The Wedding Cake Tree (15 page)

He threw
me a towel. Although my lips had convulsed into an uncontrollable quiver, I managed to find some choice words.

‘
For f-fuck’s sake, Alasdair! Why the f-fuck d-did you talk me into that? You’re a f-fucking n-n-nutter!’

And there I stood, in front of him
, in my soaking bra and knickers, shivering. My lips were almost certainly blue from the cold, my hair was glued to my face in rat’s tails, and my body – in shock from the cold – was every bit as pink as my bra; I must have looked like a burns victim.

Conversely, Alasdair looked like he’
d just stepped out of a Bond set on the Caribbean.

Great!

To top off my moment of bedraggled perfection, I heard cheers and wolf whistles from the direction of one of the craggy rock faces enclosing the glen. I looked up. A group of walkers – male walkers – were headed down an alternate footpath. They had obviously witnessed my little dip in the loch. I glared at Alasdair. He tried to take on a serious expression and pursed his lips – presumably trying to limit the damage by attempting to stifle his laugh; but he couldn’t manage it. He burst out laughing.

‘
Well, I’ve never heard you swear like that before, you
must
be mad at me. And that was three fucks in less than ten seconds, Ms Buchanan!’ He realised what he had said and raised a brow. ‘If you know what I mean.’ I ignored his attempt at humour.

‘You’re a bloody rogue!’ I held the stamp-sized towel in front of me to gain some semblance of modesty. The group of walkers had almost reached the beach by then. ‘You said no one would come!’ I snarled. ‘How the fuck am I going to get changed out of my wet knickers now that little lot have pitched up?’ I glanced at him sarcastically. ‘And you can take that extra fuck I just gave you and stick it up your arse.’

My last comment sent him over
the edge; I actually thought he might die laughing. And then, when I realised what I had said, I couldn’t help it, I also started to laugh. It was a ‘throw your head back with gay abandon, I’ve completely lost the plot’, kind of a laugh.

The men
from the path skirted the edge of the beach. One of them winked. Alasdair stepped in front of me to block their free ogle. With his back to me he cocked his head to the side to speak in a murmur.

‘Nice underwear by the way.
’

I couldn’t help but smil
e. I tentatively placed my fingers onto his bare, smooth – and frankly – exquisite shoulders, stood on my tiptoes and breathed into his right ear.             

‘Right back
’atcha.’

Alasdair put up the tent. It was one of those easy, genius tents that, once released from the outer packaging, sprung automatically into life and pegged itself into the sand.

Onc
e dressed (and feeling more refreshed than I had felt in years – if ever), I helped to prepare a fire, which took considerable time as there was a limited amount of flammable material on offer around the beach. Alasdair refused to light it though; he said we had to wait until the sun had set. After devouring dinner – Alasdair was right, it
was
the best boil in the bag meal I had ever tasted – I made another brew. ‘Come on then,’ I said, ‘what really happened down in the gully?’

Alasdair cleared away some of the last pieces of litter from the ration packs before he spoke.
‘Let’s just say young Charlie is damn lucky to be alive, that much is sure.’

‘
Why? What had he done? How far had he fallen?’

‘
He hadn’t fallen far actually, but that was the lucky part. What you couldn’t see from the path, in fact, what was impossible to notice until you peered over the edge of the gully, was just how far a drop it was from the edge of the snow down into the gully below, a good three hundred feet.’

‘
Three hundred feet!’ I gasped. ‘How come he didn’t fall the whole way then?’

‘
There was a ledge, no more than two feet wide, about ten feet below the edge of the snow. Amazingly he broke his fall – and his bones – as he landed on the ledge. Somehow, he managed to cling on.’

‘
A lucky lad then,’ I surmised.

‘
You can say that again.’

‘
Was he even conscious?’

‘
Yes, he was, but frightened and in terrible pain. I tried to keep him talking to take his mind off the situation until the helicopter arrived.’

‘
Did you manage it, to keep him talking I mean?’

‘
Yes. Funnily enough he talked about one of the gang – Simon.’

‘
Oh?’

