Wood for The Trees

It is green everywhere, a rich, verdant landscape. And hot. She doesn’t remember it being quite this hot. She notices she is sweating, under her arms and in the folds of the loose linen trousers she is wearing. She looks around and asks herself where she is and how she would have got there. What is the last place she remembers? 

‘Hannah?’ 

‘Richard?’ 

‘Come on, Hannah,’ he says, appearing suddenly in front of her. ‘Let’s get you a cup of tea. And a biscuit, of course.’ 

She follows him. He helps her over the more difficult terrain: tree roots, small dents in the ground where she could easily twist her ankle, the rich mud which gums up the grass. Should there be grass here? There are huge, thick leaves which block their path, like large fingernails jutting out of the ground. As they walk through the jungle, there is a sudden flash of colour across her vision. It is startling but only distracts her for a moment. She asks herself what it was that just flew in front of them and hunts for the word in her memory. For some reason, the only word that comes to mind is asparagus but she knows this is wrong. 

Richard continues to guide her as if he knows the area well. As ever, he takes charge in a way that feels almost oppressive. 

They arrive at a hut, the sort of dwelling she expects to see there, something built out of the debris of the jungle. Worn brown walls like the side of a coconut shell, a smell of dust and mud. 

Walking through the main doorway, she expects it to be the same indoors, the smell and the heat. But it has transformed into their house, the small suburban house where they had lived for 20 years with the boys. The hallway leading to the kitchen, dining room and downstairs toilet on the left, and the large living area on the right. The stairs for the first floor face them. That strange lilac colour on the walls, which had always been a mistake, but she had been too shy to tell the decorators to stop and get something else. The pictures of the boys are there on the walls, the photos old and fading, thunderbugs stuck between the glass of the frame and the images beneath.

She walks through to the kitchen and looks around, running her hand along beige worktops stained with tea. She prods her foot into the dent in the floor tiles. She remembers when they moved in, the washing machine accidentally falling off the small, useless, trolley, causing this dent they had never got around to filling in. She looks at the large wooden table, too large for the room maybe, scratches and dents from minor disasters, marks in the wood like scars. 

The outside light floods in through the window, and she sees Richard by the kettle, opening the tin where the tea bags had been for years. The tin her mother had given her. Had she got it as a Christmas present? 

‘Richard?’ she says again. 

He turns briefly just as the kettle clicks off and then he begins pouring the water into the pot. She doesn’t recognise the pot but they used to get through them, the endless casualties of their hurried and clumsy washing-up.  

‘Yes, love,’ he says. He is concentrating on the task in hand. She sees the sunlight catching his grey beard so that it shines like tinsel. Then he looks again at her. ‘At least you’re home now,’ he says. ‘I was beginning to wonder where you had got to.’ 

*

‘Okay?’ the manager says. They had been invited to call her Lyndsay. ‘Maybe it’s time we make a start now that you’re both here.’

‘Okay,’ Ed says, nodding. He is nodding a bit too much, as if eager to show how focused he is on the conversation. 

Rob looks at the coffee in front of him. It’s instant, the remains of half dissolved granules stick to the rim. 

‘Right,’ Lyndsay says. ‘We like to ensure that relatives can talk to us about any issues or questions they might have about their loved one’s care. So, where shall we begin?’

Rob takes a deep breath, waits. Ed looks at him briefly, thinking that perhaps the deep breath might mean Rob is going to say something. But they sit in silence for ten seconds or so, waiting. 

Ed turns to Lyndsay. ‘I want you to explain exactly what is happening to our mother.’

*

Richard picks up the mug and frowns. 

‘You haven’t touched it.’

Hannah looks at the mug in his hands. ‘I thought I’d finished it. I remember finishing it.’  

‘I’ll put it in the microwave,’ he says. ‘Heat it up a bit.’ 

There is a thump upstairs. Hannah jumps in her seat. 

‘What’s that?’ she says. 

‘Oh, probably the boys,’ Richard says. 

‘The boys? Are they here?’ 

‘Of course.’ Richard switches the microwave on to heat up the tea for half a minute, but stops it after 20 seconds. ‘Might be too hot,’ he says, placing it back in front of her. ‘But I know you always like it really hot.’ 

