Marianne stood at the front of the church gazing out over the sea of empty chairs. She glanced down at the lectern and began. "Paul's letter to the Romans, chapter eight beginning at verse eighteen. I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed to us. The creation waits in eager anticipation for the sons of God to be revealed. For the creation was subjected to frustration-" "Speak up a bit Marianne!" A head bobbed into view at the back of the church. "Sorry Father." Marianne coughed and continued. She always got a little nervous when practising the reading. Funny that she was fine in front of the whole congregation on a Sunday morning. "Not by it's own choice but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from the bondage to decay-" "Much better!" interrupted the voice. "And brought it into the glorious freedom of the children of God. We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time..." "Stop! Stop!" Father Peter strode forward, his black frock coat flapping wildly behind him like demented crow. "Marianne, your voice is wonderfully clear but you need to put some life into it. Some feeling into the words. You make the passage sound so dull and flat." " But the passage is dull and flat, and stupid!" As soon as she had said it Marianne wished her words had not come out in such an aggressive way. Father Peter was a kind man and now his face was full of disappointment. She had no wish to offend him. "I mean 'all creation groaning'. What does that mean?" she said more mildly. "Last week it was 'the trees of the field clapping their hands'. none of it makes any sense." Father Peter sighed and smiled sympathetically. Most thirteen year olds had given up the church long ago. Their god now kicked a football or sang into a microphone. Some might return one day to get married but there were fewer bothering with that ceremony now. Even the choir turned up because they got paid, and they were hardly little angels judging by the graffiti in the choir stalls. At least Marianne had a genuine interest and seemed keen to understand. "Try to think of it as poetry," he said, patiently. "Imagine trees blowing in the wind, waving their branches in the air, twigs crashing together like clapping hands, in praise of God." "But creation doesn't groan," she said, glancing casually at her watch. Practising after school was fine, especially on Fridays with the whole weekend ahead to look forward to, but today she was in a hurry. Today she had birthday money in her pocket and there was something in the window of Penwolds that she wanted to buy before they closed at 5.30. "Think of what we've done to creation," Father Peter continued. "Think of the pollution, the cutting down of the rainforests, global warming, the hole in the ozone layer, more cars, more houses. can you imagine creation groaning under the weight of all that?" Marianne couldn't. She shifted itchily from one foot to the other. Father Peter sighed again. "Off you go Marianne. I'm sure you'll be fine on Sunday." Marianne hurried down the aisle calling "'Bye Father Peter." over her shoulder as she ran out into the summer sunshine. It was a quarter of an hour before closing time so she would have to hurry. Penwolds was a small electrical shop but it was the only one in town. Marianne peered into the window before going in. It was still there. "Hello Mr Harkness," said Marianne breathlessly. "I'd like to buy the personal stereo in the window please." Mr Harkness smoothed the remaining few strands of silver hair across his head. She could see that he was tired and market day was always the busiest day of the week. But he smiled at her. "Happy birthday, Marianne. Birthday money to spend is it? The one in the window's the last I've got so I'll knock a bit off seeing as it's a display one." He squeezed from behind the counter and knocked over a couple of cardboard advertising stands as he reached for the personal stereo. "I'll just pop out the back for the box. Won't be a minute." She chewed on a ringlet of red hair in anticipation, listening to him whistling tunelessly as he rummaged amongst backless televisions and dislocated vacuum cleaners. She could glimpse bits of other household items lying dismembered on the bench, wires spilling out like entrails in an electrical abattoir. "You can have a set of batteries for free," he said, reappearing. "My little birthday present for you. Any problems with it just bring it back in." Marianne handed over her money while he put the personal stereo and headphones into the box. "You'll be my last customer I expect. Time for a nice cup of tea." Mr Harkness beamed as he handed over the box in a plastic bag. "Thanks," said Marianne. She left the shop and stepped out onto the street clutching the bag tightly. Eager to try it out she sat down on a bench in the square at the end of the street. Most of the market traders had left now but one or two stalls were still being dismantled. The scaffold poles clanked noisily as they were loaded into the back of a waiting van. But Marianne's attention was focused on her new personal stereo. She slid back the panel on