Someone like me.
I pushed the letters back and closed the door. Rex started barking again as he heard movement in the trees but settled as soon as I started smoothing the fur down on his back.
‘Nat!’ Eli was jumping on the wooden circles that created a path to the tree. In her hand was a letter.
‘Hi!’ I said as she reached us, giving her a warm smile. ‘It’s good to see you.’
‘You too!’ she giggled.
Her gaze lifted above my head and she started to wave. Turning, I found Nadia waving back.
‘Eli, who is Nadia to you?’ I asked, unable to resist taking the moment to learn more.
‘My aunty.’ She shrugged, like I should already know. ‘Aunty Nads.’
‘Hello again,’ Nadia said as she joined us. Rex stood and she stroked his head.
‘We must stop meeting like this.’
‘Well, if Elise’s obsession with your class is anything to go by, I may be seeing a lot more of you.’ I wasn’t sure how to take the obsession comment. I was beginning to realise that Nadia was hard to read. She was poised. Elegant. Her whole being gave off an aura of being completely confident and calm.
‘I’m pleased she’s enjoying it,’ I replied as she sat down beside me. ‘Her father said you’ll be collecting Elise sometimes?’
‘Possibly. Depending on Alexander’s schedule. He has a concert coming up, so he’ll become increasingly busy.’ Rex’s head was now in her lap. He lifted an eyebrow lazily when I shook my head at him.
‘Elise told me she lost her mum,’ I said, wanting to acknowledge that I knew and was genuinely sorry.
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘My younger sister, Lisa.’
‘It’s hard losing a sister. I’m sorry.’
She nodded. ‘Elise told me you lost your family in a car accident.’
‘Thirteen years ago,’ I sighed.
‘It must have seemed so sudden, so unbelievable,’ she said. ‘But then again, any loss feels that way. We lost Lisa to cancer. We knew and could prepare, but that doesn’t make it any easier.’
‘When did she pass away?’
‘She found out she had breast cancer in the later stages of her pregnancy. She started chemo immediately after Elise was born, but it progressed quickly. Elise was two when she passed,’ she said, shifting her legs. Rex wasn’t happy with the change of position and landed his head with a thump on my lap. ‘Wow. Six years ago, now,’ she said, lost in her thoughts. ‘It seems like yesterday. My counsellor told me there are four stages to grief. Denial, bargaining, depression and acceptance. I could never get on board with that. Grief is for life. I’ll never reach acceptance.’
I sighed, relating to everything she said. ‘If one more person tells me that time heals, I’m going to sob and rock just to show them that time doesn’t heal. Look at me!’ I said, holding up my hands. ‘I’m a wreck sobbing into my knees!’ She laughed. ‘Honestly, how is time going to help? Time will only make the ache bigger because the tether of connection gets longer until it breaks away.’
‘Don’t you think it’s funny how your mind plays tricks on you?’ Nadia said softly. ‘Lisa and I bought a clock before her wedding. We came home, took it out of the packaging and fixed it to the wall. Alexander took it down a few weeks before he moved but I still looked at the same space when I needed to know the time. Something as mundane as that reminded me of her.’ She shook her head like it was all so painful.
‘Things like that happen all the time. I still half expect a birthday card from my mum or a phone call just to check in. I walk past the children’s magazines in the supermarket and wonder which one Bec would like.’
‘Some days I just sit and remember,’ Nadia said, sighing as she watched Eli practicing her pirouettes. ‘Elise is so like her.’
‘It must be comforting to have her,’ I replied. ‘She’s a part of Lisa.’
She nodded, never taking her gaze from her. ‘I do as much as I can. I wasn’t fortunate to have my own child,’ she said, pressing her lips together. ‘Elise is the daughter I’ll never have.’
I watched her tranquil smile, let her take a moment to think about Lisa and enjoy Elise. I found that missing Mum and Bec often came in waves. Sometimes they were serene and peaceful, other times tumbling, threatening to crash and drown.
I wondered how often she spoke about Lisa. Did Alexander offer her comfort as Lisa’s husband, the father of her niece, or was he as closed off as he appeared?
