‘Are you indeed?’ Harrison sounds as overjoyed by my plan as he would be at the prospect of a dental check-up.
‘I know the area too well,’ I say into the phone, pinching the bridge of my nose with my other hand. ‘I know the guy leading it.’
I also know I shouldn’t have said that.
‘Oh, that’s fantastic. An “in”. A way to get your foot in the door. I told you this was a good plan. Have you had a chance to find out what he wants yet? I’m prepared to be generous with the budget.’
I barely contain a snort at the idea. ‘He would not be receptive to that plan.’
‘Well, as you know him, you’ll have an easy way of wheedling out what he really wants. Enough money for a nice car, bit of extra land for his business, et cetera. No man would turn down that sort of prize in exchange for staying chained to a tree. We men are practical creatures and no tree is worth a substantial amount of money, especially to small village folk like that, who’ve probably never even seen a Lamborghini before, never mind had a chance to own one …’
I prickle at the insinuation that someone’s worth is based on what car they drive or that people in little villages are somehow different or lesser than Harrison’s millionaire cronies.
‘Don’t even think of coming back yet, Felicity. If this chap won’t give up, start on the old folks. Offer ’em all new mobility scooters or something. If they give up and the Tree Idiot is on his own, he’ll soon walk away with his tail between his legs.’
I want to tell him about Ryan Sullivan, the man who never understood the meaning of the words “give up”. The man who would never be convinced that a plant was dead, even when it was shrivelled up, brown, and crisp in front of him. You could see the sycamore tree from the top of the hill where Sullivan’s Seeds and Plant Nursery was. Birds could be heard chirruping for miles, and as the leaves turned from green to yellow, we’d watch it together, mapping the arrival of autumn as the tips of each leaf changed and autumnal colours gradually crept along each branch. It was inconceivable that someday the tree might not be there. It’s as much a part of Lemmon Cove as the beaches or the cliffs themselves.
‘Some things are worth more than money,’ I say eventually, hoping I sound more confident than my stuttery voice suggests.
‘Everyone has a price, Felicity. It’s up to you to find it. Or you’ll find yourself in the queue for the job centre next week.’
‘That’s not fair. My whole career isn’t based on this one job,’ I say. ‘I’ve been working hard for ages. You can’t fire me if one little thing doesn’t go my way.’
He’s hung up. I pull the phone away from my ear and the dark screen comes back on. Before I even dialled his number, I knew how that conversation was going to go.
Great. Now what?
The idea of staying gives me a little fizzle of excitement, the thought of spending time with Ryan is a thrill I didn’t think I’d ever feel again. I thought he’d hate me for misreading his signals and mistaking his friendship for flirting all those years ago, but he seemed genuinely pleased to see me. And it felt good, I think. But it’s marred by the idea that my job is to put an end to their protest and at some point in the very near future, I’m going to have to admit where I work and try to persuade Ryan that he’d prefer a new Ferrari than trying to save the wishing tree, which is never going to be the case.
‘Everything okay, Fliss?’ Dad asks when I go back in.
He and Cheryl are still sitting at the table in the living room. He’s made a mixed pepper and lemon pasta salad and we’d just sat down to eat and of course Harrison chose that moment to ring.
‘Fine,’ I say breezily, because this only gets worse if it causes Dad to worry too. ‘Just my boss checking in.’
‘It’s half past seven!’ Cher looks up at the clock on the wall in horror.
‘He works late. A lot.’
‘Don’t tell me you usually work this late too?’ Dad looks worried.
I gulp as I sit back down. ‘Not often, no.’ Lying is becoming a far-too-easy habit lately.
‘Good. I wouldn’t like to think of you having no time for a life outside of work. There must be so many fun things to do in a big city like that. You wanted to live there from the first time you saw the New Year’s Eve fireworks when you were little. It must be a dream come true. The life you always wanted.’
I don’t realise I haven’t answered until they’re both staring at me expectantly. ‘Oh, er, yeah. Great. It’s great.’