the side and pressed in the batteries. Then she plugged in the headphones. They were proper headphones with a good bass sound that were joined by a metal strip that went over your head, not the little bits of foam on wires that you stuffed in your ears and kept falling out. Proper headphones were much better for your ears, mum said. She put them on and tuned the radio to her favourite station, turning the volume up to drown out the sound of the scaffold poles. Then clipping the personal stereo to her belt, she crossed the Square taking care to watch out for traffic. Mum had gone on and on about the dangers of wearing headphones and not hearing cars coming. She crossed the main road and decided to take the quick route home across then park. Her favourite song came on the radio. "Summer sun beating down on me, making me feel oh so-Ahhhh!!" Marianne leapt as someone tapped her on the shoulder. "Hi! I thought I'd make you jump!" "Kirstie, don't do that! I was frightened out of my skin." Marianne looked mock crossly at her best friend. Kirstie brushed a stray blonde hair from in front of her eyes. "So this is the new pressie?" "Yeh. D'you want a listen?" Marianne pulled the headphones from her ears. Kirstie placed them on her own. "Hey it's got a good sound," she said enviously. They left the path and began to cross the grass to the gate at the far side of the park. "Hang on I've lost the tuning. It's gone all squeaky." Marianne unclipped the personal stereo from her belt and passed it to her friend. They stopped while Kirstie retuned the radio. "It's okay now." They started walking again. "Oh, it's come back again." "Try another station," Marianne suggested. "Doesn't make any difference." "Maybe it's interference from something. Dad says that sometimes electric drills and stuff can make noise on the radio." Kirstie handed back the headphones and personal stereo. Marianne heard quite clearly the squeaking sound over the top of the music. It was a sad sound, she thought. Like the time when Minky, their cat had caught a mouse and it had started squeaking in fear and pain. They rescued the mouse but it didn't live. The shock of being caught had been too much. but this sound was like a hundred mice all squeaking at once growing suddenly louder then softer in time with her footsteps. Then suddenly it stopped. The two girls stepped off the grass and onto the path again. "Oh. Hey it's okay now," she said brightly. "Must've been interference then," said Kirstie. "Anyway, it's really cool. Sorry I haven't got your present yet but I'll bring you back something brill from Birmingham. Me an' Mum are going shopping there tomorrow. Call for you after church on Sunday?" Marianne nodded and the girls parted. Marianne reached her house in time to see Dad reversing badly into the drive. "See you got the personal stereo," he said, leaning out of the car window. "Watch out dad, you'll hit the tree!" "Too late," he muttered. "Hey what's the matter? It was only a little bump." Marianne had gone pale. She ran to the back of the car and checked under the wheel. Dad got out of the car and joined her, still looking concerned. "Sorry Dad. I thought you'd run something over. I heard a loud groan and I thought it was a dog or something." "I'm surprised you heard anything with those headphones on. Now come and give me a big kiss, birthday girl-or are you too big for such things now?" He gave her an enormous hug almost lifting her off her feet. It was only after she had gone inside to mum's specially prepared birthday tea that she realised that the loud groan had come through the headphones. Sunshine shone through the curtains. "Morning darling," Mum said, radiantly. "I thought you'd like a cup of tea in bed. Special treat so don't expect it every day." "Mmm, thanks Mum," Marianne said sleepily. She watched her mother through half closed eyes, cosy in her pillow and duvet nest. She placed a tray with fresh cut flowers and the tea on her bedside table. Then pushing back the curtains she opened the window and allowed the smells of another bright summer morning into the room. Marianne groped under the bed for her personal stereo and slipped in a tape. She found the headphones buried under her pillows from where she had been listening to music last night. Luxury, she thought. Lying in bed with a favourite tape, sipping tea and enjoying the scent of sweet camomile flowers. But the interference was back again. This time it was a high pitched wail. Not loud. Just a mournful background sound. And no sound came from her tape either, until she realised that her headphones were not plugged in. This was weird. Everything had been okay last night. And how could headphones make a noise when they weren't connected to the personal stereo? She tried to locate the source of the noise. Throwing back the duvet, she crossed to the window still wearing the headphones, trailing the end of the lead across the floor. The sad wailing sound became distant, almost inaudible. So the interference wasn't from something outside then. She gradually moved back towards the bed and noticed that the noise increased. Strangely, the