The Wedding Cake Tree (3 page)

And so I watched him work.

He lingered at the ford for an hour or so, working the wood, stopping to gaze into the stream and then starting on the wood once more.

He returned to the same spot at the same time on the next day – as I hoped he would – and then every da
y until the day of the funeral. I remained hidden, watching, fascinated. His eyes looked down as he carved so I could only catch the occasional glimpse of his face and eyes as he looked up at the flowing water. He had tired eyes, I could tell that much at least, and they were edged with sun-scorched lines. Every day he wore the same outfit. A cap masked the colour of his hair while clothing covered his legs and arms so I had no way of knowing if the skin was worn with age. His beard was an indistinctive blond/brown colour, with a little grey perhaps. Only his bare hands were visible. He was agile, there were no protruding veins and his skin was tight and fresh, so I thought he was, perhaps, a youngish man; had it not been for this fact, I would have assumed him to be older. As it was, I never did decide upon an age for him.

By the fourth and final day his creatio
n was complete – a shepherd’s crook. The curve of the handle took most of his time to carve but it was worth the effort. As he stood up to leave for the last time, I could have sworn he looked directly at me through a knot in the tree I always used as a spy hole. I was grateful he had inadvertently stumbled upon me that day in the glade. His quiet company brought me comfort during the worst week of my life. In the coming months I would often think of him and find the memory of him a calming influence – my old man o’ the woods.

The church of St Christopher sat at the top of Mum’s lane; the view up the hill from the side window in Mum’s bedroom looked directly at the chancel. It was a comfort that the funeral service was quite literally on her doorstep, overlooking the garden in which she spent a great deal of her life. She had requested a cremation rather than a burial, which I found disappointing. After the service it felt somehow incomplete to be taking Mum away from the churchyard. Eventually, of course, I would come to understand why.

The only comfort
I had was the knowledge that I could keep this little corner of England, and by doing so I would always have her near to me. Jake told me he would be staying on to run the retreat until the details of the will were finalised – it was what Mum had wanted. I asked for no more detail from him, which was unforgivable. I suppose I still wanted to punish him – someone – for my loss. Later I would understand that although my grief was a necessary emotion, it was also an utterly selfish one.

Chapter Four

Grimes’ mood lightened once I confirmed my acceptance of Mum’s mission. Terry was ambling across the desk once more. Unfamiliar as to how a person displayed affection to a tortoise, I gave his shell a tentative stroke.

‘
So who’s this …
companion
I’m being forced to travel with?’

I sounded like a petulant schoolchild
, but I did not need hours of forced conversation and polite behaviour with a stranger. It would be like being a prisoner at the hairdressers.

‘
Your mother felt—’

I
stepped in.

‘
What
didn’t
my mother feel? Isn’t she manipulating me enough with all these’—I struggled to find the word—‘shenanigans! I don’t need a companion. I travel alone constantly. In fact,’ I continued in a lighter note, hoping to get around him with a softer touch, ‘I prefer to travel alone, no need for all that chat and forced politeness.’

His
steady countenance was unswerving and I realised my objections were pointless. ‘Sorry, go on.’

‘
You may recognise Alasdair. He’s been to the retreat a number of times. He’s easy-going … in fact,’ he added, smiling, ‘I bet you’ll hardly notice he’s there. I agree with your mother that someone needs to go with you.’

I flashed
him my best sarcastic glance. He responded with an equally forceful glare.

‘
If you travel alone then there’ll be a temptation to read all of the letters in one go, skip a couple of locations and get back to work in three days. This is simply her way of ensuring that—’

‘
I know,’ I interrupted yet again, ‘this is her way of ensuring that the conditions of the will are met. Put it any way you like Mr Grimes, this Alasdair chap is there to provide proof of my cooperation. He’s my guard and checker-upper. Mum’s starting to appear in a different light to me already. Did she know Alasdair particularly well? I’m not sure I remember anyone with that name at St Christopher’s.’

‘
He’s been going there, on and off, for a few years I think. He became very close to your mothe
r
–
and to Jake in fact.’

A pang of jealousy.
My visits to St Christopher’s had become more and more infrequent and it was galling to know that my mother had become close to people I had never heard of.

