Apricot Press

One day a magpie dropped an elderflower seed. As the seasons passed the seed sprouted and grew until leaves like arrow heads appeared. It was not possible to see the roots which nestled and twined deep in the limestone concrete. It was not even possible to see the stem which would turn into a solid trunk. But still the tree grew.
‘We need to pull that thing out, it will ruin the wall’s mortar,’ said Rowan, one finger pressed to the concrete, eyes narrowed as he inspected the hole from which the elder grew. ‘I think that other weed-thing has caused the wall to crumble over there.’ He continued, his other hand stretched towards a wall which was all weeds and crumbling stone.
‘I wonder where it came from,’ Isla said as she craned her head to look up at the tall walls and across the concrete yard. It was not even possible for a rat to get into the yard.
‘I don’t think it matters, the landlord will want it out though or it will cost a fortune when the wall comes down,’ replied Rowan, swatting a black fly away. It was the first hot day of the year and the sounds of traffic were matched only by insect wings.
Rowan tugged at the elder and the tree’s branches were crushed beneath his hands but still the tree would not move.
‘That’s disgusting,’ Rowan said as he raised his hands to his nose. ‘It smells like cat’s urine.’
His hands were stained green like ink and the crushed leaves of the elder were mottled with dark green cuts.
‘Don’t just pull it, we need to remove the roots,’ Isla said to Rowan as he walked into the house. ‘We need a weed killer.’
Isla turned to follow Rowan into the house but a flicker of movement caught her eye. A curious body lopped across a leaf. It was bright green with stubby legs and thick black stripes which were dotted with yellow. The seemingly blind head yawned and took a bite out of the leaf, munching thoughtfully. Isla turned to Rowan to tell him a joke about The Very Hungry Caterpillar but the yard was empty. So Isla stood and watched. The weed killer arrived in a brown Amazon parcel, slipped through the door. By the time the package hit the mat with a bang, the delivery man was gone. Rowan walked into the sitting room, holding the bottle of weed killer aloft. It was called ‘Kilerao’ and came in a lurid red with sterile green vines embossed on the front. Rowan passed Isla the bottle.
‘I’ll see you later, babe,’ he said with a quick kiss before slamming the front door as he left
for the gym.
The clouds which hung over the house for the last few days had been swept to the margins of the sky and the sun shone brightly onto the yard. Isla walked over to the offending weed and pulled her glasses out of her pocket.
Use at a distance of 3 metres. Make sure to be in a well ventilated place. This product is highly toxic if ingested and can cause lung damage and/or cancer.
There was a buzzing sound and Isla felt her skin crawl as though hundreds of spindly legs were tripping over her arm hair and making for her mouth. A bee drifted in and out of the breeze, its wings battering the green leaves below. It circled and settled on a bunch of white flowers which Isla had never seen extending from the centre of the elder. The bee settled its wings like church windows on its back, extended its proboscis and dipped into the flower petals. Golden pollen coated its furry body and two saddle bags like yellow growths stood out on its back legs.
‘I think I forgot my bag,’ said a voice behind her and Isla screeched. She would have dropped the bottle of lurid weed killer but it was no longer in her hand. ‘Are you alright?’ Rowan asked.
He stepped out into the yard.
‘Have you sprayed the damn thing yet?’
Isla looked back at the wall, back at where the bee had been but there was nothing besides the green weed lulling in the breeze. ‘Not yet, I never saw these beautiful white flowers before and I was just admiring them,’ Isla said.
Rowan snorted.
‘I will spray it tomorrow,’ said Isla, picking up the bottle. ‘I don’t think I should spray in this breeze, it could get all over the garden and in our lungs.’
‘Right, okay but remember to spray it. We can get more flowers from the garden centre which won’t destroy our wall and cost a deposit.’
But every time Isla went to the elder in the wall, she found something new. One day there was a butterfly with bright red wings and black eyes which peaked from under the leaves. The next day a moth like bark settled where the roots met the brickwork and it seemed impossible
anyone had ever seen a moth like it. There was a hoverfly with golden eyes, a spider with eggs perched on her back and a web like filigree silver. By the second week, Isla did not even bring the weed killer when she visited the wall.
On the third week, Isla woke to a smell like burnt hair. She pulled her dressing gown on, rushed into her slippers and opened the back door.
‘I don’t think this spray thing you’re using is working, so I figured I’d just set it alight. We can pull it out better then, once the roots are dead.’
Isla shouted and pulled at Rowan’s arms but only the clump of roots remained, like shrivelled fingers hanging out of the wall. The once green leaves disintegrated in the wind. Rowan swore and pulled his arm away.
‘What has gotten into you? You’re so obsessed with this damned weed, it’s ridiculous and childish.’
The spider’s web hung like smog against the bricks. Inside the shrivelled roots, gelatinous white eggs clumped together. Rowan turned away as one of the eggs burst like hot butter and a large eye appeared, shaped like an olympic dome and watching every angle. When Isla had been small, there was a dead horse in the forest and its face had been thick with those insect eyes which feasted and tore at the carrion.
‘Oh my God,’ Isla whispered, pointing at the eggs and pulling Rowan by the arm towards the house.
‘What is your problem?’ he asked as they stumbled over the threshold and stood behind the patio window. ‘They are just some insect eggs or seeds or something.’
And Rowan was right, for two days and two nights it was quieter than it had been with the buzzing of the bee or the rustle of the leaves. But on the third night it was warm and the window was open to the streetlamps and sticky sheets. And there was a buzzing at the
window. It was higher than the bees buzz, closer to creaking glass than wood. It tapped and buzzed, going higher until it found the crack in the window. The whisper of the bats would have eaten the fly, if there was a tree or bush to nest in. But nothing stopped the buzz as it crept over the window frame and paused. The house was sterile-quiet for a moment before the buzz started again, descending from high up and into the room.
The next morning, Isla woke with red patches on her skin. It did not seem to matter whether she went into other rooms or into the yard, the thing had followed her. The fly only left out of the same window which it had crawled into when the birds started to sing. Rowan didn’t comment on the red stains or her sleep-drooping eyes when he went into work. Isla called in sick and sat in front of the TV. There was a show about property developments presented by a greying man with sun-bleached skin.
Isla jumped at a knock on the door.
‘Hi, sorry to interrupt you,’ said the man who stood at her front step. ‘I just moved in next door and well… This is a weird question but I don’t suppose you saw anything last night.’
Isla thought about the smell of burning still astringent on the breeze and the buzzing of wings. ‘No, I am sorry I didn’t. Must have slept through,’ she said, closing the door before the man could catch his breath.
The sound of a lawn mower whirred into life. Isla scratched a red lump on her arm and started to cry.