‘
He said he’d been moody and difficult company for the whole of the walk, bringing the atmosphere down, which is why young fellow-my-lad Charlie decided to lighten the mood with a little frolicking in the snow.’

‘
Simon seemed quiet, but he was okay.’

‘
To be fair to the lad, there’s a reason behind his sullen attitude.’

‘
What?’

‘
His older brother was killed in Afghanistan last year, a Royal Marine as well apparently, poor sod.’ Alasdair decided to change the subject. ‘Hey, you ought to read your letter, before it gets dark.’ He stood up.

‘
My letter? Oh, of course, my letter.’

Feeling a little apprehensive – goodness only knew what Mum was about to reveal – I glanced around our cosy camp, up to the overpowering mountains beyond, and along the silent loch, and imagined Mum there all those years before. It was a beautiful place, especially in the setting sun, but it was the absolute stillness about the place that moved me the most.

Alasdair noticed my delay in starting to read.
             

‘
Would you like me to read the letter first, précis it perhaps?’

‘
Thanks for the offer,’ I said. ‘I’ll be fine.’

Chapter Twenty

The Cairngorms
.

Hello My Darling.

How did you enjoy your hike? Don’t you feel vibrant and totally alive? I wish I could trade places with you, just for an hour or so.

I hope you are sitting on the sand with a warm glow from a campfire on your face. I adore Loch A’an. But then I do hold a special place in my heart for the Cairngorms. In the little piece of paradise laying between Kingussie to the south and Grantown-on-Spey to the north, all of the elements seem to come together in complete harmony – it probably has something to do with all that yin and yang business and so on. Where you are sitting right now is where I regard to be the most wonderful, romantic and truly peaceful place on earth. I’m sure the two of you will be completely alone. Because Loch A’an is so secluded, it rewards only the adventurous with its beauty.

On with the show.             

When Geoff completed his flying training he was posted to RAF Lossiemouth, an Air Force base situated on the Moray coast, about an hour or so north of where you are now.

As luck would have it, a year or so into Geoff’s tour of duty, I was also posted to Lossiemouth as the intelligence officer for a sister fast-jet squadron. It was the first time we lived together permanently as husband and wife and it was a relief to have put an end to all of the commuting. We lived in a house on the base during the working week, but at weekends we escaped to a hideaway in the Abernethy forest – the very same hut you and Alasdair are staying in at the moment.

How do you like it my love? Is it as sweet as ever? You can imagine my delight when I discovered on the internet that it’s now rented out for holiday lets.

In our day, the hut was owned by a friend of Geoff’s who was on an exchange posting to somewhere exotic (I can’t quite remember where exactly) but the point was he gave Geoff the key and asked him to look after it. We were both fanatical hill walkers and would choose a different mountain to climb most weekends – or sometimes we would simply venture out from Nethy Bridge and meander through the forest. What else did we do? Well, we also had a Canadian canoe that we would launch from the old bridge at Broomhill, paddle down the River Spey as far as the Ballindalloch Estate, hide the canoe in the woods by the road and then hitch a ride back to Nethy Bridge. Then we would nestle up by the fire and read or idle the hours away chatting until bedtime. It was quite simply a wonderful life and no two people can ever have been more content.

Well, as the saying goes, all good things come to an end, and in the winter of 1978 the unthinkable happened. Geoff was on a training bombing run when his aircraft developed a fire in the cockpit. He couldn’t extinguish the fire and had no option but to eject. Thankfully he survived, but not unscathed.

The force of the ejection combined with a particular
ly harsh landing had fused two of the vertebrae in his lower spine. Over the following four months he underwent two operations and was hospitalised for most of the time. Squadron colleagues were understanding, and I was given a generous amount of time to spend by his side. The surgery left him with pins holding the base of his spine together for the rest of his life. On a positive note, almost immediately after his second operation he was able to walk again and, following intensive physiotherapy, he was able (more or less) to live the active life he had previously lived. He could even continue with his love of outdoor pursuits, although not to the same intensity.

