THE LIGHTNING TREE

THE LIGHTNING TREE

by

COLIN MILBURN

'Our Glenys is coming by this afternoon, Dad.'
Sophie placed the earthenware teapot on the table and looked at her
father's bowed head. His whispy, grey hair needed cutting. She eyed
with disapproval the pair of black leather boots, standing to attention
on a sheet of newspaper, on the edge of the table.
'Oh, aye? Is that a fact?' Mr Cannon's head did not rise.
'Yes, and she'll have young Robert with her. So try to behave.'
'I 'ave to behave now, do I? In me own home. Be'ave!'
Mr Cannon picked up the left boot and applied to it a generous layer of
polish, spat on it and began brushing with short, stabbing
strokes.
'Well, it would be nice for her to visit and there not be a row. I've
made you some tea.'
Sophie poured tea into Mr Cannon's chipped pint mug.
'An' who starts it, eh? Who starts pickin' a fight? 'Er, that's who.
Not me.'
'You're both as bad as one another, Dad. You both start it. Don't deny
it.'
The full contents of the pot went into filling the mug. Sophie added
three heaped spoons of sugar before adding a dash of milk.
'What's she bringin' the kid for? Can't he look after him?'
'Geoff's gone to work abroad, Dad. I told you before. Germany. Good
money. A good step up. He had to get out of the Works before they
closed down.'
'Thinks he's so dam' clever, that one. Hadn't got the gumption to stay
on for his redundancy money. Ha!'
With one last spit and stab with the brush Mr Cannon put the boot onto
the newspaper and took a long gulp of tea before commencing the other
boot.
'I've told you before&;#8230;' Sophie stopped herself. 'Oh, never
mind. What do you want for your lunch?'

In the afternoon Mr Cannon was dozing in the garden. He was seated in
his old deck chair beside the cabbages, a half-consumed pint of tea on
the ground nearby. The sun was like a warm flannel on his face and he
was about to slip over into a deeper sleep that might just see him
through until tea-time&;#8230;. He sensed the weight on his lap and
the warm, wet tongue on his face. Coming-to suddenly, he jerked upright
in his seat and, as a reflex action, pushed away the weight on his
lap.
Opening his eyes, he saw the black shape of the dog running between the
pea sticks, bringing some of them down.
'Get the 'ell out of 'ere, you dam' hound! I'll string you up!'
Picking up a small stone from the ground, he was about to let fly at
the dog when a small boy's voice cried out.
'Bess! Bess! Here, girl! Good girl. Don't chuck anything at her,
Granddad. She's just excited to be here that's all.'
The dog went running up to the fair-haired eight-year-old and rolled
onto her back for him to stroke her.
'She hasn't broken anything has she, Granddad?' The boy's blue eyes
looked up hopefully at Mr Cannon.
'Nowt that won't mend,' growled Mr Cannon, inspecting the rows of
green-festooned canes. 'Whose hound is that, anyway?'
'This is Bess,' said the boy proudly, stroking the panting, slavering,
collie cross breed. 'We got her a while ago. She's coming to stay with
you.' At this the boy became downcast as he looked lovingly at the dog.
He then brightened as he added, 'But Auntie Sophie says I can come and
visit her whenever I want.'
'You what? There'll be no dam' hounds living in this house and that's a
fact. Nobody's asked me!'
So saying, Mr Cannon stumped back up the garden path to the house. He
entered the kitchen to be met by his two daughters. Glenys, dressed in
cashmere sweater and matching skirt, her hair lacquered to perfection
and jewellery catching the light. Sophie, dressed in jeans and
sweatshirt, hair loosely tied with a scrap of ribbon and no jewellery
save a single stud earring.
'Hello, Dad. I see you've met our Bess. Robert thinks the world of her.
They're great pals.'
Glenys's eyes were red-rimmed and tired-looking but Mr Cannon took no
notice.
'What's this he's tellin' me about that hound comin' here? I'll 'ave
none of it, d'y'ear?'
Mr Cannon's voice rose with his anger and Sophie laid a hand on his
shoulder to calm him.
'Now then, Dad. Steady on. It'll only be for a while. Glenys can't
exercise the dog with the two kids to look after now that Geoff's away.
Bess needs a lot of exercise. We thought that it would be best for her
to stay with us for a while. It'd get you out and about. You know how
the doctor said you should walk a bit more to help your leg?'
Sophie used her best calming smile on her father. It didn't work.
''Ave you all finished tellin' me what's good for me? I'll not be
walkin' no dog. She should've thought o' that before it were
bought.'
'When we got Bess we didn't know Geoff was going to have to work away.
It might not be for that long. A few months at the most. Please,
Dad.'
The pleading and cajoling went on for some time until an unmoved Mr
Cannon retreated to the furthest regions of the garden.
'He'll come round. Just you see. Bring her stuff in and put it in the
front room. After a few days they'll be inseparable.' Sophie smiled
confidently at her sister. 'Is everything else all right,
Glenys?'

