The Island of Missing Trees(15)

They are incompatible, human-time and tree-time.





How to Bury a Fig Tree in Ten Steps




Wait until a severe frost or winter storm causes the tree to drop its leaves.

Dig a trench in front of your tree before the ground freezes over. Make sure it is long enough and wide enough to fit the whole tree in comfortably.

Prune back any lateral branches and taller vertical shoots.

With the help of a hemp rope, fasten the remaining vertical branches, taking care not to bind them too tightly.

Dig around the front and back of the tree to about a foot deep. You may need to use a spade or hoe to sever the roots but do not touch the ones at the sides as it’s important not to cut through all the roots. Make sure the central root ball is intact and can be easily pivoted into the trench.

Carefully bend the tree downwards. Continue to push until the tree is lying horizontally inside the trench (branches may snap and pop, capillary roots may break, but the largest roots will survive).

Fill the trench with organic matter, such as dry leaves, straw, green manure or wood mulch. The tree needs to be covered with at least one foot of soil. You may then use boards for further insulation.

Place strips of plywood on top of your tree, leaving gaps for air and water to circulate.

Cover everything with porous fabric or tarp, weighed down with a couple of inches of topsoil or stones placed at the edges so that the wind doesn’t carry it away.

Say some soothing words to your fig tree, trust in her and wait for spring.





Stranger





The following day the mercury had dropped so low that, despite waking early, Ada was reluctant to get out from under her duvet. She could have spent the whole morning dozing and reading, had the landline not started ringing. Loud, persistent. She jumped out of bed, seized by an irrational fear that it might be the headmaster calling again even though it was a weekend, keen to tell her father what kind of punishment he had deemed fitting.

Her heart quickened with each step she took down the hall. Midway to the kitchen, she stopped, hearing her father pick up the receiver.

‘Hello?’ Kostas answered. ‘Oh, hi … hello. I was planning to call you today.’ Something new had entered his voice. A spark of anticipation.

Pressing her back against the wall, Ada tried to work out who he might be talking to. She had a feeling it was a woman on the other end of the line. It could be anyone, of course – a colleague, a childhood friend, even someone he had met in a supermarket queue, though he wasn’t one for striking up easy friendships. There were other possibilities, too, however unlikely, but she was not ready to consider them.

‘Yes, by all means, the invitation is still open,’ Kostas carried on. ‘You can come whenever you’d like.’

Taking a deep breath, Ada mulled over his words. Her father rarely entertained guests, not since her mother’s death, and when he did it was usually colleagues. This sounded like something else.

‘I’m glad you managed to get on a plane – many flights were called off.’ His tone switched to a low murmur as he added, softly, ‘It’s just, I haven’t had a chance to tell her yet.’

Ada felt her cheeks burn. A pall of gloom settled on her as she realized this could only mean one thing: her father had a secret girlfriend. How long had this been going on? When exactly had it started – right after her mother’s death, or maybe even before? It must be a serious relationship, otherwise he would not be bringing her into this house where her mother’s memory was everywhere.

Cautiously, she peered through the kitchen door.

Her father was sitting at the end of the table, eyes cast down, fidgeting with the telephone cord. He looked slightly nervous.

‘No, no! Definitely not! You mustn’t go to a hotel. I insist,’ Kostas continued. ‘Pity you arrived in such terrible weather. I’d have loved to show you around. Yes, you should come straight from the airport. It’s fine, really. I just need a bit of time to talk to her.’

After her father hung up the phone, Ada counted up to forty and walked into the kitchen. She poured herself a bowl of cereal and splashed in some milk.

‘So, who was that?’ she asked, even though she had initially decided to pretend not to have heard the conversation.

With a tilt of his head, Kostas gestured towards the nearest chair. ‘Ada mou, please take a seat. I have something important to tell you.’

Not a good sign, Ada thought to herself, even as she did what she was told.

Kostas glanced down at his mug, the coffee gone cold. Still, he took a swig. ‘That was your aunt.’

‘Who?’

‘Your mum’s sister, Meryem. You used to love the postcards she would send us, remember?’

And although Ada had read those postcards countless times ever since she was a little girl, she would not acknowledge it now. She straightened her back and asked, ‘What about her?’

‘Meryem is in London. She flew in from Cyprus and she’d like to visit us.’

Her dark lashes brushing her cheek, Ada blinked. ‘Why?’

‘Sweetheart, she wants to see us – but, primarily, she wants to meet you. I told her she could stay with us for a few days – well, a bit longer. I thought it’d be good for you to get to know each other.’