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Oh, I completely forgot to pay attention to the oak tree. There’s me, blabbering away to you about the importance of keeping a close eye on nature, paying attention, and it turns out I’ve been too busy looking, and not spending enough time seeing. The tree’s in leaf, every single branch has turned green. It makes the gap more obvious, do you see? That’s where a branch came off in a storm last year, almost brought the fence down with it, that’s how hefty it was. You can’t get a sense of the size of trees when they are upright. They are vertical fields, they support so much life, and they are very heavy. Oaks especially, my dear, they grow to a really good size, that one must be a hundred feet tall and who knows how many tonnes. You trace how far one hundred feet from its base is, and you’ll begin to imagine how much damage it could cause if it fell.
Here’s a fascinating fact I read the other week, trees talk to each other under the ground, the wood wide web they’re calling it. Isn’t that amazing? They aren’t sure exactly how it works, but they reckon trees send messages to each other through their roots. So, for example, if one tree gets a disease, others are warned so they can increase their defences against it. It isn’t species specific either, all trees talk to all the others. But I was most interested in their speculation that older trees help out younger trees, even when they aren’t related. I know it’s counter-intuitive, but the more I’ve thought about it, the more sense it makes so please, hear me out, my dear.
Just like us, trees go through life stages. When they are young they rise quickly, sometimes they grow bent, sometimes they don’t get the chance to get beyond a sapling. Seeds can only grow where they fall, after all. If they make it to adulthood, they’re busy sending their pollen and seeds out into the world. Trees in their prime probably aren’t helping anyone, maybe they hamper others by selfishly stealing their light, perhaps they are digging deeper for the first drink, who knows for sure. But eventually, they reach their older age. Trees don’t die without warning, they shrink away, wither, become a bit shorter. Bits of them fall off. If they are unlucky, they are condemned, considered a danger to others. But all are viewed as past their prime, beyond their useful lifespan, on their way out.
Now we know they aren’t wasting away, they are sending their best bits out to their community, assisting the young trees in their neighbourhood through their roots. All their nutrients, all that wisdom they’ve built up, all those stories. I’m not anthropomorphising here, they may not have emotions, but it would be naïve to believe we are the only species who can pass knowledge through generations. In this wood wide web idea, older trees are helping the youngest out, bypassing a generation to keep the forest growing big and strong. They are grandparents, and are ready to sacrifice themselves so as to allow their children to thrive and their grandchildren to grow in a favourable environment.
That’s my mistake, I should have made it clearer that the oak tree isn’t dead. It is condemned, but it isn’t dead, not yet. To be condemned is to have humans pass judgement, you see, someone who thinks they know better decides that something is dangerous to other people, or is simply past its best. And the tree can hardly answer back, can it? It cannot make its case, plead for mercy, lodge an appeal, none of that is available for an oak. I’m not even certain when it got condemned. It could fall down at any moment, apparently, yet still it stands. I might be sentimentalising but, as you know, I’ve some experience in this area.
*******
July’s heat reminds me of that day. It had been early when I started out from the prison. There was a heavy mist, even though it was already 6am and the sun had been up for hours. The air had that stagnant, damp quality to it, more like a November afternoon than a July morning in a heatwave. When I arrived at Conterring Court around seven, I could see the mist hanging below the hills in the distance, not rising beyond the church spire on the opposing climb from the town’s valley floor. Apparently, it had burned off completely by 9am, another scolding hot day ahead. At least the plants had gained a little moisture to keep them going, that was more mercy than I received. They put me in one of the court cells. All of them were in the basement, a row of six, each with a wooden bench and nothing else. No facilities, no window, no room to swing the proverbial cat. They told me I had a pretty long wait ahead of me, and I should sleep while the temperatures were low. Ha, it was already stifling down there. It’s the lack of air circulation as much as the temperature, it sucks the life out of you.
