Beneath the Old Oak

by Lisa Shambrook

  Meg fell asleep beneath the hypnotising clouds.

  The westerly wind brought much lower, greyer clouds and the breeze woke Meg. She stretched and sat up, much to Indy’s annoyance. Her stomach grumbled. She pushed Indy away and yawned, then hurried indoors.

  Mum’s car was still missing. She raided the biscuit tin. Chocolate biscuits were made for midafternoon snacks, so she helped herself.

  She put away the washing up sitting on the draining board and cleaned the surfaces. Then she got down on her knees to inspect the floor. There were a couple of drops of dried blood, where Mum had cut herself on the broken mug, but she couldn’t see any grease on the tiles anywhere. Still, she took out the floor mop, filled the bucket with hot, soapy water and got to sponging down the floor again.

  When she was satisfied the floor was spotless, she stood back. The kitchen looked good, much less of a crime scene.

  Indy pushed through the cat flap and yowled. She looked up as rain pounded against the windows. She’d been so busy she hadn’t noticed how dark it had become.

  Meg pressed her nose against the window. The rain entranced her, especially after such a dry summer. It bounced on the path and flattened the tall, overgrown grasses. Indy leaped up onto the dining room table to sit on the windowsill and lament the downpour.

  She listened to the rain as it drummed on the roof, and the whole garden turned dark as water seeped into the soil. The water butt, almost starved, filled, and lady’s mantle gathered huge drops of shining water like glass beads.

  Indy trilled with displeasure, but Meg ignored him, still staring at the deluge.

  She hoped Mum was inside somewhere, not walking down by the river, maybe buying chips instead…

  Hungry again, she checked the living room clock; it was almost four thirty. She got out her phone and whiled away her time online.

  It rained all afternoon, and Meg looked up when Dad pushed noisily through the front door. She grinned as he barrelled into the dining room and dropped his case on the table and shook his arms. “Soaked, just walking from the car to the house!” he exclaimed.

  Meg laughed. “Yup, it’s wet!”

  “Didn’t expect that!” He grinned, “Where’s Mum? Upstairs?”

  Meg’s smile faltered. “She’s not here.”

  “Not here?”

  She shook her head.

  “So where’s she gone this time? The car!” Dad twisted and stared up at the bookshelf then ran to the living room window. “She’s taken the car! How did she? Meg, did she find the keys? Stupid question, of course she found the keys! When did she go? What did she say?”

  Meg paused and her father shrugged at her.

  “She didn’t say anything…” Meg began. “I wasn’t here…”

  “Where were you?”

  “We had a fight…”

  “What about?” He stared right at her.

  “She slipped in the kitchen and blamed me, she broke, she dropped her mug and it broke and she blamed me, said it was my fault…”

  “Don’t worry about whose fault, what happened?” he pushed.

  “We argued a bit, and she yelled, and I got mad and left.”

  “You left?”

  She nodded. “Dad, it’s not fair that I always get the blame! She made all that mess last week, with the eggs and the butter, it wasn’t me, and I cleaned it all up after she stormed off! That’s hardly fair, is it, so why is it my fault that she slipped?”

  “I said not to worry about whose fault…”

  “I know, but…”

  “How long were you gone?”

  Meg thought. “An hour, maybe two. Not that long. When I came home, she was gone.”

  He scratched his head. “Did you know she had the keys? Did she already have them?”

  Meg shook her head. “I don’t even know where you put them!”

  He spun round and stood staring at the book shelf. “I put them up there, behind the dictionary…”

  “Dad, there’s nothing we can do. Maybe she’s gone shopping, or maybe she’s gone to get food…”

  “Maybe she’s gone to do something silly!” He pulled the dictionary off the shelf and stared at the empty space behind it. “Maybe I was stupid!”

  “Dad, she’ll be home soon, like always.”

  “Like always,” he repeated. He rubbed his eyes, smoothed his hand down his face and massaged his neck. “Maybe…”

  “I haven’t done dinner, because she was so mad at me, and if I did dinner and she’s gone out to get food, I’d be in more trouble,” Meg explained.

  Dad swung round to his daughter and looked at her. “I’m sorry,” he said scooping her into a hug. “I’m sorry, none of this is your fault. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

  “You didn’t yell.”

  “I’m sorry anyway,” he said kissing the top of her head. “Are you hungry?” She nodded. “Then let’s have biscuits.” He loped into the kitchen and reached up for the biscuit tin. When she smiled he grabbed a handful, offered them to his daughter and retrieved another handful for himself. He moved into the lounge and sat down. Meg followed.

  “We’ll just wait then,” he said. “No need to starve while we wait though, is there?”

  Rain lashed at the windows, and the television made no impact on either Meg or her dad.

  “How long do we wait?” Meg glanced at her father. He was pale and she had no idea how to answer him. He drummed his fingers on the side of the sofa and stroked his chin. “How long do we wait before we think something’s happened?”

  Meg felt sick and stared at him in silence.

  “I mean, she’s not wandering down by the river or thinking of getting a pet dog today, is she?” He slammed his hands down beside him. “She’s not getting chips or late night shopping at this hour, is she?”

