Beneath the Old Oak

by Lisa Shambrook

“You knew? How come I didn’t?” He shook his head. “I thought those cupcakes were shop-bought!” Meg said.

  “Well, they taste good enough to be!” Dad studied her for a moment. “Okay, look, I’m going to try and get some work done at home, put this all behind me for now. You sure you’re okay?”

  “Yep, I’m going to go and read for a bit.”

  Meg disappeared upstairs, listening to her father softly moving about in the lounge. She opened both her bedroom windows, drew in deep breaths, then fell onto her bed and stared up at the ceiling. She put her hands behind her head and stretched. The fresh scent of lemon hung in the still air and quiet, muffled sobs rose from beneath the floorboards.

  Friday morning’s bright sunlight woke Meg as it slowly moved across her face through the gap in the closed curtains. Indy kneaded the pillow, burrowing into Meg’s neck, his purr rumbling in her ear.

  Meg wanted to pull the sheet over her head and squeeze her eyes shut in an attempt to avoid the day, but even at this early hour the heat bore down, and she pushed the sheet away. Indy climbed upon her belly, still purring like an engine.

  “Meg?” Dad knocked on the door.

  “Yes?” she answered.

  He peered into her room and smiled. “You okay?” She nodded. “Will you be okay if I go to work today? I won’t if you need me here…”

  “It’s fine, Dad, you go.”

  “But it’s a week today since she…are you sure you’ll be fine? It’s just I need to get a few things done before the weekend, or I might have to pop in tomorrow too.”

  “It’s good, really it is. There’s always Mrs Hillman next door, and I can phone you if I need you.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Really sure, Meg?”

  “Dad! I’m fourteen, not four!”

  He grinned. “Yes, yes you are! Okay, I’m going. Call me…anytime.”

  Meg listened to his soft footfalls on the stairs. She heard his keys jangle. “Bye Meg,” he called. “Love you!”

  “Love you too, Dad. Bye!”

  She could picture his worried smile as he closed the front door. She heard his car start, and for a moment, as the car pulled away, panic smouldered. She buried her face in the pillow.

  The heat stifled her and she rolled out of bed to open the window. She pulled on shorts and a t-shirt as Indy leaped from the window to the wall below, and then Meg flopped back onto her bed to read.

  Two hours later Meg heard voices in the garden. She closed her book and moved to the window. Two small children dashed up and down the garden next door, winding through the shrubs and paths, screeching with delight whenever they came upon each other. Meg smiled, leaning on her windowsill. The boys shrieked and giggled and tried to hide, but one was far too young to understand hide-and-seek effectively! Meg chuckled, cupping her chin in her hands as she watched.

  Then the boys saw Indy at the fence and tried to coax the cat across the garden. They stopped shouting and extended their hands, waving and beckoning, but Indy remained out of reach, washing his paws. The older of the two boys couldn’t have been more than five years old, but he resolutely thrust his hands through the wire fence trying to encourage the cat. His brother gave up, waddling away back to the house. Now alone, the boy moved to the low wall, grabbed hold and climbed up. He leaned as far as he could, the morning sun glinting in his golden-red hair, and Meg watched, suddenly fearful that he’d tumble over the wall.

  Meg called out to catch his attention. “Careful, don’t fall!”

  His head swung round and he stared straight up at Meg. “I won’t fall, I’m strong!” he called back. “Is that your cat?”

  She nodded.

  “What’s his name?”

  “Indy, Indiana,” she replied.

  The boy turned back to the cat. “Indy Indiana, Indy Indiana…” he cajoled.

  Meg laughed. “It’s Indy, short for Indiana. What’s your name?”

  “Tommy, short for Thomas,” he called back.

  “I’m Meg.”

  “I know.”

  “You know?” Meg was taken aback.

  “Aunty Joan said that’s your name.”

  “She did?”

  “Yes, because you ate all the lemon cakes.”

  Meg grinned. “I only ate two!”

  “But there weren’t any left for me.” Tommy frowned. “Aunty Joan had to make more, but she made my favourite this time, chocolate.”

  “I like chocolate too.”

  “But these are mine!” he growled.

  “What’s your little brother called?” Meg asked.

  “Danny, short for Daniel.”

