The Storyteller's Daughter (35 page)

“Isn't it sad?” I say to Ewan one afternoon, as we sit on the upturned wooden crate at the bottom of the garden. We have just finished dismantling the frames that supported the climbing beans, and have packed them away in the shed for Winter. Although it can only be about four o'clock it is starting to grow dark already.

“Isn't what sad?” he asks, gazing distractedly up at the grey skies, reading the clouds for signs of rain.

“The way the Summer has to end,” I tell him. “The trees lose their leaves, the flowers wither away… ”

We both stare out over the brown turned-over earth.

“I don't think it's sad,” says Ewan, “it's just part of the cycle of life. Everything going around, keeping moving. That's what it's all about.”

I examine the mud underneath my fingernails, thoughtfully.

Digger comes trotting towards me for a fuss, wagging his tail, and I lean over to place my cheek against his soft head. My hair has grown long and unruly and hangs over his face as he licks my ear.

“Do you know how the ancient Greeks explained the changing of the seasons?” Ewan asks.

“No,” I smile, “but Digger and I both have a feeling that you're going to tell us, don't we boy?”

Digger barks in amusement.

“Fine, I won't tell you then,” says Ewan, pretending to be offended. “I wouldn't want to bore you.”

“Oh, go on!”

“No. Not if you're not interested,” he says, stubbornly.

“Pleeeease.”

“No.”

“Go on!” I say, shoving him so that he loses his balance and almost falls off the crate.

“Crikey, woman!” he laughs, gathering himself up, “No more digging for you. Any more muscles and you'll be dangerous.”

“Tell me the story,” I say, elbowing him gently, “you know you want to.”

“Okay, but only because you're insisting. It started when Demeter found out that her daughter, Persephone, had been kidnapped. Demeter was distraught, and vowed to never rest until Persephone was back home again. She searched the entire world, covering mountains and deserts, seas and forests, and when she discovered that Hades had kidnapped Persephone and taken her to the underworld to make her his bride, her despair turned to anger. In her rage, Demeter decreed that no fruit would grow on earth until Hades returned Persephone to her, which he agreed to do, but on one condition. Because Persephone had eaten a handful of pomegranate seeds belonging to him, he declared that she would forever have to spend part of the year with him in the underworld. So, once a year, Persephone is allowed to return to earth, and when she returns Spring arrives; green shoots appear, trees blossom, fruit grows and new life flourishes. But when the time comes for her to go back to the underworld, Winter arrives, leaves drop, fruit falls and new growth is suspended until she returns to earth again.”

Digger wags his tail appreciatively and nuzzles his head against his master's leg.

“And that's why we have Spring and Autumn, isn't it pal?” Ewan says, giving Digger's head a vigorous rub.

I think about Persephone coming and going, the seasons changing, life and death, love and loss.

“I guess nothing ever stays the same for very long,” I say, pulling the sleeves of my jumper down over my cold hands.

“The world has to keep turning,” he says. “Six months from now this garden will be full of birds singing in the trees and flowers blossoming once again.”

I shiver in the chill air, wrapping my arms around my body and burying my chin inside my scarf. I know he's right, that in six months time the garden will be full of life again, but I wonder whether it will ever really feel the same now that my mother is gone.

“She'll always be with you, you know,” says Ewan. “All you have to do is close your eyes.”

I let my eyelids drift shut, listening to the sounds of the breeze playing with the crisp Autumn leaves. Wisps of my hair blow gently around my ears, tickling at my cheeks. I can feel the warmth of Ewan's thigh pressed next to mine, the solidness of his body against me.

“She's wherever you want her to be,” I hear Ewan say, his voice deep and soothing, “you just have to imagine.”

In my mind's eye an image slowly comes into focus. I can see her there, standing by the apple orchard, her long auburn hair shining in the bright Autumn sunshine, thick and luscious as it used to be; her crowning glory. She is strong and healthy, her cheeks glowing and her eyes sparkling with glee. She is smiling at me. In the air I can smell spiced apples, cinnamon, warm chocolate cake, hot vanilla custard, mulled wine, nutmeg… all the scents that ever filled our kitchen on a brisk Autumn day. She looks vibrant and happy, full of energy once again. I smile back at her, and she waves. She is wearing the purple cashmere gloves I bought her for Christmas last year, the ones she said she would save for a special occasion and then tucked carefully away in a drawer. I smile and raise my hand slightly, waving back. Slowly, her colourful figure blends with the red and yellow Autumn leaves and the sparkling golden sunshine, and the image starts to fade away.

I open my eyes. The clouds are grey and the sky is growing dim. I look towards the apple orchard where the trees stand huddled in the fading light, their remaining leaves rustling gently in the breeze, their branches already looking sparse. It doesn't matter to me that the orchard will soon be bare, like a huddle of gnarled, skeletons against a Winter sky. I know that whenever I close my eyes my mother will be there, waving to me, and that it will always be a sunny day.

When I look down into my lap I find Ewan's hand, rough and warm, enveloping mine.

And it seems the most natural thing in the world.

It's not like you said it would be. No bolt of lightning shoots across the sky, and no nightingales spontaneously burst into song. I do not find myself engulfed in a dreamy, magical cloud, or swept away in a whirlwind of glittering stardust. Instead, I suddenly feel real, as if all the splintered parts of myself have simultaneously come together. I am the child I once was, and the adult I am today. I am all of my good points, and each of my bad. I am brave but afraid, healed but damaged, strong but helpless. I am everything I have admitted and all that I have denied. The person that I am right now in this moment is the product of everything I have ever been; the truth, the lies and everything in between.

When his lips touch mine, I don't feel myself falling, weightlessly, like you promised.

Instead, for the first time ever, I feel myself become me.