Tree Magic

by Harriet Springbett

  During her first fortnight she’d stopped to get to know a holm oak that grew within cycling distance of the commune. When she’d run her fingers over the crevices in the bark, she’d found a slot. Inside the slot was a piece of paper. Words had been written in beautiful looping letters on notepaper: it was a letter. She couldn’t understand the message, but she loved the idea of a tree holding people’s secrets.

  That evening, while she was piling cutlery and plates onto the outside table, Christophe strolled over with his hands in his pockets. He was chewing gum. The kids were intent on their game of un, deux, trois, soleil, stopping and starting in their race to touch the wall of the outhouse without the leader seeing them move.

  Rainbow paused, a knife in her hand, and waited for him to speak. He said nothing. She carried on with her work. A glass slipped in her grasp and broke, and she cursed her clumsy hands.

  “You like Boule et Bill?”

  Christophe’s voice was barely a squeak in English. When he spoke French, he made a slow, loud drawl that sounded like a single word.

  “S’all right.”

  She had time to pick up the broken glass and finish laying the table before he spoke again.

  “In England you have BDs?”

  “Uh-huh. Comics. The Beano. The Dandy. They’re for kids.”

  She picked up the tray and hesitated. Should she help him out with his English? Nothing came naturally, so she went back to the kitchen to fetch the baguettes and jugs of water and wine.

  Christophe was scuffing a hole in the hard earth surrounding the table when she returned.

  “Don’t bother helping,” she said.

  He looked surprised.

  “I’m not.”

  “I know. I was being ironic.”

  “Ah. The English humour.”

  He nodded and watched as she unloaded the tray.

  “So where did you learn English?” she asked at last.

  He raised his shoulders and spread out his hands.

  “Every place. In kitchens. America, Canada, Hong Kong.”

  “So you should be able to speak well.”

  The sarcasm snaked cruelly through her words. She lowered her eyes.

  “Better than your French,” he said. He grinned in triumph, then turned and shouted at the children.

  She blushed and hurried back inside the house. It didn’t matter. She didn’t care. In a few days she’d be gone.

  Chapter 17

  The days passed and Rainbow’s vigil over the entrance to Le Logis proved fruitless. There was no white van. Bob must have been held up by some important gigs.

  April had unfurled into May. Rainbow lost count of the numerous bank holidays the kids cheered about. There were fewer wet days, and the dry ones were hot. Soon it would be June. The bag of francs was almost empty. Rainbow was sure they’d have to leave when they could no longer contribute to the Logis expenses kitty.

  One evening, Mum pulled out their money bag and counted out the notes onto the bed. Rainbow leaned over the bedpost and watched her.

  “We’ve only got enough to stay for a week longer,” she said.

  “Don’t worry, love. Jeff’s agreed to buy my happy songs. We’ll be fine for the summer.”

  “Don’t you think it’s time to go home?”

  Mum looked up at her. “Do you?”

  She shrugged. “Bob will be missing us.”

  Mum counted out the coins and slipped them back into the plastic sachet. “I thought we’d celebrate your birthday here.”

  Rainbow would be fourteen on the eighth of June. Birthdays had been a disappointment since her sixth year, when Mum had made her an ace dragon cake. The problem hadn’t been the cake. It was Mum’s timing. She’d brought it into school on the wrong day. Mrs Brown had pointed out – in front of the whole class – that Mum was too early. Rainbow had melted into a puddle of embarrassment. After this, she became used to having her birthday on different dates around the month of June each year, according to when Mum remembered. Mum tried unsuccessfully to persuade her that this added to the excitement. For the last few years Rainbow had stuck a note on the kitchen notice board so Mum and Bob wouldn’t forget completely.

  Mum caught hold of Rainbow’s hand and snapped her back into the present.

  “We could all go to the beach, have a party and sleep overnight in hammocks under the pines.”

  “Really? That would be cool!”