Unfortunately for Geoff, the RAF medics would not contemplate him returning to flying duties. They simply couldn’t risk the possibility of a second ejection – his spine would never take the strain. So, they medically downgraded him permanently and that was the end of his flying career. Geoff was devastated. He found it impossible to come to terms with the fact that his boyhood dream had come to a crashing end. He became distant and moody. I understood why he felt so desperate, but keeping a cheery attitude around someone who is so low becomes tiresome. It wasn’t his fault, poor man, but, as you can imagine, the whole business put a tremendous strain on our marriage.

I was due a posting in the summer of ’79 but the RAF extended my tour on the Squadron until November so I could be at Geoff’s side while he was hospitalised and afterwards, of course, for his recuperation. The main decision to be made once he was on the straight and narrow (physically if not mentally) was what to do about his career. I suggested he retire from the RAF on a medical pension and follow me from place to place; it was my duty (and my wish) to support him. He wouldn’t consider my proposal. To be fair, he was only in his late twenties at this point, and adored his RAF life. So, he accepted the offer of a branch change and transferred to the RAF Administration Branch, a job he would have abhorred if it hadn’t been for the clever location his more than helpful posting officer appointed him to.

There was an RAF Lodge on the west coast of Scotland where service personnel could go for adventure training. Geoff was offered the job of running the lodge on a long-term basis and he jumped at the chance. He didn’t ask me what I thought of the idea before he accepted it. He was miserable at Lossiemouth after the accident and no matter what I said it was impossible to break the depression. Once he was offered the posting to Arisaig, it was like a great weight was lifted from his shoulders and he was happy again. I hadn’t the heart to ask him to refuse the posting although I knew, for the sake of our marriage, it was exactly what he needed to do.

Clearly, there was no requirement for an intelligence officer at an adventure training unit, so we were faced with a dilemma. Either I left the RAF and became a wife without portfolio on the west coast, or Geoff left and followed me back to England (or wherever the job may take me). Neither one of us was prepared to do what the other one wanted. Geoff wanted the job at the lodge, and I wasn’t ready to give up my career. Looking after Geoff had been mentally draining. It must sound dreadful, but I was sick of it all; we had gone from being inseparable, intimate and hopelessly in love, to awkward strangers in the space of six months. The truth is I wanted to get away. I thought that if I just had one final tour of duty, one final bit of excitement just for myself, then I would be ready to leave the RAF and spend the rest of my days in Scotland with Geoff.

And so, Geoff moved to Arisaig and we returned to a commuter marriage. The Scottish west coast is a time-consuming place to reach and, as a result, we hardly saw each other. I was offered an intelligence officer’s dream posting in Herefordshire, moved to England and started a whole new chapter in my career. I didn’t realise at the time how significant that particular move would be in terms of moulding the rest of my life.

Despite the time spent apart, I never stopped loving Geoff and I’m certain he still loved me dearly. Somehow we managed to put those last terrible months at Lossiemouth behind us and, on the rare occasion we saw each other, we re-established a relatively intimate and caring relationship, although nothing would ever be the same as our first wonderful year at Lossiemouth and our precious time in the Cairngorms.

So, why are you sitting on the sandy shore of Loch A’an? I have cast my mind back to that time in my life almost every day for the past thirty years (which is a lifetime to you, but a heartbeat to me). The beach at the eastern end of Loch A’an is the place my mind drifts to the most when I’m feeling nostalgic. When I think of Geoff and I camping out, exactly where you are now, I can only remember complete happiness and contentment. Sitting out under the stars on a beautiful evening with a wonderful man at a secluded lochside, well, that is my idea of heaven. Life can be wonderful when you want it to be and that is how I would like you to think of my happiest times with Geoff – desperately in love.

When you return to the hut tomorrow I’d like you to take a little walk and look for a tree we planted there. It’s a double flowering cherry. If you stand and face the hut from the front, then go down a path to the right, over a stile, you’ll find it. We planted it smack bang in the middle of the clearing. I loved my father’s idea of physically laying down roots in a place of significance in one’s life. My ‘permanent marker’ in the Cairngorms was that very tree. We planted it almost as soon as we started weekending there. I imagined we would return to the hut over the course of our lifetime and watch the tree grow. But, just like my apple tree at Bridge Farm, I never did get to see it establish itself within the local landscape, my life just didn’t work out that way. I hope it is still growing there, but to be honest I was never certain it would adapt to a mountainous climate. If it did, it will show that a young couple in love spent a wonderful year there and, for a short time at least, we found a place to call home and be completely happy. When you return to St Christopher’s, go into the attic, have a good dig around some of the older boxes and you’ll find a painting Geoff did of the hut (he was quite an accomplished artist). It’s yours now my love.

