Mrsjgibbs



The Sycamore TreeA Novel by J C GibbsLuke 19:1-10 Jesus and Zacchaeus, a dishonest tax collector. ?Zacchaeus wanted to catch a glimpse of Jesus but couldn’t see over the crowd. ?So he climbed a Sycamore Tree to get a better view. Jesus noticed him and stopped to talk. Out of that meeting came something unexpected: Zacchaeus repented and agreed to pay back his victims. Jesus then helped the crowd understand the reconciling power of justice that restores.Chapter 1Meg“Come on girl, time for bed.” At the sound of his voice, the old dog lifted her head, her rheumy eyes following her master as he shuffled towards the kitchen. The nightly routine had begun and she stretched her aching limbs and yawned. She slept more and more these days. Too old and too tired to run around the park anymore, she was content to spend her days snoozing and following the old man around the house, trudging to the corner shop with him each morning to collect his daily paper, sniffing around the small yard at the back of their terraced home. Now it was just the two of them, but once, the house had been noisier. Every Saturday ‘the grandkids’ would come over, bringing muddy boots and laughter. And mum would make sausage rolls for everyone. Sometimes they’d play dominoes or rummy. Dad would tell stories about his days on ‘the force’. Breaking her train of thought, Meg heard the familiar sound of the kettle boiling and limped to the kitchen in search of her bedtime snack.They did ok, her and Dad. They had their routine, their own rhythm. They liked the same things: The Archers on a Sunday morning, Countdown in the afternoon, crosswords and the News at Ten. They still had a roast dinner on Sunday, because that’s what they always had when Mum was here (though Dad’s Yorkshire puddings didn’t compare). They visited her every Wednesday, getting the bus the two stops down the hill. They took flowers from the allotment, Dafs in the spring, Sweetpeas in the summer (her favourite) and would sit on the bench telling her all their news – what was happening in Coronation Street, what the grandkids were up to. John was at uni now and Sally was training to be a teacher. Dad didn’t like John’s piercing or Sally’s boyfriend, but it wasn’t his place to say.“There you go old thing, two sugars, just the way you like it.”As Meg drank her bedtime tea from her china bowl by the back door, she listened to the familiar sounds of Dad pottering about. First he rinsed the milk bottles, upending them on the draining board. Then he took two digestive biscuits from the tin and placed them on the corner of the table ready for when she finished her tea and his Horlicks was ready (tea kept him up at night). Then he bagged up the rubbish ready to take out. Lastly, he fed the fish. “Just a pinch. It wouldn’t do to overfeed you.”They had got the fish for the grandkids. Dit and Dot. Somehow John and Sally had never worked out that every couple of years or so, Mum would pop down to the pet shop and acquire replacements. Or maybe they did and didn’t like to say. Humans were like that. They didn’t always say things. Now they rarely visited, and Dad’s son only rang on Sunday evenings after The Antiques Roadshow to ‘check in’. But it wasn’t so bad. They had their routine, their rhythm. They liked the same things. They had the fish and they had each other.“I’ll just take this out then we’ll go up. And you’d better do your business.” Dad opened the back door to the yard. An icy blast blew into the small kitchen. “Cold one tonight Meg, don’t hang about.” Meg slurped the last of her tea and went out into the yard. A fine, silvery drizzle was falling, clinging to her fading coat, tickling the end of her nose.She heard the front door go as Dad took the rubbish out. Then the sound of the bin-lid opening and closing with a thud. She sniffed around the yard, thinking about her biscuit waiting on the table. Moments later a low growl filled her throat. The fur on her neck ruffled with the cold, November breeze and with something else, fear perhaps? Her reactions were instinctive and came even before she heard the smash of glass and voices shouting.Hurriedly finishing her business, Meg ran awkwardly back into the kitchen, along the narrow passageway to the front door that stood wide open. She was barking now, the sound was hoarse in her ears, she so rarely needed to use her voice these days. She found Dad on the path. He was on his knees, there was rubbish and smashed glass around him. The milk bottles she supposed. Looking up she saw them, through the garden gate, it was hard to focus and it was dark but she saw a flash of red, something grey, figures laughing and shouting. Their movements were fast and confusing to her old eyes. Their voices were jeering, they were using bad words- the kind you hear on BBC dramas late at night. They were shouting at Dad, and throwing things, rubbish from the bin – empty tins, newspaper, eggshells. And then Meg heard another voice- a girl’s voice this time.“Oi you lot, leave it!”Meg was frantic by now, desperate to help Dad but angry too. Looking up, her eyes focused on the girl, her face was pale in the darkness, she looked scared but determined, pulling at one of the boys’ sleeves, insistent.“Don’t be tight, leave it. He’s old”And now Dad was shouting too. “You bloody little buggers, I’ll call the police!” “Try it old man and you’ll see what happens!” But they were leaving, reaching over the privet hedge to push the bin over sending more rubbish spilling out onto the path in front of Dad. And then they were gone and Dad and Meg were alone on the cold path amongst the broken glass and eggshells.