Tree Magic

by Harriet Springbett

  “I can feel you!”

  Mum smiled. “This is better than on Tuesday. They’re happy hands today.”

  Rainbow rubbed them together to relieve the tickling sensation.

  “I can’t feel my own hands, but I can feel yours. Isn’t that strange?”

  “It’s because I’m your mum.”

  “Have you got healer’s hands too, then?”

  “No, but I know a man who has,” said Mum.

  “Do you? Who is it? Do I know him? Can I meet him?

  “We’ll see.”

  “But–”

  Mum’s eyes widened in warning and her finger flew to her lips.

  Rainbow stopped short. Bob was shouting Mum’s name. Mum caught her hand and pulled her behind the boudoir, where they wouldn’t be seen. They huddled side by side, their lips pressed closed, eyes locked on each other.

  Bob’s voice faded away. Rainbow peeped around the edge of the boudoir. The pumpkin patch was empty. There was no sign of Bob at the back door. She let out her breath and turned to ask Mum about the healer. But Mum stood up and spoke first.

  “What else can you do with your hands?”

  Rainbow frowned. “What do you mean?”

  Mum led her back inside the boudoir.

  “Can you bring dead wood back to life, or cure a tree weakened by illness, or make new shoots grow?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You need a guru,” said Mum.

  “Do I? Where can I get one?”

  Mum smiled. “I’ll find one for you.”

  “You won’t tell anyone about my gift, will you?”

  Mum stroked her hair. “Only someone who can help you.”

  “I don’t need any help.”

  “You’ve got a very special gift, Rainbow. We have to find the best way to use it, and you need to be protected.”

  “So that no one exploits me,” added Rainbow. “Can’t you and Bob protect me?”

  Mum hesitated. “If you want to use your gift you’ll need a special kind of protection. Otherwise, your only protection is to forget it.”

  “I can’t do that. I need the contact with trees.”

  “So I must find you a guru. But, whatever you do, don’t mention it to Bob.”

  Rainbow didn’t need to ask why. If Bob disapproved of gurus, they must be spiritual, like the crystals and tarot cards Mum hid in the King Edward box in the locked bottom drawer of her desk. She kept the key in the pocket of her silver and orange belt. Rainbow had spent many hours playing with the contents of the box when she was younger. She would lay out the intriguing tarot cards, shuffle them and put them into groups, running her fingers over their dimpled surfaces. As for the crystals, they were as smooth as air. She loved to stroke them. Often she’d find one in her pocket without realising she’d taken it.

  They left the boudoir and picked up the ladder. As they carried it back to the shed they bumped into Bob and Fraser, who were walking round the garden. Bob told Mum they needed her voice before they could progress with the recording. Rainbow sidled away.

  “I’ll deal with you this afternoon,” he shouted to Rainbow’s back.

  Rainbow pretended not to hear him. From the darkness of the shed she listened to Bob fend off Fraser’s question about what she’d done. Bob didn’t mention anything about trees, and she was relieved to hear him change the subject.

  That afternoon, back in the wood with Bob and his tape measure, Rainbow was unable to make anything grow.

  “You’re a dirty trickster,” Bob said, “and you’re wasting my time.”

  “I couldn’t care less,” spat Rainbow. “If your time’s so precious, do something useful with it instead of harassing me.”

  Mum laid a hand on Bob’s arm. “Stop trying to measure. Just watch.”

  As soon as he did so, the hazel tree responded to Rainbow’s touch. Her dismay turned to relief and she mentally filed this discovery to write in her book later on. She moved away from the trees and sat down on a log, hoping Bob would leave her alone now.

  “You see?” Mum said to Bob. “You and your science!”

  Bob ignored her.

  “Stop messing around, Rainbow. Go back and do it where I’ve measured.”

  “There’s no point. It won’t work,” said Mum. “Why is it so important to measure it, anyway?”

  “There’s no proof otherwise.”

  “Who needs proof?” Mum’s voice was suddenly sharp. “Newspapers? Doctors? Who exactly are you planning to prove this to, Bob?”