Relax and enjoy the peace.             

All my love.

Mum

X

PS: I asked Alasdair to download a particular piece of music onto his iPod. It’s one of your audition pieces – Dvorak, Song to the Moon. You used to sing it so purely, so tenderly. Perhaps one day, when you have fallen desperately in love (as I am sure you will), you will sing it again with added maturity, as well as purity. By the way, you are in very safe hands with Alasdair, so you needn’t worry about any Scottish wildcats pouncing in the night. Just in case you’re wondering, the last I knew there was no girlfriend in tow … handsome isn’t he?

Once again, my mother was a stranger to me. It wasn’t a good feeling but it wasn’t particularly horrific either, just odd. Alasdair had lit the fire while I read. I stepped across the sand and handed him the letter; he was becoming quite intrigued with Mum’s story. Keen to gauge the expression on his face as he read the different paragraphs, particularly the last, I watched his face.

He smiled almos
t as soon as he began to read, had a nondescript expression for the main body of the letter, and finally, as expected, he raised his eyebrows with a playful smile towards the end, almost certainly at the part when Mum rambled on about the romance of sitting at a lochside with a wonderful man, and how she thought him to be handsome.

‘
She was an old romantic that mum of yours.’ He handed the letter back.

‘
She certainly was. I’m ready for round two.’

‘
I’m sorry?’

‘The music?’

‘Oh, of course.’

He took his iPod out of his pocket and selected the correct track.
I handed him an ear piece.

‘Might as well listen to it together, I know the track anyway.’

We listened to the music. To be fair to my mother, it was the perfect track to listen to while sitting in the wilderness under the moon and stars.

‘Nice
,’ he said, less than enthusiastically. ‘What language is it in, Russian?’

‘Czech. Th
e woman in the song is singing to the moon. She’s asking the moon to pass a message on to her lover, to tell him that she’s pining for him, that kind of thing.’

He took the iPod back.
‘I wonder why she wanted you to listen to that particular piece here?’

I shrugged, but
I knew exactly what Mum was doing. On the one hand she was trying to entice me back into music (it was a piece of music I adored), but on the other she was telling me how she felt about Geoffrey; how she loved him. And finally, she was trying to establish a romantic ambiance between Alasdair and me (it was so transparent), and it had worked. I kept this to myself and said, ‘I’m not entirely sure, probably to show how she felt about Geoffrey.’

‘Ready for round three?’ he asked.

I nodded. ‘Yes, I might as well get it over with.’

Alasdair
stepped over to his rucksack to get the tea caddy. ‘You know what?’ he said. ‘My main thought, in fact, my
only
thought when I was down the gully with Charlie this afternoon was: “I hope that bloody helicopter doesn’t blow my rucksack into oblivion, it’s got Rosamund’s ashes in it.”’ Alasdair always knew how to make me smile.

Before scattering Mum’s ashes, I stepped a few paces forwards to the water’s edge, turned through 360 degrees, and tried to appreciate every last drop of the shadowy glen Mum was so fond of. With a heavy heart, I trickled the ash onto the sand.

‘
I’m glad you were happy here, Mum.’

I trapped
the tea caddy under an arm, rested my head in my hands and let the tears flow. Alasdair appeared by my side. He said nothing but placed a supportive arm around my shoulder.

After a minute
or two nuzzling into his chest, I wiped my face on the last stray tissue from my coat pocket, and we returned to our little campfire. I put every item of clothing on, including gloves Alasdair had put into the bag for me, but took off his fleece (that I found myself wearing yet again) and handed it back. He spread our sleeping bags out on the sand by the fire and handed me a steaming cup of chocolate. Face to face in the twilight, he held my gaze.