Dad shook his head. “Just that.”
“But you said, firstly—what’s secondly?”
He shrugged. “The same, they just remind her of death. She’s been through rough times, especially with her own parents. Her mother loved bluebells…they were everywhere, even…” Her father paused.
“Even what?”
Dad spoke softly again. “Mum’s just terrified of history repeating itself and bluebells remind her…”
“Of what?” she asked, but her father looked just as broken as Mum had and she retreated. “It’s fine, I’m sorry.”
He shook his head, scarcely audible. “You don’t need to worry.” He kissed the top of Meg’s head. “She’ll be fine.”
Mum flipped the box over and over between her fingers. Her eyes darted everywhere but to the packet.
“Mum, just take one. They’ll help,” Meg coaxed, “but you have to take one first!”
Mum unfolded the thin paper leaflet, chuckling nervously at the length of the information, and spread it over her knees. “Okaaaay,” she said. “This doesn’t look like fun!”
“It’s not meant to be fun,” said Meg. “What did you tell the doctor?”
“What he needed to know.” Mum shook her head as she perused the page. “How can you have drowsiness and difficulty sleeping? Lethargy and excitement…”
“You might not get any side effects…”
“I’ll get something! Look at the length of this list! They don’t write them for fun.”
“It’s just guidance.” Meg tried to be encouraging. “When did he say to start?”
“When I’m ready.”
Meg took the leaflet while her mum traced the braille dots on the box.
“Mum, bear in mind that it says here things can get worse when you start taking them. You might feel worse before you feel better, but then you’ll feel better!” Meg continued.
“Well, here I go.” Mum sighed, and pushed a small white tablet out of the foil and swished it down. “There, done. Happy now?”
Meg nodded.
“I didn’t want antidepressants, you know,” she told her. “I want to talk to someone about my past. Dr Eastham said he’d put me on a waiting list for counselling, but I’d be waiting for years.”
Meg raised her eyebrows. “Years? What about people in trouble?”
“It seems you have to be in serious trouble to be seen by a real person.” She took another sip of water. “I can do a course, or take pills, or wait—maybe I should do something stupid, then I’d get to see someone!”
Meg held up her hand. “What course?”
“Oh, something about anxiety something management…” She waved her hand at Meg.
“Maybe you should do the course!” Meg suggested.
“Like that would help!” Mum’s voice rose. “A weekly chat isn’t going to help!”
“It might, you don’t know!”
“Meg, I shouldn’t be depressed! I don’t live in the third world, we have everything we need, and you’re a good girl. Dad’s got a good job. Why am I depressed? What right do I have taking up funds for counselling and antidepressants? I should be happy…” She glanced at the pills. “I shouldn’t need these!”
Meg sighed wearily.
“I’m wasting money that could be spent on people who are really sick, and why? Because I’m sad!” She flung her arms in the air. “I’m sad, really sad, and not in the being upset terms either! Sad, weak and stupid. I’m stupid, therefore I do stupid things, therefore I should see a counsellor, but I can’t because I’m not stupid enough!”
Meg rolled her eyes.
“Maybe I should do something stupid…”
“Maybe we should get dinner, Mum. C’mon, let’s get dinner.” Meg moved towards the kitchen. “Mum? Did you put yourself on the list for counselling anyway?”
Mum shook her head. “What’s the point? I’ll be better after I take these. I’ll be fine in less than a few years! The list is for people with serious problems, not bored housewives who feel sad.” She strode past her daughter. “C’mon, Meg, I’ll be fine in no time.”
Get off,” Meg mumbled as Indy brushed against her head.
He kneaded the duvet on top of her thigh, his claws flexing as he balanced. Meg opened one eye. The room was lighter than she expected, much lighter. She glanced at the time: four minutes past eight. She threw back the duvet, pushing Indy off, and swung her legs out of bed.
“Eight o’clock! Mum!” she yelled. “I’m late!”
