The Faerie Tree

by Jane Cable

  Before she left Izzie and I picked the place. The garden wasn’t large and the lawn grew right to the fence on the left hand side. An old Christmas tree had been planted half way along, but if that was removed then the area would catch a great deal of afternoon sun so I set to work with my chainsaw.

  I have never liked killing healthy trees but sometimes it has to be done. In truth it was hard to call this woebegone spruce particularly vigorous and once I had resolved to take the logs to Jennifer’s for the Aga I felt better about it. Nevertheless it showered me with evil brown needles which stuck to my hair and my jumper.

  The noise of the chainsaw meant I didn’t hear my phone. It was only when I wandered up the garden to get myself a drink from the outside tap that I noticed the missed call. Stephen. I rang him back.

  “Hi, Rob – learned to use your voicemail?”

  “I can even text quicker than a word a minute too.”

  Stephen laughed. “I’m very glad to hear it. Now, the reason I called was that Gareth and I have come down to Gran’s for the weekend – do you and Izzie fancy supper at the Robin Hood tonight?”

  “I’d love to, but Izzie isn’t here right now. Can I call you back?”

  “No – text me. I’ll book a table for seven anyway. It’d be lovely to see you both.”

  Hoisted by my own petard. I lowered myself onto the edge of the patio, found Izzie’s number and fumbled my way across my Blackberry’s ridiculously small keyboard.

  The paving beneath me had been warmed by the sun. I traced its rough edges with my fingers and looked around me. Beyond next door’s fence an ornamental cherry was bursting into life and daffodils waved in the breeze along the border. A pair of sparrows were picking around in the mess of pine needles that surrounded the tree stump; if I went back to my work straight away I would only disturb them. It was a good excuse.

  I closed my eyes and let myself drift. My phone buzzed. I jumped. I read the message. I smiled. ‘Dinner sounds great. So’s Jack. Love you loads xxxxxxxxx’

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  After supper we stayed at our table as the restaurant emptied and the bar became louder. I prevaricated over having another beer as we had to collect Claire from the cinema but when Izzie suggested I stayed with the boys I was easily persuaded. She drained the last of her coffee and kissed Stephen and Gareth goodbye before weaving through the bar.

  Watching her make her way to the pub door, Stephen said, “She’s a lovely lady, Robin.”

  “I know – I’m so lucky. Who’d have thought I’d find her again after all these years.”

  “Is she still OK about you forgetting, you know…”

  My hand locked around my glass but to my surprise the words ran out freely enough. “She’s been amazing – especially as it’s much worse than one incident. It’s months… months of a life with Izzie I’ve just blotted out.”

  Gareth leant forward. “What do you mean, blotted out?”

  So I told them. Stephen stared into his glass the whole time I was talking. After a while I ground to a halt.

  But Gareth kept asking questions, especially about my memories of that time.

  “I walked away from it all. I couldn’t be in the house – Mum was everywhere – so I went on a walking trip. I never came back.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “Along the south coast as far as Looe then I cut inland over the moors and ended up in Newquay for the summer. And I know I was there because when we went down at half term we met someone I used to know. But that would have tied in with the time Izzie and I split up – I could have just gone straight to Newquay.” I picked up my beer glass then put it down again.

  “So you both knew you were at Jennifer’s beforehand because she validated your memory and you both knew you were in Newquay because someone else did.”

  “Pretty much,” I shrugged.

  “Robin, how stable would you say Izzie is?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just humour me a moment. It’s just… she seems a bit brittle to me.” He steepled his little fat fingers together in a way which seemed calculated to irritate me.

  “Of course she’s stressed. I mean, she’s only been widowed seven months…”

  “And how did she cope with that?” Gareth jumped in.

  I took a deep breath. “From what I can gather she was strong while Claire needed her to be but then she did fall apart. She had to take a month or so off work but she went back in January. Since then she’s had me to cope with – and Claire – and her job’s pretty stressful too. But I’m still not sure what you’re getting at.”

  “I’m wondering – and it’s just a hunch, mind you – if this is more down to Izzie than you.”

  I leant forwards. “How do you mean?”

  “Well let’s just suppose that seeing you believe her version of events puts her in a position of power in the relationship and that would make someone who’s pretty fragile feel more secure.”

  “Oh come on, that’s just the worst sort of psychobabble shit.”

  Stephen shifted on his chair. In losing my temper with Gareth I was letting him down all over again. I ran my hand through my hair and muttered an apology.

  “No offence taken. It’s a big thing to throw at you. I can see it hasn’t even occurred to you that your memory could be right and Izzie’s wrong.”

  “No, Gareth. Izzie must be remembering right. There’s things she’s said that mean she had to have been there, like how I found Mum after she died, and the music we played at her funeral.”

  “Things you could have told her.”

  “Now, look…” I started, leaning over the table towards him.

  “Gareth – please stop this.” Stephen’s voice was firm. “I know it’s interesting for you, but it’s Robin’s life we’re talking about here, something he’s having to live with every waking moment. And I can’t imagine what that must be like for him because I’m really struggling just trying to get my head around it.”

  I stretched my hand across the table and covered his. “Thank you, Stephen.”