‘
The good news,’ Grimes went on, ‘is that Alasdair has made all of the travel and accommodation arrangements already. Rosamund dictated her requirements to him and paid for everything while she was still …’

He paused
, stood, lifted the tortoise from the table and placed it onto the carpet. ‘What I meant to say was, all you have to do is sit back and relax.’

Listening to his last words reminded
me of the letter – enjoy it, see it as an adventure; but could I really do that? Could I really put my life into the hands of a perfect stranger for ten days?

Grimes was sure
I would get into the flow of it fairly quickly, but when I offered to take the folder (I knew Mum’s letters were in there – she had been absolutely right that I would jump ahead) he said, ‘No need, I’ll give the letters to Alasdair myself this afternoon. In fact, it’s time to get out of this depressing old place and get you going; Alasdair’s waiting for you at a café in town. I’ll tell you where to meet him, you two can get to know each other a little, and then I’ll pop by with your mum’s letters and drive you to the airport.’

‘Airport?
’

He smiled. ‘Alasdair will explain.
Don’t worry, everything will work out fine.’

‘
Well, it’s not that easy,’ I explained, ‘I have to get some clothes together and arrange to put my car somewhere. I take it I don’t need my car?’

‘
No need for all that. Give me your keys, tell me what car you have and where it is and I’ll take it to St Christopher’s for you. That’s where your journey will end. And here’—he turned his back to me as he opened the under-stairs cupboard with a flourish—‘are your clothes.’

The open door revealed
a bulging suitcase and suit carrier.

‘
What’s all this?’

‘
Your mother thought it would be nice for you to have some new clothes for your trip. So, she chose this little lot out for you. Hopefully, she chose the right size. She even got you a selection of shoes. I’ll bring it all to you later.’

Grimes seemed genuinely pleased with my delight as I fingered excitedly thr
ough the carrier. Mum knew I never allowed myself enough time to shop for anything decent – all that rushing around in jeans and a T-shirt with my camera permanently attached to my belt. I shook my head amusedly and smiled at the tortoise; he gave me a final cheeky wink.

‘
Game, set and match I think. Well played, Terry!’

Chapter Five

It was around twelve
o’clock when I finally stumbled onto the bustling high street. My eyes were forced to squint after the darkness of the office, so I delved to retrieve sunglasses from the depths of my work bag. I also grabbed my mobile phone. I had an interview-cum-photographic shoot planned for the following day that, thanks to Mum, I needed to cancel. This would not be an easy call. I started down the road towards my rendezvous point with Alasdair, and waited for a familiar voice to answer. Paul, a magazine journalist and close friend, had a tendency to answer the phone hands-free while driving and would immediately spill into a shouted conversation that was the verbal equivalent of machine gun fire – that day was no exception:

‘Ah,
blondie! I take it you’re back from deepest Devon. I was worried you might have fallen into a giant cowpat, or gorged yourself to death on cream teas
–
I suppose there are worse ways to go. Okay if I kip at yours tonight, that way we can travel to the shoot together. I’ll be round your place for about … seven? Chicken balti okay?’

‘Yes, but I
—’

‘
I’m just about to park, so I’ll see you later, sweet cheeks.’

‘
Paul! Wait! Don’t hang up. I need to tell you something …’

As expected, the
rest of the conversation did not go down so well, and I had crossed two busy roads and completed half the length of Barnstaple High Street before I could take hold of the conversation. But, once I had assured Paul that he could easily get another photographer for the shoot (it was a peach of a job), and placated him with the offer of dinner on my return to London at a new swanky restaurant in Twickenham, he calmed down – a little bit.

‘So
, let me get this straight in my head,’ he said, ‘because I’m struggling to comprehend it.’ I could imagine him gesticulating into the hands free while trying to park at the same time. ‘Your dead mother has insisted you trip about the country with a complete stranger
–
and a man at that
–
just so you can inherit that house you’re always banging on about? Absolute madness! Was your mother a complete fecking nutcase or what? Get your arse back to London and forget the whole thing. You’ve got a job to do and—’

I interrupted him
, successfully for once.

‘
I don’t need reminding how crazy the situation is. I can assure you that I’m blood-vessel-bursting annoyed as it is, so I could do without any extra hassle from you, okay?’

‘Okay,
whatever. But you need to kiss this bloke right off! He could be a well dodgy character for all you know. Why don’t you just tell the solicitor to sod off? Bugger your inheritance.’