Mr Cannon did not "come round" as Sophie had predicted. He would walk
he dog only after endless badgering from Sophie and then it would only
be a cursory circuit of the nearest field. There was a quickly-formed,
but deep-seated, antipathy between the two, the blame for which Sophie
could only lay at the door of her father.
The situation came to head when Mr Cannon, always first to rise in the
mornings, came downstairs to find that Bess had reigned havoc in the
living room. She had attacked his favourite slippers, chewed beyond
recognition let alone repair, and then moved on to his best black
boots. She was preparing to unravel a corner of the carpet when he
entered the room.
Sophie had to draw on all her hard-won skills in persuasion and
diplomacy to calm him down to a state of simmering rage. Her gentle
observation that, with the exception of the carpet, Bess's frustration
had been taken out on his property did nothing to soothe Mr Cannon's
ire. Having banished the dog to the garden, on a short leash to protect
the pea sticks, Sophie began to prepare breakfast.

Two weeks of sullen non-contact between Mr Cannon and Bess passed. It
was left to Sophie exercise the dog and to minimise friction. That this
situation could not go on much longer was clear but how it was to be
resolved was a question to which Sophie did not have the answer.
A change, rather than a solution to the situation came with a phone
call from Glenys.
'Yes, of course, Glenys. Can't you give me some idea what it's all
about?'
'It's not something I want to talk about over the phone. We'll come
over tomorrow.'
Glenys arrived at lunchtime with Robert, some packed suitcases and a
troubled expression.
'Stay here? For how long? Why can't he go with you? Got tired of him
all of a sudden?'
Mr Cannon's face darkened like an eclipsed moon.
'I need to go over to Germany to sort things out with Geoff. The living
arrangements are a bit uncertain. Claire will be all right, she'll
sleep in the carry cot. I just need some time over there to sort things
out.'
'Queer carry on and no mistake.'
Mr Cannon turned in his chair and stared out of the window, muttering
to himself. Sophie adopted her usual role as mediator.
'Robert can stay as long as he needs to. It's best for a family to stay
together.'
Glenys looked askance at her sister but said nothing.