I hadn’t been sleeping well anyway, truth be told, and I’d barely slept a wink the night before. I’d known this day would be coming, from the moment I finished burying Frank in the allotment. At first, I assumed it would come quickly, I was so sure it would that I didn’t plan a holiday for that first summer. Every day, anxiously waiting to be taken away from my girls, to be ripped from my life. But then, over time, I worried about it less often. I made some plans. I forgot about it for days at a time. Now it was happening, I realised that there was not one bad day, there were several bad days, of which this was the pinnacle. I’d pictured judgement as coming the day after they found Frank, not six months later. As it was, I didn’t feel agitated, it was more a feeling of living on borrowed time, the inevitability of a cycle which needed completing. It made perfect sense to me, but I didn’t know what I was letting myself in for. For all my panicked dreams, I had never imagined my life beyond judgement day.
I had decided, all those years ago, that when it came to my condemnation, I would be accepting of it. I would pay my dues as I was required to do. I would play it straight with everyone, and they would treat me right. More important than anything else, I refused to make it any worse for my girls than it needed to be. I had managed to stay with them until they were adults. Only nineteen years old, still my children, but at least they were making their own way in the world. I was pleased about that, and didn’t want to jeopardise it, so the fewer questions that were asked of them, the better. The quieter I was about everything, the less scandal there would be. And the simplest way to achieve that was to avoid a trial.
*******
My lawyer was one of those women’s rights campaigners, all shoulder pads, big hair, and righteous energy. I’d been charged with murder, and we didn’t agree on how best to defend the charge. There was no death penalty by then, thankfully, but if I was convicted of murder I would receive a full life term, and I wanted to avoid that if I could. My lawyer encouraged me to say I’d been provoked, but it had to be immediate, you see, like finding your wife in bed with someone else and killing them both, that sort of provocation. The long slow burn of years of hurt and harm, even if you could prove it was true, well, the law said that wasn’t an excuse for snapping and killing someone. These women’s rights groups were arguing differently, and they wanted cases that would draw attention to their campaign for a change in the law.
My lawyer said there was evidence to build a case for provocation. There were all those police call outs to the house in the months before Frank died, with the neighbours complaining about him banging around. Frank was a well-known drunk, and had been in one or two fights in his time. Nothing too serious, but enough for there to be some paperwork about it. She wanted to argue that the police should have done more, that they left me living with a monster and I had to protect myself. She had this whole story worked out but it didn’t seem right, not for me, and definitely not for my girls. I’d made a deal with Gary, not that I’d told my lawyer that though, and in return for admitting my guilt, the police would let me claim I wasn’t in my right mind when I committed my crime, and this would attract a lower sentence. She kept trying to talk me out of my plea, but she hadn’t walked away from me just because she disagreed with me, and I respected her for that.
I didn’t want my girls to be embroiled in a scandal, even if it meant I went to prison for a few years. I always had their best interests in mind, and they needed to start their adult lives without suffering collateral damage from me. Carol was going steady with Joel and I thought they’d be married once the fall-out from my trial had passed. Frank would have been so proud of her. Lucy, on the other hand, had gone travelling round the world. She sent the occasional postcard to say she was alive and well. Whatever she chose to do with her life, I wouldn’t help her by causing a fuss. I worried about them both, in equal measure. Carol thought she knew what she wanted, and was willing to go to great lengths to get it, but I wasn’t sure she understood the price. Lucy was dicing with fate, and only time would tell if it would be kind to her.
*******
So there I was, lying in that small, hot cell with these thoughts running around my head, when Gary walked in. The years were showing, he had silver streaks in his dark hair which suited him, gave him some gravitas. Detective Chief Inspector Gary Bowers he was now, and he had got himself put in charge of my trial, which is why I’d been able to agree my plan with him. I think it suited his bosses that I wasn’t accusing the police of failing to protect me from Frank. A good deal for all concerned. Gary left the cell door ajar and sat next to me on the bench, handing me a mug of hot tea.
“Your lawyer would have a field day if she knew I was here, Mrs Thompson.” He was still formal with me, even if there was no one who could possibly overhear us. “Fraternising with the enemy, she’d tell you.”
“Ah, never mind her so much, she’s got a good heart, she does. She’s not too happy with my plea, that’s all. We’re all good, I assume?”
“Our deal’s still on, yes, as long as you’re sure?”
“I am, best for everyone like this.” I blew the steam from the top of my mug before taking a good slurp. I let the pause drag out a little, unsure how friendly Gary and I still were, and how freely I could talk to him.