‘I know, I kno
w, but I
have
to do it. Not because of the money, but because of the ashes. I can’t refuse to scatter her, think how
you
would feel if it was your mum. This … stuff, she wants me to know about her life, it must be pretty important. And also, I admit it, as fickle as it sounds, I want my bloody house. It’s my home.’

He sighed down the phone.
‘Fine. Whatever. It’s your life. But just so you know, I wouldn’t feel the same way about
my
mother. She wouldn’t be sober long enough to write me any bloody letters! One final thing though …’ He paused for breath.

‘What
’s that?’

‘
Keep checking in with me every couple of days, just so I know you’re okay.’ His voice mellowed a little with this final suggestion.

I
smiled at the phone. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll text at the very least. You can be quite sweet when you want to, Paul.’ I heard him harrumph down the phone. ‘And don’t worry about this Alasdair bloke, I’m just on my way to meet him now, and I bet he doesn’t even want to come. I’ll tell him that I’m happy to go alone.’ I thought about Mum’s letter. Did this man really need a holiday? And with me? Surely he would have other people he would rather go away with.

‘
Good girl! Dismiss the soldier from his duties, then read the letters, scatter the ash, and get that sexy arse of yours back to London.’ I was only vaguely listening by then.

‘
I’d better go, and listen, I’m truly sorry for letting you down at the last minute. I’ll make it up to you, Paul, promise.’

‘
Oh, don’t sweat it. Anyway, I’m sure I can think of a way for you to make it up to me … after we’ve finished at the new Thai place that is.’ His voice became playful.

‘I’m sure you can,’ I l
aughed.

‘
I’ll win you over one day. Haven’t you heard of
The Tortoise and the Hare
?’

‘
Please don’t tell me you’re the tortoise in this scenario,’ I said, pausing at a pedestrian crossing, ‘because being slow on the uptake is one thing you could
never
be accused of.’

He laughed. ‘Only when it comes to you
, Grace.’

Grimes had told me to meet Alasdair at the Olive Tree Café. I hadn’t required directions as I knew exactly where the café was. ‘Our café’ was Mum’s venue of choice for my meeting with Alasdair, and it struck me that if she had wanted to put me through every emotion someone in mourning can endure, then she had certainly succeeded.

At
the café I paused for a moment to remove my sunglasses and put a brush through my hair. With an overwhelming feeling of ‘let’s get this over with’, I pushed the heavy glass door open and stepped into a bustling room.

I spotted Alasdair immediately
– not because I recognised him from St Christopher’s, but because a small billboard with ‘Grace Buchanan’ written across it was leaning against a chair. He hadn’t noticed me arrive; he was engrossed in a book while making notes on a writing pad. His right foot was perched jauntily on his left knee and the book was being held a significant distance from his face. I thought
that one needs glasses
. A split second later another thought crossed my mind –
Oh Christ, he’s gorgeous!

My i
mmediate reaction made no sense. Rather than behave as I usually would (maturely approach Alasdair and introduce myself) I flushed with panic and rushed to the counter. A waitress tried to catch my eye so I pretended to admire cakes stacked in a glass case. I bit my lip – trying to look as though I was still choosing – and fobbed her off on to another customer. The wall behind the counter was panelled with glass so I took the opportunity to size Alasdair up.

In his late thirties perhaps?
Closely shaven, a broad chest (I supposed) and blond, bordering on mousy hair cropped short. His face was slightly tanned and my overriding first impression was that he had a kind look about him.

I stole a glance at m
yself through the mirror – I looked tired – and lifted my hands to smooth away lines above my cheeks, lines that had only appeared since Mum died. My hair hung unruly around my shoulders and my usual red flushed face had returned; it instantly appeared whenever I felt a trace of embarrassment.

I
was about to confront him when the waitress appeared in front of me. What I really wanted was a glass of wine, but decided to keep a clear head. I opted for comfort food instead.

‘
I’ll have the bread and butter pudding please, and tea
–
just normal tea though, nothing fancy.’ My chosen dessert wasn’t in the cabinet, but I had been to the café enough times to know it was the best pudding on the menu.

A strong voice with just a trace of a northern lilt breathed over my r
ight shoulder.

‘Make that two please
, and could you put it on the tab for table seven? Hello Grace,’ he continued cheerily, now meeting my gaze through the mirror. ‘I believe you’re looking for me?’