The lower field was clear of sheep and Bess was off the leash. Robert
was throwing a ball for her to fetch, a task she had taken to with
devotion and enthusiasm. Mr Cannon followed a few yards behind, keeping
up a steady stroll that ensured he caught up with the boy and dog every
few minutes but did not trouble his leg over much.
An eventual bond had grown between the old man, the boy and the dog.
The weather had had kept fine so Mr Cannon's arthritic leg was quiet,
allowing them to walk out every day. With plenty of exercise Bess was a
different animal. And then she was paid the highest compliment by Mr
Cannon.
'That's a dam' fine house dog,' he said of Bess when she had frightened
off a persistent double-glazing salesman.
'Fetch! Fetch it, Bess! Good girl. Here, girl!'
The boy threw the ball as high and as far as he could and the dog,
sensing it's position with a cricketer's skill, caught it with ease
after the first bounce. She returned to the boy, dropped the ball and
waited, crouched and coiled, for the game to continue.
'You throw, Granddad. Bess wants you to throw.'
Robert held out the soggy rubber object to Mr Cannon who took it from
him. The dog sat up, intrigued by this alteration in the pattern of the
game.
Mr Cannon stretched back his arm throw the ball and Bess set off on an
expectant headlong run. Instead of, as Robert had invariably done,
skying the ball he threw it hard and low so that it bounced erratically
on the uneven ground. The dog soon got the measure of the bounce and
took the ball as it came off a small hummock. The ground here fell away
in a slope and the dog was thrown off balance, disappearing from
view.
The boy stood rigid, looking at the hummock where the dog had been. He
tried to call out her name but the sound was caught by a stab of fear
in his throat. As he turned to Mr Cannon, his face a mask of reproach,
there was a galloping sound and Bess, none the worse for her mishap,
came running up to them. The ball, however, was not in her mouth.
'Bess! Bess! You're all right!'
Robert threw his arms around the dog and Bess, mistaking the action for
the beginning of a new game, wriggled in the boy's embrace.
''Course she's all right, said Mr Cannon, suppressing the relief in his
voice. 'She's lost the ball, though.'
'Find the ball, girl! Find it!'
At this order the dog ran off over the sloping ground. The man and boy
followed.
'She's gone, Granddad. I can't see her!' Fear ruckled the boy's voice
as he looked over the sloping ground. Mr Cannon came up beside him and
looked down into the small hollow. At the bottom was a large, tangled,
gorse bush tight with yellow buds.
'I'll bet she's in there, daft mutt,' he said, pointing to the bush.
'Gone after the ball and can't get out.'
As if in answer there began a low keening from within the bush and the
dog's hind quarters emerged from beneath it and stuck fast. The two
walked to the bush and Mr Cannon knelt down beside the dog. He pulled
the sleeve of his jacket over his hand and reached into the bush along
the line of the dog's back.
Holding the tangled gorse branches away from the dog he reached in with
his other arm and pulled her out, ball clenched triumphantly in her
mouth, by the collar.
Recriminations were forgotten by Robert as he once again embraced the
dog who, none the worse for her adventure in the bush, dropped the ball
to lick the boy's face.
'She's all right, Granddad, she's all right,' he cried. 'You saved
her!'
'Were nowt. Take more than a few thorns to stop that 'un,' replied Mr
Cannon, grudging affection in his voice. 'Come on, time to get
back.'
As they walked together across the field Bess, seeming to have enough
excitement for one day, trotted beside them and Robert put his hand in
Mr Cannon's.
A short distance from the bush they happened upon a dead tree lying on
its side, the bark peeling and grey. Grass and weeds had begun to
encroach onto the body of the tree and Robert climbed onto it.
'What happened to this, Granddad? Why's it like this?'
'Struck by lightening in a big storm a few year back.' There was a note
of sadness in the old man's voice.
'Won't it ever grow again?'
'No, lad. Look at it, it's hollow. All its innards 'ave rotted
away.'
The boy jumped down and investigated the semi-circular opening in the
trunk of the tree. He could just get his head and shoulders into
it.
'This'll be our secret hiding place,' the boy said, his voice muffled
by the interior of the tree. 'We can come here when we don't want
anyone to find us.'
'Never 'eard of owt so daft,' said Mr Cannon, not sure if the boy was
talking to him or the dog. He looked up at the clear blue sky. 'Come
on, it's looking like rain.'

A spell of wet weather had kept Mr Cannon housebound with his leg, so
Robert had to take Bess out on his own. The pain in his joints made Mr
Cannon crabbier than normal. He would insist on rising early as always
but would remain in his chair for most of the day and only communicate
with Sophie in short barks and grunts.
Sophie took his sullenness as a natural and understandable occurrence
but to Robert his grandfather had reverted to the hostile stranger he
had tried so hard to win over.
'Why does Granddad shout at me and Bess so much, Auntie Sophie? Aren't
we being good?'
'Yes, love, your both as good as gold. Your granddad isn't feeling
well. That's all.'
'Why doesn't he take something for it? Mum takes her tablets every day.
Nobody has to tell her.'
'Well, I suppose your Mum knows what's good for her,' replied Sophie.
'Give your granddad a few days and he'll be better. You'll see.'

Warmer weather did indeed bring a marked improvement in Mr Cannon's leg
and, having consumed all of his breakfast for the first time in a week,
he was contemplating a walk out with Robert and Bess. Picking up the
cleared plate Sophie commented on his improved health
'Aye, I feel champion. Where's the lad?'
'He took Bess out earlier on. I'd have thought they'd be back by now.
They don't stop out so long when you're not with them.
'I'll see to my boots, then,' said Mr Cannon, reaching for yesterday's
newspaper.

Mr Cannon was applying the last few passes of the shoe brush when the
back door burst open.
'Whatever's the matter, Robert. What are you crying for?' asked
Sophie.
Robert came into the living room, his face a tear-stained picture of
misery. Mr Cannon put down his boot and brush.
'What's up, lad? Come on, out with it.'
'He&;#8230; he said he was g..going to shoot Bess! We weren't doing
anything, Granddad. Honest. We were just playing on the lightening
tree.' The boy looked pleadingly at the old man.
'I know you weren't doin' owt you shouldn't. Who was it who said
this?'
'A man. He had cap like yours and a red face and a big gun. Said we
were trespassing.'
'Trespassing? In the lower field? That's ridiculous!' exclaimed
Sophie.
'You were in the lower field and not on the other side of the fence?'
asked Mr Cannon.
The boy nodded.
'Did this man say who he was?'
'No. He just pointed his gun at Bess and said if she went near his
sheep again he'd shoot her.'
'Did Bess worry any of the sheep? Answer me truthful, lad.' His look
denied the boy any deceit.
Robert met his steady gaze equally and replied: 'No, she didn't.'
Satisfied, Mr Cannon put on his boots, cap and coat.
'Come on, lad. We'll get this sorted out.'
'Watch what you say, Dad,' said Sophie to the heedless Mr Cannon.