She pulled on her school uniform as quickly as she could whilst searching for her tie. She rushed downstairs. In the kitchen last night’s washing up still sat on the surface, no packed lunch awaited her, and she tripped over the overflowing washing basket as she spun around.
Meg stuck a piece of bread in the toaster and hurdled over the laundry. She bounded up the stairs and knocked on Mum’s bedroom door. No answer.
She pushed the door open. Mum was still fast asleep, her hair all messed up on the pillow and the duvet pulled tight around her shoulders. On the floor rested her overturned alarm clock.
Meg didn’t know whether to wake her or just race out of the door to catch her bus. She looked at the time: ten past. The bus would be gone in two minutes and she would never be ready.
She knelt and spoke softly. “Mum, Mum.” She sighed running her hands through her hair. “Mum, you need to wake up, it’s late…”
Mum didn’t stir.
“Please, Mum, it’s bad enough going to school without being late as well! Mum, you’ve got to wake up.” She brushed Mum’s hair out of her face. “You have to wake up! Please, Mum!”
Mum shifted position and pulled the duvet tighter.
“Mum! I’ve got to get to school. I’ve missed the bus!”
Mum’s eyes flickered open.
“Mum, you, we, overslept…”
“Over what?”
“We overslept.” Meg glanced at the alarm clock. “The alarm didn’t go off.”
“It did…I heard it. I turned it off,” Mum murmured.
“Why did you turn it off?” Meg muttered. “You’ve got to get up.”
“Okay, okay, I’m getting up.” Mum rubbed her eyes. “I’m getting up.”
“Right, I missed the bus, so you’ll need to take me.”
Mum nodded and pushed up on her elbow. “Go on then, you get ready, I’ll be there in a minute!”
Meg frowned doubtfully, but rushed back to the kitchen and pushed her cold toast back into the toaster. She popped it out a minute later and spread butter. While she ate, she listened for signs of life upstairs.
Finally she heard movement and made lunch while she waited. She dumped school books into her bag and waited for Mum to appear. When she didn’t Meg ran back upstairs. Mum was dressed, but curled on top of her bed, dozing. Meg shook her shoulder. “Mum, I need to get to school!”
Mum sat up straightening her top. “So where’s the bus?” she asked.
“Mum! I missed it because no one woke me up!”
“Oh, right, I’m coming now.”
Meg turned on her heels. She’d brushed her hair and teeth by the time Mum made it down.
“Have I got time for a…”
“Mum, no, I’ve got to go now, or we’ll hit the traffic!”
“What about my pill?” asked Mum.
“You don’t need it ‘til later.”
“Okay, where are my keys?”
“I’ve got them, here.” Meg thrust the car keys at her mother.
Meg hurried down to the car. Mum followed, pointing the key at the car until it blipped.
They climbed in, and Mum started the car. “Where are we going?”
Meg stared at her incredulously. “School?” she offered. “It’s where I usually go on a Tuesday.”
Mum frowned at her. “I know school, but which road?”
“Mum! Just get going!”
“Okay, okay!” Mum stared at the dashboard and pushed lightly on the accelerator;
the car purred. She shook her head and held her hands outstretched before resting both on the steering wheel. Her daughter glared. She shook her head again as if trying to clear it of cobwebs and put the car into gear. She pulled away from the kerb and moved slowly down the road.
Meg stared out of the window in exasperation, her fingernails biting her palm.
The car jerked to a stop at the junction, and Meg sat on her fists. Mum pulled out and Meg screeched. “Stop!” The car lurched and stopped. Mum stared at the car that swerved to avoid them. The driver glared back and shouted something incoherent. Mum trembled and Meg bit her lip.
“Mum, wait, I’ll tell you when to go.” Meg watched the road and told her mother when to pull out then Meg directed her back home again. Mum turned off the engine and they both sat quietly.
Finally, Meg broke the silence. “C’mon, Mum, you’re in no fit state to be up and about. Let’s get you inside.”
Mum nodded and tears slid down her face as Meg led her indoors. Meg sat her on the sofa and dumped her school bag in the hall. Then she sat with her mum, one arm around her shaking shoulders and the other holding her hand.