“Fine,” he said, “I’ll leave you alone if you only say. Just didn’t like to think of you all by yourself down here, waiting like this.”
“It’s nice of you to think of me.”
He left it all of about three beats of my heart before he tried, one last time.
“You’re sure you aren’t going to say how he died? Not for the case, it’s not really relevant now we’ve agreed everything. But I’m still curious, you know.”
I kept my eyes on the rising steam as I pictured his face if I actually told him the truth. Everyone wanted to hear my story, but I’d told no one. They tried to guess, they looked for clues, they wanted to solve the mystery, but I wouldn’t engage with their speculations. Silence and patience were my favourite response to queries such as these.
*******
No, my dear, I did not throw a tablecloth over Frank and batter him to death with a poker. What do you take me for? That was not the point of that story. If you are going to try to solve this mystery ahead of me, you’ll have to give me more credit than that. It’s good to know you’re paying attention though. Shall I continue?
*******
“You’re sure you aren’t going to say how he died? Not for the case, it’s not really relevant now we’ve agreed everything. But I’m still curious, you know.”
I sat there, sipping away at my tea, not replying. As I expected, Gary broke the silence pretty soon.
“Well, that wasn’t what I came here for, just thought I’d ask one last time. No, I’ve got a little surprise for you.”
Gary paused here for dramatic effect and I admit, I was intrigued.
“Not supposed to do this, I’m not, never known it happen in fifteen years of policing but, given you have to wait down here like this, thought you might like some company.”
And there, in the doorway of the cell, was Lucy. Her hair was longer, and had been bleached by the sun, it was wavy and full of texture. In the gloom of the cell, I didn’t see the numerous braids she had running through her hair until she was close. As I hugged her tight, my nose pressed up against them, I smelled the ‘no tears’ apple shampoo my mother had used with her children, and which I’d used with mine. I was flooded with memories, and transported back to holding my eight-year-old girls tightly, together, which was possibly the last time I had known Lucy to wear braids in her hair.
As she pulled away from me I saw our reunion had affected her too. She wiped her eyes in that fierce way she had of not wanting you to see she’s upset, but which managed to highlight that she was crying. She started chattering away to me, nothing of anything really, asking how I was, saying Carol was coming to court and would be here soon, she was sure, how she’d raced back home when she’d realised the date was coming up, that she was staying with my mother for now. On and on she went, even more jumpy than I was.
I became a little standoffish with her, I must say, to my shame. You see, I anticipated a trap. I’d become a lot less gullible over the last few months. I had learnt plenty about how tricky some people could be, how much damage could be caused when someone strikes out. Had Lucy been sent to get me to tell her what had happened to Frank? One last try to tease it from me, by placing the question in the lips of the only person who may have tempted me to answer? Was this all a set up?
*******
I hadn’t talked to either of my girls about what happened to their father, and I didn’t want them to know any more than they already did. I’d been expecting questions since I was arrested. But Carol was unwilling to discuss it, she’d made herself clear. She visited me like clockwork while I was held on remand, for an hour every week. She was perfectly pleasant, but she kept our chatter on the here and now, the humdrum of local news, the weather, that sort of thing. It suited me to do so too, to let a little time flow past. I know some thought her cold, but I valued Carol’s strength, her consistency and dependability during those dismal days. She organised everything for me, even piquing the interest of my lawyer in my case, whereas Lucy stayed away, travelling, hiding. And now here she was, breezing in at the last minute, at the worst moment, all emotional, and possibly about to topple me over. I knew if she started asking me questions, I would tell her everything. I wouldn’t, couldn’t, deny her. But I also knew, it wouldn’t end well.
The problem was, no one could tell how Frank had died, so they kept trying to get me to tell them. His body gave no clues, nothing was left to help them. The flesh had all rotted away, fertilising my rhubarb, and his bones had begun to break down, passing their minerals back into the soil in the slow cycle of life. There were no nicks on those bones to show where a knife may have slashed, no crater in his skull to show where a blow may have been struck. They ran their tests but, for all their cleverness, Frank could have died in his sleep as far as anyone could tell. I knew I couldn’t lie, I wasn’t good at it, I waffled and over-explained, I’d soon be caught out. So, I refused to talk about it. If it cost me, well, some stories are damaging whether they are told or not. I’d made my choice.
