Vivienne Westwood hat I picked up on eBay and
Classic English Gardens
, a book Connor had wanted to buy for her himself. The text was by the Victorian gardener, Gertrude Jekyll and was illustrated with watercolours. The book demonstrated the art of “painting with plants”, something we hoped would appeal to Phoebe.
She was thrilled with my gifts, especially the hat, but Connor’s upstaged all of mine. And it cost him nothing but sweat.
~
When the doorbell rang I insisted Phoebe answer it to greet her solitary guest. She was wearing a purple trouser suit at least twenty years old, but it still fitted her which flattered her vanity. It looked good with her freshly cut and blow-dried hair and a new red lipstick. I’d encouraged her to buy some glamorous sandals (heels had been out of the question for years) and I’d lent her some big statement jewellery. I told my mother she looked a million dollars and I wasn’t lying.
I was in the kitchen setting out champagne glasses on a tray when she called out, ‘My God, it’s a Strippergram!’ Horrified, wondering if Connor had bribed a mate to do the honours, or worse, he was doing them himself, I rushed to the front door where a tall man in a tuxedo stood, his top half almost obscured by a bouquet of flowers.
‘Sorry to disappoint you, Phoebe,’ Connor said lowering the flowers. ‘It’s only me. Happy Birthday!’
‘You’ve been spending money on me, haven’t you? That’s too bad. I gave the
strictest
instructions.’
‘Not a penny. These,’ he said indicating the flowers, ‘are for the cook. If they happen to brighten up your sitting room a little, Phoebe, that’s just a happy side effect. These flowers are most definitely for
Ann
.’
As he presented them to me, Phoebe and I stood open-mouthed, surprised less by Connor’s generosity than by his transformation. He too had had his hair cut and it now formed a thick mat of curls on the top of his head, revealing neat ears and a strong, thick neck. The new style made his shoulders look broader – or maybe that was the tux. I hoped he hadn’t gone to the expense of hiring it, at the same time acknowledging, if he had, it was worth every penny in entertainment value.
Phoebe took the words right out of my mouth. ‘Connor, you look
gorgeous
!’
He bent his burnished head and said, ‘Thank you, Phoebe. So do you. And so does Ann. I don’t believe it’s ever been my privilege to dine with two such beautiful and talented ladies.’
‘Oh, bollocks to that,’ Phoebe said. ‘Come on in and give me a kiss. I’m seventy. We must make the most of what little time I have left.’
I laughed out loud, but Connor spread his arms wide and enfolded Phoebe in a hug. Looking at his face over her shoulder, I could see his pleasure was genuine. I felt both grateful and jealous.
‘Champagne!’ Phoebe called as she released him. ‘Such lovely flowers! I think I might paint them. Ages since I did a still life. I love iris. Those blues and yellows just light up the room! So glad they were for Ann, though. I really didn’t want any presents.’ Phoebe didn’t see Connor’s eyebrows shoot up, nor the conspiratorial look he gave me.
I jerked my head in the direction of the kitchen, indicating he should follow. He nodded, then turned and escorted Phoebe to her fireside chair. Once she was settled, we went into the kitchen where I started to undo the flowers. ‘Connor, you shouldn’t have spent so much! You know what she said.’
‘They’re for
you
.’ I rolled my eyes, but he protested. ‘They are! I’ve no idea when your birthday is, so this is an early present. Or belated. Whichever… Happy Birthday, Ann. You know, I’ve never seen you in a dress before. You look stunning,’ he said, bending to kiss me on the cheek.
He smelled as good as he looked. ‘I need some champagne,’ I said faintly. ‘In the fridge. Glasses over there.’ As he tackled the bottle, I searched for a large vase. ‘Did you already own the tux? It looks terrific.’
‘It was my brother’s. It fits me now I’ve bulked up a bit. I used to be a skinny lad, but Ivy said one day I’d probably be built like Kieran, so I should keep it. We got rid of the rest of his clothes. Very evocative things, clothes,’ he added, as he filled three glasses. ‘You don’t realise it when people are alive, but after they’ve gone, you notice their clothes smell of them. I had to get this cleaned a couple of times.’ Connor didn’t explain why and he didn’t need to.
I carried the flowers through and he followed with the champagne. Phoebe clapped her hands as we entered and beamed while we toasted her good health. Then Connor cleared his throat rather self-consciously and said, ‘Ladies, would you care for an evening stroll? There’s something I’d like to show you.’
‘What –
now
?’ Phoebe asked. She looked at me. ‘Will dinner keep?’
‘Oh, yes. It’s mackerel pâté for starters and I haven’t put the Beef Wellington in yet.’
‘Isn’t it getting a bit dark, though?’ Phoebe asked, looking puzzled.
‘We can take a torch,’ Connor answered. ‘And I shall lend you my arm. We shan’t be going far.’
I stared at Connor, dying to know what was afoot. His smile was teasingly enigmatic.
‘Should we take our glasses?’ Phoebe asked.
‘
Definitely
. Right, follow me, ladies. There’s someone I’d like you to meet…’
~
Connor led the way through the garden with Phoebe on his arm. We all carried a glass of champagne and I brought up the rear with a flashlight which we didn’t need while we were close to the house, but as soon as we moved away from the lighted windows, the darkness closed in.
We moved through the shrubbery in the direction of the fallen beech. I smelled sawdust and my heart began to beat faster as I tried to guess what Connor had been up to.
He stopped, turned to me and swapped his glass for the flashlight, which he kept directed at the ground. He took Phoebe’s arm again and asked her to close her eyes, then he led her to a spot which he appeared to choose precisely. Lifting the torch, he shone it straight ahead and revealed a massive wooden face.
‘You can open your eyes now, Phoebe. Happy Birthday!’
The flat, cut surface of the upended tree stump had been carved and a face – a smiling, almost laughing face – peered out through sculpted foliage that formed a rampant mane framing the face, so that the creature appeared to be half-human, half-vegetation.
‘My God,’ Phoebe said. ‘It’s a Green Man!’
‘Green
Woman
,’ Connor corrected her. ‘Look at it carefully… Remind you of anyone?’
Primed with the knowledge of the photographs, I’d seen the resemblance straight away, but Phoebe wasn’t far behind.
‘It’s
me
!’ she squealed. ‘Ann, do you see? It’s me as a Green Woman! Look at that nose. Couldn’t be anyone else, could it?’ She looked up at Connor and, sounding almost accusatory, said, ‘
You
did this?’
‘Yes.’
‘How?’
‘Chainsaw. Chisel. Ann lent me some photos.’
Phoebe approached the face, as big as a table, and laid her hand reverently on a sharp cheekbone. ‘I don’t know what to say... And I can tell you,’ she said, turning and wagging a finger at Connor, ‘that’s a first!’
‘You don’t have to say anything, Phoebe. I just hope you don’t mind me vandalising your tree stump.’
‘Mind? I
adore
it. To be commemorated in this way… as an ancient spirit of rebirth and regeneration…This is
just
wonderful
!’ She turned to us and said, ‘I wish to make a libation.’ She raised her glass. ‘To the spirit of this venerable tree, which isn’t really alive and isn’t quite dead. Rather like me,’ she added with a wink. ‘I now bless this sculpture, this beech wood, my daughter and my friend’, she said, tipping her glass towards Connor. ‘Long may they all flourish!’ With that she poured champagne over the forehead of her wooden
alter ego
. Connor stepped forward and did likewise, saying ‘Happy Birthday, Phoebe’ and then I emptied mine.