“I’m exhausted,” whispered Mum, “so tired, I can barely move. I can’t feel anything. I just want to sleep…just want to sleep.”
Meg nodded. “You should sleep. It’s the pills, nothing to worry about. It said it might get worse before it gets better.”
“I want to sleep, I want to sleep,” Mum moaned.
Mum lifted her legs onto the sofa and lowered her head. She yawned and closed her eyes. Meg arranged a fleece blanket across her mother and sank to the floor. She sat cross-legged, watching as Mum slipped back into her stupor.
Martha?” Dad crouched beside the sofa and his wife struggled to open her eyes. “Meg? How’s she been? Is she okay?”
“She’s been asleep for most of the day. Didn’t want any food, I think she’s feeling sick too.”
Dad tenderly stroked his wife’s hair.
“The pills said it could be worse for a while,” said Meg. “I’ve made dinner and kept some for Mum if she wants any.”
“You’re an angel,” said Dad, “and how was school?”
“I didn’t want to leave Mum so I stayed home.” Meg was ready to defend her decision, but Dad didn’t question it.
He kissed his wife and stood. “So let’s have dinner,” he said cheerily.
Mum slept and they ate with very little conversation. Meg was tired after having watched Mum sleep all day. The washing was done, last night’s washing up finished and put away, and she’d even vacuumed without her mum stirring. Day time television had numbed her mind, and she’d finished all the homework she had in her school bag.
“I’ll stay home tomorrow too,” she said with one eye trained on her father.
“Okay,” he replied.
She was taken aback. “No school tomorrow, I’ll stay with Mum.”
He nodded. “Does school know? Do you need me to phone anyone?”
Meg shook her head. “I phoned them. I told them Meg wouldn’t be at school because she was ill.”
“You told them Meg…” He raised an eyebrow. “You told them you wouldn’t be there?”
She nodded. “I pretended to be Mum.”
He shrugged. “I suppose that works…” He glanced through the dining room door at his wife stretched across the sofa. “She’s stirring.” He pushed out his chair. “She’s waking up…” He was gone from the table as Meg collected the plates. “Martha…” Meg smiled as she listened to her father speak in the adjoining room.
Meg busied herself as she squirted washing up liquid into the sink. She agitated the water grinning at the bubbles massing beneath her hands. She pushed her palms to the bottom of the sink letting the hot water and soft bubbles caress her hands. She stared out of the window and across the garden.
The laburnum sprouted leaves, and the rhododendron sat below it, dark and broody, smothered with buds. New growth, green foliage danced in the breeze, and Meg smiled at the host of swaying aquilegia filling the back of the beds. Early roses bloomed, and heavenly blue lithodora carpeted the ground dotted with primroses.
The early evening golden glaze of light brightened Meg’s spirits, and she grinned as she began scrubbing glasses. Scouring the plates and pans, after the anxiety of the day, was cathartic. She polished the knives and forks and rinsed out the sink.
She leaned on the edge of the sink and gazed at the golden sun moving across the garden. She ached to get outside, to escape the house and run…
Ten minutes later, she ran down the street, her heart beating and swelling as she chased the sun.
Bronze radiance bathed the field as the oak stood silhouetted on the horizon and Meg sprinted through the tall grass. She danced, twirling and pirouetting until she reached it. Then she circled the thick trunk brushing her hands across its torso, her soul soaring as the sun began to set.
Meg suddenly wanted to dance and whoop and yell and climb! She leapt around the tree with uncharacteristic abandon.
The sun’s orange glow flamed the leaf buds, beginning to shoot at the tips of each branch, and the tree appeared to be on fire as Meg stared up into its canopy. The sun smouldered in the red sky, falling slowly behind the huge, old oak, and she watched the clouds burn scarlet. The grass darkened beneath her feet and Meg’s spirit grew wilder.
She launched up into the tree climbing quickly and deftly. Moments later she stood against the trunk in the middle of the tree, this time glad she was wearing trainers, new black ones that she’d bought with Dad.
