The Tree by Judy Pascoe Read Free Book Online Page B

The spirit of him or some memory or part of him was undeniably there, so it became the focus of our memory of him, past, present, future. It was how we kept him alive, forcing him to stay near us. How much of what happened with the tree was caused by his presence there is difficult to say and sceptics find the suggestion ludicrous. What happened may have been coincidental, but it appeared as if the tree was acting like a jealous husband. It had lunged through my mother’s window grabbing for her, as if he were trying to take her with him so she could join him in death.
    It may have been that it was the gesture of a sad and lonely spirit wanting to do the most banal of human activities, go to sleep in his own bed with his wife, a pleasure he had been robbed of. No matter which way I thought about it, seeing the branch on my mother’s bed made me sad, but also terrified of the power of the dead.
    The drain man turned up a few days later saying he wanted to check our drains, he was still concerned about them. We knew it was really to see our mother. Seeing a living man and noting, though I was too young to put words to it, the way he looked at her, made me see the power of the living. It was immediate and grounded, not wafty and indefinite like our relationship with our father.
    My mother and the drain man stood at either corner of her bed. The branch pinned across the covers wasn’t a sight that was easy to comment on.
    She had stalled him downstairs by the laundry for half an hour trying to hide the damage in her bedroom above. It was difficult to see it from the ground as the tree grew so close to the house. You could stand immediately below the catastrophe and be unaware of it. Eventually I noticed her manoeuvre him into a position where he could see the unbelievable sight of the branch skewering the house.
    â€˜Holy shit,’ he said. Then, ‘Sorry,’ when he saw we were all watching him.
    Mother appeared to be reassured by his reaction somehow. He looked things over for a long time before he made any comment.
    â€˜Jeez, Dawn. It’s a bit freaky.’
    â€˜Isn’t it?’ She finished his sentence using the same rhythm, in the weird way they’d had from the start.
    The fact that she knew, that he knew she’d made no attempt to have the branch removed magnified its strangeness.
    â€˜I guess I should do something about it,’ said Mum. ‘I just wasn’t sure what to do. Where to start.’
    The drain man skirted the room searching for a reason as to why my mother might be so odd as to want to keep the branch of a tree in her room.
    He looked at her. ‘Are you serious?’
    Mum just looked at him.
    â€˜I’ve heard about people building houses round trees. I wouldn’t recommend it though, the plumbing’s a nightmare.’
    She smiled and I saw her wonder for a second, if she could let him in on her secret. Then I grasped the reason why she couldn’t. They were standing by the bed, the air felt gluey with the tension between them. The weight of the heat seemed to allow them to look at each other for longer than I had seen grown-ups look at each other before – if that was what they were doing. His dark, earthen eyes met her imperfect blue irises and I knew that he was going to lie in my father’s place, on my father’s bed. I will never see my father again, I thought. He will leave us for good if this man comes in here. This man who may have a wife, children. The children would have to come on weekends. I’d heard about this. I’d have to share my room with more boys. Chances were he’d have three boys with names like Jack, Stephan and Timothy, and then there would be six boys and me, and I held my breath until I fainted and toppled down on to the un-vacuumed hall carpet. I came round a minute later and was sick over the gritty rug at the door of my mother’s room.
    I didn’t have to worry about more children. My