I can’t even remember the last time I saw New Year’s Eve in at midnight, never mind bothered with fireworks. I’m usually asleep by then. I don’t know what they think my life is like, but I drag myself home on the tube at somewhere between eight and nine every night, pick up something to eat on the way, do whatever studying up there is for the next day, and then crawl into bed with a book and usually manage a paragraph or two before falling asleep on top of it.
‘Speaking of work, if anyone asks, I’m a chef.’
‘A chef?’ Dad says.
‘A chef?’ Cheryl asks. ‘You?’
‘Why does everyone keep saying that?’ I quickly explain why I can’t tell anyone where I really work, and why they have to back me up if they get asked because my whole story will fall apart otherwise.
It all feels so wrong, but the lie is out there now I’ve told it. I can’t go back and change it, and I can’t come clean because the protestors will throw me out, and Ryan will despise me for lying to him.
‘Fliss … why?’ Dad asks, sounding more confused than a giraffe with a knot in its neck.
‘The guy running it … It’s Ryan Sullivan.’ I say his name like it explains everything.
‘Oh, your ex-boyfriend!’ Dad exclaims.
I choke on the pasta salad. ‘He’s not my ex.’
‘Of course he is. I always thought he’d be my son-in-law someday. Loved that lad. All I heard for years was “Ryan this and Ryan that”.’
I can feel how red my cheeks have gone at the idea that even my dad knew the extent of my crush. And I’d thought I was so good at hiding it. ‘I talked about him because we worked together every single day, and you always made a point of asking me what we’d been doing that day.’
‘It was a bit more than just work though, wasn’t it? All those field trips you went on together …’
‘That was just Ryan being protective. The old farmers spent too much time ogling my boobs and he knew I was uncomfortable being alone with them, so he asked me to go along for the ride when he went to meet suppliers or collect stuff. It was all perfectly innocent.’ I can see that now, but at the time, I thought he wanted an excuse to spend time with me. ‘He was being friendly. Because that’s what we were – friends.’
‘Never could understand why you two had that falling-out.’ Dad shakes his head, continuing like I haven’t spoken.
I remember the lie I told back then too – on the morning I was leaving and Dad asked when Ryan was coming to say goodbye, and I’d muttered something about us having a row. I was too embarrassed to tell anyone the truth.
‘It’s a shame neither of you thought to tell me he was still here. I could’ve done without the heart attack this morning.’
‘Didn’t know he was,’ Dad mutters.
‘I didn’t think you’d want to know,’ Cheryl adds. ‘You fell out with him, remember? The one time Dad mentioned him to tell you about his company closing down, you snapped his head off and said you didn’t want to know.’
‘I didn’t want to know; that doesn’t mean I didn’t want to know.’ I sigh. Nothing I’ve said tonight has made sense. Was Ryan Sullivan always this confusing?
‘He’s the one trying to save the tree, is he?’ Dad asks, and continues when I nod. ‘Good. I always loved that tree. Did you girls know that your mum and I carved our names onto the trunk many moons ago?’
‘What?’ Cheryl and I say in unison.
‘On the night we got married. We were both a bit tipsy after the reception and w
andered home to clear our heads, and back then it was impossible to walk past the sycamore tree and not add a slice of your own life to it. Your mum checked our carving hadn’t faded every time we went there after that. I used to joke that she’d trust the tree and chuck me out pre-emptively if it ever did.’
I never knew that. Of all the time I’ve spent looking at the names on that trunk, I never knew Mum and Dad’s were on there somewhere.
‘I remember scattering her ashes on the beach and feeling like she was watching over us. The tree was a reassuring presence in the background, like she was somehow there with us.’
Dad swallows hard. ‘It’s a good thing that you and Ryan are going to save it then, isn’t it?’
I put on a bright smile for him even though I’m not sure doing anything with Ryan is a good idea … but saving that tree definitely is. No matter what Harrison says, no matter what my job is supposed to be, I can’t be responsible for destroying the wishing tree, especially now I know that. Maybe there’s a happy medium. Maybe I can genuinely help with the protest by pretending to be undercover but not really pretending to be … I give my head a shake to clear it. I’ve even confused myself.