  He pulled his away and stood up. “Come on, let’s settle the bill and go home.”

  Chapter Sixty

  The house was one of a row of Victorian terraced properties, anonymous apart from the wooden plaque by the door: Bognor Therapy Centre. As I stepped into the hall a bell rang so loudly it made me jump and I was glad no-one was there to see me.

  The reception area was light and spacious with pale laminate flooring and brightly coloured sofas. The bay window housed a tank in which small orange fish swayed to a gentle undertone of classical music, as though a string quartet was playing next door.

  A thin man of about thirty sat behind a desk.

  “I’m here to see Gareth… Dr Rhys… he said to come at the end of his clinic.”

  “Oh, yes – you must be Robin. Go down the corridor and up the stairs – he has his own waiting area at the top.”

  The music seemed to follow me through the house. The steps opened onto a square landing with a kitchenette on one side and a pair of yellow sofas on the other. I ignored them both and gazed out of the window onto the small yard behind. The terrace was almost back-to-back with the houses beyond and next door a couple of tea towels flapped on a rotary dryer. It was how Izzie had described the view from our flat in Shirley, but no ghost of a memory stirred.

  It seemed rude to turn around when Gareth showed his client out, and as her heels clipped down the stairs I felt his hand on my shoulder.

  “I’m glad you wanted to come.”

  “I wanted to apologise for Saturday. You were only trying to help and I was rather churlish. I don’t want any bad blood between us – it would upset Stephen.”

  Gareth smiled. “He was noticeably brighter after you phoned.”

  I nodded. “That’s good. I sense… I don’t know… he’s kind of looking at me with new eyes because of this.”

  “Maybe. But I think that’s only because he feels h
e’s growing in understanding of you.”

  “And not in a good way.”

  Gareth sat down and I lowered myself onto the sofa nearest the window. “Stephen’s looking for answers too, Robin. When you went away after Jennifer died it was a double blow to him – a second bereavement, almost. The fact he couldn’t reach you, and the worry about what had happened to you… quite frankly, if it had been me who’d found you in Winchester I’d have punched your lights out.”

  I stared at the floor as Gareth continued. “However all along the professional part of me knew you were acting that way because you’d reached the point where you couldn’t cope any more. The way you cared for Jennifer was extraordinary – and I’d seen enough of you to know you would never hurt anyone deliberately, so don’t think I bear any sort of grudge.

  “And of course neither does Stephen, but he didn’t understand either. He was just so glad when you came back – you’re all the family he has, after all. But this apparent gap in your memory is forcing him to accept you have some imperfections – he had rather put you on a pedestal to be honest. And I think he’s pretty scared; he asked me if you could have some sort of early onset dementia.”

  For the first time I met his eyes. “Could I?”

  “Not on what I’ve seen, no.”

  “I did think perhaps it wasn’t. It’s so different to what happened to Jennifer. I’ve… I’ve been thinking about her a lot. For the first time, really…” From nowhere a wave of misery threatened to engulf me.

  It took me some minutes to pull myself together. Gareth stood up and put the kettle on. “Tea? Coffee?”

  “Tea would be nice,” I croaked. I tipped my head up, willing the tears to flow back into my eyes.

  “If you want to cry then you should,” said Gareth.

  I tried to smile. “Bloody psychobabble therapist.”

  He grinned back at me. “It’s a job.”

  As he waited for the kettle to boil he asked me how Izzie was.

  “Is that a polite or a professional enquiry?”

  He popped a tea bag into each mug. “Bit of both, really. Depends how much psychobabble shit you want to hear.”

  “I just can’t believe that she’d do what you say.”

  “I’m not saying it’s necessarily deliberate.”

  “Then what is it, Ga? I don’t understand.”

  He handed me my tea and sat back on the sofa.

  “Now, this is just my theory, remember, but let’s suppose that initially the broken memory was yours, that you did forget making love with her when you knew each other before. Revealing that showed Izzie a vulnerability in you where maybe she hadn’t seen one before.”

  “That’s not right – I mean, how vulnerable would you want me to be? When she first saw me I was a down and out, and then she found me in hospital, sick as a dog.”

  “And she took you in – rescued you, if you like. She didn’t flinch from your weakness, or perhaps even want you to be strong. But think, Robin, emotionally speaking, who wears the trousers in your relationship?” He held up his hand. “I don’t expect you to answer that, but think about it. My hunch is, that however tough Izzie wants to be, it’s you. Not being ‘in charge’ could make her feel insecure. Then suddenly – bang – you’re on the back foot again and she senses the power balance tip in her favour.”

  “I’m sorry, Gareth – it sounds so Machiavellian and Izzie’s not like that.”

  “I did say, remember, that this isn’t a deliberate or conscious thing.”

  “I’m afraid it’s completely beyond my understanding.”

  “It’s only a theory, remember. It’s just that, in my experience, it seems the most likely answer.”

  I balanced my mug on the arm of the sofa. “You mean you’ve come across this before?”

  “Not in quite such an extreme way – not the recreation of months and months – but I have seen it in my clinics, yes.”

  I felt myself clutching at straws. “But surely that isn’t the only answer?”