  “Good. Let’s think about what we need to take, then,” said this new, organised Mum.

  Rainbow tore a sheet off her drawing pad and they began to jot down their ideas.

  The next morning Rainbow woke alone in the bed. She threw on her clothes and jogged downstairs to the kitchen, her birthday party list in her hand. Mum and Domi were sitting at the table. They were leaning towards each other and Domi was drawing a shape on the table top with his finger. Jasmine was nodding in agreement. Rainbow paused in the doorway. Had she interrupted something?

  “Hi, Mum, Domi. Sorry,” she added as they lurched apart.

  “Hello, love. We’re planning your party,” said Mum.

  She pulled her dressing gown more tightly around her. Rainbow collected a bowl and sat down beside them.

  “You got up early specially for me?”

  “Well–” Mum stood up and went to turn on the kettle.

  “Or were you up all night working on a new song?”

  Mum would often do this at home when she was going through an inspired phase.

  “That’s right,” Mum said.

  Céline arrived in the kitchen and kissed Rainbow good morning.

  “Has your mum told you about the French lessons?” she asked Rainbow.

  Rainbow shook her head and frowned at Mum’s back. Céline sat down.

  “Christophe’s going to teach you.”

  “I don’t want lessons. Anyway, he’ll never agree.”

  “Oh yes he will,” said Céline. She patted Rainbow’s shoulder.

  Rainbow shrugged her off.

  “Here he is now.”

  “Bonjour.” Christophe stopped as they turned towards him. “What?”

  “You’re too busy to teach me French, aren’t you?” Rainbow said.

  Christophe glanced at his mum, then at his wrist. He was wearing a new digital watch. He must have struck a deal with his mum.

  “I find time,” he said, his cheeks reddening slightly.

  Rainbow looked at the watch. It was a beautiful metallic blue. There were mini-dials around the face, promising predictions of beginnings and ends. She could imagine it lying heavy on her wrist and proving that she was in control of her life.

  “Well, I don’t have the time,” she said.

  “Rainbow, love–”

  “There’s no point, Mum. We’re going home after my birthday.”

  “That gives you a fortnight,” said Domi. “We’ll relieve you of domestic duties if you like.”

  Rainbow took another look at the watch. “Okay. We’ll start now,” she said to Christophe. “Come on.”

  Christophe’s mum nagged him to have his breakfast first. Rainbow stalked out of the kitchen.

  He followed.

  When she reached the outdoor table, she judged that they were out of earshot and turned around to face him. He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked defensive.

  “Right, here’s the deal,” she said. “You give me the watch and I’ll pretend to learn French.”

  “No.”

  She glared at him. “I’ll look after the children and animals as well. That means you’ll have time to play mechanics with Alain. I get the watch.”

  He folded his arms and grinned.

  “You want my watch very much.”

  “No, I don’t. I just don’t see why you should get a watch and I get nothing.”

  He laughed. “You get the French. You understand what people say about you.”

  “Huh! I don’t care what they say.” She bit her lip.

  “Here’s th
e deal,” he said, and paused to search for his words. “You stop to be sarcastic with me, and I borrow you my watch one time.”

  “Half the time. And it’s lend, not borrow.”

  “Ah yes: lend, prêter; borrow, emprunter. You repeat.”

  She raised her eyes towards the sky.

  “And don’t treat me like a kid or I’ll break your watch.”

  He looked smug. She kicked the table support and refused to look at him while he undid the watch.

  When he passed it to her she slipped it onto her wrist. It had looked great on him, but on her skinny arm it seemed unnatural. He was studying her, so she pretended to be pleased. She pressed the buttons and examined the dials. It was a lot less interesting than it had appeared. She smiled through her disappointment. There was no way she’d give him the satisfaction of thinking he’d got the better of her.

  Over the next two weeks Rainbow turned from a reluctant student into a reluctantly eager one. The lessons were more like games than schoolwork and she started to look forward to the evenings, when she and Christophe would sit out of the earshot of the others.