*******
Thankfully, Lucy wasn’t a trap, but she was about to throw a bombshell into my life.
“I’ll leave you two alone to chat, but you’ll only have a few minutes, I’m afraid.”
Gary hitched his trousers up, but didn’t look in a rush to leave. Lucy sat on the bench next to me and put her head in her hands. I stroked her hair, crooning at her, waiting for Gary to take the hint.
“Okay then, call me when you’ve finished.”
Lucy was shaking, her tears flowing now we were alone, and I shuffled closer to her, my arm wrapped around her, pulling her in to me and swaying us as I had when she was young.
“It’s going to be okay, Lucy, I know it might not seem it at the moment, but it will work out for the best, you’ll see.” I wasn’t so sure myself, but parenting requires the projection of confidence. “It seems bad now, but it’ll soon be over.”
“No, Mum, you don’t understand.” I waited. I felt sure we would be interrupted before she could ask anything dangerous, and I was content to enjoy her presence for the time we had left. She had other ideas.
“Mum. I’m pregnant.”
Oh my. I hadn’t been expecting that.
“Three months. I’m scared but I’m happy, and I want you to be, too.”
I couldn’t answer, I didn’t know what to say.
“Oh, Mum, say you’re not angry with me?” She turned to look at me, her eyes bright beneath the tears, and a smile on her face “It's going to be okay, I know it might not seem it at the moment, but it will work out for the best, you’ll see.”
I could hardly argue with that, could I?
Lucy began telling me how she wasn’t getting married, she was going to live with Mother for a while, but all I could think was, I was going to be a grandmother. I couldn’t speak, there were no words. I couldn’t tell her it would be alright, that I would take care of her, that I would be there by her side, because we both knew I wouldn’t be. So I sat stroking her hair, smelling her apple scent, and I let the tears roll down my face too.
Gary came back too soon. “Time’s up, I’m afraid. Your lawyer will be here soon.”
A last squeeze and Lucy stood. As she stepped through the cell door I caught her arm, turning her back towards me just as she was about to walk away.
“I’ll be the very best grandmother I can be, I promise.”
*******
It was time to stand up in court, and have them pass judgement, to condemn me as they chose. All I could do was behave like the oak tree, be strong and stand tall despite the winds that were blowing about me. My lawyer was there, in her finest. She wore a white suit with wide black stripes running vertically from her enhanced shoulders to her spiked heels. She wore trousers rather than a skirt, and she looked every inch the fancy-pants lawyer she was rumoured to be. I looked drab next to her, in my long brown woollen skirt and a neat but non-descript cardigan. I looked older than my thirty-nine years, I don’t doubt. It was the look she had arranged for me, to help ease me onto the right side of the judge.
Gary stood and spoke, advocating, laying out the facts of the case. He talked for a while, then my lawyer talked for a while. The judge asked them a few questions. Other than confirming my name and my plea, no one wanted to hear from me. That suited me fine, I had plenty to think about. I was completely aghast at Lucy’s news. Shaken, pleased, thrilled, terrified. Everything else that was happening to me paled into insignificance in comparison to the lives my daughters were leading. Lives they would have to manage without me there.
A sharp elbow awoke me from my daydream, and I realised the judge had asked me to rise. The courtroom became so quiet I could hear the thunder of my blood as it rushed through my ears. I thought I would be sick with every thud of my heart. Here it was. Here was his judgement. I was paying attention now.
“Maureen Thompson,” he said, emphasising each syllable, “I will keep this short, as it is hot in here and I’m sure everyone wants to get on their way.”
He went on to repeat what we already knew. I had been charged with murder, I’d pleaded guilty to manslaughter on the basis of my diminished responsibility, and that had been accepted without further challenge. That was the deal I’d agreed with Gary.
“The only question before me now is your sentence. As you have refused to speak of your husband’s untimely death, beyond admitting you were responsible for it, I cannot be sure that it was not tortuous for him. Your daughters may have forgiven you for hiding their father’s death from them, but Frank’s parents went to their own graves believing their son to be out there, somewhere, not returning home for their last days. They died in ignorance, and that cannot be overlooked.”