The three of them walked purposefully over the fields to where Robert
said he had met the man with the gun. Mr Cannon was silent all the time
and Bess, sensing that this was not a pleasure trip, trotted soberly
beside him. As they crested a rise in the field Robert stopped and
pointed.
'There he is, Granddad. That's the man.'
Mr Cannon looked in the direction the boy was pointing and took in the
figure in the distance. What he saw was a heavy-set man carrying a shot
gun.
The man with the gun must have seen them as he began walking in their
direction. Mr Cannon strode out to meet him. They met within a few feet
of the dead, lightning-struck tree.
'I thought it might be you,' said Mr Cannon, placing his hands on his
hips. 'You don't change much, Tom Sales.'
'Neither do you, Jack Cannon. That dog o' yours is a menace. If it
comes anywhere near my sheep I'll shoot it!' The man's normally flushed
face was turning a bright purple. 'You ought to know what's
right!'
'And you ought to know when you've got sheep grazing on common land.'
Mr Cannon kept his voice low and even. 'No law would back you up for
firing on dogs on common land.'
'That's my land beyond them trees. If I see you with that damn dog
there I'll shoot you both!'
With his face looking dangerously close to bursting point the man
stomped off.
'Is that right about the law, Granddad?' asked Robert.
'Haven't a clue, lad. I just figured he wouldn't know either.'

The summer came to its inevitable close with more rain. Robert started
back at school and Mr Cannon's leg flared up again. The doctor
prescribed painkillers that Sophie had to badger her father into
taking.
'Never had to take tablets. Don't see why I should start now,'
Being in the company of children his own age reminded Robert of his
abnormal family life and he began asking questions about his mother and
father, subjects he had hardly mentioned during the previous weeks.
Having heard nothing from Glenys all summer Sophie could not answer his
questions.
The answers came on a cold October evening when Glenys arrived at the
house. She and Geoff were getting a divorce and she was going to take
the bastard for every penny.
Robert, listening at the top of the stairs, did not understand the
words but noted the harsh brittleness in his mother's voice.
Driven from the room by the cold atmosphere, Bess crept up the stairs
and sat beside the boy. Mr Cannon, leaving the two sisters to talk into
the night, found the boy asleep on the landing with Bess resting her
head protectively on his chest.

'Why doesn't Mum let me go home to stay, Granddad?'
Robert was standing on top of the lightning tree and gazing off in to
the distance. Bess waited patiently for a game of catch to begin.
'She's got a lot on her mind at the moment, son. That's why.'
'Is Dad not coming home? Ever?'
'I don't think so.'
Mr Cannon had long since given up dressing the truth in shrouds of
pretence. He knew the boy saw through them.
The only visit they had made to his mother's house, he no longer
regarded it as home, had been a joyless event. Glenys had fussed
endlessly around the baby and banned Bess to the garden. She found
fault with everything Robert either said or did and Mr Cannon, in a
rare moment of tact and diplomacy, cut short the visit before some
irreparable emotional damage was done.
At first Robert seemed to shrug off his mother's remoteness. But over
the following weeks he became increasingly withdrawn. Mr Cannon felt
powerless to help him.

Events came to a head one evening when Glenys had been visiting. She
said hardly a word to either Robert or her father, just complained to
Sophie about how difficult it was to manage on the money Geoff was
providing.
'He says he won't pay a penny more until he gets access to the kids.
I'll see him in hell first!' Her voice reminded Robert of breaking
glass.
He went to bed that night without being told to but sleep was an
unknown thing. He lay awake, unable to shut out the sound of his
mother's harsh, carping voice.
After some time there was a loud, urgent hammering on the front door.
He heard his father's voice, a panicky, wavering tone to it that made
him sound like a stranger. Listening to the raised voices not once did
he hear his own name mentioned. As if in self-defence the boy fell into
an uneven, restless sleep from which he awoke very early.