  At first he laughed at her accent. He made her pronounce ‘un’ a hundred times before the resulting grunt sounded French enough for him. She was surprised by the seriousness with which he attacked his duty. He’d hardly speak a word of English, so she was forced to concentrate and guess the meaning of the French words he used. Gradually, the lessons lengthened until one or the other was called away to help with the evening meal, the animals or the kids.

  On her birthday morning, Rainbow woke up alone in her bed again. This was another piece of evidence to add to her theory that something was going on between Mum and Domi. She was pleased, because he was her dad, yet she was angry with Mum for betraying Bob. And it was another reason for Mum to delay going home. She should be cross about this. But she was starting to feel more comfortable at the Logis. If it weren’t for Acrobat and the kittens, she wouldn’t have minded staying a while longer.

  The previous evening her fantasy of Bob coming with Acrobat and the kittens, finding he liked it and deciding to stay had shattered. She’d heard Mum tell Virginie about the bad experience he’d had with a spiritualist. Ever since, the sight of her tarot cards, Ouija board or crystals would throw him into a fit. In bed last night, Rainbow’s fantasy metamorphosed into a version where Bob arrived ill and was healed by Domi. This would change the way he felt and make him want to stay for the summer. But this morning, in the clear light of day, she knew she would have to call him again and tell him not to come. She would sneak down on their return from the beach expedition.

  Mum and Domi were in the kitchen. They stood close to each other as they made coffee. Close, but not touching. Mum wished her a happy birthday and passed her a tiny package. Rainbow told herself not to get excited. She undid it quickly. It was a battered ring box. She snapped it open and saw a ruby crystal.

  It was the one Virginie had tried to give her a few days ago. Rainbow had refused because the silkiness, which she could only feel through the skin on the back of her hands, made her more aware of the roughness of her palms. She’d loved to handle crystals before she discovered trees. Now, they represented the sacrifices her gift demanded.

  She kissed Mum and slipped the ruby crystal into the pocket of her patched jeans. She knew it was the only present she would get this year. Domi had already explained that the commune inhabitants didn’t exchange presents at birthdays. Instead, they made the birthday person feel special and tried to create a memorable day.

  She was finishing her breakfast when Christophe appeared in the doorway.

  “Come with me. I’ve got something to show you,” he said in French.

  On the third repetition Rainbow understood. She followed him outside.

  “It’s my birthday, you know. You could say happy birthday.”

  “It is?” He grinned at her in his irksome fashion. “Hurry up.”

  So much for making her feel special. She dragged her feet as he led her into the wood, along a twisting path and into an area she didn’t know. He stopped where a huddle of dead oak branches reinforced the sides of a hazel thicket. It was a den.

  “Is this what you wanted to show me?”

  He nodded.

  “Well, it’s–” she searched for the translation of ‘unimpressive’. Nothing came to mind, so she spoke the English word with a French accent.

  He laughed. “That doesn’t work. Try ‘c’est pas impressionnant’.”

  She spoke the hissy phrase while he rooted around under a table of wooden planks. He pulled out a big, plastic barrel.

  “This is where we have our private affairs. The adults don’t know it,” he said in English.

  Rainbow was shocked. Then she understood.

  “Where we keep our things, not have our affairs,” she said.

  She liked the idea of a communal den. A warm glow spread inside her. This is what it felt like to be accepted. She ran her hands over a worn log that served as a seat.

  He took a flat, rectangular package out of the barrel.

  “This is for you. It’s too big for take at the beach. Happy birthday.”

  She blushed, embarrassed at the way she’d nagged him about her birthday when he’d already planned this. The present had been carefully wrapped. She opened it equally carefully. Would it be one of the comic books he liked so much? Yesterday he’d shown her his collection of fifty hard-backed comic albums stacked on a shelf above his bed. She couldn’t be bothered to read the titles. It wasn’t that she didn’t like books: she just preferred sketching and thinking her own thoughts to letting a book dictate what she should think. And comic albums were childish, no matter what Christophe said.

