The Olive Tree

Cara stood up, shovel in hand, and leant against its splintering wooden handle. Towering above her diminutive grandma, Cara smiled to herself as Sally inspected the hole she had just dug, crouching down and scraping around the edges of it with her trowel. Cara was suddenly struck by the bones outlined beneath Sally’s t-shirt, convinced that she could see the pale spring sunshine shining right through her.

‘What’s up Gran, not quite right?’ Cara enquired, flashing Sally a grin.

Sally carried on scraping away, flicking the fragrant damp soil over her shoulder.

‘Well, it just needs to be wider and ever so slightly deeper,’ she confirmed.

‘It’s only for an olive tree sapling Gran. Or am I digging a grave?’

‘Well if you are, it’d be mine! I’ll be pushing up daisies before you know it!’ Sally let out a loud cackle, and the two women doubled over, laughing. ‘Stop it Gran!,’

Cara implored, holding her sides. Her gran had always had a dark sense of humour.

‘What are you two giggling at?’ James’s impeccable South London accent cut through the air. Cara turned to see her fiancé standing on the terrace, suitcases in hand. ‘Oh nothing much,’ said Cara brightly.

James threw the bags into the boot of the hire car. ‘Don’t be long, don’t want to miss the flight,’ he said, a touch of impatience in his voice.

Cara looked at her watch. ‘We’ll be ok for another half hour. It’s just a question of planting the tree now. Do you want to help? It’s for us, you know.’ James shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’ve got a call to make to work. I’m sure you’ll manage just fine on your own.’

Sally looked at Cara and raised her eyebrows. Cara turned away, fearing a tear might escape her eyes. The olive tree was a gift from her gran, supposed to represent Jenny and James’s future life together, a symbol of strength and love and endurance.

Sally patted Jenny’s hand gently. ‘I’m sorry I can’t make it to the wedding love. The operation can’t wait, and I won’t be able to fly for a while afterwards. But I’ll be thinking of you, and I’ll look after your tree. I wish I could be there but…’ Her voice trailed off. Cara took a deep breath and braved a look at her Gran’s softly lined face. ‘Don’t worry, Gran, it’s only a small affair. That’s what James wanted. And I’ll tell you all about it in such minute detail you’ll beg me to stop!’ Cara looked wistfully to one side. ‘I wish you lived closer Gran. France sometimes seems so far away.’

Sally touched her granddaughter’s face gently, her fingers cold despite the warmth in the air. ‘It was your grandad’s dream, love, to live here. I have to stay, even though he’s gone now. We have our own tree, and I need to keep an eye on it.’

As a little girl, Cara had loved hearing the story of her grandparent’s planting their tree, together, when they had first bought their little stone house many years ago. How Sally and her grandad, John, had chosen the best spot in the garden, where they were sure it would thrive, and how, once it was in the ground, they’d linked hands to form a protective circle round it, John telling her how he’d take care of the tree like he’d take care of her, forever. ‘Tell me again gran!’ she’d say excitedly, never tiring of the story and constantly interrupting to fill in any missed details.

Sally picked up the sapling carefully, lowering into the hole. Cara filled around it with earth, patting it gently down, leaving the outline of her slim fingers on the surface of the soil.

‘I love it Gran, it’s just so perfect.’ She touched the leaves, their toughness always a surprise to her considering their soft sage colour and velvety appearance.

‘Well,’ announced Sally, ‘all done! In a few years you’ll be getting olives from it, and then your very own olive oil.’ Cara could already imagine the fresh baguette with the yellow liquid soaked into it, and the warm bitter taste of the oil in her mouth. ‘Mmm’, she enthused, her eyes closed.

The car door creaked open. ‘Cara, it’s time. We have to go.’ James trudged over to where the women were standing, both staring at the tree, both beguiled by its delicate perfection. Simultaneously fragile and strong, thought Cara, like my gran.

‘Whatdo you think James?’ asked Cara, a slight apprehension lurking beneath the question. ‘It’s little, isn’t it?’ was all he could manage in response, his face the picture of indifference. ‘Hope the wild boar don’t dig it up.’

Sally squared up to him, her usually soft voice harder now. ‘It’s stronger than it looks James. It will be here long after you’re gone.’

Cara’s cheeks flushed, but James’ response was controlled, transactional, and even if he’d noticed the barb behind Sally’s statement neither his face nor his voice betrayed it. ‘I’m quite sure it will. Goodbye Sally. It was good to meet you.’ He turned to his fiancée. ‘I’ll let you say your goodbyes Cara.’ He tapped his watch.