‘I…’ She looks up to the ceiling. ‘The boys are really here? In the house? They’ve come to visit?’

‘I know it probably feels sometimes like they’re visiting from another planet,’ 

Richard smiles. ‘But no, they do actually live here, I’m afraid.’

‘Really?’ Hannah says, leaving the steaming tea on the table, heading out of the kitchen door, along the hallway, where the phone is, where the front door leads into their porch. She can see the potted plants out there. The pots are mismatched, all acquired from car boot sales. She turns, suddenly afraid of what she might find upstairs. It had been a loud noise. They might have hurt themselves. Richard seems very relaxed but she finds herself taking the steps two at a time, the stretch in her calf muscles nearly painful. Her heart is in her throat. A queasy feeling. She calls out their names when she gets up there and hears their voices. She realises they are both in Rob’s bedroom at the end of the hallway. 

‘Rob? Eddie?’ 

She hurries but before she opens the door, she hears laughter. Rob’s, she thinks. She finds them both lying on the floor. Well, lying on top of each other, Eddie on top, Rob beneath him. Wrestling. 

‘Stop! Stop! Stop!’ Rob is saying, muffled. ‘I’m winning!’

Eddie looks at her, smiles. One of his front teeth is missing. His first one left under his pillow for the tooth fairy, she remembers after a slight jolt. 

‘Hello Mum,’ he says. ‘We’re only playing.’

Rob manages to sit up finally, pushes Eddie to one side. ‘What’s for tea, Mum?’ he says. ‘Can we have hotdogs?’ 

‘With sauce?’ Eddie adds. 

Hannah stares for a minute. They aren’t still this young, are they? But they are. She sees it with her own eyes. Her beautiful boys. She feels her heart ache. Her lovely boys. Just as she remembers. 

‘I’ll see what we’ve got in the fridge,’ she says. 

‘Brilliant!’ Eddie says. ‘Thanks, Mum.’ 

She leaves them. Goes back down to the kitchen. Richard is sitting at the table, reading his newspaper. 

‘The boys want hotdogs for dinner,’ she says. 

‘I didn’t know they were coming round today.’ 

‘I thought I just saw them upstairs.’ 

Richard puts down his newspaper. ‘Oh, really? Are you sure? Besides, I thought we were finishing off the rest of that stew later. I can’t say I really fancy hotdogs. Bit of an odd thing to have for dinner.’ 

Hannah stops. Her boys. As quickly as they appeared, they have gone. She loses them again. She shuts the fridge door and sits down. ‘I’m really confused about what’s happening today, Richard. I just can’t seem to get a grip on anything.’ 

‘Not to worry, old girl. I’m here. I’ll look after you.’ 

She blinks. ‘You are definitely here, aren’t you? You won’t leave me.’ 

‘No, love,’ he says. ‘You’re stuck with me.’ 

*

‘I just think it’s sick, that’s all,’ Ed says. ‘I had no idea that this was what was happening to Mum. I would never have agreed to it if it had been explained to me properly.’ 

‘I did explain it to you,’ Rob says. His hands are in fists, resting on his knees. 

‘What exactly do you think is “sick” about it?’ Lyndsay asks, turning towards Ed, her head cocking to one side. 

‘I don’t think it’s ethical to have her plugged into that thing all day,’ he says. ‘It just seems wrong. It’s not a life, is it? It’s like everyone has given up on her having any kind of real or normal life, and we plug her into that to save ourselves the hassle of caring for her properly.’ 

‘I hear what you’re saying,’ Lyndsay says. ‘But you also said that you haven’t really had it explained to you properly.’ 

‘No,’ he says. 

Lyndsay looks briefly at Rob. ‘I knew that Hannah had two sons but obviously we only heard from Rob initially. He was listed as having the responsibility of care.’ 