sound seemed to be coming from her bedside table. Was there anything electric that she had left switched on in the cupboard? She pulled open the door. Just a box of paper tissues, a couple of paperbacks and Millie, her old rag doll propped up in one corner. She picked up her alarm clock but there was no change in the noise. It was clockwork anyway, not electric. She moved closer to the tray. The sound seemed to get louder near her cup of tea. Could tea cause interference? But the sound wasn't from the tea, it was coming from the vase of Camomile flowers. "Dad?" "Yes, Angel?" Dad spoke from behind the walled fortress of his newspaper. "Can you get interference through headphones even when they're not plugged in?" Dad sent an exploratory arm onto the breakfast table. It located a piece of toast and marmalade on a plate and then disappeared behind the newspaper with it. Presently there was a crunching sound and Dad's muffled reply. "No, Pet. The headphones can't pick anything up. It'll be the radio part of your personal stereo that's the problem." "But I keep getting this strange moaning sound through the headphones when they're not plugged in and I'm sure that it was coming from the flowers Mum put in my room." "Trees might block a radio signal though. Spoil your radio's reception a bit." "But the radio's not on, Dad!" Marianne persisted. "No, Pet. It'll be a drill or something. Why not take a walk over the Common? You'll be away from houses and you'll get good reception up on the hill." But Dad wasn't really listening. He had become absorbed in an article on the frequency of minor car accidents in suburban areas. Marianne tried to concentrate on the sounds from her headphones but it was difficult with so many people on the Common jogging and walking dogs on this warm summer morning. But as she climbed the hill above the town she left the crowds and their noise behind. She heard quite clearly the same squeaking that she and Kirstie had noticed when walking across the park the day before. But as she climbed further up the hill there was another sound. She had seen a documentary once where a lion had been attacked by poachers. The sound was a deep moaning like the roar of that lion in pain. She looked around. A woman in a pink bikini top and shorts was sprawled out on a towel, her eyes closed listening to music on headphones like Marianne. She didn't appear to be bothered by strange noises, though she was over a hundred metres away. There was also a man with a bow saw up a ladder trimming branches from an ancient oak tree. A lady Marianne recognised was talking to him from below. Two boys ran past, chasing each other with plastic guns blasting out space noises but they soon disappeared out of earshot. Then Marianne noticed the mobile phone mast on top of the hill. It had only been put up in the last couple of months but had quickly become part of the landscape. A lonely sentinel watching over the town. That had to be where the sound was coming from. She passed the man up the ladder and it was Mrs Witherston chatting to him. She waved but Marianne was distracted by the fact that the sound in her headphones was getting quieter again as she climbed the hill nearer the mast. When she reached the top she stared up at the tower bristling with dishes. The breeze caused a low moaning sound as it blew between the anchoring cables. But it wasn't the same as the noise through the headphones. That noise had faded away altogether. She sat down on the grass, leaning against the perimeter fence and slid the headphones from her ears. She was getting nowhere. The strange interference seemed to be everywhere but she still couldn't pin it down. She watched the heat haze rise over the town and listened to the dull rumble of the traffic. Whereever the noise was coming from there was certainly something wrong with the headphones. She decided to take them back to Mr Harkness and get a new pair. On the way back down the hill she met Mrs Witherston again. She had left the man to his pruning and was just watching him work . "Hello dear. Enjoying the sunshine?" "Yes," said Marianne. She couldn't think of anything else to say. Mrs Witherston used to be the cleaner at school but had retired many years ago. She was still one of the dinner ladies though, unable to give up the bustle and excitement of the school day. Marianne studied her amazingly wrinkled face. A crumpled map of lines as gnarled and wrinkled as the oak tree. But there was still a sparkle in her old grey eyes. "Look at that old tree. It's such a shame they keep cutting it down to size," she said, almost reading Marianne's mind. "It should be allowed to grow old and graceful like me!" She let out a wheezy chuckle. "I suppose it's only being pruned to stop dead branches falling on people's heads." "I expect you're right but a tree looks so bare when it's been pruned." "The leaves will soon grow again." Mrs Witherston was thoughtful for a moment. "It's a good size," she said. "I wouldn't be surprised if it were three hundred years old. I bet it could tell a few stories if it could talk." Marianne nodded. She