‘How did Alexander cope with her death?’ I asked quickly, too quickly to take it back. She turned to me, her face unreadable. ‘I’m sorry. That’s none of my business.’
Eli shouted from the steps of the Grieving Tree before Nadia had time to answer.
‘Are you leaving a letter?’
‘I was just going to,’ I said as I started rifling through my backpack to find my notebook and pen.
‘You know you’re a grown-up, right?’ Eli pointed out.
‘Last time I checked.’
Nadia hid her smile behind her hand.
‘Some kids at school say I’m too old to leave a letter. They think it’s for babies.’
I considered my answer carefully. ‘Well, you can tell your friends at school that even adults write to the Grief Fairy.’ She bit her lip in contemplation, unsure of how to respond, so I continued. ‘I like to get my thoughts down on paper. Like a thought diary. Somehow it helps me get them in the right order.’
‘What do you mean?’ she asked as she sat down on Nadia’s knee.
‘If I read my thoughts back to myself it helps me know what I need to think about first. Like, after I first lost my mum and sister, I was so angry. I hit out at everyone. I was sad and overwhelmed. I knew feeling angry was a normal feeling to have. Everyone feels angry at some point, right? Even the quietest kid in school.’ She nodded. ‘But it can become a problem depending on how you process it. Hitting out or hurting someone isn’t the right way. Neither is storing it up.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I danced,’ I replied truthfully. ‘Have you ever danced when you’re feeling really angry?’
‘I…don’t think so.’
‘You should,’ I replied. ‘Take all of that anger and put it into your dance moves. It’s such a good feeling.’
She nodded slowly and pulled her mouth into an ‘o’ shape. Like I was telling her the answer to the meaning of life. ‘I’ll try it,’ she said.
‘Does writing to the fairy help you?’ I asked, nodding to the postbox.
‘Tons,’ she replied.
‘Do you always get a reply?’
‘Sometimes it can take a long time,’ she said. ‘She hasn’t replied to my last letter.’
‘How do you know when she has?’ I asked.
‘She ties a white ribbon to the door handle when there are still letters to be collected and a red ribbon when there are new replies. You open the door and the letter is inside the tree. Look,’ she said, pointing. ‘There’s no red ribbon.’ I thought back to the dark figure I’d disturbed earlier. Had they come to collect the letters? Leave the replies? Tie a ribbon?
‘Come on, sweets. We need to get back. Maggie will have started dinner.’
Nadia got up and stretched her legs.
I waggled my notebook. ‘If writing to the fairy helps you, I’m going to try it too,’ I said.
‘Write a good letter!’ she shouted. ‘See you at dance class!’
‘I hope you get a reply soon,’ I shouted after her, turning to my notebook, ripping out a page and starting to write.
I lost my mum and sister in a car accident thirteen years ago. I was the sole survivor and battled with my guilt for years. I wished that I’d had the Grieving Tree at that time in my life. It would have helped me to know I could express my thoughts without fear of upsetting my grandmother. Since returning to the village, I’ve been intrigued. Who is behind the Grieving Tree? What is your motivation? Has loss been a part of your life too?
Af
ter thirty minutes of mumbled thoughts and questions I was desperate to know the answers to, I folded the paper into four, wrote To the Grief Fairy across the front and posted it into the letterbox.
9
Nat
‘Where is your daddy tonight, Eli?’ I asked, looking through the window. Class had finished twenty minutes ago, and all the other students had left for the night. I could hear Tess and Sara still pottering around in other rooms, preparing for tomorrow when we got to do this amazing privilege we called work all over again.
‘He had to go on the train again. If he goes on the train, he’s late.’ Eli shrugged like she was saying that’s just the way it is. She was sitting at the table in the corner of the room. I’d given her some crayons and some loose bits of paper from the printer to busy herself. I went over and joined her, pulling a piece of paper from the pile and picking up crayons to doodle.
‘We’ll wait,’ I said, trying not to make a big deal out of it. ‘It’s no problem. Gives us more time to crayon.’