  He glared at Mum and stroked his chin. Their silence was heavy with sounds: dripping leaves, insects droning and a tractor rumbling in a nearby field. Rainbow buried a hand in the reassuring moss of her log.

  “She’d be better off forgetting this mumbo-jumbo,” Bob said at last.

  “You mean that you’d be better off,” said Mum.

  “Come off it, Jaz. It’s like she’s a freak or something.”

  “Only to narrow-minded scientists. I think it’s beautiful and natural.”

  Rainbow sensed unsaid words fly over her head. Why couldn’t they let her get on with it instead of turning every incident into an excuse for an argument? She was sick of hearing them argue all the time. Mum had coped fine with the discovery of her gift before Bob got involved. She hadn’t even got spiritual. It was Bob who was determined to ruin everything with his stupid tape measure.

  Bob turned to her: “You don’t want to be a freak, do you?”

  Rainbow shrugged. She was pretty much a freak to her schoolmates already.

  “Well, I don’t want my stepdaughter to be called a freak,” he said.

  “She’s not a freak. She’s just different,” said Mum.

  “I don’t want to see her suffer.”

  “She needn’t suffer,” said Mum.

  “If she forgets this tree mumbo-jumbo, she won’t.”

  “There’s another solution,” said Mum.

  The chill expanded between them. Bob narrowed his eyes.

  “No way!”

  Rainbow sighed. Her gift caused nothing but bother. “It’s freezing here,” she said. “I’m going out into the sun.”

  She stood up.

  There was no reaction from either of them. They faced each other, their eyes locked like wrestlers’ arms. Bob’s hands were clenched into grubby fists. The tape measure swelled his right fist, making him seem even more threatening. Mum’s long neck and pointed chin jutted out in accusation, like a witch’s.

  Rainbow had had enough. They were as bad as each other. She marched out of the clearing and went to find Acrobat.

  Chapter 12

  Mum and Bob fought non-stop for the whole of the following week. They broke half the crockery – this time Rainbow’s increasing clumsiness wasn’t the cause. Their arguments passed from silence, in which saucepans were banged and guitars played at full volume, to slanging matches and muffled crying on Mum’s part.

  One evening Bob yelled over Rainbow’s head that he couldn’t stand spending seven hours so close to Jasmine, even if she was asleep. From that moment on, he slept on the mattress in the recording room. Mum locked herself in her creative room as soon as she’d made her morning tea. This didn’t stop Bob bawling insults through the door. The only positive point for Rainbow was that they were no longer arguing about her. Everything was brought up except her name, so she knew she and her gift weren’t the cause.

  When she arrived home from school on Friday evening, everything was calm. She crept into Mum’s room and found her sitting on her bed, sorting out her clothes.

  “Where’s Bob?”

  Mum held out her arms. Sadness rolled out of them. Rainbow sat down and hugged her.

  “He’s gone to stay with Fraser while he calms down.”

  “Oh.”

  She wasn’t sure if this was better or worse. Mum’s eyes were bright and glittery from something stronger than tears.

  “We don’t need him anyway,” said Mum.

  “No. Not
while he’s in a bad mood.”

  Rainbow knew they did need him. They needed him to look after the garden so they had vegetables to eat. And they needed his music to bring in money for beer and car repairs, and Acrobat’s food. But for the moment she had Mum to herself, and the house was peaceful at last.

  That evening, Mum curled up on the settee with her and drank hot chocolate instead of sloping off to write or play. She talked about an old friend of hers called Domi, who lived in a commune in France and healed people.

  When Rainbow yawned, Mum seemed reluctant to let her go to bed. She got her to help sort through the cassettes and CDs to find their favourites to play while Bob was away.

  “This is like Desert Island Discs, isn’t it?” Mum said.

  Rainbow nodded and started to put the chosen music at the front of the CD wardrobe. Her arms felt heavy and she stopped.

  “Mum, I need to get some sleep,” she yawned.

  “Okay, love.” Mum stretched like Acrobat and stood up. “By the way, what would you take with you to a desert island?”