  “Are you just visiting your Aunty then?”

  “She’s not my real Aunty. I’ve already got Aunty Rachel and Aunty Anna. She’s Mum’s friend.” He glanced back at the house.

  “Do you think your brother’s eating all the cupcakes?” she teased.

  Worry crossed his freckled face, then he looked back up at her. “You come down? You can have cakes too, if you want.”

  Meg grinned again. “I might eat them all…”

  “Then I’ll have to get there first!” he shouted, thrusting away from the wall.

  She laughed. “Will you now?”

  Without a backward glance, he raced towards the house. Meg grinned as he disappeared and next door’s back door slammed shut.

  She smiled, leaning on the windowsill, waiting in case Tommy came back, but Indy was left in peace, and Meg stared blankly across the garden, her thoughts unravelling in her head. For a moment, she thought she saw her mother bending to snip a rose from the bush and tears prickled.

  She stood there, oblivious, for longer than she thought, and the next time she heard voices they were out in the street. Curious, she moved quickly into her parents’ bedroom and gazed through the net curtains.

  A woman’s voice rang out. “Thomas! Don’t swing on the car door, you’ll break it!”

  Tommy released the car door, and tussled with his younger brother on the pavement. Soft female voices merged together, and Meg tried to see beyond the window. Moments later Mrs Hillman accompanied Tommy’s mother down the path. His mother was Jen, from the post office, though she didn’t live at the post office anymore. Joan hugged the heavily pregnant woman and they laughed.

  Behind the nets, Meg suddenly felt jealous on her mother’s behalf. Her mother visited Mrs Hillman too, did she get hugs, and was she missing them? Meg’s eyes stung as Jen kissed her friend goodbye and hugged her back. As she reached her car, Joan gestured to it and called out. “Bet he’s missing the motorbike!”

  Jen laughed. “Oh, Pete rides enough! I’m the one missing out…” She pointed at her belly, “…in this condition!”

  Both women laughed, and Jen hurried her children into the vehicle. The boys waved furiously and Mrs Hillman, Aunty Joan, waved back until they were gone.

  As Joan walked back up her path, she glanced up at Meg’s house and Meg self-consciously stepped back. She wiped her tears and swallowed the lump in her throat. She didn’t know what her mother missed, she never knew what her mother missed, but she knew what she missed. Meg wished desperately for hugs, big bear hugs that embraced you in comfort and swathed you with reassurance and drowned you with love. She wished for hugs.

  Meg gently lifted the net curtain and met Mrs Hillman’s eyes. Joan smiled and beckoned, and Meg flew down the stairs, flung back the front door and was in her neighbour’s arms before her brain caught up with her.

  Mrs Hillman stroked Meg’s hair as she hugged her. The burning sun bathed them, and finally Meg choked back a sob. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

  “Don’t be sorry. Let’s go inside, I’ve still got chocolate cakes…despite the boys’ best attempts to demolish them!” Joan gently guided Meg inside. The aroma of freshly baked chocolate muffins permeated the house. Joan took her into the lounge and sat her on the sofa. “Now, just a minute…” she said and disappeared.

  Meg sniffed,
rubbing her cheeks, and her gaze moved round the room. Jewel coloured cushions of maroon, olive and gold sprinkled the pale-green sofa, and the chair beside her held a cushion embroidered with a white, long-haired cat. Framed photos stood on the mantel amid feline figurines, and a bowl of pink English roses sat beneath the jardinière nets. She got up and crossed to the window, bending to inhale their musky scent.

  Joan set a plate of muffins on the coffee table. “They’re ‘Cariad’ roses. My husband planted the rose for our sixtieth wedding anniversary. Yes, I know the theme is diamond, but we’re hardly traditional. I didn’t want a white rose, so we went for disease resistant instead! If our health suffered, at least our roses wouldn’t!”

  Meg smiled, picking up a small, gilt-framed, black-and-white photo of a man in his early thirties. “Is this..?” she began.

  “Thomas, my husband, yes.” Joan’s face lit up. “We’d been married ten years when that was taken. Here, have a cake.”

  Meg took one, and held the cake gingerly inside its case.