‘Well, a year or so ago,’ Ed says. ‘I was going through a bit of a rough patch. It isn’t relevant. But I think that if it had been explained to me properly–’

Rob shook his head. ‘You were never sober. How was I supposed to explain anything to you? I phoned constantly, asking for help with this but you couldn’t even be bothered to pick up the phone half the time–’

‘I knew it! I knew as soon as we got in here, you would just rake it up again and poor old Rob, having to deal with everything, coping with a sick mother and a loser brother, poor, poor Rob–’

Lyndsay raises her hand. ‘You are right.’ 

Ed briefly raises his eyebrows and looks quickly at Rob.

Lyndsay smiles slightly. ‘What I mean is, talking about that isn’t going to help. And I appreciate you might have felt out of the loop.’ She takes a deep breath. ‘The use of a virtual reality to manage your mother’s condition must feel like a last resort. But I assure you that it actually just means we can tailor your mother’s care to ensure she does not suffer any unnecessary distress or upset.’ 

Ed snorts.

‘I assume you understand the basic principles of how it works. So, what is it that you are unsure about? What are your questions?’ 

*

Hannah notices it is later in the day now. But it seems suddenly later, like she is in a film that has been edited badly. She is in the porch, surrounded by all the plants that she has put into pots, watered, cared for. She breathes in, the fragrance rich and perfumed. She never remembers it having smelt this good before. What had she planted that would produce a scent like this? She considers it for a while before Richard appears next to her with a glass of wine. 

‘Oh,’ she says. ‘Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome,’ he says and sits down in the wicker chair opposite her, his own glass of wine in his hand and the newspaper and a pen under the crook of his arm. She looks down at her glass. Pinot Grigot, she guesses. Something on offer, over a fiver but under a tenner. It is ice-cold, the condensation dripping down the glass. She takes a sip. It tastes cold, that is all. There doesn’t seem to be much flavour at all. 

‘Are you all right?’ Richard asks.

She looks up at him. His reading glasses are perched on the end of his nose. He seems older suddenly. His hair is completely white. It makes her wonder how she must look.

‘Fine, thank you,’ she says. ‘Thanks again for the wine. I was just thinking.’

‘What about?’ 

‘Just, it’s funny how quickly time goes. It’s like you have no grip on it whatsoever.’

He nods with a smile. That smile which is definitely Richard. Her heart skips. 

‘Come on, then. Twelve down. A missed judgement.’ 

‘Any letters?’

‘No. Five letter word.’

She thinks for a moment. ‘Lapse?’

He considers this, pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. ‘Excellent. I always get these things done a lot quicker with you around.’

She sips her wine and watches him fill in the boxes. 

*

‘It’s all in her mind?’ Ed says. 

Lyndsay pauses for a second. ‘Well, yes. In a sense, though she does have some input. We have used information which Rob provided to help tailor the program towards your mother’s needs.’ 

‘What information?’ Ed asks. 

‘Information about your father, about you two. More factual information than anything else. All we do is run a program which enables her to create a safe space for herself. Somewhere she doesn’t feel threatened. This doesn’t mean that she will feel completely normal, and she may even still be having memory problems while she’s there. But she will at least not have the fear and panic that would otherwise exist for her on a day-to-day basis.’ 

‘Does she know it isn’t real?’ 

‘I don’t know,’ Lyndsay says. ‘It will be vivid. A bit like a waking dream.’

‘She might not know Dad died, I guess,’ Ed says. ‘He hid it from us that she was struggling. We only found out how bad she was when he died.’

Rob clears his throat. ‘I had to keep reminding her he’d gone. She was always asking where he was.’

‘Imagine being told that over and over again?’ Lyndsay says. ‘It’s quite hard to appreciate how that must feel.’ 

Ed stops and looks down at the floor. ‘Even so,’ he says. There is a silence in the room then. A faint whirring of a hoover in the background. A distant shout, someone saying goodbye to someone else further down the corridor outside. 

‘I know, it’s difficult,’ Lyndsay says. ‘But with the implant to ensure she stays in that reality, and the physical care her body receives, she gets to live out the rest of the days surrounded by her memories. The program helps your mother. She will remember you both within her reality.’ Lyndsay turns to Rob. ‘You remember how it was in the early days when you used to come and see her? She would often get agitated?’