***Clearing up the mess seemed to take forever, but Dad wouldn’t leave it. “Don’t worry girl, we’ll get this sorted. Bloody kids, bloody, bloody kids.” Dad kept muttering under his breath. His voice sounded shaky and uneven. “I blame the parents, where are they eh? No wonder this country’s in the bloody state it’s in…”Later, when they were back in the kitchen, Dad sat at the table, Meg by his side, their biscuits untouched, a tea-towel wrapped around Dad’s hand where he’d cut himself on the glass. “We’ll call the Police in the morning, they’ll have to do something this time.” Dad sounded so tired. This wasn’t the first time there had been trouble with ‘bloody kids’. There had been shouting and something rude sprayed on the path that Dad had to scrub off. Dad had shouted at them and they had run away. They hadn’t run away tonight. This time they had hurt Dad. Finally, they climbed the stairs to bed. Meg took up her usual place on the floor by the door. Dad switched off the light. “Night Meg, sleep tight girl. Don’t worry, it’ll be alright.”Meg wasn’t sure what woke her. She’d been dreaming. They were all at the park and Sally and John were on the swings. Mum was throwing bread for the ducks and Dad was sitting on the bench reading his paper. But something wasn’t right, instead of the smell of grass and ice-cream, there was an unfamiliar smell, thick and choking, filling her nostrils. Meg was confused. Floating out of sleep and opening her eyes, Meg tried to discern her surroundings. Searching for the shapes she recognised- the edge of the bed, the chest of drawers, the blinking red light of Dad’s alarm clock, she could see nothing and panic began to rise in the old dog. Struggling to her feet, Meg stumbled blindly through the thick darkness bumping painfully into what must have been the foot of Dad’s bed. Thoughts were racing through her mind, she didn’t know what was happening, but one thing she did know for certain, she must get to Dad, he needed her help.The first thing Dad was aware of was an insistent nudging at his side followed by a tugging at the duvet. Still foggy with sleep, his hand found Meg’s old head and he patted her. Silly old thing, she must need to go out, probably still upset by what happened earlier he thought. He tried to speak to reassure her, but he couldn’t seem to get enough air into his lungs and the words stuck in his throat. Immediately he was awake, coughing and retching, his eyes streaming. Rolling off the bed and onto the floor his instincts took over and, grabbing a handful of Meg’s fur and keeping her by his side, he began crawling towards the door. Reaching the bedroom door, Dad reached up to grab the handle. Pain shot through his hand from the heat and he realised there would be no escape this way. By now, both their senses were heightened, they could hear the roar of the fire as it ripped through the ground floor of their home, the heat and smoke becoming unbearable. Time seemed to slow down for them both. Dad thought about Mum and the wedding picture on the sideboard in the living room. Meg thought about the biscuit tin and Mum’s slippers that were still under the bed. She was suddenly tired, so very tired, she could feel Dad’s hand slipping off her back. There were distant sounds in her ears, sirens and shouting and then Dad’s rasping voice. “It’ll be alright girl, hold on…”Chapter 2RoyThe drizzle had turned to persistent rain, but nothing could wash away the cloying, acrid smell of smoke from his nostrils. All around him was noise. His vision was blurred so that all he could discern was a mass of moving shapes- neighbours, police, the fire crew, all eerily lit up by the blue flashing lights from the ambulance he was now sitting in. “Sir, do you understand what I’m saying? We have to take you to the hospital now…Sir?”He understood.He understood that his home was destroyed, that more than forty years of memories were gone. He understood that everything he owned was burnt to ashes: photograph albums, the kids’ old school reports, pictures the grandkids had drawn when they were small, Mum’s wedding dress. He understood that he was lucky to be alive, the pain in his chest every time he breathed and the angry throbbing of his right hand told him of this fact. But most of all, he understood that Meg had saved his life.He had been cradling the old dog in his arms since they dragged him through the bedroom window, refusing to let go of her. Even when they wrapped him in a blanket and placed an oxygen mask over his mouth, he had held on to her. He stroked her head, resting heavy on his lap. The emergency vet had been called, a nice young girl, not much older than Sally. Good of her to come out on a filthy night like this and she’d been so kind. It was her voice that he heard now.“Roy, why don’t you let me take her now, you need to get to the hospital. I’ll take her, she’ll be safe, I promise.”His eyes met those of the young vet. She nodded silently as he painfully shifted the weight of the lifeless dog from his lap into her open arms. He always knew that one day he would have to say goodbye to her, but not like this. He never had the chance to thank her, not just for saving him, but for fifteen years of loyalty, love and companionship. “Goodnight girl, God bless…” Yes, he understood. He understood that Meg was gone and he wept. ................
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