  “Oh, don’t worry about being careful, that’s what Hoovers are for!” said Joan. “And after those little monsters this morning, I’ll need to vacuum!”

  Meg sat down. “I saw the boys, Tommy…”

  Joan smiled. “Named after my husband! Jen and her husband were great friends with Thomas before he died.”

  “Did he die long ago?”

  “About six years ago next month.”

  Meg vaguely recalled Mr Hillman. She’d never paid much attention to her neighbours, but she remembered that he spent a great deal of time in the garden, tending his flowers.

  “Do you miss him?”

  “More than you can imagine.”

  “I’m sorry.” Meg shook her head.

  “You don’t need to be, it happens, people die. I will too sometime. I’m ninety-two, you know?”

  “Ninety-two? You don’t look that old.” Meg winced as her words escaped.

  Joan laughed. “Nor do I feel that old either! Are the cakes good?”

  Meg nodded, relaxing back on the sofa. A Persian cat wandered warily into the room, stopping when it saw Meg.

  “It’s okay.” Joan clicked her fingers. “They’ve gone now, it’s just us.” The cat wandered closer rubbing against Joan’s legs. “She hid upstairs while the boys were here!”

  Meg nodded. “Yes, they were trying to reach my cat in the garden! I didn’t know you had one, I haven’t seen her before.”

  “No, she doesn’t go out anymore. She’s as old as me, in cat years anyway.” She picked up the cat. “And as bony as me too!”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Ophelia, from Hamlet. We had Hamlet too, but he died many years ago. She’s going to outlive us all! I call her Phee most of the time.”

  “Phee…” Meg rubbed her fingers together. Joan gave Ophelia a little push and the cat begrudgingly stepped off her lap and walked lightly across the sofa to Meg.

  “So…any news of your Mum?”

  Meg drew a deep, unsteady sigh, shaking her head without taking her eyes off the cat.

  Ophelia’s hearty purr filled the room as Meg stroked her. A clock ticked in the hallway, and Meg concentrated on both sounds. Ophelia turned several circles on Meg’s lap, then settled against Meg’s belly and curled her tail around her body. Her purr quietly faded as she fell asleep.

  Meg closed her own eyes. Tick, tock, tick, tock…and the musky roses, and warm chocolate sponge, and the faint smell of disinfectant…it was the roses that coerced the tears, the warm, spicy fragrance reminded her of her mother’s Indian Jasmine perfume.

  “I don’t think she wants us to find her,” Meg whispered. The clock grew louder until it deafened her. “I don’t think she wants to come home.”

  Joan remained quiet.

  “I don’t know what happened. Was it my fault? Dad says it wasn’t…but how am I supposed to know?” Meg wrung her hands. “How do I know what’s going through her head? She almost killed us a couple of weeks ago. Mothers don’t do that! They just don’t. Why and where did she go?” Meg’s voice rose, and her tears fell onto the ball of fur in her lap. “I just want to know why? I just want to know why?”

  Her body shuddered, and Joan leaned forward, placing her hand over Meg’s. Joan’s pale, watery eyes watched and waited.

  “I’m so angry!” Meg’s shoulders shook as she drew deep, jittery breaths. “I’m so mad at her! I shouldn’t be, but I am. I should be sad and upset and…but I’m furious, just so angry!” Meg shook off Joan’s hand. “I want to…I want to…” She struggled to find her words. “I want her to come home so I can tell her what I think, how selfish she is! How can she break Dad’s heart like this?”

  Joan sat in silence, her brow furrowed.

  “I just…I just…don’t know what to do!” Meg’s shoulders slumped. All the fight seeped out, and she leaned back against the cushions. Her body still shook with quiet sobs. “Why did she leave?” She stroked Ophelia with a wry chuckle. “I can’t believe the cat slept through that! Indy would have stuck his claws in when I got upset, and run a mile!”

  “She’s deaf, as deaf as a post, that’s why she doesn’t go outside anymore.”

  Meg laughed her body relaxing as she sighed and wiped her hands across her wet face. Joan shifted on the sofa, easing herself into a more comfortable position.

  “Life can be tough, can’t it?” she said quietly.

  Meg nodded.