‘She didn’t know where she was,’ Rob says. ‘I explained it to her. But she just got really upset. And lashed out.’ 

Lyndsay nods. ‘It’s very common. This is why we have recently adopted a 24-hour care plan where the resident remains in their VR for the majority of the time.’ 

‘I suppose it’s less hassle for you, isn’t it?’ Ed sneers. ‘I imagine that’s really why.’ 

‘It makes the residents a lot easier to care for. But they are a lot happier too.’

‘You honestly believe that?’ Ed asks. 

‘Yes,’ she says. ‘I do. I’ve worked in geriatric care for a long time. And I do feel finally that this is the best compromise for all concerned.’ 

‘Compromise?’ Ed asks. 

‘It’s never going to be perfect. People with your mother’s condition require a lot of care. They need people to be with them all day, every day. They need spaces where they can roam and not come to any harm. This is really the best care that we can provide for your mother.’ 

‘Then why doesn’t it feel right somehow?’ Ed asks. ‘Why does it feel like we’ve given up on her?’

*

There is something in her hands. Something in a large Pyrex dish. It is hot, very hot. She nearly drops it on the floor but instead the kitchen work top catches it. The dish itself doesn’t smash. It isn’t a big enough drop for that. She looks down at it, trying to work out what it is. 

Richard walks in, wearing his gardening gloves. Some bits of foliage in his silver-grey hair. ‘Marvellous. I love apple crumble. When are the boys coming round?’ 

She looks at him. ‘What?’ 

‘I suppose they’ll be here when they get here, won’t they? Rob is always on time but Ed?’ He smiles. ‘You might as well just guess. The artistic temperament, I suppose.’ 

She looks again at the dish. It is apple crumble. The filling has bubbled up, apple juice, now syrup, sticks to the sides of the dish. The patches of sugar on top, the golden granulated she must have shaken on top before cooking. 

‘I don’t feel like myself today,’ she says, quietly. And she looks round to find Richard standing there, helping himself to some lemonade from the fridge. 

‘Oh yeah,’ he says. ‘Who do you feel like?’ He takes a long sip and puts the glass on the table before walking over to her. ‘You look like my Hannah, anyway.’ He smiles and he kisses her, full on the lips, still sticky from the lemonade. A small bubble of desire rises. Tiny, but it surprises her. He touches her face, her cheek. Still smiling. ‘Maybe you’ve just got the start of a virus or something. Make sure you take it easy. I’ll go and get changed and then I’ll put the chicken on. I can do the dinner. The only thing I’ll need your help with is the stuffing.’ He goes over to the other side of the table. ‘I can’t wait for them both to be here. For a proper family lunch all together. I can’t remember the last time.’ 

‘I can’t either,’ she says. ‘It feels like it’s been ages.’

But he’s already left the room.

*

‘I didn’t want to bring it up,’ Lyndsay says. ‘But we do have a considerable waiting list.’ 

Rob looks up. ‘How do you mean?’ 

‘I mean that if you do wish for your mother to be cared for elsewhere, then we would understand. I called this meeting to address any concerns you may have but if you believe that–’

‘What? We plug her in then we unplug her?’ Ed says. 

‘I don’t want you to feel like you don’t have any other choices,’ she says, quietly.

‘You have other treatment options available to you.’

‘What sort of options?’ Ed leans forward. 

‘Well, maybe more one-to-one care, a different setting perhaps.’

‘You couldn’t provide that here?’ Ed asks.

Lyndsay shakes her head. ‘Sadly not. Though I can provide you with the details of other facilities that can.’

‘Are those places the ones you mentioned before?’ Rob asks.

Lyndsay nods. 

‘They were too expensive,’ Rob says to Ed.

‘How expensive?’ Ed asks but Rob shakes his head. ‘Even if–’ Ed starts.

‘No chance,’ Rob replies. 

Ed looks away. There is a pause for a moment. 

‘I would like to see her,’ Ed says. ‘Even if…’ He stops for a moment.

‘Of course,’ Lyndsay says ‘Let me make the arrangements for you.’