Chapter 6
‘Will you stop tossing and turning? The hiss of you deflating is invading my dreams!’ Cheryl throws a cushion at me.
The idea of me deflating makes me giggle, and I turn over again, which causes the inflatable bed to squeak with friction against the carpet and let out a nails-on-blackboard screech, and I hear the unmistakable unsticking of the repair patch I stuck on earlier.
If I’m going to stay, I need to get something better than this to sleep on. I’m listing to the side, the bed threatening to tip me out altogether and I take it as a sign.
‘I’m going for a walk.’ I roll out and land on my knees on the bedroom carpet.
‘And would this walk happen to take you past the strawberry patch?’
‘No.’ I sigh. ‘Maybe. I can’t stop thinking about him being out there at night, Cher. He must be freezing.’
‘It’s August.’
‘It still gets cold at night.’
‘It’s twenty-something degrees! It’s warmer tonight than most of spring!’
‘Well, he might be hungry. Ryan was always a night owl and it’s barely midnight. I doubt he’ll be asleep. And there are a ton of leftovers – I could take some and walk past, and if he is asleep then I’ll leave them so he’s got something to wake up to.’
‘You keep telling yourself that,’ she mutters. ‘Just do it quietly because I’ve got to get up for work in the morning.’
I change my pyjamas for a pair of joggers and a T-shirt and creep down to the kitchen. I load some leftover pasta salad into a Tupperware container and clip the lid on, and cut a slice of the chocolate cake Dad had made when I got back earlier and then rethink it and cut another slice, put them both in a tin, throw in two forks and make a flask of tea, put the whole lot into a backpack and hoist it over my shoulder. There’s a torch on the table in the hallway and I grab it as I sneak out the door.
It’s sensible to get up and do something when you can’t sleep, I tell myself. Fresh air is good for you. And if I happen to stroll past the strawberry patch …
I do, of course, head straight there, at such a pace that I’m out of breath by the time I reach the beach car park and let myself in the gate to the footpath. There’s the glow of what looks like a lantern from the direction of the tree, but I don’t want to shout out and wake everyone up, including the care home residents and Ryan if he is asleep, so I undo the metal chain and push a steel fence panel aside, wincing at every clang in the silence of the night.
‘Who’s there? Don’t come in! I’m armed!’ Ryan’s voice from the tree makes me jump.
‘It’s me, Ry,’ I answer. ‘Are you really armed?’
‘Fee?’ He sounds confused. ‘And no, of course not, but you never know who’s going to walk in here and throw their weight around. There’s nothing I wouldn’t put past those heartless companies. Stay there, I’ll come and get you. It’s hazardous in the dark. Well, it’s hazardous in daylight; it’s even worse in the dark.’
I hear the rustle of branches and the thunk as he jumps down from the tree, and there’s the murmur of his voice reassuring Baaabra Streisand, and I shine my torch down the path to see him coming towards me, the chain rattling as he moves, carrying a glowing lantern.
‘Hey.’ He lifts his hand to his eyes to block the beam of my torch. ‘What are you doing here so late?’
‘Couldn’t sleep,’ I say honestly. ‘Kept thinking about you on your own out here.’
‘I’m not on my own.’
My heart jumps into my throat. He said he wasn’t married and something about spinsters. He didn’t actually say he didn’t have a girlfriend. I’ve probably interrupted a romantic cosy summer night sleepover in a tree. ‘Oh, I’ll go. I didn’t—’
I’ve already started backing away when he interrupts me. ‘Baaabra Streisand’s here too.’
‘Oh, right!’ The relief makes me start laughing. ‘Of course she is. I, er, just thought I’d wander past, see if you needed anything. Thought you might be cold. I brought tea.’ If in doubt, always fall back on tea – the Great British answer for everything. ‘Have you eaten?’
‘Not since earlier, but I love the sound of a chef asking me that. Makes me wonder what’s in that bag.’ He nods to the backpack over my shoulder, and I cringe at the idea of him thinking I’m a chef. ‘C’mon, come and sit with me. Catch up. It’s been too long.’