  “It’s only seven, Dad, the supermarkets are still open.”

  He glared. “She’s not out there having fun, that’s what I meant. This weather’s horrible. She has to be somewhere with someone or…”

  Neither of them spoke.

  “And the forecast is terrible. Storm warnings and she’s out in this!” He gestured to the window and the teeming rain. “It shouldn’t even be dark ‘til almost ten, look at it out there!”

  They stared silently at the relentless rain until at eight o’clock Dad jumped up from his seat and announced, “I’m going out to look for her.”

  “Where?” asked Meg.

  “Anywhere, see if her car’s in a car park, or parked down by the river or anywhere in town…”

  “What if she comes home?”

  “You’re here. Phone me immediately if she comes home.”

  “But I want to come.”

  “You can’t, someone has to stay.”

  “We’ll leave a note.”

  “No, if she, when she comes home, we’ve got to be here. You can just tell her I’m working late, phone me!”

  “We shouldn’t lie.” Meg objected. “If she gets home we should tell her the truth, that she scares us when she does this.”

  He nodded vaguely and grabbed his keys. “Just stay here…” he said kissing the top of her head, “and call me, make sure you call me as soon as she gets back!”

  Meg nodded and followed him to the front door. He kissed her again then waved, flipped up his hood, and ran to avoid the torrential downpour.

  She waited until his tail lights disappeared round the corner and closed the door.

  She took her place back in her chair. The cat was up on her lap in an instant, purring and rubbing his head against her. Meg was grateful.

  Her frown remained all evening, a furrow in the middle of her forehead. Her eyes darted sightlessly about the room, and her shoulders ached from knotted tension.

  She stared at her phone then pulled up Mum’s online profile, searching for clues, but it was unused, just a lengthy list of game requests for her long-forgotten farm. She let her hand drop as she stared into space.

  The phone rang and
she almost dropped it. “Yes?”

  “Anything?” Dad sounded hopeless.

  “No,” replied Meg. Dad didn’t answer but she could still hear his heavy breathing at the other end. “Dad?”

  “No, nothing,” he said. “I’ve no idea. Maybe she’s broken down. Maybe her phone battery’s dead. I’m going to phone the recovery company, see if they’ve had any callouts…then…”

  “Then what?” asked Meg.

  He paused before answering. “Then…I’ll call round.”

  “Who?”

  “The hospital, just in case. I’m sure she’s fine, but just to be sure…”

  “Okay, Dad?”

  “Yes, sweetie?”

  “What about the police?”

  “I don’t know, maybe them too.” He sounded exhausted.

  “I’ll call if she gets home,” said Meg.

  “You do that.”

  “I love you, Dad.”

  “Love you too, sweetie.”

  He hung up.

  The ten o’clock news blared out on the television, and Meg went to the window. Orange streetlamps glowed with a surreal light behind rivulets of rain, cars hurried home leaving the slick road behind, and the wind carried the driving rain across the front garden like ocean spray.

  She turned as the weather report came on. She watched weather charts fill the screen and the forecaster predicted heavy winds, storms, lightning and rain.

  The front door burst open and Meg jumped. She yanked the lounge door open, her heart in her throat. Dad stared back at her, soaked to the skin and dangling his car keys. He shook his head. Meg perched back on the chair while he dropped his keys and ran his fingers through his drenched hair.

  “Nothing, I have no idea…” he told her.

  “Did you try the hospital?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Nothing. No accidents involving cars and nothing fitting her description at all.”

  “Well, that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

  He nodded again.

  “What about the police?” Meg asked.

  “I don’t know if they’ll take us seriously? And if we call them, will she just turn up ten minutes later and say we’ve all been fools?”

  “Maybe she just got stranded, in the rain. What about the breakdown company?”

  He shook his head again. “Nothing.”

  Dad glanced at the television screen. “Did you see the weather?”

  “Stormy, wet and windy, very windy,” said Meg.

  He picked up the remote control and switched it off.

  He sat back on the sofa, breathing heavily, competing with the whistling wind as it rushed around the house.

  “So, we wait?” asked Meg.

  “We wait.” He nodded.

  Meg woke with a crick in her neck. It was still dark, and the light from the soundless television flickered. She yawned. “What time is it?”

  “After four,” said Dad with his arm curled around her shoulders. His shirt was crinkled and wrinkled, and his hair stood on end, having dried spiky, where he’d constantly run his hands through it.

  “In the morning?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he replied.

  “Is she home?”

  “No.”

  “Has she phoned?”

  “No.”

  Meg leaned back, threading her arm through his.

  “You can go up to bed if you want, Meg.”

  She shook her head. “I wouldn’t sleep.”

  He gave a hollow laugh. “Nor would I.”

  Meg drifted off again.

  ◆◆◆◆◆

  A huge crash woke her, and she sat bolt upright, eyes wide.

  “It’s okay Meggie, just a storm, just thunder.” Her father rubbed the top of her arm. “Just a storm.”

  “That was really loud!” she said.

  A flash lit up the room, and Meg instinctively began to count. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight…” The rumble of thunder rolled across the house. “It’s close!”

  “About a mile or so away,” said her dad, “maybe two.”