  She saw the back of the present first. It was a photo frame. She turned it over and looked at the front. A collection of tree leaves faced her. They had been dried, pressed and arranged artfully on a piece of dark pink paper. Rainbow waited for her emotion to pass so she could speak in a normal voice. Christophe ran a hand through his brown hair.

  “Do you like it? Sorry it’s made home. I didn’t find something you like in the shops.”

  “It’s beautiful, Chris. Thanks loads.” She looked up and saw doubt in his face. “Really, I love it. It’s much better than a comic book.”

  He looked puzzled. “But you don’t like comic books. Did you want one?”

  She assured him he was right, and kissed his cheek. He smelt faintly of leather and engine grease.

  His doubtful expression vanished and they hurried back towards the house, the picture under Rainbow’s arm. She was thinking about where she would hang it in her room, and only noticed Christophe’s preoccupied air after a few silent minutes.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  He glanced at her, then looked away again.

  “Actually, there is a thing I must tell to you. There is the man here, in the woods.”

  She glanced behind her.

  “Where? What man?”

  “He is English, I think.”

  She stopped walking. “When did you see him?”

  “Yesterday. And this morning.”

  “What did he look like?”

  He screwed up his face. “Old … long hair.”

  She sighed. He was useless at recognising people. His stares, while he tried to determine if he knew a face or not, sometimes ended in him being punched.

  “He looks at the house and the people here. I think he is your Bob which you told me about. He drives a white car. English car.”

  “Yes, that sounds like Bob.”

  Why did he have to come today, of all days? Perhaps if they left for the beach quickly, they would avoid him.

  “He’s come to take you home, you think?”

  She nodded. He frowned at the ground and fell silent again.

  When they arrived in the clearing of Le Logis, she glanced towards the cars. For a second she saw the van parked, askew. But there was no van. No Bob. Only the commune
people packing up bags and baskets and blankets.

  She threw herself into the activity and helped prepare children and belongings for the outing. Alain and François were staying at the house to look after the animals and repair Domi’s motorbike, which had broken down again.

  When everyone jumped into the cars, Christophe lingered behind with Alain. Rainbow could see he was tempted to stay so he could spend all day and night making merry with oil and metal. But he turned his back on them and joined her, Domi, Céline and Mum in the yellow Mini. Domi, in the passenger seat, had the job of telling Mum when she could overtake. Slim Céline sat in the back seat by the window and contrived to wedge Rainbow next to Christophe. Rainbow was mortified to feel her leg pressing against his. As soon as they stopped for a sick child or toilet break she would move to the other side of Céline.

  Mum drove at the head of the four-car procession. They bumped along the track and Rainbow stared outside the window to avoid looking at Christophe. The track gave way to the tarmac lane. There, parked in a field entrance, was a white van. Christophe nudged her and nodded towards it.

  Rainbow willed Mum to drive on. But the English registration plate caught Mum’s attention. She slammed on the brakes.

  “What the–!” she gasped. “How did he–?”

  She yanked up the handbrake and threw the car door open. Then she climbed out and stood defiantly in the road. Rainbow pushed up the front seat and scrambled out after her.

  Bob was sitting inside the van, drinking out of a thermos cup. He opened his van door, stretched and then sauntered towards them. He was smiling. Rainbow smiled back. It was going to be all right. He was in a good mood.

  “Hey, Jaz. Hi, Rainy. Nice place for a holiday. You could have invited me too, though.”

  Mum folded her arms. “So what are you doing here, since you’re not invited?”

  Bob’s eyebrows shot up into his messy hair. He looked as dishevelled as the tramps who begged outside the Post Office in Cognac. Rainbow felt sorry for him.

  “It’s my fault, Mum,” she said. “I asked him to pick us up.”