Has he forgotten that I saw him a few hours ago? I think he means more than that though and it makes my heart pound faster. His voice is deep and he’s speaking quietly given the time of night. Without realising it, I’ve drifted closer to him and he holds his hand out.
I automatically slip mine into his as he turns and leads us back towards the tree, holding his lantern up to light the way, and I turn the beam of my torch towards the uneven ground in front of my feet to be extra sure of no more sheep poo incidents.
When we reach the clear area surrounding the tree, my torchlight falls onto the sheep, who is now lying on one of those huge dog bed cushions. She looks up uninterestedly and puts her head back down.
Ryan tugs me around the tree to a spot between branches on the lower left side. ‘It’s taken a bit of trial and error and bumps on the head, but this is the access point.’ He lets go of my hand and holds the lantern to the trunk so I can see where he taps the bark. ‘See this dent? Put your right foot here and use it as a foothold to push yourself up, and then you can use this branch to pull yourself the rest of the way.’ He reaches a long arm up and pats a branch above his head, seemingly forgetting that not all of us are six-foot-one.
He hands me the lantern and, within seconds, he’s on his knees in the big dip of the tree trunk and leaning over the side, holding his hand out. I pass him up the lantern and then my backpack, and hold the torch between my teeth.
Clambering up here has the potential to go horribly wrong and end with me flailing about in the water metres below. I do what Ryan said and position my foot in the dented part of the bark and use the foothold to launch myself upwards, and he grabs my hand and hauls me into the tree.
It’s a huge, almost-flat space where the trunk splits off in different directions, leaving a wide dip in the middle. The wood is smooth and silky; the bark worn away from so many years of children climbing it. Ryan hangs his lantern from a branch above, giving us just enough light to see.
He’s got a real little den up here. The canopy of tarpaulin to one side is like a tent to keep his stuff dry, and a sleeping bag is opened out across the middle of the trunk, and a couple of fleece blankets, one mussed up like it was pushed off in a hurry, along with a book open face-down. ‘Were you trying to get to sleep?’
‘Nah.’ He stops rifling through my backpack long enough to glance at me. ‘You know me, I never could sleep at this time of night.’ He holds up the Tupperware con
tainer he’s got out. ‘Did you make these?’
‘No.’ I decide to be honest. For a change. ‘My dad did.’
‘Aww, Dennis always was an incredible cook. I used to love him sending lunch in for me. When Mum and Dad were at the hospital, it was often the only real food I ate all day. How is he? I never see him around these days.’
‘No. He’s …’ I don’t know. What have I become that I don’t even know how my own father is? ‘I don’t think he goes out much. Cher said something the other night and I haven’t got to the bottom of it yet.’
‘You should bring him down here. Get him involved in the protest. Cynthia was asking about him after you left this afternoon. Apparently they used to work together? She has fond memories of him.’
‘Does she now?’ I waggle my eyebrows and he laughs. ‘Imagine having fond memories of someone you used to work with.’ I don’t know what it is about the dark that makes me braver, but the intensity in his eyes is dulled by the night and I feel less uptight than I did earlier.
‘No, I can’t imagine that at all,’ he says, deadpan, with his mouth full as he shovels pasta into it. ‘Seriously, Fee. I’m glad you came back.’
I’m not sure if he means to Lemmon Cove or tonight.
‘Sorry if I was weird earlier,’ he carries on. ‘Seeing you again was like being hit by a low-flying spaceship. The shock did something to me. Most of this afternoon is a blur. I can’t remember what I said, but I probably embarrassed myself.’
‘I feel exactly the same.’
‘But it’s a good spaceship, right? I mean, I’m ecstatic to see you again.’
It makes me go hot and red all over. Only Ryan could sort spaceships into good and bad categories.
‘The whole of today feels like some fuzzy dream. Ever since you went home, I’ve been going over everything I said and trying to remember what I said and shouldn’t have, and what I didn’t say and should have.’
The Wishing Tree Beside the Shore: The perfect feel good romance to escape with this summer! Page 7