‘What are you drawing?’ she asked.
‘A rainbow.’ I held red, yellow and green crayons together and arched them across the page. ‘Isn’t that pretty?’
‘You need a cloud,’ she said simply, passing me a grey crayon. ‘A heaven cloud.’
I glanced at her. Her eyes were fixed on the page. We’d been here before. Alexander or Nadia were often late collecting Eli. Nadia would come in unapologetic but when Alexander was late, he was mortified, of leaving Eli waiting and of the impression it left on me. I really didn’t mind. It gave Eli and me the opportunity to get to know each other better and sweet little Eli could talk. ‘Are rainbows from heaven?’
‘Mummy makes the rainbows.’
The crayon in my hand stopped mid-stroke. I took a steadying breath. This wasn’t the first time she’d talked to me about her mother. The questions about dying, her interest in my story of loss, and the conundrum of if heaven really existed were hot topics of conversation.
‘Is Mummy in heaven?’ I asked.
‘Mm-hmm,’ she replied. ‘Do you think my mummy still thinks about me?’ She cocked her head, completely puzzled. I could see this bouncy little girl was trying to make sense of what she’d been told by well-meaning adults who only wanted to help her understand the logistics of loss.
‘I’m sure she does,’ I replied, not wanting to get fully into religion or faith with an eight-year-old. ‘What does Daddy think?’
‘Daddy doesn’t talk about Mummy.’ She leant into the page now, crayon moving frantically, tongue out in concentration, and all I wanted to do was give her a big hug.
‘Why doesn’t he, sweetheart?’
Yes, Alexander, why?
‘It makes him sad.’
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her to keep talking about her mummy. Rejoice in her memory at the breakfast table, tell funny stories on the way to school. Ask her daddy to tell her things she never knew about her, to keep her alive in her mind. My memories were fading, and I’d had my mother for much longer than Eli had had hers.
The door swept open, banging against the wall under the pressure. Alexander looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights, a strange glaring stare that said panic and fear, alarm and hysteria. He glanced at me before settling on Eli. Three long strides and he was at her side, kissing the top of her head and whispering apologies. I’m sorry…again. Forgive me. The train was late and I couldn’t get through to Aunty Nads. His face was pleading, contorted into a grimace and a look of guilt.
‘You’re fine, aren’t you, Eli?’ I said, instinctively trying to calm him.
‘I wasn’t able to get hold of anyone. I apologise for being so late…again,’ he said, picking up Eli’s drawings of heaven and rainbows, a look of confusion crossing his face. ‘What’s this?’
‘Mummy,’ she replied simply, handing him a drawing of a woman with curly brown hair like hers sitting on a cloud.
His eyes glanced to mine. Stormy and grey again.
‘I’d like to talk to you in private,’ he said, his jaw tense as he collected up the drawings.
I stood and shouted for Tess. She appeared from behind the door. ‘Can you sit with Eli for me? Mr Burnett would like to see me in private.’ She grimaced comically and drew a finger across her neck as he stormed past her.
‘Of course, Nat. You use the office for discretion,’ she replied, her voice loud, trying not to laugh as I swatted her on the leg.
‘Please come through,’ I said, directing him to the door at the end of the corridor. I decided that this must be how it felt on the walk to the electric chair.
Any last words? Yes. Tell Rex I love him.
I sat down in the far chair, the one that I still felt belonged to my grandmother, and waited for him to sit too. He didn’t. He remained standing. Steam coming out of his ears, words ready to shoot out of his mouth.
‘Are you encouraging my daughter to draw her mother in…heaven?’
‘Absolutely not,’ I replied. ‘Eli has been left with some crayons and paper as I tidied the dance room ready for tomorrow. I drew her a rainbow and the conversation went from there. She’s very inquisitive about life after death.’
He crossed his arms. The action made his shirt stretch across the expanse of muscle he called a forearm. I couldn’t take my eyes away and it was a welcome distraction.
