Rise and Shine, Benedict Stone

by Phaedra Patrick

“I want to know what they mean.”

  It had been many years since Benedict had seen the gemstones, since he pushed them into his brother’s rucksack before he left for America. “They used to belong to my parents...”

  “There must be more to the story than that.”

  Benedict felt a trickle of sweat run down his spine. He tied the drawstring tight and handed it back to her. Surely Charlie wouldn’t have told her the reason why the two brothers had fallen out? When he spoke his throat was the thickness of a drinking straw. “No, there isn’t,” he said.

  “Well.” Gemma snatched the bag of gemstones back off him and held them to her chest. “I’m sorry for throwing these at you, Uncle Ben. I’ll leave today and not come back. But not until you tell me more about these gems...”

  3.

  MOONSTONE

  release, empathy, intuition

  BENEDICT WENT DOWNSTAIRS whilst Gemma showered and changed. He made cheese on toast, just as he used to for Charlie’s breakfast, and when his niece joined him in the kitchen, they sat at opposite ends of the table. The atmosphere felt chilly.

  She wore last night’s clothes, the crumpled navy cotton dress and the enormous denim jacket. Her legs were bare in her cowboy boots. To Benedict, she looked too young to be traveling alone. If she were his child, he’d have packed a warm coat, jeans, gloves and woolly socks, and he’d heard you could put GPS tracking devices on mobile phones.

  He tried to search out elements of Amelia in Gemma’s face, but she hadn’t inherited her mother’s olive skin, dark eyes or walnut hair. He didn’t know where her arched bushy eyebrows had come from.

  As he studied her, a memory popped into his head.

  When Charlie was eleven or twelve years old, the two of them had watched a magic show on TV in which a man walked on a bed of nails. Afterward Charlie said he was going to try it. “All I need are some nails and a plank of wood,” he said.

  “But it was just a trick,” Benedict argued.

  But Charlie was convinced he could do it. In the shed he found a jar of nails and a large piece of chipboard. He tugged the board under the gem tree and spent ages knocking the nails through. When he finished, he hoisted up his creation. “Done it.”

  Benedict wanted to warn his brother that this could hurt, and that he might need a tetanus injection if the nails were rusty. He always rushed to protect him.

  “I’m going to do it.” Charlie let the board drop flat on the grass, the spikes pointing upward.

  “Okay, then.” Benedict tried to sound calm as he stood at the back door.

  “Watch me.”

  “I’m watching.”

  Charlie kicked off his flip-flops. He gave Benedict a big grin and his copper hair shone bright in the sun. He placed his first, bare right foot flat on the nails then stood for a moment, pressing and testing out the pressure. His head was bent in concentration. He put all his weight onto his right foot then raised his left one.

  Benedict grasped a wad of tissues, ready to run and mop up any blood. He wondered where he’d put the antiseptic ointment. However, Charlie held out his arms and walked slowly and steadily across the plank. When he reached the end, he jumped off and ran around the garden, whooping and punching the air. “Did it,” he shouted. “I told you it wasn’t camera trickery.”

  Benedict gave a rictus grin of relief. “Yes, you did. Well done.”

  Charlie was never more alive than when he tried something new. Perhaps Benedict shouldn’t feel surprised that his brother thought it was okay for Gemma to travel on her own. Perhaps his niece was as spontaneous and determined as her father.

  He wondered if he should tell Gemma that she reminded him of Charlie but, instead, he bit into his toast.

  “Kindergarten food.” Gemma nodded at her plate, but she picked up her toast anyway. She nibbled off the crust first, then turned the toast round and round, eating it in a spiral until a small square remained. She popped the last bit into her mouth with relish. “I’m still hungry,” she said as she munched. “Do you have any fruit?”

  Benedict hadn’t bought fruit since Estelle left. The produce at Veg Out was rather lifeless. “Fruit?” he repeated.

  “Yeah. You know, the stuff that grows on trees? Healthy, juicy, bright colors...”

  A laugh escaped from Benedict’s lips and it sounded strange to him, like it wasn’t his own.