  The growling continued then died away.

  Meg sat in silence staring at the black window. Dad followed her gaze, still stroking the top of her arm with his thumb.

  Lightning lit up the room, and the television flickered off and on again. “One, two, three, four, five…” Meg’s whisper was drowned out by the clap of thunder and she gripped her dad’s leg.

  “Ow!” he exclaimed.

  “I’m sorry!” cried Meg.

  “No, not you, the cat! His claws are digging right into my other leg!” Dad shoved Indy off his lap, and the cat glared at him.

  The television blinked and another flash. “One, two, three.” The almighty boom resounded throughout the house and Meg shuddered.

  “It’s right here,” said Dad.

  Another fork streaked past the window, and this time Meg had no time to count. The crack of thunder roared. Indy sat in the middle of the floor, tucked into as small a ball as he could and Meg sat as jittery as a small child.

  Dad released her shoulders and shuffled to the edge of the chair. “Meg, don’t be scared, come and look out of the window. It’s beautiful.”

  She followed as he walked to the window. He turned and flicked the television off, throwing the remote back onto the sofa, then stood by the window staring out into the night. Meg followed his gaze, staring at the inky blackness.

  Lightning blazed across the sky in a brilliant two-pronged fork, and her mouth dropped open. Then the thunder boomed like a grenade exploding at their feet.

  “I’ve never seen lightning like that!” she whispered. “I’ve only ever seen sheet lightning, not forked…”

  Another flash cut through the night and then a second. A dome of white light lit up the nearby hillside, and Dad whistled through his teeth. “Wow, that one hit the ground!”

  “How do you know?” demanded Meg, her teeth chattering as the thunder reverberated through the house.

  “It hit something down there!” he exclaimed.

  Meg shook, her shoulders trembling, and all of a sudden she burst into tears. Dad hugged her. “Meggie, sweetheart, what’s wrong? It’s just a storm!”

  “But, but—Mum’s out in it!” she sobbed, her stomach tightening into rigid knots.

  Dad didn’t answer. He tightened his grip and held her, rocking gently as she wept. If she’d have looked up, amid the flashes of lightning that still ripped the sky and the rolling thunder, she’d have seen tears streaking down his face too.

  The storm thundered and grumbled for another ten minutes. When it finally growled to a close and rumbled into the distance, they sank back onto the sofa and Indy jumped straight onto Dad’s lap again.

  Meg wept in her father’s arms until she cried herself to sleep.

  ◆◆◆◆◆

  Meg woke to her father’s low voice and as she opened her eyes, the bright light bathing the windows blinded her. Her father spoke softly but urgently, and she wandered out to the kitchen. Dad sat at the dining room table, propped on elbows, talking in the most serious manner she’d heard for a while.

  He glanced at her whilst listening to the person on the other end of the phone. He nodded. “Yes, I’ve got that…yes, I’ll do that. Yes, that’s right.” He scratched down information on a piece of paper and kept nodding. “Yes, I’ve got those numbers, yep, those too, no problem. Okay, I’ll wait to hear from you. Thank you Officer, yes, I’ve got your name, PC Silverdale. Yes, thanks, will do. Okay, bye.” He put down his phone.

  “You phoned the police?” said Meg.

  “I did.” He dropped the pen and linked his fingers then twiddled his thumbs and shook his head. “Didn’t know what else to do.”

  Meg hugged him, twining her arms around his neck and kissing his rough, unshaven cheek. “What now?” she asked.

  “They file a report and investigate,” he told her.

  “They’ll look for her?”

  He n
odded. “They’ll circulate her details and the car, probably easier to look for the car. If they don’t get anything quickly, they’ll come and see us for more details. I asked about accidents—in the storm…” Meg waited. “Nothing serious and nothing involving a Clio anyway.”

  “So no one was hurt in the storm?” asked Meg.

  “No, no people anyway,” he replied.

  “What got hurt then?” she asked.

  “A tree got hit, that lightning strike we saw,” he told her. “They had firemen and everything down there! It’s been such a dry summer, dry wood, just waiting to burn!”

  Meg recalled the dome of light that had lit up the horizon and her stomach knotted. “What got hit, what tree?” she asked.

  “That old oak…” he replied, “The old one down in the meadows, it got obliterated, totally destroyed!”

  Meg ran. She ran and her throat burned, tears streamed and her hair spilled out behind her. The early morning July heat enveloped her and her legs felt like they’d give way if she stopped.

  Her heart hammered, threatening to crack open her ribs, and her feet pounded on the ground. The earth was soft after the night’s deluge and dew still clung to the grass. Meg choked as she turned the corner, skidding to a halt.

  She stared beyond the broken fence, across the field still full of long swaying grass, and there on the ridge was her oak.

  Smoke still spiralled in wisps, golden wisps, coloured by the sun.

  Meg walked without taking her eyes off the tree. She climbed through the fence, tearing away the warning tape that had been dragged across it, and ran through the yellow grass.

  Halfway up the slope she stopped. Her shadow stretched right up to the tree as the sun rose behind her. She bent double, trying to control her beating heart as it threatened to explode, then walked unsteadily on.