Oh my, I went as red as a beetroot. I had never felt such shame. Everything the judge said about it was wrong, but it was still humiliating to have to stand there while he said it. I perked up a bit when the judge moved on to mention my help in locating the body, noting that without my assistance, Frank would likely remain hidden in his unmarked grave. I hoped he was winding up, but he had one last barb to send my way.
“I note your daughters do not seem to hold their father’s death against you. Your lawyer speaks as if you should be thanked for what you have done. I do not agree.”
He paused, and I held my breath, waiting for him to continue. The whole courtroom did. Surely this would be it now, he said he was going to keep it short, after all.
“The evidence that weighs heaviest on my mind is that which I have heard this morning from Detective Chief Inspector Bowers, who informed the court that, on the night in question, he stopped your vehicle while you were transporting the body. He held a conversation with you, not realising that Frank was anything other than drunk, and not seeming in any way concerned by your behaviour. However diminished your responsibility may have been, I cannot ignore that you were cool enough, under the unannounced scrutiny of an officer of the law, as to not raise his suspicions.”
This was the first I’d heard of Gary saying that. I couldn’t stop myself, I whipped my head round to look at him, to see him sheepishly staring down at his feet. The coward could not bring himself to meet my eye, not then, not as the penny dropped as to what he had done. Maybe he hadn’t foreseen how much damage his comments would cause, perhaps getting a lengthy sentence to please his bosses mattered more to him than I did. Either way, he had betrayed me.
“Therefore, I set your tariff at a minimum of twenty years imprisonment, less time already served on remand. Take her down.”
It was that brutal. However hot it had been in the cells that morning was nothing to the hell which awaited me on my return down there. I heard my daughters being turned away by the afternoon guards. My lawyer, pacing around in the stifling, airless corridor outside my cell, talking about appeals and next steps. I was soon in the van, heading back to the prison, but not to the remand cells this time. To the main wing, high security. So much happened in such a short time, but only one phrase was going through my head. Twenty years. Twenty years. Twenty years. In twenty years, my first grandchild would be an adult, as old as my girls were then.
I was going to miss it all.
*******
In my head, that was the sweatiest I’d ever been, but it can’t really have been that bad, I’m sure it is hotter today. That heatwave they’re always promising but never delivering is well and truly with us. It’ll be stifling indoors tonight. Oh, come on, my dear, I know that was an intense story, but please don’t feel bad for me. I accepted my fate and I learned to make the best of my situation. Besides, it was many years ago now. I am fine, really, it’s this heat, the sun is prickly on my skin. As soon as I’ve stepped out the shade, the sweat began pouring down my face. That’s what I’m wiping away.
The other thing I wanted to show you today is the hollyhock. This has been growing here, randomly, for weeks. I have no idea where it might have come from, I haven’t seen a hollyhock anywhere near here. Maybe the seed got tracked along on the bottom of my shoe, perhaps a bird pooped it out, who knows, anyway, I recognised the leaves when it started growing and so, even though it was in the middle of my veg patch, I thought I’d let it have its moment. I can always take the seeds and put them in the flower bed for next year if I decide to keep it.
Two things to watch for with plants like this, the colour of the flowers and the insects’ reaction to them. Some of these intruder plants have been over-developed you know, too cross-bred, and they don’t attract anything to them but the human eye. Useless in my opinion, may as well have plastic plants in the garden. And yes, I know some prefer their gardens like that, but I feel it is such a waste of propagation skills. Anyway, this hollyhock is a brilliant pink, and look at the size of the bumblebee that’s nestled in there. You can see the yellow pollen grains stuck to its back. Sometimes, you have to accept the world the way it is, and wait to see what life has in store for you next. So, I’m glad I waited for the hollyhock to show its true colours. Only then can you really make your choice.
See the hawk? Above the trees on the horizon there, lazily circling, riding the thermals up higher and higher, like a kite on the breeze. Not a single flap of its wings. It’s probably hunting, but perhaps it’s flying for the fun of it, who knows. It would be good to sit and admire it for a while, but the ground is hard, it’s so dry and compacted it’s like sitting on stone. So let’s stand here instead, and then later, in my dreams, I’ll be able to picture myself here, waffling away to you, sweating in the sunshine, but standing strong, like the oak, knowing it turned out okay in the end.