  Gemma gave a small smile, too. Her eyes crinkled at the sides, as Charlie’s used to. Benedict had forgotten about that and he felt a flitter in his chest. “I don’t have any,” he said.

  “You’re not a healthy eater, are you?” Gemma looked him over. “It puts a strain on your heart being that chunky. You should cut out the candy.”

  “Thanks for the advice, Gordon Ramsay.” Benedict carried the empty plates over to the sink. “It’s not fat, it’s insulation against cold Yorkshire nights. Now, how are we going to get in touch with your dad?”

  “Don’t worry. He knows I’m fine.”

  “Gemma.” Benedict held out his palms. “You’ve traveled thousands of miles on your own, with hardly any luggage. You arrived on my doorstep in the middle of the night. Charlie is supposed to have arranged your visit, but I’ve not heard from him. And you’ve lost your purse and passport and phone.”

  “Hmm.” She threaded a piece of hair into her mouth. “You make it sound worse than it is.”

  “Really?” he said. “I’m not sure how.”

  She scraped her chair loudly away from the table and stood up. Her eyes seemed to grow darker. “Do you know I grew up seeing other kids’ uncles come to their school plays, birthday parties, and give them twenty dollars at Christmas? And all I had was you,” she accused. “The invisible uncle in the UK who asks too many questions.”

  Benedict felt guilt gnaw inside him as he thought about her growing up in a different country, without him around. “Did your dad tell you anything about me?”

  Gemma shrugged. “He said he used to sit with you, and your parents, under a tree in the garden and you all hung gemstones into it. He called it your family tree, or the gem tree. Is it still here? I wanna sit under it.”

  “Yes, it’s still here.”

  Gemma shook the gemstones out of the white bag and onto the table. “So, tell me about these gems,” she said.

  Benedict’s stomach churned. He couldn’t tell her the truth, that was for sure. “I told you. I gave them to your dad, before he and your mum left for America. That’s it. What do you know about them?”

  She stared at him for a while then seemed to accept his answer. She sat down and pointed at each of the gems in turn. “This one is tiger’s-eye. This is citrine and this is aquamarine. This is, um, what’s the pink heart-shaped stone called? Rose quartz, that’s it. Garnet, poppy jasper, blue lace agate, amethyst, sunstone...um, carnelian and golden topaz.” She picked up a blue stone, the color of the Mediterranean Sea. “I can never remember this one.”

  Its name popped into Benedict’s head. When he’d hung the gems into the gem tree, his father had told him the name of each. “It’s lapis lazuli.”

  “Okay. Lapis.” She picked up a round stone the size of a blueberry. As she turned it between her thumb and finger, it shone white, silver, then puddle gray. “Do you know the meaning of moonstone?”

  “The meaning...?” Benedict tried to recall his trips with his parents and what gemstones they’d come across, but all he saw was his mother laughing and ruffling his hair. “I know that most moonstones come from India and Sri Lanka. They get their name because they look like the moon...”

  “Duh, everyone knows that.” Gemma laughed. She set the stone on her palm and lifted it up. “Did you know that the Romans thought that moonstone was made from frozen moonlight?”

  Benedict said that he didn’t.

  “It’s sometimes
known as the dream stone and can bring you sweet and beautiful dreams. If you give your lover a moonstone when the moon is full, you’re supposed to always feel kinda passionate about each other.”

  Benedict felt impressed by her knowledge; however, a sixteen-year-old girl using the word lover made him feel uneasy.

  “Dad only really told me about moonstone and I wanna know about the others, too.”

  “Your grandfather Joseph kept a journal when he was younger. He used to make notes about gemstones.”

  “Really?” Gemma’s bushy eyebrows arched up.

  “I think it’s in a chest in the attic,” Benedict added. He hadn’t been up into the dusty, dirty space for years.

  “Can we look at it? Please, Uncle Ben. Before I go...” She jumped to her feet and did a strange shuffle, her feet dancing on the spot. “Just one look. I’ll sit under the gem tree. Then I’ll get my bag and leave. Your house will be empty again, for when your wife comes back. Please, Uncle Ben.”

