THE GIRL IN THE TREE

 

 

I am a dryad.

A what?

 

A dryad, a wood nymph, until recently that is.

Right. So you’re jobless now? 

 

We were in The Old Oak. I am not particularly beautiful - tall and willowy, hazel eyes, chestnut hair - but this lad had offered me a drink as soon as I walked in. There was something about the way he smiled that reminded me of one of those lecherous woodland creatures: a satyr. 

 

Yes, I am jobless and homeless.

Tough. What happened then?

 

I lost my tree.

Chopped down?

 

I could guess what was going through his mind as he gazed at the hearth. To be honest, that log fire made me feel uncomfortable. So much lovely wood here: the stable door, the ceiling beams, the trestle tables, the heavy benches, the little stools. But the log fire triggered unwelcome memories. 

 

No. My tree was burnt down.

Like in Australia - a forest fire?

 

Not in Australia. Just outside this village actually.

Not a forest then?

 

As we were somewhere in the Cotswolds, he was absolutely right. The Old Oak is in a pretty village well away from the main road. You reach it by following a winding lane down a fairly steep hill. On one side there are trees and, for much of the year, wild flowers.

 

No, not a forest. A wood, a copse. There were only a few trees.

And all the trees were destroyed?

 

All except the biggest. That one is scorched but still standing.

But you managed to get out in time. Cool!

 

This was not the most tactful comment he could make. He looked slightly embarrassed while I was remembering it all: the hiss and crackle of the flames, the smell of burning timber, the acrid taste of smoke, the almost unbearable heat. And then the screams and shrieks of those who were trapped. 

 

Cool? Yes, I escaped.

So how did the fire start?

 

Some idiot made a bonfire.

Whatever. It happens.

 

Silence. There was nothing left to say. Our evening came to an abrupt end. He looked disappointed but pleased with himself too. I wondered what he was thinking. She’s a bit odd? Definitely different? Worth pursuing? Something to tell the lads? Then he offered me a lift. I pointed to the wall. 

 

That notice says: Don’t drink and drive!

That’s just for bad drivers. I’m an ace driver, simply the best.

 

No lift, thanks. I’ll walk.

Suit yourself. See you here tomorrow then?

 

The following evening I am here but he is not. The barman looks worried. He says he is very sorry to hear about my pal. Apparently last night a large branch fell on his car roof and killed him. I turn away to hide my smile. I whisper: Thank you, big sister.