  Rainbow sat back on her heels and rubbed her eyes.

  “I don’t know. My tree book, of course. And sketch pads and pencils. And Acrobat. What about you?”

  “My crystals and tarot cards, I expect. Now, off you go to bed.”

  Rainbow was late waking the next morning. She let her mind float around a little in the unusual peace and then jumped out of bed. Today she would break into Michael’s house. Her instinct told her that something was waiting to be discovered. She didn’t know exactly what, but she was sure she’d recognise it when the moment came. And breaking in was an adventure. Yesterday at school she’d heard Rebecca say a new family was due to move in. It may take a long time to be invited into the house by the new occupants. And her keepsake would no doubt be thrown out as soon as they arrived.

  She peeked around the door of Mum’s bedroom. She was still asleep, fully clothed and splayed out on the bed, taking up much more room than when she was upright or lying next to Bob. Rainbow backed out of the bedroom, tiptoed downstairs and breakfasted quickly. She scribbled a note saying she’d gone for a walk. Then she picked up her rucksack and jogged out to her tree.

  There was no sound from the cat family. By now, the kittens’ eyes had all opened and they squirmed further away from their nest each day. She’d tipped the box onto its side to make it easier for them to come and go, and had propped a plank on the floor against the doorway so they couldn’t fall out.

  She climbed into her tree house. The box was empty. She glanced about, wildly. Where had they gone? Then she remembered Patti saying how cats will move their kittens if they feel endangered. Acrobat must have realised that a tree house, with its long drop to the ground, was no place to bring up wandering kittens. He was a really good mum.

  She had to find where he’d taken them so she could keep Bob away. It shouldn’t be too difficult. She would follow Acrobat after he’d finished his dinner that evening.

  She slid down the rope ladder and went into the lane. The sun was high and the dewy green foliage surrounding her sparkled in its reflection. Her shoulders lifted and she threw back her head to catch the warmth. She loved the wild, windy days of mysterious autumn, but spring was the season that made everything feel better. It was the mending time of year. Light breezes whispered new beginnings to her and she basked in hope. Everything would be fine.

  There was no movement in Michael’s house yet. She hummed as she sidled through the brambles to the oak tree. Humming was the closest she allowed herself to singing. Her tuneless voice had been the object of Mum’s despair for years.

  She sized up the oak, anticipating the movements she’d use to climb to the branch that led into the ash’s arms. The first branch was high. She began to doubt her ability to climb up alone. If only she were as tall as Mum it would be easy. She didn’t know whether the ash branches would be strong enough to bear her weight either – but by that point she’d be over Michael’s garden. If she fell she’d be on the right side of the wall, and she would use his water butt for the return climb.

  The problem was going to be the first oak branch. She might have to sneak a ladder down here once it got dark. This would be her last resort: the empty Drunken House at night wasn’t a pleasant prospect.

  She searched for a log to stand on. There was nothing. Nobody ever came so close to the Drunken House, and the coppice was overgrown. She stood against the trunk and reached as high as she could. Even on tiptoes she couldn’t get a grip on the branch.

  The oak tree gave her the answer. One second she was flattened against the trunk, searching for a hold. The next, her hands had found a growing spot and she was communicating with the oak. It made her aware that she could shrink the trunk rather than stretch it. She smiled. Who’d ever have thought it would be useful to shrink a tree?

  She shook out her arms and released the tension while she concentrated on the oak. Then she placed her hands on the growing spot and let her body press into the safe solidity of its trunk. The internal fibres let her tune into them.

  It was a wise old tree. Although it had given her the answer to her problem, it wasn’t easily pliable to her will. She had to explain why she wanted to shrink its trunk. She had to persuade it that it was vital to enter the garden. Silently, she pleaded her case through her hands: her love for Michael; her need for a keepsake; her guilt over her greed for power; her willingness to dedicate her life to repairing the terrible mistake she’d made.