Mr Cannon walked into the living room to the sound of driving rain
against the window and Bess scratching at the kitchen door.
'What's the matter, girl? Want a walk? Not like you to want to go out
in weather like this. And without Robert.'
At the sound of the boy's name the dog began whimpering and resumed her
pawing at the door.
'Just wait your hurry. I haven't even got my shoes on. Go and tell
Robert to get up.'
Again, at the mention of the boy's name, the dog's reaction was
uncharacteristic.
'Here! Stop that barking! You'll wake the whole street.'
Mr Cannon was uneasy about the situation and went to Robert's room to
find the bed empty. A swift search of the rest of the house proved the
boy to be missing.
'I'll call Glenys,' said Sophie.
'Why? What makes you think she'll be all that interested? I'll find him
before we 'ave to let her know.'
So saying he put on his boots and raincoat and went out with the dog
into the slanting rain.

Mr Cannon's leg was a rod of hot metal by the time he reached the low
field. He had to keep Bess to heel for fear he would loose her. She
returned to his side reluctantly each time. The rain was a grey net
curtain over the field and the lightning tree was a dirty smear against
the sky.
As the man and the dog approached the tree they saw a group of sheep
huddled for shelter around its base. Bess stiffened against his leg and
gave a low growl.
'Easy, girl. They'll do him no harm. We'll just walk up there natural
and they'll leave on their own.'
But Bess, heedless of the man's words, barked and ran towards the
sheep. Mr Cannon hobbled after the dog, watching the events at the
tree.
As Bess ran up to the sheep they scattered in all directions and she
began to aimlessly chase those nearest.
Mr Cannon reached the tree and crouched down, wincing at the pain in
his leg. The boy was inside the tree, curled up and asleep. There was a
rumble of thunder and he opened his eyes.
'Come on, lad. Time to go home.'
'Granddad?' Robert's sleep-thickened voice came to him from the shadowy
interior of the tree. 'Where's Bess?'
'Standing guard. She thought the sheep meant you some harm.'
Mr Cannon pulled the boy from the tree and lifted his limp frame in his
arms. The boy was only dressed in jeans and sweatshirt and the rain
soon soaked him. Mr Cannon strode off towards home. He had gone but a
short distance when he looked around for Bess, expecting to see her
following on. She was nowhere to be seen.
The pain in his leg was worsening now with the weight of the boy. He
had to get him home. The dog would have to fend for herself. He carried
on homewards.
As he was about to climb the stile he heard a shot ring out, its echo
rolling and bouncing across the field towards him. Another shot. The
boy stirred in his arms and his leg spasmed in pain. The old man
clenched his jaw against everything and continued homeward.

The curtains of Robert's room were drawn against the dim mid-morning
light. The boy lay, small and asleep beneath the blankets. Mr Cannon,
now changed into dry clothes and medicated against the pain, sat at the
side of the bed. As he watched, the boy's eyes fluttered open.
'Bess!' The boy sat up in bed.
'Steady on, son.' Mr Cannon laid a hand on his shoulder.
'I was dreaming, I think.' The boy , finally fully awake, looked around
him. 'I'm sorry, Granddad.'
'Nothing to be sorry for, son.'
'Where's Bess?'
Mr Cannon remained silent. The boy looked up at him.
'There were sheep by the tree. It wasn't a dream! I heard shots!
Where's Bess?' Robert threw back the bed covers and was about to get
out but Mr Cannon restrained him.
'There's nowt for you to do now, lad. Sophie's out looking for her and
your Mum's coming over. I think you've given her a bit of a
shock.'
There was a knock at the front door and Mr Cannon went down to answer
it. Glenys was waiting on the doorstep. She swept past her father and
went upstairs.
As Mr Cannon stood in the passage, listening to Glenys telling Robert
that things would be different from now on, Sophie came through the
kitchen. She took off her raincoat and answered his look with a shake
of her head.
Glenys came downstairs.
'Robert wants to speak to you,' she said to Mr Cannon.
The old man went into Robert's room. The boy was quietly crying.
'Mum says I've to go back and live with her.'
'Well, that's only right. She is your Mum.'
'But I want to stay here with you and Auntie Sophie!'
'You'll be able to come and stay every so often.'
'I wish Bess were here. Why did that man have to shoot her?' The boy's
eyes glistened with tears.
'Some people want everything in this world, son. They're not content
with what they've got.'
'I wish Bess were here.' Robert turned to the window.
The rain had stopped and Mr Cannon heard a scraping in the backyard. He
paid it no heed. There was the sound of the kitchen door handle being
turned and the door being flung back. There was the sound of voices
from the two sisters below and then a familiar galloping noise on the
stairs. As the old man and the boy turned towards the sounds the
bedroom door was pushed open and a wet, black shape launched itself
onto the bed.

end.