Cara watched him return to the car, head down, one hand stuffed in his pocket, the other tapping out a message on his phone.

‘I’ll see you soon gran,’ said Cara, the emotions whirling through her mind only allowing her to whisper.

‘You must bring Mia next time. When I spoke to her last, I promised I’d teach her to make great-granny’s banana bread.’

Mia, Cara’s daughter, aged 7 and a force to be reckoned with. Bright, loud, honest, Mia sailed through her days with a confidence that Cara had never posessed herself. ‘There’s no crushing that spirit,’ Cara’s grandad had always said to her.  

‘I will Gran. It’s just that James wanted us to have a few days just the two of us.’ Cara looked down, her forehead creased, the weight of the words hitting her only just at that moment. Sally spoke sternly now. ‘You’re a package Cara, you and Mia, and a precious one too.’

Cara kicked her toes into the soil. For the first few years after Mia had been born, it had been just the two of them, against the world. Yet despite the joy Mia brought, Cara had also felt an isolation, and an increasingly nagging fear that no-one would want her and her child, and that she’d be left with the overwhelming responsibility of raising her alone. Would she always be strong for Mia? Would she make the right decisions? Would her love alone be enough?

James seemed to accept the situation, but increasingly it had become just him and her, Cara relying more and more on her parents to babysit, convincing herself it was just because they were in the beginning, intense stage of their relationship. ‘I like having you to myself,’ James had declared on one of their evenings out. Cara had been flattered at the time.

‘Do you like James?,’ she’d asked Mia casually on the day she’d set off to France to see her Gran. Mia’s brow had furrowed, her face twisted in the deepest thought a 7-year-old was capable of. ‘Well, he looks like a handsome prince, but he never holds my hand Mummy,’ Mia had replied earnestly.

The car engine revved up mercilessly, dragging Cara back into reality. She enveloped Sally in a hug, the sun shining on the two of them, together beneath a clear blue sky, at the same time that clouds drifted across Cara’s mind. ‘Bye love, ring me when you get home.’

It was two weeks before Cara called her gran, sending short text messages in the meantime. Late on a Sunday night, as the rain poured down in the South of England, she finally took a deep breath and dialled her number.

‘Hi gran, it’s me,’ she said quietly. ‘Hello love. I’ve been hoping you’d ring… Just wait while I go onto the terrace, the line’s terrible.’ Cara could hear Sally mumbling to herself as she went through the rigmarole of opening the heavy wooden front door with its three locks. ‘Crikey John, you didn’t think about my arthritic fingers when you put these locks on,’ she heard her say. Cara smiled to herself.

‘Right love, I’m ready. Sorry about that.’ Cara swallowed. ‘Gran, I just rang to let you know the wedding’s off.’ Her voice was thick with emotion, her head aching with the pressure of it. Sally was silent. ‘It just didn’t feel right. I’m not sure why. I thought he was the one, I really did… I feel so stupid.’ She sniffed, and stubbornly wiped away a tear that had squeezed its way out, a surprise considering the river of them she’d cried these past weeks.

‘I’m sorry Cara love, I am. I want you to be happy, but as your grandad would have said, you have to go with your gut instinct in matters of the heart.’

There was a pause, just a few seconds, both women caught in their respective thoughts, past and present. It was Cara who spoke first. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever meet anyone Gran, not you like with Grandad.’ Sally put her straight immediately. ‘Hey, there’s no good in thinking like that. When and if it happens, it will happen, but don’t settle for anything less than you deserve Cara.’ Cara blushed, embarrassed at her own self-indulgence. ‘I feel bad about the tree Gran…’ She could hear her Gran shifting about now, the line breaking up slightly. ‘Well from where I’m standing your little tree looks fine. It’ll be yours and Mia’s for now. Your arms will fit round it perfectly. And if that special person comes along, then they can link in with you both.’ Cara closed her eyes, which felt suddenly tired and sore, ending her call to her Gran by reassuring her she’d be ok.

Sally was right, Cara knew that, and she marvelled at her wisdom, her steady and measured way of looking at life. And despite the sadness she was carrying around now, Cara was sure she could be like that for Mia. Mia was her olive tree, small but tough, strong, patient, full of hope and promise. Never asking for anything, yet giving so much in return. She only needed nurturing, and Cara’s gut instincts told her she was more than capable of that.