The Hornbeam Tree (2 page)

What had made her come here today? What unknown hand had guided her? She rested the palm of one hand on the trunk, then her cheek. The bark was warm and fluting with age. It smelt of earth and damp and was prettily patched by moss. It would live for another hundred years or more, this tree of hers, never moving from this spot, watching the seasons come and go, releasing its leaves and fruit, and producing new in spring. She put her arms around it, and after a while was certain she could feel the gentle force of its energy flowing into her.

She’d never done anything like this before. Tree-hugging. Usually she left it to the New Agers who were into this sort of thing, while she scoffed from the sidelines, but her eyes and mind had been opened to many things this past year, and now here was another revelation. This sense of permanence and safety, of being in the right place at the right time, and of being so much smaller than nature yet
as
intrinsically a part of it as this tree, was what she needed to feel here, at this hour, on this day.

Judy was waiting beside the car when she returned, the expression on her round face with its large, velvety brown eyes and quirky mouth showing affection and understanding, even though she couldn’t know about the tree or the strangeness of that brief encounter. How could she, when Katie barely understood it herself? But it mattered, Katie was certain of that, fruitcakish as it was. She was glad they’d stopped. She might even come again.

As they drove on towards home she was grateful for Judy’s silence, because she felt the need to be quiet now. Shock worked its way through the senses in a randomly confusing fashion, she was finding, alighting on one, then another, then several together. It was bizarre, because a part of her had been expecting this. Well, dreading it, actually, but it had been there for a while, stalking her personal horizon like a shy lover, or, more accurately, a countdown clock. Now suddenly it was galloping towards her like a terrifying knight in dull, black armour, intent on carrying her off to a place she didn’t want to go. She turned her head, as though to avoid the collision.

It was gone. Everything was normal. She was in the car with Judy, signalling to turn right on to the road that would take them home. For a fleeting moment she seemed to boil with rage, then a sick, pleading desperation flooded her heart. She managed to suppress both. She had now to work out how she was going to handle it all. With dignity, was the first thought that came to mind, and grace and calm. No hysterics, no pleading or
ranting
, or bitterness or self-pity. No clinging to the impossible, or trying to make deals with God. Just acceptance and strength, and endless understanding and support for Molly.
Oh dear God, Molly
.

Focusing again on her surroundings, she realized they were on the main Bristol to Chippenham road, speeding past Marshfield, a centuries-old village that was fast turning into an urban sprawl, then The Shoe that was cleared in a blink, then Ford that had a good restaurant in its pub. Not long now and they’d be home. Fortunately Membury Hempton, where both she and Judy lived, wasn’t one of West Wiltshire’s outstanding villages, so they weren’t too bothered by tourists, even though most of the cottages, and some of the larger houses, dated from the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, and the church went back to ancient times. It just didn’t have the olde worlde charm of its neighbours such as Castle Combe, Biddestone and Lacock.

Now they were carving it up down the high street, two forty-something bombshells in a Fiat Panda, past the nursery school on the right, and the doctor’s surgery and post office-cum-village store on the left. A few of their neighbours were gathered around the small war memorial on the grassy central island, gossiping and enjoying the fine weather. Recognizing Judy’s car they waved and smiled. It had been a struggle for Katie, a Londoner born and bred, to make them all accept her when she’d arrived last year, but things were finally starting to improve now, largely thanks to Judy, who’d encouraged her to involve herself in the community. She had much to be thankful to Judy
for
, and wasn’t in any doubt that it was going to stack a lot higher in the coming days and weeks. Where would she and Molly be without Judy, the district nurse, who’d fast turned into the best friend they’d ever had? She couldn’t even begin to think, so stopped trying.

‘Would you like me to come in?’ Judy offered, as they passed the pub and turned into Sheep Lane. Katie’s cottage was at the end, opposite the secluded, half-moon duck pond that was home to a noisy assortment of coot, mallards and moorhens.

‘It’s OK,’ Katie answered. ‘I’m sure you’ve got a lot to be going on with.’

‘My time is yours today. Maybe I can answer some of your questions.’