  Benedict was surprised to find that a lump had risen in his throat and he cast his eyes over this teenager who reminded him so much of his long-lost brother. He’d planned, one day, to show the journal to his own children, but that was unlikely to ever happen.

  And everyone seemed to leave this house. Benedict’s parents died. Charlie moved to America, and Estelle was staying at Veronica’s. He was tired of being the one who watched everyone go. Gemma was the only one who’d actually arrived.

  Even though he hardly knew his niece, the thought of her also moving on made his gut twist. Also, familiar feelings of responsibility, which he’d once had for Charlie, were beginning to edge back like ivy creeping around a gatepost.

  He couldn’t allow her to leave without her purse, phone and passport, and with so few belongings. Whether he liked it or not, he was responsible for her. He mused on the word she had used. Empty. He hated it.

  “Okay,” he said eventually. “We can go into the attic later, but I need to open up my jewelry shop.”

  Gemma cocked her head to one side. “Yeah?” she said brightly. “So that means I can stay, right?”

  Benedict’s spine stiffened and he felt the need to cough. “Yes,” he said. “You can stay.” Though as he said it, he wondered if he’d live to regret it.

  4.

  MALACHITE

  transforming, absorbing, soothing

  BENEDICT WALKED BRISKLY along the canal towpath toward the village, and Gemma struggled to keep up with him. Her limbs weren’t coordinated and her boots waggled on her ankles, reminding him of a newborn calf. Watching her made him feel motion sick.

  “You’re going too fast,” she complained.

  “Sorry,” he said, and carried on just as quickly.

  Gossip in Noon Sun could spread like oil on water. If anyone spied him and Gemma together, the villagers might pounce like foxes on an injured rabbit. He didn’t want the arrival of his niece to be the new topic of conversation in Bake My Day, the Deserted Dogs charity shop, or the Pig and Whistle pub. He bet that Veg Out, Floribunda florists and the Soap’n’Suds launderette were hotbeds for tittle-tattle.

  “Do you have nice customers in your shop, or are they crazy?”

  Benedict shook his head at her bizarre question. “I don’t actually have that many, to categorize them.”

  As Gemma pointed and asked what a canal lock was, and he took a moment to explain, Benedict couldn’t help thinking of walking with Estelle each Sunday. Not having children, they had slipped toward middle age quickly, embracing strolls along the canal and enjoying the scenery. They admired the horses in the fields, a flock of geese or a kingfisher swooping down to the water. Sometimes they ended up back in bed, in the late afternoon, but it was difficult to be spontaneous when the pressure of trying for a child weighed down on them.

  “There are hills everywhere,” Gemma exclaimed, spinning around.

  “If you climb to the top, you’re on the Yorkshire moors.”

  The moors made him feel uneasy. They were too wild, too deserted and too vast. The earth shifted, and the color of the grass and sods of earth morphed from black to violet, emerald to mustard, so the landscape was never the same. One minute the air could be still and calm, and then black clouds descended and a storm could sail over the hills. Estelle said that the moors lured her to paint them, but Benedict shuddered at the thought of her walking up there, with her paints and drawing pad, without him.

  “There’s an interesting old quarry up there,” he told Gemma. “They used to mine a gemstone called Blue Jack in the nineteenth century. It’s indigenous to Noon Sun. Anyway, how did you get to my house last night?”

  “I hitched a ride from a lady at the airport. I told her I’d lost my purse.”

  “That’s pretty lucky.” Benedict frowned. “But you shouldn’t accept lifts from strangers.”

  “She looked nice.”

  “Is this the first time you’ve traveled on your own?”

  She shook her head. “I went to Paris once, to see the Eiffel Tower.”

  Benedict was amazed that Charlie allowed her to do this. “I took Estelle there a few years ago, and it was lovely. What else did you see?”

  Gemma stopped dead on the towpath and her teal blue eyes flashed angrily. “Why are you asking me questions? Stop prying all the time.”

  Benedict held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, don’t get mad,” he said. “I only asked.”

  She tutted and tossed her head.

