Rowan In The Oak Tree
Page 3
She looked at the tree, right in front of her now, its huge pathway branch beckoning her into its warm and cosy centre. She looked across the bough, and put her foot carefully onto the branch before pushing down hard to test its strength. On feeling no bend from the tree she stepped on with her other foot, and shuffled forwards slowly, pushing the thick layer of settled snow off the sides as she made her way to the tree house in the middle. Peyton followed her, cautious of his footing and most unhappy that he was now off safe ground and up in a tree.
The moment the companions reached the core they calmed. The door stuck a little on its hinges and Rowan had to pull it hard to open it, nearly falling over backwards in doing so, before walking in. The tree house was warm inside compared to the arctic weather outside, and she and Peyton were glad to be out of the wind and in the dry.
The wooden walls were thick and kept out the cold, and the window in the side was a very thick sheet of plastic which was sealed in with lots of strong glue, preventing any wind getting in. Old cushions scattered the floor in one corner, and Rowan was glad for the chance to sit down. Peyton flopped beside her and dropped his head in her lap.
She wriggled out of her rucksack straps and lifted it onto the cushion in front of her quietly, so as not to disturb her already-snoozing dog, and began to rummage through for the treats she’d stolen from the cupboard. She considered herself to have been sensible when she took two Mars bars, as she’d been listening that day many a year ago when her maman had taken her on a long walk, and knew that Mars bars had sugar in that kept people going. She’d taken Peyton’s favourite bone from his corner and shoved it in a carrier bag to prevent everything else getting covered in puppy slobber, and brought along his bag of treats, thinking they’d work the same for him as a Mars would for her. Peyton opened his eye lazily when he heard the rustling sound and leapt to his feet with his tongue lolling and tail wagging when he saw that she had The Bag in her hands. She opened the bag and tossed him a treat to eat, before resealing it and hiding it away in the bottom of her rucksack.
She pulled her favourite bear out of the bag and sat him on the cushion so he could see the room. He was only a very small bear, a small brown bear with moveable arms and legs, and he had a much squashed face from where she’d cuddled him tight since the day she was born.
She wandered around the room that made up the entire tree house, patting her pretty puppy on her way past, and found an old radio in a box behind the door. Turning the switch on, she fussed through static looking for a station, and was disappointed but not surprised when it fizzled out on her; the battery spent.
She chucked it back in the box, and on finding nothing else of any interest to her in there, she closed the lid with a bang.
She couldn’t stand silence, which is why she most often talked to herself, but now she wanted music. She recalled her maman’s favourite cd, with songs about men running in waves, a smart policeman, and mountains, and quietly she began to hum her favourite song. The song always sounded to her like the two separate and very different instruments were dancing around each other, and she knew the song inside out. Swaying in the middle of the tree house to the song she sang, she lost herself in the music. She could hear the song clear as day inside her head although her ears heard only her voice. As she danced and swayed she began to warm up, and had soon thrown her gloves and coat onto the pile of cushions near Peyton, who continued to chew his treat as if it were sticky like toffee.
As she came to the end of her song she moved to the window and looked out. The view, though white and rather blurry, was beautiful. The snow had slowed somewhat and she could see through the faint white flecks the entire quarry and all the way over to the other side of the valley. On the opposite hill stood an old church, its clock a beady eye as it looked upon Rowan in her tree house many miles away. Its bricks, once a sandy yellow, were now black as night. She knew that that beautiful old church was where her daddy had married her maman, and she felt privileged to see it with her own eyes. She told Peyton of a photograph she had seen of their wedding day; her daddy looking every inch the Prince Charming and her maman a fine princess, both with a glass of wine and smiling huge smiles. The photo always made her sad because their smiles did not last beyond it; now whenever she saw them together all they did was shout. Or rather, all maman did was shout. Daddy would merely look at her with his patient eyes.
She told Peyton the story of her parents; they’d met in a forest while her maman was picking berries and her daddy riding his trusty white steed. Daddy’s horse had startled her maman and she dropped her basket of berries, and daddy, ever the knight in shining armour, climbed down from his horse to help her.
