The
Willow Tree
Taking
off my sunglasses I looked at my watch; it was only eleven
o'clock. It was spitting with rain and the cold droplets chilled my
cheeks in the burgeoning wind.
Because
it was so early the park was empty apart from a group of Canada Geese
under the sprawling Willow tree. They waddled between the branches
that fell towards the water like a bride's wedding train. Their
occasional honking sounded jolly in the dismal drizzle, as though
they'd found a joke.
I'd
thought it was an odd place to meet. I'd expected him to say a pub
or wine bar somewhere in town. When he said the park, I immediately
felt ill at ease.
I
remember playing here as a child, when the summers went on for ever.
We left the house at daybreak and didn't return until twilight. Just
beyond the Willow tree, the ground gave way to a steep incline the
local boys called 'The Devil's Dyke'. They'd played dare with
their BMX bikes, racing down the slope and jumping exposed roots on
the way.
There
was a day, much like today, with the clouds jostling each other
overhead and the wind coaxing the Willow tree to dip its tendrils
into the water. The tree had been much smaller then. In my head
screams of laugher wrestled with the screams of pain. It was then I
realised that I'd not thought of James for a while.
I
moved to stand under the shelter of the tree, sending the Geese
waddling into the water. It had always given the perfect shelter. In
the summer, its wide and drooping canopy kept the sun from burning
our shoulders too much; and on days like this, kept the wet wind from
making our hair stick to our cheeks.
James
and I had first discovered its cosseting secret hideaways when we were
desperate for our first kiss. We stood among the Willow's branches
while the shouts and taunts bounced around us. His lips had slid into
a cheeky grin that touched his eyes.
I'd
fallen in love with James' enthusiasm for life; his dream of
becoming a professional biker, and his certainty that we'd be
together forever.
He's
called Jim now. James has gone. It felt like a lifetime of multiple
personalities; strangers walking through my living room, sitting at
my dinner table and forcing me into my bedroom.
It
was the geese that alerted me to the figure on the other side of the
lake. They swooped towards me from across the water; breaking the
loud silence that had surrounded me. He almost blended in with the
trees; his hat pulled low and his jacket collar up high, making his
face invisible. He would have been nondescript, had it not been for
his sure-footedness over the uneven ground. Lithe with loping steps
he made his way towards me.
Jim
was athletic too. Being a security guard meant he had to keep fit,
but narcissism meant he sculpted his body pumping iron and injecting
steroids into his muscles. He left them to ripple under tight white
t-shirts, showing off the tattoos he'd accrued inside.
The
man stopped about a foot away from me. As he look around him, I
realised he couldn't see me. He checked his watch, legs parted and
eyes following the meanderings of the geese.
This
was definitely a place for reminiscences. Although the rain was
strengthening its drumming through the leaves above me, I felt
cocooned in a glove of stillness. I wanted him to stay outside for a
few moments longer.
I'd
found a ghost; and knew that once I moved towards the stranger, the
clouds would break and his shadow would be gone forever. Ten
years ago, James was driving home after a night out with friends. He
lost control of the car driving straight into a shop front He killed
his best friend. He'd been drinking, and in his stupor, managed to
get out of the car and into the street with a broken leg. His name
had been all over the local papers. Six years; we'd only been
married for three.
On
his return, I disappeared inside his embrace, my arms being too
uncomfortable to hug him back. He smelled of sweat and baby oil. His
nascent promises of duty and loyalty soon drowned though, in Fosters
and 1664.
I
wiped the blur away from my eyes, making the stranger start at the
movement. He walked towards me, both hands clenching into fists.
"How
long have you been there?"
He
swept back the curtain of leaves and all I could see was his scathing
green eyes. It was a balaclava, not a hat. He loomed into my haven,
banishing the silence to the other hiding places around me.
I
laughed. The familiarity of the emotion that suddenly ran cold
through my veins made me laugh.
"You'd
better not be fucking me around." His flat tone slapped me with a
different kind of silence.
"Are
we going to do this?" He stared at my bruised face.
I
gazed into the willow's canopy. Closing my eyes I could hear the rain
thrumming around us. The wind lifted the branches of the Willow and
rustled its presence around me.
I
pulled the envelope from under my coat; I hadn't thought to put it
in a bag. Globules of water dripped onto it as I held it in front of
me.
He
snatched it from me, ripping it open roughly and counting the money.
It was all there, of course.
I
hadn't wanted the man who came home from prison on my husband's
release day. But, even as he smashed his fist into my stomach, he
still vowed to never let me go.. His face screwed up around his
declarations, sometimes he cried.
I
knew I couldn't kill him.
Spike,
Jim's ex inmate, would do it for me.
©Sharon Harriot 2007
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