Tree House Afternoon

Tree House afternoon

Chapter One

 “Maeve, Maeve, wait for me!” the strident voice startled me as I walked away from the supermarket to my car. It was Cynthia Bradley, my neighbor.

“Hello Cynthia, I didn’t see you in there, how are you?”

“Fine, fine, but I haven’t seen you for a while. You look tired … everything OK?”

Cynthia was a nice enough woman, but she was the queen of local gossips and I’m ashamed to say I often avoided her. She didn’t work outside the home, but spent a lot of time in her beloved garden, from where she watched everything that happened in the neighborhood.

“We’re all doing well, thanks, but everyone is really busy lately.”

“Yes, I know your husband is. Every day I see his secretary, or assistant, or whatever they call themselves these days – is it PA? – arrive in the afternoon carrying boxes and bags. I’m glad he has so much work, he is a very good writer.”

Actually, I didn’t know about this, and I pretended to drop a package to hide my surprised face. “Oh, that must be why we’ve been going through so much extra coffee!” I blurted out, “he’s had a lot of new assignments.”

My husband Jules is French by birth and his latest assistant Mathilde is from his hometown of Calais, but I’ve never met her. He is a freelance journalist with many connections throughout Europe, and he writes those popular mystery novels about a French detective named Claude Breton. His writing is really very good and he does quite well.

Cynthia was giving me a searching look. I had to get away. There was a lot to do, and I needed to digest what she had told me.

“I really must go, I promised the children I’d help them clean up their tree house so they could have their tea up there. Love to Ron and the children, see you soon, ‘bye.” And I got in, started up the car and drove away before she could say anything else.

Chapter Two

After milk and cookies for my children, Annabelle and Roger, and a cup of tea for me, we went outside and one by one climbed the ladder up to the tree house. It was a magical place. I think I loved it as much as the children did. I had always wanted one when I was a kid.

Annabelle and Roger would sometimes invite their best friends to play there too. About a year ago, Annabelle and her best friend Vickie, came running frantically into the kitchen one Saturday morning, carrying something in Vickie’s cardigan. Annabelle was crying, and showed me what they found – a baby squirrel with a big gash on it leg. The poor little thing looked so scared and was making little squeaking sounds. His leg was still bleeding.

“Get that filthy animal outside,” shouted Jules coming into the kitchen “and for God’s sake stop sniveling!” He was not what you’d call a nature lover, our Jules, and rarely went out into the garden. He grew up in a three story French townhouse with had no garden, and honestly, I think nature in all her glory and gore frightened him.

“No,” cried Vickie, “he is very clean. He’s just a baby and he’s badly hurt. We’ve got to help him Mr. Breton, please?” Annabelle was crying more now and looked at me with pleading in her eyes.

“I think perhaps one of the cats in the neighborhood almost caught this little fellow, so let’s take him to the vet,” I told the girls. We all piled into the car with the squirrel wrapped in a towel. The vet was very kind and explained to Annabelle and Vickie how to keep the baby warm, clean and dress his leg, and gave them a bottle and some powder to make up into food for him. We were to bring him back in four days’ time. Jules didn’t like it, but we looked after the squirrel out back in the laundry room and he never went there.

The little squirrel’s leg healed well, although he limped a bit. The children would take him up into the tree house to play and called him “Hopalong.” He stayed with them for several weeks, then one day he squeaked at them then took a flying leap into the tree and was gone. He must have made a home in the tree, or found his mother, because he would come down into the tree house sometimes, but they could never catch him again.

Sometimes I would bring the children a drink or snack just so I could visit the tree house. Jules didn’t care for it, but had it designed by an architect friend of his, and my talented older brother had built it. It was nestled in the upper arms of a huge old oak that dominated our back garden. The children called it Tree beard and collected its acorns every autumn. Of course it was home to squirrels and many birds.

The tree house was very sturdy, with a roof to keep out rain, a strong wooden floor big enough for several children and a few adults. The side rails were close together so you could lean back on them and not fall out. And there was a shelf on each side for treasures the children found or books they were reading, and plates and cups. We took brushes and brooms and gave the house a good clean. Then we put waterproof cushions on the floor and a little pot of daisies and marigolds from the garden on a shelf. It looked very welcoming when we were done, and the children settled down with their books.

