Down in the dell where the beech trees jostle to see in the stream which is prettier, Ken follows Laura through the ragged bluebells, in and out of pockets of midges, clearing twig and leaf from his nearsight.
Suddenly he hears her cry out, and in the dappled sunshine he sees her flying through the sky like a forest fairy. She has taken to the air on a rope swing and is dipping in and out of shadow and light, with her feet touching the top of a gorse bush and her hair trailing behind her in the leaves and brush of the bank. The great beech tree seems to bend at the knees to take the strain.
He stands open-mouthed, watching her.
‘Come on! Try it!’ she calls out and in a second she’s on the woodland floor on all fours, then she stands to brush herself off.
He nearly trips down the bank, totters across the shallow stream, then goes to great effort to heave himself up the bank, using the tree roots as banisters; it’s a miracle that he makes it at all. The smell of wild garlic wrinkles his nose. He’s out of puff when he gets to the beech tree.
Merciless, she shows him the short plank that is the swing seat. She taps it.
One thing he has become afraid of as he’s gotten older is being unsteady on his feet, not to mention being uncertain at all, and this is precarious.
‘No, ta.’
But she cajoles him and exhorts him. ‘It’ll change your life, Ken. I promise.’
‘Don’t be daft.’
She shows the seat to him and shakes it. He manages to slide the plank between his trouser legs. He stands a minute, while she arranges his mac via its back slit, to divide it to either side of the plank. She pronounces him ready.
‘No,’ he says, stock-still. He is not ready.
‘There’s nothing to be scared of !’ she says with incredulity.
‘Of course you can do it! Anyone can do it! Go on!’
He lifts his heels, tests the notion, then drops them. ‘No.’
‘Shall I give you a push?’
‘No,’ he says. ‘Don’t you do that. You stand back.’
‘Oh, come on!’
And suddenly he’s aloft and falling and rising. He doesn’t know what possessed him. As soon as his feet lift, he feels joy. Fear to joy, fear to joy; he can hear a whirling sound in his ears as he travels over the earth. He’s hanging on to the rope with both hands. His vision swoons from leaves and sky to earth and nettles and back, and in his nose is the smell of soil and the fragrance of the bluebells, and the world is rushing fast at him and away from him and for music there is the laughter of the girl. He closes his eyes and bobs, hanging limp in the hands of gravity.
‘You did it!’ she says when his heels strike earth and he comes to a standstill. ‘I told you it was easy! Now you won’t be scared to do it again, will you?’
He slides the plank from between his legs and, staggering backwards, remembers the painful feeling of being articulated to stand on the earth. He wishes to lie down; it is only lying down that he’s at ease.
‘I shan’t never do it again,’ he says severely.
They walk back up the hill, where the forget-me-nots and the hogweed are out in the hedgerow, and she stops to pick a posy and to lament the passing of the primroses, with their demure mob caps, in favour of the flashy satin buttercups.
‘I love the primroses,’ she says. ‘I love the smell of them. I wish they didn’t have to go away.’
‘Them primroses’ll be back, Laura,’ he pants. ‘Their roots, see, they’re just ’iding, see, beneath the ground. You can’t see ’em, but they’ll be back,’ he says, barely finding the breath to say the words.
They are at the iron gate and, drawn to it, he staggers over and leans on it to recover, standing where his son has stood many a time.
‘Nice view from ’ere.’
‘Ken?’
‘Yes.’
‘Does God exist?’
‘Course ’e does.’
‘You know you ask people whether there’s a God or not and they never give you a straight answer, do they?’
‘That’s right. You’re right there, mate.’
‘So, how do you know He does?’
‘How do I know? Because ’e’s inside of me, innie? I can hear ’im, and I can feel ’im. And ’e gives me a bloomin’ great shove, now an’ again. Like ’e did down there on that swing.’
Laura is pleased someone has finally cleared up the matter for her.