Katie smiled. ‘Actually, if you don’t mind …’

‘You’d like to be alone,’ Judy finished in a Garbo voice. ‘That’s fine, just promise me you’ll call if you need anything. You know where I am.’

‘Of course,’ Katie responded.

After they pulled up next to the white picket fence that hemmed in her small garden, Katie sat gazing at the quaint, grey stone cottage that had been home to her and Molly since they’d been forced to downsize, and felt as though she was seeing a photograph, or a painting, something that wasn’t quite real. Roses bloomed either side of the front door they rarely used, a Virginia creeper framed the sitting-room and kitchen windows and the orange, weather-roughened roof tiles glinted like amber in the sun. The only other cottages down this lane were Mr and Mrs Preddy’s, attached to the back of Katie’s, and Dick Bradley’s, which was the other side of the pond, next to the cowfield and
overhung
by the gnarled limbs of a very old sycamore.

‘What are you going to do now?’ Judy asked.

‘Write a letter, I suppose,’ Katie answered. ‘I’d been hoping I wouldn’t have to, but I don’t have a choice now, so I might as well get it over with.’

‘It’ll work out,’ Judy told her gently. ‘You’ll get the answer you want.’

Katie nodded, and after climbing out of the car she stood just inside the gate watching and waving as Judy reversed round the duck pond and drove back up the lane. Once the sound of the engine died away the place seemed eerily quiet, with just the odd squawk from a duck, a smattering of birdsong and the lumber of a tractor engine somewhere far away. The sun felt very intense. She thought the apples on the tree next to the shed seemed redder than they had this morning, while the potted plants around the well were starting to wilt. She walked along the front of the cottage and around the side to where the hose was curled up on the wall next to the back door. Trotty, their fluffy little mixed-breed, had obviously heard her, because she was scratching the door to get out.

‘Hello, you daft old thing,’ Katie smiled, scooping her up for a spot of fussing. ‘Did you miss me? Eh? Is that what all this is about?’

Trotty’s answer was to lick with more feeling, before scurrying off to find her ball.

Katie watered the flowers, threw the ball and felt the sun beating down on her head. How long before Molly was due to come home? Another hour? Maybe two or three if she decided to go to her friend’s. Molly didn’t always communicate her
plans
these days, she was either too busy to remember, or too angry to share. It wasn’t always like that though, because there were still plenty of days when Katie was the best mum in all the world, as opposed to she-who-must-be-disobeyed-and-never-seen-out-with.

The kitchen was cool and shady, thanks to the thick stone walls. It was surprisingly large for a small cottage, with two overhead beams, a big china sink, terracotta floor and a staircase in one corner that led up to the three bedrooms above. The pantry was beneath the stairs, the door to the sitting room was next to it, and a deep sill window looked out over the pond, lane and cowfield. At the centre was a table with four chairs, which was where, once she’d made a cup of tea, she was going to sit down to write to Michelle.

As she put the kettle on she wondered what she was going to say. It was a letter she’d tried not to think about over the past few months, but it was here now, needing to be written. Considering the rift that had grown up between them, the petty jealousies, which in truth were mainly hers, and the pride that made it hard for her to ask for anything, particularly from her beautiful and gifted younger sister, nothing about this letter would be easy.

‘Dear Michelle, God and I are having a difference of opinion over my lifespan and currently he’s winning, so please can you come back to England to take care of Molly?’

She guessed she’d have to be a little more tactful, and detailed, than that. After all, it could prove quite a blow to Michelle to learn that her only sibling wasn’t going to be around for much longer.
She
liked to think Michelle would care, though she wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t. She’d explain that the hysterectomy, chemotherapy and radiotherapy hadn’t zapped all those dreaded diseased cells sufficiently to prevent more popping up in the liver, which had also had a good blast, but somehow the message wasn’t getting through. They were marvellously comfortable where they were, thank you very much, and no way was anyone or anything going to budge them. Which all added up to Dr Simon being very, very sorry but there was no more they could do.