  Benedict sighed and carried on, looking up to see his friends Ryan and Nigel setting up their fold-up chairs on the canal bank. Two fishing rods stretched into the water. A pile of sandwiches wrapped in tinfoil sat between the chairs.

  Benedict wondered if he could climb over the wall and take the longer route through the field to avoid them, though he didn’t fancy his chances in trying to clamber over.

  But it was too late. Ryan raised his hand. “Alright, Benedict? Do you want to join us?”

  “Not today, lads. I’ve got to get into work.”

  Ryan was happy to share every detail of his marital problems with his wife, Diane, who had asked him for a divorce. He lamented how sleeping on an inflatable mattress in the spare room gave him a sweaty back. Ryan always smelled strongly of the floral washing powder from Soap’n’Suds, and he ironed pin-sharp creases down the front of his black jeans.

  “We’re going to be here all day,” Nigel added. He worked at the newsagent’s shop in the village and teamed his faded black Guns N’ Roses T-shirt with a leather biker’s jacket. His long, thinning strawberry blond hair looked like strings of spaghetti escaping through a colander. Nigel’s latest crush was Josie, the barmaid at the Pig and Whistle, though he didn’t have enough confidence to speak to her. Instead, he bought far too many bags of crisps at the bar in a bid to get closer.

  Ryan and Nigel sat back in their canvas chairs and stared at Gemma, as if she was an exotic zoo creature they’d never seen before. Benedict could see they were waiting for an introduction and he wasn’t going to offer it.

  “Maybe I’ll see you later, lads,” he said and placed his hand lightly on the small of Gemma’s back, to usher her onward.

  When they were out of earshot, Gemma scraped her feet. Benedict slowed down to allow her to catch up to him.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Are you ashamed of me, Uncle Ben?”

  “No. Of course not.”

  Her eyes told him that she didn’t believe him.

  “Look,” he sighed. “Not much happens around here, so when it does, the villagers can latch on to it like leeches.”

  “So you’re happy I’m here?”

  Happy was too strong a word, but he said yes anyway.

  “So,” she said. “I can have a job in your shop, then, huh?”

  Benedict
held his fist to his mouth and coughed in surprise. “Excuse me,” he said. “Let’s not rush things, eh?”

  * * *

  When Benedict and Gemma reached the high street, they neared Crags and Cakes. The café had undergone several refurbishments and now had an Alice in Wonderland theme, complete with a six-foot-tall angry-looking white rabbit on the pavement. The villagers said he looked so cross because of the cost of the cakes. Three pounds ninety-nine for a slice of Victoria sponge was extortionate.

  Benedict’s footsteps slowed down.

  “Is this your shop?” Gemma asked.

  “No,” he said quietly. He touched his wedding ring. “It’s where I met Estelle.”

  “Yeah?” Gemma pressed a hand to her chest. “Was it romantic?”

  Benedict gave a quick grin. “Kind of.” He told Gemma that each Sunday morning, the Noon Sun Walkers met outside Crags and Cakes for a quick coffee before going for a hike on the moors. “My doctor told me to get more exercise and I thought walking would be easy. I bought some boots and a padded coat and off I went, thinking that I’d be like David Beckham within no time. And I saw this woman outside the café. She had hair like Cleopatra and she wore a purple coat and matching hairband. I couldn’t look away.” He swallowed as he thought of Estelle’s cobalt eyes and full lips.

  “Aw. That’s cute.”

  “We hiked up to Dinosaur Ridge, a local landmark up high on the moors. The rocks are supposed to look like the profile of a stegosaurus. I was lagging behind but I heard a woman’s voice say, ‘Quick. Shoulder.’ And it was Cleopatra. Well, Estelle. She had a stone in her boot and wanted to lean on my shoulder to steady herself. She said that I looked solid.”

  “I suppose that’s one word to describe you,” Gemma said.

  “I thought she was gorgeous but I didn’t know what to say.” He was aware that his words were flowing more freely than usual, because he wanted to talk about his wife. He thought back to that day and tried not to groan when he remembered his riveting first words to Estelle.

  “My legs are killing me,” he said.