"Beneath the Birches" by Jill Hayns
She sat at the kitchen table looking at the empty chairs and half eaten bowls of soggy cornflakes. Her ears were ringing with the cries:
"Where's my homework?'
"Where are my trainers?"
"Where's my lunch box?"
She waited for the "Bye, Mum!" and the bang of the front door, and then came the deafening silence. It was the same every day, every day. Leaning back in her chair, she sipped her cold cup of tea. How could one hour first thing in a morning turn so quickly from happy chaos to such an aching emptiness?
She sighed and began to think of what would fill the hours until the children came home again at four o'clock: clearing the breakfast dishes, sorting the washing, cleaning the kitchen floor, tackling the pile of ironing. Her heart sank -
Helen had been on her own now for nearly six years. When Geoff had died leaving her with two children under five, she'd been devastated. It had been such a shock. No-
This was the time of the day when she felt it most, after breakfast when the children had left for school and the long day stretched before her. She'd usually busy herself with all the chores, switch on the radio and set to. But today she couldn't get going.
She opened the back door and stepped into the garden. It was one of those nondescript days. The sun wasn't shining and it wasn't raining, just one or two ineffectual clouds floated in a nondescript sky. She was greeted by uncut holly hedges and wild, overgrown flower beds and her heart sunk even further.
Walking down the path, she paused under the silver birch, one of her favourite spots in the garden. She used to stand there with Geoff, delighting in the dancing leaves as the sun filtered through the branches. Years ago, after the conservationists had been uprooting the young trees to make room for the bilberry bushes and heather up on the hill, they had brought the birch home when it was just a sapling.
She and Geoff had loved it up on the hill, there where the birches clustered. It was their special place, a place of peace, a place far away from the daily routine of life. They used to go in an evening, after he'd come home from work. They'd wander up to the top of the hill and sit on a sandstone boulder watching the sun gradually turn the turquoise sky into streaks of pink, orange and red.
As Helen stood in the garden reminiscing, a gust of wind rustled the leaves. Gathering momentum, the branches began to sway faster and faster. In the wind's whirl she thought she heard a whispering, "Go up to the birches -
Helen hadn't felt able to go back to the hill since Geoff had died. There were too many precious memories up there. But now she felt a deep yearning to return. She remembered running her hands over the birches' smooth, mahogany trunks where rings of silver bark had peeled away, and jumping over rosettes of thistles in the topmost field where black and white cows munched contentedly on newly grown grass. She remembered picking bilberries with Geoff and the soft touch of stained finger tips, the sweet taste of purple lips and laughing at each other's blackened tongues.
As Helen remembered, her imagination took over. In her mind she saw a young woman walking along the well-
'My darling Colin All my love H .... .'
The woman turned the ring around in her hand but she couldn't read all the letters of the second name. 'How sad,' the woman thought. 'The couple, whoever they were, must have been so upset to have lost this.'
Helen was brought back to reality when, in the distance, the church clock struck ten. 'What am I like!' she thought. 'What romantic nonsense am I conjuring up?' But standing there in her garden under her own birch tree, Helen felt her breathing slowing down. The sun broke through the dismal sky and she felt the air pure and full of promise. Somewhere deep within her she felt the surfacing of a suppressed dream and the stirrings of anticipation.
Going back into the kitchen, Helen busied herself doing all she had to do before the children returned from school. Strangely, the house didn't seem so sad or as empty as usual. In the evening, after the children had gone to bed, she even picked up her book which had been gathering dust for so long, and settled down on the settee to read.
The following day the children went off to school as normal and Helen was sitting at the kitchen table drinking her cup of tea. She looked around at the remnants of breakfast. Somehow she didn't feel the usual weight on her shoulders or the usual sinking feeling in her stomach. She stood up and began to clear away the dirty mugs and cereal bowls.
Standing by the sink washing the dishes, she felt again the same compulsive yearning to go up to the hill. This time she gave in. With her heart pounding, she found her car keys and drove the few miles to the car park where she and Geoff used to leave their car all those years ago.
She unlatched the wooden gate, letting it swing to with a satisfying clunk. The old familiar path was still there, winding up to the top -
As she made her way up the path her thoughts were of Geoff and of the deep love they'd had for each other. She knew she could never replace him but felt he was encouraging her to move on, to move forward and leave the pain and loneliness behind. By the time she reached the top of the hill her heart was glowing.
'I do so love it up here,' she mused and turned to walk along the edge of the scar. As she did so she noticed a figure coming towards her.
"Grand morning!" the man said, as he approached. "And what a spectacular view."
"Yes, it is," Helen replied. "It's a very special place -
Helen stared at the man, looked away and smiled. "I think I knew that."
In silence they gazed across the valley below the scar, over the tree tops and the patchwork of green and yellow fields to the mountains in the distance.
After a while, Colin turned and quietly asked, "Shall we walk a little way together?" Helen smiled again and nodded.
Side by side they set off on a path Helen hadn't walked before. The wind blew gently and the warmth of the mid-
— The End —