  The reasons poured from her mind to her hands and into the oak’s cells. In return, its sympathy rose through its network of pensive roots. It radiated melancholy for the beech she’d damaged, allowing Rainbow’s guilt to subside into sadness. It exuded concern for the hosts of trees that protected the planet and showed Rainbow how they had maintained this responsibility for millions of years, long before man or dinosaur had appeared. Images of tropical forests, hazel thickets and solitary sequoias flashed through her mind. She felt her importance in the world dwindle, shrinking at the same time as the oak’s trunk shrank in her hands. Yet the oak insisted she was important, like every one of the planet’s trees, from the smallest sapling to the oldest pine. She had a role to play, a belief to defend. She could help, as could every human that grew from earth and returned to its soil.

  The oak’s voice receded and she brought her aching arms slowly to her sides. Although she didn’t understand everything the oak had told her, she felt like a new person. No, not a new person: an older version of the same person; filled with ancient knowledge; more solid, more sure of herself. Wrinkles of age seemed to spread over her skin, but when she touched her face it was as smooth as usual. Nothing had changed on her surface. Inside, however, she felt a knot of new respect for the wisdom of trees. How could she still be only thirteen years old? Well, nearly fourteen. The number that represented her age didn’t justify the centuries she’d lived through during the last minute, nor the understanding she had gained.

  She sat down on the oak tree’s roots and let the ripples inside her spread out until her awe calmed into gratitude. This was a much more effective way of learning than school. On the new scale of things, her mission in Michael’s house now seemed insignificant. Yet the oak had approved what must be a tiny, meaningless detail to it. Her resolution grew stronger. She took a deep breath and started climbing. It was easy now she could grip the lowest branch. She clambered up, groped along the branch to the ash and then slithered down its trunk into Michael’s garden.

  The first thing she noticed was how overgrown it had become. The garden had always been weedy because Michael’s sculptures had made it impossible to mow. Nature, now unhampered by metallic carcasses, had crept over the small yard between the house and the workshop. It looked even worse than Mum’s bit of garden, because the neat, red-brick walls here demanded order. At home there were no walls, only broken wire fences, so it seemed natural when, each summer, the sagging strand of barbed wire on each side of the front gate dis
appeared into swathes of swishy grass.

  She knelt and parted last year’s trailing dead grass, revealing a lively new growth underneath, and then ran her fingers through the eager blades to see if anything had been forgotten. The garden was small, yet it took ages to brush the whole area. She found nothing. Michael’s relatives had been thorough. Rainbow wondered what they’d done with his sculptures. Had they been thrown onto a scrap heap like squashed old cars or taken lovingly into houses and looked after with pride? Michael had never talked about his family, other than his grandfather and great-grandfather. Rainbow had been stuck at home on crutches when they’d come to clear the house. Perhaps a cross landlord had thrown everything into a skip.

  She pushed open the wooden door into the workshop. It was dark and damp inside. And empty. He hadn’t had time to renovate it completely in the months he’d lived there. Instead of the smart installation he’d wanted, he’d used a plug-in light over a scrap-wood bench. Had he sacrificed his workshop-refurbishment time in favour of helping her? Rainbow shook the thought from her head. Her eyes adjusted to the gloom and she searched the room.

  There were some loose tiles on the sill by the frosted-glass window. He’d talked about a hiding place under a roof of tiles, and she’d presumed he meant the loft. But maybe this was it. She picked up a tile and looked underneath. There was a cavity between the outside and inside walls of the shed, and the tiles covered a deep hole as wide as her hand.

  She squinted into it. She couldn’t see anything. She pulled up her sleeve and slid her bare left arm into the cavity.

  Her fingers touched something smooth: a cylinder. She lifted it out. It was a cardboard tube. She’d seen it before. She brushed off the cobwebby dust and held it tight against her chest. Tears pricked in her eyes and she staggered, abandoned, in the desert Michael had left inside her.

  Outside the shed, she eased the rolled-up sheet of paper from the tube. It was their joint drawing project. She and Michael were supposed to have opened this together, side by side, once they’d each finished their half of the picture. She blinked back her tears. She wanted to hear his booming laugh. She wanted to share this with him. She wanted him back.