Of course, she knew it was a lie, a tale as tall as the tree in which she stood, but she didn’t care. It made her happy to think of her parents as happy royalty before her maman’s body was taken over by a cruel and evil witch with green skin and a croaky voice.
She told of how she was named after the berries her mother was picking that day for the birds in her extensive palace gardens, and how she was given her own puppy to have as her royal aide.
Once upon a time her daddy-long-legs had called her his little princess and had told her she needed a prince; the next day he came home with a puppy in a basket. He told her that his name was Peyton, for Peyton meant royal, and that he was her prince. He told her that as long as she had Peyton, she’d never need another.
As she talked, she sat down on the cushions and put her coat around her shoulders and encouraged Peyton to sit in her lap where she could stroke him. He still wore his jacket but she knew he would feel her loving touch, and she wanted him as close to her as possible. She felt lonely and almost wished to have her maman there, even though she knew she’d be shouting.
Her maman used to tell Rowan of how she reminded her of a poem she knew.
“There was a little girl,” she’d start, with an angelic look on her face, “who had a little curl, right in the middle of her fo’red.” She’d stab herself in the forehead with a chubby forefinger before continuing.
“When she was good, she was very, very good,” Rowan’s maman would put her hands together, palms in prayer, before finishing, “but when she was bad, she was horrid!” With this, she’d wag her fat finger right in Rowan’s face.
She picked up the Mars bar she’d gotten out of her bag and removed its wrapping. She smiled as she looked at Peyton watching her, his mouth still slap-slapping as he continued to chew on his toffee-like treat. She knew Peyton wouldn’t want any while his mouth was full and so she tucked in greedily.
The chocolate had awakened her tummy and she listened to it rumble a moment before giving in and diving into her bag once more. She pulled out a jam sandwich and peeled away the cling film. She recalled wanting some of the beautiful smelling ham that was in the fridge that morning, but knew that if she was caught with it she’d be ‘for the high jump’. She sniffed the air as though she could smell the ham in front of her, and took a bite from the sandwich.
“We’d both be jumping high with ham in our bellies, eh Peyton?”
On hearing his name, Peyton looked at her expectantly. Her eyes were closed, her head leaned back against the wall, and the sandwich she’d started to eat sat in her hand, unfinished.
YORKSHIRE ECHO
Rowan In The Oak Tree
Missing child, eight, found in tree house in the centre of Quarry Woods.
Rowan Lillford went missing five days ago with her dog Peyton and was found yesterday afternoon by some children who had been playing nearby.
“We were playing hide and seek in the trees, it’s easy to hide in the woods and we managed to go in really far ‘cos all the snow has gone now,” one of the children told us. “We went into the tree house in the old oak tree, my sister and I, to hide, and Kacey started screaming. That’s when I saw her and ran home for dad.”
The police have been asking friends and family if they have details of Rowan’s whereabouts; her mother is distra
ught and was convinced Rowan had gone to play with friends and simply not told her where she was going.
Two days ago police began to comb the woods in spite of the snow, but found nothing.
“Where Rowan was found is a good six miles away from her home.” Sgt. Coxley said in a news report. “We wouldn’t have thought that a child as young would have managed to get so far. It’s obvious that she and her dog have taken shelter from the worsening weather and have died of cold.”
Rowan was found with an empty rucksack and a few chocolate wrappers, wrapped up in many layers of clothing. Her dog was found lying on top of her; police are assuming he tried to keep her warm using his own body, but this news is no comfort to her mother.
“My little angel is gone; I’ll never teach her another thing.”
Ted Cambridge
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Ayla Page was born in West Yorkshire, England, on the only snowy day of the year. She moved to Bournemouth on the south coast of England, in 2007 at the age of eighteen to 'seek her fortune'. There she married and had a daughter before moving back up to Yorkshire in 2010.
Now a divorced single mother, Ayla is reading Psychology at university with her eye on a distinguished writing career and the esteemed prizes that accompany such.