‘It’s quite simple, Miss Bevan. Don’t offer her crayons, or paper, and don’t talk to her about life after death!’ he shouted, slamming his hands down on the desk. I flinched, an instinctual reaction, but his eyes widened in recognition of my harsh breaths. He stood back, dropped his usual confident stare and spoke with a softer tone. ‘I’m sorry…I’m trying my hardest to be as civil as possible, but this,’ he held up Eli’s drawing, ‘is making it very difficult.’
‘I don’t expect you to be anything but civil,’ I replied. ‘But your definition of civil is very different to mine.’
‘You’re infuriating, Miss Bevan,’ he said through clenched teeth. ‘Your name is banded about my house twenty-four seven, I can’t get away from you. I think of dancing…transference…the benefits for Elise. Your face as you danced…so serene…and your body.’ He closed his eyes. ‘You’re driving me crazy. I can’t stop myself from–’ His words faded away as he caught himself, the moment lost as he realised he was speaking out loud and the woman he’d just declared as driving him crazy was sitting across from him biting her lip.
‘I drive you crazy?’
He took a full breath as he pulled his shoulders back. A slight pink tinge brightened his cheeks. ‘Can we keep to the matter in hand?’
‘Which is?’ I asked, confusion making my head light.
‘I find it uncomfortable that Elise is fully aware of your loss,’ he mumbled, picking off imaginary pieces of lint from his suit jacket.
‘If my students ask questions about my life, I’m not going to lie.’
‘I’m not asking you to lie. I’m asking you to censor.’
‘I don’t go into detail.’
‘Can I make a point where you actually listen for a change?’
‘Of course. Listeners are the best audience, after all,’ I replied, holding his stare as I repeated his words from when we were grappling with a taxi. I watched his throat swallow; a fleeting recognition and it was in this moment when I finally accepted that I liked pushing him to his limits. I enjoyed his reaction even more.
‘Miss Bevan, I can’t help but blame you for the coincidence that since Elise met you, she has asked countless questions about her mother!’
‘Good!’ I shouted, unable to hold myself back.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘She said you don’t talk about her.’
‘What?’ he replied, eyes drawn together, a deep line of confusion running down his forehead.
‘Why don’t you talk openly at home?’ I pleaded, standing up to match his height. ‘She has questions.’
‘What questions?’
�
��She asked me if people who die in car accidents go to heaven because their bodies are so broken from the impact, they don’t have the ability to walk anymore.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘She asked me tonight if her mummy thought about her,’ I said, so heartbroken for her. Eli should be able to feel her mother’s presence, like I had done. Like my grandmother had ensured. ‘Please talk to her. Grief is impossible for a child to experience on their own.’
‘Are you still offering me advice? Is it on parenting or bereavement today?’ he asked, stepping forward, our faces so close I could smell mint tea on his lips. ‘Do you have children, Miss Bevan?’
‘No,’ I replied. ‘And I don’t pretend to know the first thing about being a parent.’
‘I’m glad we agree on something.’
‘But I have lost a mother,’ I said, holding his attention.
He lifted his head, fixed his eyes on mine. They were soft and open, such a contrast to before. ‘My condolences. No child should lose a mother.’
‘I understand I’m being totally inappropriate, but…I can’t stop myself.’ I covered my face with my hands. ‘I feel I should be her voice.’ Why was I saying this to him? What compelled me to overstep the mark so boldly? ‘I want you to know her questions…help you answer them.’ My lungs felt constricted, almost burning. ‘Do you know how many unanswered questions I carry around with me, even to this day?’ He stepped closer. Hard and sure. I tipped my head. A breath away from his lips that were set in a straight line, giving nothing away. Until they parted slightly.
‘Tell me,’ he rasped.
His chest was fighting to contain his…What? Anger. Frustration. Arousal? I clutched my body, my fingertips pulling at my wrap, trying to contain myself. I didn’t want to give myself away, I wasn’t ready to admit that Mr Blayren…Mr Burnett – whoever this man was tonight – was so close to me I could easily run my tongue along the lines of his neck and wanted to desperately.
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