‘Dear Michelle, I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch for a while, but I hope you’re well. Your last letter was from Pakistan, so I’m presuming that’s where you still are, as you normally let us know when you move on. I hope your work in the Afghan refugee camps isn’t too harrowing, though I’m sure it must be. You’re very brave, the way you take on other people’s troubles and try to help them, so I wonder if you could take mine on now. I wish I could say it will only be until I detach from this mortal coil, which shouldn’t be too long, though they won’t give me an exact time, but I’m afraid Molly is going to be in need of someone to take care of her after, and as you’re her only relative …’

She wouldn’t write that either, but she imagined it would be something along those lines, polite, to the point, and careful not to revisit any past resentments or fall into any kind of emotional blackmail. She wondered where Michelle was right now, this minute, and what she was doing. She’d have no idea that her world was about to be rocked too, and from a quarter she probably least
expected
. Was she going to mind? That was a patently stupid question, because of course she’d mind. Michelle was extremely dedicated to her way of life.

There was a time, she was thinking, when Michelle would have done almost anything for them to be as close as when they were growing up, but though Katie had loved Michelle, as they’d become adults and begun finding their own ways in the world, Katie, to her shame, had rarely dealt well with how charmed Michelle’s life had seemed in comparison to hers. Not that she, Katie, hadn’t done well, because she had, she’d just never quite been able to overcome a feeling of resentment towards Michelle that was, in truth, much more rooted in admiration than in envy. She’d never let Michelle know that, though – she didn’t even admit it to herself if she could help it. Better not to think about Michelle, and just get on with her own life.

She was still sitting at the table, tea gone cold and surrounded by pages of scrunched-up paper, when she heard Molly’s voice outside, calling to Trotty. Quickly she scooped everything into a drawer and went to busy herself with the few dishes in the sink. Everything must seem normal. Life was tootling along happily, nothing was about to change – except the major treatments had stopped, making a difference to where Molly went after school, because now she could come home instead of going to Judy’s or wherever else she’d been taking herself off to lately.

‘I’ve got about a hundred hours of bloody homework,’ Molly grumbled as she bumped in through the door with Trotty in one arm and her
school
bag over the other. ‘And if you start getting on at me about anything now I’m going to go ballistic, because I’ve had like a really bad day and I hate that bloody school. It stinks. Everyone in it’s a moron and no way am I staying on to do sixth form there. What have we got to eat?’

‘Yes, I’m fine thank you, darling,’ Katie replied cheerily. ‘How nice of you to ask. Would you like a sandwich? I can stuff it with your attitude and see how
you’d
like to swallow it.’ It wasn’t what she wanted to say, but it was how they spoke to each other these days, and right now she wanted everything to stay the same.

Molly’s green eyes flashed with hostility. ‘You are just like, sooo not funny,’ she told her.

Katie grinned. She knew there was a chance Molly might too, because her mood could swing from stroppy to sunny in the blink of an eye. Alas, it seemed today the pendulum was stuck, because she fired off one of her filthier looks, put down Trotty and tugged open the fridge door.

Katie watched her, feeling too many emotions to deal with at once, so she opted for love, then immediately dropped it, because it came all cluttered up with a need to embrace and gush. Molly would think she’d lost the plot completely if she suddenly clasped her to her bosom now and began spouting Mummy-talk as though Molly were four rather than fourteen. So she settled for a more normal maternal scrutiny of Molly’s appearance, which was far too grown-up for Katie’s liking, with all her make-up and unfastened buttons. It would be hard to reveal much more of the ample young breasts that were being hoisted
together
by a couple of sturdy underwires without popping them out altogether, she reflected. The skirt was shockingly short too, and Katie would lay money she only had a thong underneath. Katie had to admit, though, had she ever been blessed with buttocks and legs like Molly’s her mother would never have been able to get her hemlines down either. They were Michelle’s buttocks and legs. She had Michelle’s eyes too, moss green, slanted at the corners and utterly bewitching. Katie hoped Molly was nowhere near realizing yet how devastating they were. The rest of her was much more like Katie, or how Katie used to be, a full, peachy mouth, creamy skin with permanently reddened cheeks, delicately carved jawline and spiky raven hair. Actually, the hair colour was her father’s, but that was about all she’d inherited from him, though she’d probably be able to tot up a few hefty debts and several embarrassments when he finally decided to depart this particular dimension.