imagined highwaymen hiding out in the young branches, lovers carving their names in the bark and secret conversations overheard. Yes, if only trees could talk, what tales they could tell. Then something clicked inside her head. She remembered the events of the previous day; Dad bumping the car in to the tree, walking home across the grass in the park. And this morning the cut Camomile flowers in the vase and now the branches of this oak tree being sawn off. each time she had been wearing the headphones and had heard a strange noise. Could those noises be coming from the grass flowers and trees? It was a fantastic thought, and she needed to experiment. She hastily said goodbye to Mrs Witherston and hurried down to the gate that led off the Common and into the town. But she didn't want go into town just yet. Instead she turned left along a lane that led into open countryside. After a couple of hundred metres there was a stile and a footpath leading across a marshy field. At last she would be away from all people. It would be the perfect place to try out her theory. She put on the headphones again and squelched her way across the field on the muddy path. Then she stepped to one side and deliberately stamped on a dandelion. She heard a high pitched squeak through the headphones. It was true! The headphones really were picking up the sound of plants, but she had to be sure. When she reached the other side of the field she snapped of a twig in the hedge. This time there was a sharp yelp, like the sound a dog might make if you accidentally stood on its tail. in The hedge was a large ash tree. Marianne gave it a good kick and straight away through the headphones she heard a deep loud groan. Marianne caught her breath. It was incredible! Mrs Witherstone's wish that trees could talk was true. They really could talk, or at least make a noise when hurt. And grass and flowers and bushes. Somehow these amazing headphones could pick up the strange voices of all these plants. With this realisation she listened with new ears as she went back across the field to the road. Squeal, squeal went her footsteps along the footpath. I must keep off the grass, she said to herself. But though she tried to keep to the muddy patches where nothing grew she couldn't help causing a squeak of pain from a few blades that she trod on. She climbed back over the stile, snagging her jeans on a thornbush. She tugged it free but caused another squeak of pain as the thorn twig broke. And suddenly she was aware of all the pain that all the plants of the world must be suffering. Every weed trampled by human feet, every tuft of grass ripped up by a grazing cow or sheep, every cut flower in a vase, every twig snapped in a breeze. As if to confirm her thoughts she heard the shrill sound of a thousand screams as she passed a bungalow where a man was mowing the front lawn. It seemed a barbaric act of cruelty. And next door a woman was trimming her privet hedge, producing a similar result. She wiped perspiration away from her forehead hidden under the brim of a flourescent orange sunhat and stared at Marianne's startled face. But seeing Marianne's headphones she presumed it was due to some strange modern music that the youth of today were listening to. Marianne hurried on past the flower shop where nothing but sad wails could be heard as the blooms suffered in their cut bunches. It was too much. These headphones were a curse. How could she bear it knowing the pain all plants suffered? She pulled the headphones from her ears and ran down the street to Penwolds. "What's the matter Marianne?" said Mr Harkness in surprise as she burst into the shop. How could she tell him the truth? He would never believe it. "I'm afraid the headphones aren't working," she said quickly. "Can you replace them for me?" "No problem," said Mr Harkness. "I've plenty of spare pairs. I expect it's a faulty lead. Do they crackle a lot?" "Sort of," Marianne mumbled. "Are you okay? You looked very flushed." "I'm in a hurry to catch a bus," she lied, anxious not to have to explain any more about the faulty headphones. He seemed happy with her answer and lifted off a new pair from a display stand. "Try these instead," he said, smiling. "Sorry you had a problem with the other ones. Now you'd better hurry and catch that bus." "Thanks Mr Harkness," she said and quickly left the shop. She removed the new headphones from their shrink wrapping as she walked towards home. Trying them out she discovered that they were normal. Now she would have to try and live the rest of her life trying to ignore the fact that all the plants around her were suffering. It was surprisingly easy with no noises to remind her. But she would never ever really forget. "Thankyou for that reading, Marianne. It was beautifully read." Father Peter beamed at her as she returned to her seat. He was so pleased that she had after all put feeling into the words. He coughed and started his Sunday morning sermon. "Of course we know that all creation does not literally groan," he said, smiling at Marianne. Marianne smiled back. Yes it does, she said to herself. Oh yes it does!