*

They all sit around her. Eating with a great appetite. Every so often, Richard stops to ask them something. The boys, or men now, chew slowly before providing an answer. But these men now don’t seem quite right to her. These men don’t seem to be her lovely boys. Rob appears to be losing his hair. Is that right? But she remembers. He’s sensitive about it. She mentioned it once before and he seemed annoyed. 

‘Are you okay, Mum?’ Ed asks, his fork stops in mid-flight. 

She smiles quickly, reaches forward and grabs his hand, squeezing it. 

‘It’s just so nice to see you, love,’ she says. ‘It feels like such a long time. I can’t even remember when we last saw you.’ 

Ed refills his wine glass. The ice-cold Pinot Grigio again. The cheap one. She can’t help feeling slightly repulsed by this orgy of food and drink in front of her. She can’t taste anything. She continues to eat just because it feels like the right thing to do. 

‘It wasn’t that long ago,’ he says. 

‘No,’ she says. And the sunlight floods into the room, and she feels her heart begin to swell again. 

Richard watches her. ‘Did you want to lie down for a bit, love?’ 

She shakes her head. ‘No, no. Besides, I’ve got to serve up the apple crumble, haven’t I?’ 

There are general noises of appreciation from them all and she takes a sip from the cold wine. Now it does taste of something. Almost sweet. 

*

They say goodbye to Lyndsay, who repeats again that she is more than happy to talk to them at any time. After that, Ed goes in to see their mother. Rob waits in the car park, standing by his car for 20 minutes. Then he sees Ed coming out of the building.

‘How was it?’ Rob asks after Ed has walked over to him.

‘Odd,’ he says. ‘She wasn’t really zombie-like, as I had expected. Obviously, she didn’t know I was there, but she was moving her hands in the…’ He moves his hands slowly, pointing at the palms. ‘In the paddle things. Someone walked past every five minutes to have a look at her. And she was making weird noises. Like she was eating. And she seemed to look around her quite a lot.’ He frowns. ‘And then she laughed.’

‘Laughed?’ Rob says. ‘I never remember her laughing when I’ve seen her.’ 

‘It was weird,’ Ed says. ‘She didn’t speak but there was all the movement. Like she was sleepwalking or something. Like I say, I was expecting something a bit more passive, like she’d be lying on her side drooling or something.’ 

‘The carers try to make sure that the residents get some movement. It’s all part of the program.’ 

Ed looks down. ‘But it’s not ideal, is it?’ 

‘No,’ Rob says. ‘It really isn’t.’ 

*

Richard leads Hannah through the front door, holding her hand. Outside, it is raining lightly. The boys are in the car, lulled into sleep by the long journey. Hannah had expected that Ed would fall asleep but Rob had also struggled to remain awake.

‘Come on,’ Richard says. ‘It’s probably best we see the house before they wake up. See it together.’ 

She looks around the hallway. There is grey wallpaper with large dusty roses, a mismatching blue carpet underneath. Some stains she can see, mostly black and brown patches. And dust. 

‘It’s huge!’ she says. 

Richard nods. ‘I really think this is the one, you know, love.’

‘It’s so expensive.’

‘But it’s just right. Imagine how perfect it will be. And we need it, we need this, after the year we’ve had.’ 

She runs her hand up the banister as he goes upstairs, shouting to her from above, something about the rooms upstairs and how the boys won’t have to share anymore, and they’ll have a lot of redecorating to do, which seems to excite him. But it is odd. All she can feel is the heavy weight of loss. She feels like she is already missing this house, even though she’s only just arrived. 

She shakes her head. No more morbid thoughts. She has to try and focus on what is in front of her. 

Joanna Garbutt recently completed an MA in Creative Writing. Her novel-in-progress was longlisted in the 2022 Bridport Peggy Chapman-Andrews First Novel Award and an extract published in the anthology. Other recent publications include short stories broadcast on BBC Radio Cambridgeshire and published in Literary Mama and she has been longlisted in Globe Soup’s 7 Day Writing Challenge and the Fiction Factory Short Story Competition. She has a PhD in Applied Linguistics where her area of research concerns the language used during police interviews with suspects. She has published book chapters and journal articles based on her studies.