The Pear Tree

Trees are living things. They grow, they breathe. Without them, we certainly wouldn’t be here. My friend Catherine loved nature. When her and Nick got married, she had a pear tree planted down the bottom of her garden. It was her pride and joy, and she was always so happy when she was able to give baskets of pears away as gifts. Her and Nick carved their initials into the trunk. N and C.

Who knew, that one day, the tree would get revenge on those who did her wrong.

Catherine was ex-army. She joined the police in two-thousand and five. She soon worked her way up to armed officer. Her husband taught new recruits. They met when she was on tour in America during her army days. Nick was on a lads’ holiday. For him, it was love at first sight. Catherine? Well… she took a little longer to warm up to him.

It was their tenth wedding anniversary. Catherine had to work till five, so Nick said he’d stay home to decorate the house for the anniversary party. I’d manage to arrange it so one of the lads would come in at twelve to take her off. She was so happy that morning. She had a constant smile on her face. I remember that day perfectly.

“Well, someone looks pleased for themselves.” I joked, knowing exactly what she’d done.

“Yep. Just printed the tickets. Can’t believe we’re finally having a honeymoon!”

Perfect timing, as Andrew walked into the office.

“Off you go, Cath. I’ll cover you.”

Catherine jumped out of her seat. “What?!” She was already packing her things up. Andrew laughed. He was smitten with her. So when she kissed him on the cheek as she left, he could hardly speak. Couldn’t even manage to say goodbye.

I followed her down to the carpark – I was her ride whilst her car was being fixed. The whole way back to hers, she spoke about what she had planned for the holiday. The restaurants she wanted to visit, the activities her and Nick would do. She’d even looked up what time the sun would set over the ocean. Everything had to be perfect. But as we pulled up to the driveway, there was a car parked outside. A black Peugeot. Catherine looked confused but shrugged it off: “probably one of the guests arrived early.”

I pulled up and Catherine got out. I told her I’d go park across the street then meet her inside.

After that, I can’t be sure as to what happened; we’ve only got Nick’s word for it, but I don’t believe him. Apparently one of the trainees turned up at the house and forced herself upon him, just in time for Catherine to see. Catherine went into a rage and pulled a gun on the young woman, there was a struggle, then bang! Catherine was shot and it was fatal. I personally believe that he was cheating on her. There probably was a struggle, but it would’ve never happened if he wasn’t cheating.

Well, the day after Catherine’s funeral, Nick moved his bit on the side in. He was forced out of the police. No one believed his story, but we all knew he had friends in high places that could make things go away. I was happy I didn’t have to see his smug face every day.

A year to the day, I decided to pay Nick a visit and leave some flowers outside the house. He was round the side of the house, cutting the bush with sheers. I called out to him, but he didn’t hear. His now fiancé was hanging up some washing. I don’t know what came over me, but something about seeing them being so normal made me so angry. I took out my gun and aimed. I pulled the trigger, but as Nick moved along, I missed and it went into Catherine’s pear tree. I rushed off and didn’t return to the house for years.

Ten years after Catherine’s murder, she had her revenge. Nick’s wife was sick of seeing Catherine’s pear tree, so she made Nick cut it down. He started up the saw and as he sliced into the bark, he must’ve knocked the bullet I’d fired nine years prior. The bullet ricocheted straight into his heart. He was dead in a matter of minutes.

With no evidence of foul play, no people of interest, his death was ruled as a tragic accident. His wife moved on, the house was put up for sale and the best part? Catherine’s pear tree is still standing proudly at the bottom of her garden.