  He put his mug down on the table. “There are several recognised psychological conditions which affect memory but I think we can rule most of them out. Bipolar does it, and that might fit with Izzie’s depression, but in those cases the memories are more obviously delusional and Izzie’s version of events is completely plausible.

  “Then there’s something called false memory syndrome, but many psychologists don’t even believe that exists. More often than not the memories are somehow planted in the subject by charlatan psychotherapists or hypnotists to give reasons in the past for their patients’ issues, rather than resolving the problems they have today. I suppose if Izzie’s been having some sort of talking therapy…”

  “Not as far as I know. From what Claire told me it was the college that suggested she took some time out – I don’t even think she saw a doctor. She’s under a lot of pressure at work even now and this memory thing isn’t helping. Which is why I can’t buy your theory; she was just as upset about it as I was.”

  “Robin, you must stop thinking of it as deliberate on her part.”

  I stared at the dregs of tea in the bottom of my mug. “I’d rather… you know… that Izzie was right. One way or another… her story or mine… I was a total shit back then – a shit and a coward. I feel like I owe her this one.”

  Gareth leant forwards. “Hair shirts don’t sit happily in relationships, Robin. You’d do well to remember that.”

  Chapter Sixty-One

  The stiff breeze wasn’t enough to keep the hardened surfers out of the water and Claire and Jack watched them ride the waves with envy.

  “You are going to teach me, aren’t you?” she asked.

  “Sure,” I answered, although in truth I was regretting the offer, if only because the sea off Bournemouth looked far too cold.

  “So can we start over Easter?”

  “If the conditions are right.”

  She gazed towards the sea. “Like today?”

  “Yes, but not today. Although we’d better get your rash vest sorted and check out what gear we can hire.”

  As we walked along the promenade to the shop Jack asked me where I had learned to surf. He was a polite young man, opening doors for Izzie, but there was something about him I felt uncomfortable with. Perhaps I was just unsure of my role in Claire’s birthday treat cum meet the parents day. I didn’t feel any better when I overheard Izzie whispering to Claire, telling her not to pick too expensive a present.

  I was standing beside a display of long boards and it took me right back to Megan’s shop and her remark about waiting for a handout from her. My fingers closed around a roll of twenty pound notes in my pocket and I wandered over to Claire and peeled three of them off.

  “That’s your budget, birthday girl. I want you to get a decent rash vest then spend every last penny of it before we leave this shop.”

  “Robin – that’s too much,” Izzie interjected. Claire looked uncertain for a moment but I winked at her and she threw her arms around me.

  “Oh, Robin – thank you. Come on – help me choose the best one; I don’t know what to look for.”

  Inevitably Jack was far more switched on about cool surf wear but at least I made sure she found a vest which was good quality as well as bearing the right logo. With the money she had left she bought herself a pair of pink flip-flops and left the shop bubbling with excitement.

  Izzie held me back as we walked towards Harry Ramsden’s. “It was too much, Robin. You should have bought her the rash vest and been done with it.”

  “Not a cheap one, though.”

  She looked away. “You heard me then?”

  “Yes, and you made me feel about an inch tall.”

  She buried her chin in the collar of her jacket. “I didn’t mean to.”

  I took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “I know. And anyway, you’re kind of half right – I won’t be able to make much of a contribution towards lunch now.”

  “You make all the contributio
n I need just by being here. Today would have been so hard on my own.”

  “You must both be thinking of Connor.”

  “He was a very hands on father, very committed. I’m sure Claire misses him much more than she shows me.”

  “Maybe Jack’s come along at just the right time.”

  She looked up at me, the breeze snatching her hair away from her face. “Maybe. I hope so, anyway.”

  After lunch we wandered into the winter gardens and watched as Jack took Claire in the static balloon as a birthday treat. She didn’t look down at us, only at the sea and the sky, and as Izzie held my hand, my mind flicked back to walking through this very park before my first night sleeping under the stars on the beach. As I had passed the pier ‘I Will Survive’ had drifted out over the sand and I had even managed a wry smile. How could that sort of detail be a figment of my imagination?

  I lay awake that night and retraced my steps; Bournemouth, Sandbanks, Swanage, Anvil Rock, West Lulworth, Weymouth… then other trips to these places mixed themselves in and I wondered if perhaps I had become confused. Maybe I had lived in a dream world where I was travelling, away from the nightmare my life had become as I trashed my job and let Izzie down so badly.

  But through the wreckage of memory a coherent thought began to emerge; was there somewhere I had visited for the first and only time on my trip? Was there a place where my recollections might be pure? Could I think of somewhere, sketch it out, draw a plan, write down as much as I could about it – then go; go and find out if it was real?

  Gareth had planted a noxious seed and the way Izzie’d made me feel in the surf shop had given it light and air. I wanted to be able to destroy it just as soon as I could. I didn’t want to be thinking constantly about who was in control; I wanted to enjoy my life with Izzie. I wanted our love to be pure and natural and good.

  I rolled over and wrapped my arm around her. She stirred just enough to wriggle a little closer and I brushed her hair with my lips, drinking in her scent. Perhaps it was me who was over complicating things now.