I turned on my heels, smiled, held out my hand and said,
‘Hello.’

We returned to table seven and sat just for a moment in (fairly awkward) silence. I placed my hands under my legs to stop them fidgeting with the table mats.

The billboard with my name plastered across it
rested against his chair; I nodded towards it and smiled.

‘
Don’t know how you missed it,’ he said with a laugh, but there was a twinkle in his eye and we both knew I hadn’t – I flushed again.

‘Well, I don’t know about you,’ he began, ‘but now this is really happening it feels a little bit … strange?’ He scratched the back of his left ear while talking, his head slightly tilted to one side.

‘
Yes, I’ve had quite a morning,’ I said, trying to find some semblance of normal conversation, my previous bravado during the call with Paul had diminished somewhat. ‘I’ve only just found out about this whole …’ I took a deep intake of breath, ‘I’m not sure what to call it really. Trip of discovery?’

At that moment the waitress arrived.
She looked to be about my age. As she placed the accoutrements on the table she flashed her best smile at Alasdair and leant over – in an exaggerated manner – to place the pudding in front of him. He afforded her a courteous smile, and moved his pile of books to one side to make room on the table, before she sashayed off.

‘
Shall I just tell you what I know and how I happen to be caught up in all of this?’ he said. ‘You must be wondering why on earth I’m here. Rosamund’s request was a little, well, let’s say … peculiar?’

‘
Yes, that would probably be a good idea. Do you mind if I eat while you’re talking? I’m starving suddenly. I had a long drive down from London this morning.’

He gestured
I should start eating, took a quick sip of tea, leaned forward in his seat and began.

‘
I’ve been passing through the retreat for about three years now, on and off. I’ve got to know Jake,’ he paused, ‘and your mum was a really good friend. I was there last April and they invited me back for a couple of days in July, that’s when they told me their terrible news.’

I felt my expression harden.
How could Mum have told this man about her prognosis and not me?

‘
I know she chose not to tell you about the severity of her illness and if it’s any consolation, we both
–
Jake and I that is
–
tried to talk her out of it, but she was adamant. She asked me to make myself available for the last two weeks in May so I could go with you on the trip. I said no to her at first, thinking the whole thing was unfair on you, but she could be so … persuasive?’

I realised
it was the perfect opportunity to explain he need not accompany me on the trip. I put my spoon down.

‘
It’s funny you should say that,’ I began, ‘because—’

‘
But after about an hour of toing and froing,’ he continued, seemingly oblivious to my attempt to interrupt, ‘I agreed to go, obviously. But I’ve spent the past six months wondering if I should have said no. Anyway,’ he sighed, ‘to cut a long story short, here I am. And now I’m here, I’m really looking forward to it. I could do with a holiday.’

He
smiled cheerily – contagiously – and picked up his spoon.

‘
Sorry, Grace, you were about to say something?’

‘
Was I?’ I lied.

Christ, this was going to be difficult
.

‘
My mind’s gone completely blank. You must have thought she’d gone barking mad when she told you her plan.’

‘
Tell me about it,’ he scoffed, ‘even my anti-shock watch was surprised!’ I laughed, and he added, ‘I understand she wants you to discover a little more about the life she led before you were born.’

I nodded.

‘Apparently so. But goodness knows what I’m going to find out. This is Mum we’re talking about so who knows what she got up to … lap dancing? Lion taming? Nothing would surprise me.’

‘Well, yes, quite.
Anyway, all the travel details are taken care of.’ He paused for a second, clearly trying to find the right words. ‘Look, I want to say straight off that, although I know Rosamund has written some letters to you and I have a vague inkling regarding the details
–
locations and so on
–
I haven’t read them. It’s just none of my business and I don’t want you to think I’m interfering. All I know is that I’m simply to take you from A to B and deliver you back to Devon on the 31st of May in one piece
–
why are you smiling?’ I had just taken a mouthful of pudding, which I swallowed quickly.

‘
The 31st of May was Mum’s official birthday. She chose that date because she said it’s always a beautiful day in England on the 31st of May.’

He
laughed. ‘Official birthday?’

‘
Mum’s real birthday was on the 3rd of January and she hated it. She said it was the most depressing day in the whole year. Everyone unhappy to be going back to work, the rest of the winter ahead, dark nights …’ He knew where I was going so he finished the sentence for me.