But my mind was still puzzling over Cynthia’s remarks. As I went down the ladder to get the children’s tea, an idea began to form in my mind.

Chapter Three

Any kind of confrontation was abhorrent to me, and I would go out of my way to avoid one. But I had to ask Jules about Mathilde’s daily visits and why he hadn’t told me about them. All kinds of scenes were playing in my mind, from a crazy deadline for a new book deal all the way to a full blown affair. If I were honest, I could see that Jules and I had grown apart lately and neither of us seemed to have the time or energy to do anything about it. But an affair?

Nagging at the edge of my thoughts was the question of why hadn’t Jules told me about Mathilde’s daily visits. He had never needed his assistant to be there so often in the past; he usually gave them their assignments and packed them off home. Mathilde was a very pretty girl. Had I been letting myself go these past few years? I still had the same hairstyle, long and loose or done up in a bun, and I didn’t spend much on clothes. Maybe I should get a makeover and smarten myself up? I remembered that I had made excuses to not go with Jules to several of his writers’ dinners or presentations in recent years. I always had papers to correct, classes to prepare for, and reading to catch up on. But I hadn’t been giving enough attention or support to my husband. No wonder he was straying, if he was. I had to stop this or I’d get round to blaming myself for him having an affair, as I usually did assume the blame when things went wrong in my life. Friends said I must learn to stop being a doormat and a wimp. First I needed to get to the bottom of this and find out the facts.

The next day at school I made arrangements to have a substitute teacher for three days and took that time off. I checked the long-range weather, which was to be warm and sunny. I packed a bag with what I’d need. I told nobody, not even the children, about taking time off. On the first day, as usual I took the children to school with me, but when they were inside, I got back in the car and drove towards home, parking behind some empty buildings and walking the rest of the way. Like a good spy, I made sure the coast was clear, walked into our back garden, and climbed the tree house ladder. My tools were set on the little shelves: notebook and pen, binoculars, camera, cellphone, thermos, biscuit tin, sandwich pack. I began to watch.

My husband’s office is in the front of the house on the same side as the tree house and through the leaves I could see quite well what was happening in there. I had checked to make sure that he couldn’t see up into the tree house, so I knew I’d be undetected. I made notes with the time of when anything happened. Nothing at all happened for the first couple of hours. Jules worked at his desk, typing on his computer, with no break except a phone call in, and one he made. Then I saw a taxi drive up to our front door, then leave. Mathilde was in Jules’ office, and I knew the worst – she was in his arms and they were kissing passionately, stumbling over to the sofa. Shaking, I remembered the camera and cellphone and began filming them, hoping my hands weren’t shaking too much to spoil the picture. At last I remembered to write down the time and details in the notebook. I filmed the whole appalling episode, and still don’t know how I managed it without screaming or throwing up.

Mathilde brought out a bottle of wine from her bag, and they shared that and food from take-out boxes, just as people in love all over the world were doing after they made love. And that was when I began to cry, shivering and shaking, and sobbing. This was all so wrong.

I couldn’t eat the sandwiches I’d brought, but I drank the tea and was glad of it, and for being in the big oak tree in the tree house my brother had built. Jules felt like he was a complete stranger to me. What was I going to do now?

Mathilde was kissing and cuddling up to Jules, but I couldn’t watch any more. Then Jules stood up abruptly and handed Mathilde some files – her work I assumed – then sat back down at his computer and began to write! She looked like an abandoned puppy, but collected her things and made a call, for her taxi I supposed. Soon she was gone and I had to go back down and pick the children up from school. Then I had to face Jules at dinner. But no! We were having pizza, so I would take his dinner in to his office, then leave and go up into the tree house to have dinner with the children. Then I would be busy. It would look like I was marking papers for school, but I’d be planning for the next few days. I would return to the tree house for the next two days to film what happened in Jules’s office and I would then take my evidence to a lawyer to plan my divorce.

Suddenly a tiny, furry squirrel jumped down next to me – it was Hopalong! I looked deep into the eyes of this wild creature, up into the oak tree, leaned back against the sturdy tree house, and feeling strength from all around me, knew I would be alright.

That summer afternoon in the tree house had changed my life completely.