Believe

We lived in a house near a forest when I was younger. I remember there was a river running through the center. I used to perch on a branch which overhung the water. It was really peaceful there. I would often go down there to read, or if I needed to think things over. It was nice to have a secret place where I could go to be alone.

People used to say that a wizard lived in that forest. I didn't believed it. Dad used to believe in all sorts of different things - faeries, elves, pixes - but I didn't know if he believed in the wizard, I don't remember us really talking about things like that. I wouldn't surprised if he did believe in the wizard.

Mum was more down-to-earth. While Dad often got lost dreaming up different worlds and new bass lines, Mum was usually the one who got everything sorted. She was a good cook, she was always making cakes, and none of us went hungry.

There's quite a few of us in our family. I was the second youngest out of six children. Four of my siblings moved out a few years ago, but they still visit quite often. Some of Dad's friends come round quite a bit as well, but most of the time it's just me, Mum, Dad and my younger sister Cameron.

I loved living near a forest. There was so much to explore. I used to have so many adventures with my Dad and sister. There were loads of trees to climb and we used to bring back branches and sticks and have bonfires in the back garden.

But none of that happens anymore. Not since that day. Everything's different now.

I was sitting on the tree overhanging the river, reading Alice in Wonderland when I heard a rustling sound and the snapping of a twig. Looking up, I saw a figure move amongst the trees. A man stepped out of the shadows into my line of view on the other side of the river.

He was wearing a long cloak that was black on the outside and red on the inside over a burgundy waistcoat. On his head was a bowler hat, and in his right hand was a long silver staff. The man was slightly tanned and had black hair with a small mustache. He walked to the water, looked up at me and smiled.

"Hello."

I looked down at him. Eventually, I decided to answer him. "Hello."

"I'm looking for someone."

"Who?"

"Your father."

I was taken aback. "How do you know my dad?"

"We're old friends. We haven't seen each other for a few years."

I was surprised, as I had met most of my Dad's friends.

"Do you know where I can find him?" the man asked.

"He's at home." I pointed to where our house was. "Do you want me to take you to him?"

The man hesitated, before saying, "No, no, tell him to meet me here in twenty minutes."

I sighed, before putting my bookmark in place and jumping down from the tree and made my way down the overgrown path to my house, tripping over and scraping the skin of my leg as I went.

Entering the lounge, I find Dad curled up on the sofa reading the paper with a cup of tea on a nearby table.

"Dad?"

"Hmm?"

"I just met this guy in the forest who says he knows you."

"Oh really, what does he look like?" Dad's eyes didn't leave the paper in front of him.

"Well, he's dressed in a dark cloak and has a mustache-"

Dad's head snapped up. "What?"

"He has a mustache," I said, feeling slightly confused, "and is wearing a cloak."

"Short black hair and an overbite?" Dad asked, his gaze intense and his face going pale.

"Yeah - Dad, who is he?" I asked.

Dad didn't say anything, he just got up and hurried outside, knocking over his drink. Feeling really confused, I ran out after him.

Crashing though the undergrowth, I finally found Dad standing next to the river, looking around while he caught his breath.

"Where is he?" he panted, continuing to look around, an upset look on his face. "Where is he?"

"I'm over here," said the man, stepping out from behind a nearby tree.

Dad didn't seem to hear the man, he was still glancing round the clearing, asking me where he was.

"Dad, he's over there," I said, pointing. Dad followed my finger. He was looking straight at the man but still didn't seem to be able to see him.

The stranger turned to me. "Do something," he pleaded. "Make him believe."

"What can I do?" I asked helplessly.

"You have to make him believe."

"But how?"

"Tell him he just has have faith. Tell him..." the man took a deep breath and swallowed nervously, "tell him that just one year of love is better than a lifetime alone."

Turning to face my Dad - who at this point had collapsed on the ground and sobbing - I relayed the message.

Dad looked up to where the man was standing, a look of recognition filling up his red watery eyes.

"One sentimental moment in your arms," he said in a shaky voice, tears falling down his cheeks, "is like a shooting star right through my heart."

Dad slowly stood up and reached out to touch the man, as if to make sure that he was really there. Then suddenly Dad flung his arms around the man in the dark cloak and buried his head in the man's chest. Tears were streaming down both their faces as they embraced. Sobs were echoing around the forest.

I turned away and left them to it, deciding that they needed privacy for their reunion. I perched myself on a falling trunk several hundred yards away, still wondering who the mysterious man was.

It wasn't until later that night that I realized who he was. The rumors were true, there really was a wizard living in the forest.

***

Things started to changed after that. Dad spent most of his time down in that clearing, talking to his friend. I would go down there occasionally, but I didn't like to intrude. Some days I saw the wizard, other days I didn't.

It no longer felt like my hide-out, now that Dad knew of it. A part of me thinks that Dad always knew it was there. But it didn't feel quite right anymore, I felt like I was being watched whenever I was there.

Dad's other friends still came. We never talked to them about the man in the forest, fearing they wouldn't understand, or think us crazy. Mum suspected something, but she never pried. Cameron thought me and Dad were both mad. We never talked about it, we seemed to have an deep understanding without the need to talk.

The years went by and Dad grew older. It became more and more difficult for him to climb over the fallen branches and overgrowth to get to the clearing, so the wizard started to visit us. Cameron never saw him, but looking back, I think that Mum did.

The man never aged a day, he always looked exactly the same, and he always wore the same cloak and waistcoat.

I never learned the man's name, not until the end.

***

It was a few years later, and Dad was on his last legs. He had caught pneumonia, and was on his deathbed. We had gathered round his side, holding his hands and hoping that he would recover, though none us us really believing that he would.

Dad turned his head slowly to face me and looked me in the eye. "Son," he rasped, "remember to look out for the magic that's around you. All you have to do is believe."

I saw his eyes start to glaze over, and I heard the swish of a cloak behind me.

"Freddie..." Dad murmured, his gaze fixed at a point over my shoulder, the last bit of life leaving his eyes, and tears started to spill from mine.

***

I moved back to London a few months after this. I wanted a change, I wanted somewhere familiar. I keep Dad's last words close to my heart, and I try to keep my eyes open. I never saw the wizard again, but occasionally I think I hear the swish of a cloak, or catch a brief glimpse of a bowler hat.

Sometimes you have to open your eyes to the magic around you. Sometimes all you have to do is believe.