  “It was hard when I lost Thomas after sixty-four years together…it was tough, very tough.” Joan glanced over at the roses by the window. “He was sick but didn’t want me to know. Typical man left it too late to do anything…but as he got sicker, I knew. I didn’t tell him I knew, but I did.” Joan linked her bony fingers. “I wish we’d spoken about it, shared it.” She sighed. “Secrets are hard.”

  “Why didn’t you tell him you knew?” asked Meg.

  Joan shook her head. “Oh, he knew I knew.”

  “So why keep it secret?” asked Meg.

  Joan shrugged, dropping her eyes to her hands in her lap.

  Meg huffed. “I don’t like secrets and I don’t think Mum understands that!”

  “We all have secrets, even your mother.” Joan avoided Meg’s gaze.

  Meg’s lips narrowed and she clasped her hands tight in her lap, mirroring Joan’s stance. “Mrs Hillman?” Meg stared at her. “What do you know about my mother? Do you know her secrets?”

  Joan’s sigh whistled through her teeth. “You know your house was originally your grandparents’ house don’t you?”

  Meg’s mouth dropped and she shook her head.

  “It was. Your grandparents kept themselves to themselves,” said Joan.

  “Did you know my mum?”

  Joan nodded. “She was quiet, shy, reserved…like her mother.” Joan smiled. “And like you. She used to run along the street, like you, escaping to that old tree down in the meadow. When she met your dad, she escaped for real, but when her parents died, they moved back. They couldn’t afford to stay where they were. Thomas helped move the furniture with your dad, and I helped your mum sort the kitchen. Thomas helped Paul dig over the garden that first year, planted the rhododendrons that obscure the laburnum too.”

  “What about Mum?”

  “She wanted everything different. She changed the whole house from top to bottom. She worked furiously until she’d changed it all. I tried to support her, but she was…guarded, yes, that’s the word, guarded. I couldn’t get close to your mum. She was lovely and we’d chat like neighbours, but I couldn’t get close like Paul and Thomas did. After a while I felt I was intruding by popping over, so I’d send cakes with Paul instead.” Joan looked sad.

  “I know about the cakes, what about Mum?”

  “You know the laburnum in your garden? Your mother had a breakdown when you were young. She took an axe to the tree…”

  Meg gasped and suddenly she understood the notches in the trunk, the scars across the base of the tree.
The ones she’d often run her fingers across.

  “Paul found her hacking at it, and wrestled the axe off of her. It scared him badly because that’s when he found out.”

  “Found out what?” demanded Meg.

  Joan ignored the question. “She was erratic for months, and Paul was on tenterhooks waiting to see what she’d do and trying to look after you.” Joan wrapped her hands around Meg’s. “She smothered you, wouldn’t let you out of her sight. He tried to get help, but she hid things so well. It went on for years, then my Thomas died, and during the snowy winter, Martha turned up on my doorstep, a dishevelled mess, unexpected, but I knew what she needed!”

  “But the breakdown’s not her secret, is it?” said Meg, withdrawing her hand from Mrs Hillman’s grasp. “Why did she try to cut down the tree? What did Dad find out?”

  Joan leaned back into the cushions, fidgeting with the sofa’s edging. She crossed her leg. Her foot rose and fell with a nervous twitch.

  “I need to know,” demanded Meg. “If you know, you need to tell me.”

  Joan sighed, her fingers twisting the hem of her cardigan. “I’m not sure it’s my place…”

  “You need to tell me,” repeated Meg.

  “For the life of me, I’ll never know why he didn’t just cut the tree down.” Joan drew in a deep breath. “How much do you know about your grandparents?”

  Meg shrugged. “Not much, they died before I was born.”

  “One of the reasons your mum came to me was because she needed a mother.” Joan gazed at a loose button.

  “Don’t stop there.”

  “When she was your age, about fifteen, she went home and found her mum, your grandma…” Joan met Meg’s eyes. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather talk to your father about this?”

  Meg shook her head. “Tell me.”

  “She found her mum.” Joan’s brow creased. “She found your grandma…”

  Meg shook her head again crossing her arms. “Found her? Where?”

  Joan pushed her shoulders back and gave a small nod. “You need to know,” she said quietly. “Martha got home one day and discovered her mother had tried to hang herself, but she found her, before it was too late.”