The sun glared, painting her red as she balanced in the tree’s fork. She closed her eyes and spread her fingers, gripping the trunk. Her hand moved across the uneven bark until her fingers touched a smooth spot. She glanced behind, careful not to wobble, and saw a patch of bare wood. The bark was stripped and the small patch smoothed over. She had to turn in the fork and grab hold of another limb, but the branches were in exactly the right places for her to balance effortlessly. As the sun turned ruby she stared at the tree and grinned, her face beaming as bright as sunlight before dusk.
As the sun dropped over the hills behind the tree, it was quite hard to make out the letters, but Meg recognised a lover’s tryst. The smoothed trunk was a love heart with two sets of initials and the number four. She could make out an ‘N’ or an ‘M’, but the sun was so low now, she had trouble making out the rest. Meg smiled broadly as she imagined a heartsick youth up here in the tree carving out his heart’s desire, and she traced the first initial. As her fingers touched the engraved letter, she felt a deep intake of breath, and her heart began to pump.
Her fingers burned and her eyes glazed. As panic gripped her, she clutched at the tree, and the burning sensation in her fingers spread. She saw a young man running across the field, his joy shining like the sun on his face. He sprang into the tree, hauling himself up branch by branch until he paused in the fork where she stood. Meg’s heart smouldered as she closed her eyes. She felt as if she was on fire and if she opened her eyes she’d be caught in a blazing tree.
He pulled out a penknife and began to strip bark then carve initials and Meg felt his heart on fire. Passion seared through her body, and feelings she’d never known flew through her mind.
Then the vision changed, the man disappeared from the crook of the tree and reappeared below. He stood with a girl in his arms and they sank to the ground. Meg flushed as the lovers held each other tight beneath the oak and swore undying love, and Meg knew their hearts.
She unconsciously moved her hand and the impressions vanished as quickly as they’d arrived.
Her fingers turned white and Meg didn’t dare release her grip until the fuzzy emotions faded. It took a while for the drum beating within her chest to quieten, but when it did she swallowed deeply and looked around. The sun perched on the hilltop ready to sink into the landscape for the night.
Meg twisted, but it was too dusky to see the carved heart properly, and she swung
down jumping to the ground, just as the sun dipped beneath the hills.
She leaned against the tree, still overcome at the emotions she’d experienced from touching the initials. She’d suddenly been part of two people from another age, and despite everything, she hoped against hope that the two unknown lovers were still together.
Her ardent evening at the old oak combined with Mum’s lethargy and marathon snoozes left Meg shattered.
For two days Mum slept late, and when she wasn’t sleeping she was tucked beneath a furry fleece staring at the blank television screen. Meg decided it didn’t matter if the television was on or not, Mum stared regardless, so she left it off. Mum made no complaint, and Meg could concentrate on her novel instead. She read and reread the same paragraph multiple times before dropping her book.
Meg mirrored her mother’s zombified life.
Meg ignored the door bell, which rang twice, and the little old lady from next door shuffled back home as Meg watched from behind the curtains.
No grandparents called with concerned advice or offering time off from her duty of care, or just to reprimand Meg for avoiding school.
Mum was an only child, and her parents had been mature, if that was the word, when they’d had her. She’d lost them both before Meg was born.
Her husband had grown up without a father, or at least without knowing one. Grandma Frost lived in a nursing home not far from Dad’s sister, hundreds of miles away in the north. Grandma Frost had little or no memory of them. Meg’s father was well aware of the sacrifices his sister made to care for their mother, and though they kept in contact, he chose not to burden her with his wife’s problems.
So nobody cared, or knew, enough to ask what went on in their little home.
It was Saturday morning before Meg noticed any difference in her mum’s zombie behaviour. Meg leaned on her elbows on her bed reading with Indy stretched out at her side when she heard giggling from across the hall. She grinned and ignored it, but it was the first time in weeks that she thought of her mother in terms that did not include worry.
Beneath the Old Oak Page 6
