Page 21 of The Wishing Tree Beside the Shor
‘A couple of families up in the Midlands. Not seriously – I mean, a couple of days of nausea and diarrhoea, not death or anything. They’d bought my courgette seeds, grown the plants, eaten the courgettes, thought they tasted bitter, and then … yeah. I had to get in touch with everyone who’d bought any of the gourd seeds, and I didn’t have customer details for anyone who’d bought in person so had to put up big notices and issue product recalls and all that fun stuff. Then there was the compensation claims I had to settle …’
I nod because lines have creased his forehead and his voice is quiet anyway, but it’s dropped even lower.
‘It’s to do with cross-contamination from other plants, right?’
He nods. ‘I had no way of telling how it happened and no way of testing for it, so no guarantee that it wouldn’t happen again. The following year, I had no way of safeguarding against it so I pulled all of our squash products from sale. A big chunk of our income, and a big chunk of our growers’ time and effort, but word gets around and mud sticks, you know? The year after, we only sold thirty per cent of our usual income. It seemed like everyone in the UK had heard of Sullivan’s Seeds causing toxic squash syndrome and no one would touch us with a bargepole. I haemorrhaged customersandthe wholesale firms I was supplying.’
The hand not holding his cup is twisting in the blanket and I want to squeeze it, but force myself not to be so daft.
‘The year after, I met a Chinese wholesaler at a grower’s conference and he offered to invest. Wanted to take our products to China where no one would’ve heard of the poisonous squash incident … for a small fee …’ He looks up at me. ‘You already know where this is going, don’t you?’
I nod. Nothing good ever comes of businessmen who want a small fee.
‘If I’m honest with myself, I knew it was a scam before I did it. The company was on the edge and it was a last-ditch effort to save it when I already knew it was unsaveable. That investment tipped us over the edge, and unsurprisingly, therewasno Chinese firm waiting to buy up all our stock. But at least when it failed, I could somehow blame that instead of my own inability to run a business.’
‘I knew my job would fall through before I went.’
He meets my eyes and his mouth tips into a half-smile. ‘I’ve never admitted that out loud before. And I’m guessing you haven’t either?’
My smile matches his as I shake my head.
‘Turns out, even fifteen years later, we still can’t lie to each other.’
The thought makes my stomach turn over.Can’t we, Ry?I swallow hard. ‘So now you’ve got the campsite?’
‘Yeah, after Sullivan’s Seeds went, I had to sell the land and most of the money went to paying off the company’s debts, but I had a little bit left over, and the farmer who owned that patch was an old friend of my dad’s, and he did me a deal. There were always people turning up and illegally pitching tents in fields around here, and I had this idea of offering somewhere cheap and legal for them to stay, and it grew summer by summer. I earned enough to buy extra land and expanded from tents to on-site caravans, and then to a camping ground for campervans and motorhomes.’
I want to ask him why he never left Lemmon Cove. All Ryan ever wanted to do was travel, but I can’t think of a way to word it that doesn’t sound demeaning.
‘Things don’t often work out for me, but the campsite turned out to be just the thing Lemmon Cove needed at exactly the right time. Now I want to expand into proper holiday lets – a more luxurious experience. I want to put up little chalets with electricity, running water, kitchens and bathrooms. The highest level of glamping. It’ll appeal to people who like the idea of camping but not the aspect of sleeping on the ground with insects crawling through their hair. I’ve got my eye on a patch of land that would be just the ticket, but I don’t know if I’m going to get it yet.’
No wonder he doesn’t want a hotel popping up here. If he’s wanting to expand into luxury holiday lets, thelastthing he needs is a hotel across the way. It totally contradicts what he said earlier about appealing to a different kind of clientele.
‘I’ve not told anyone that before. Sorry, Fee, I never could stop myself talking to you.’
It makes me feel warm inside. We always shared everything and never tried to hide things between us, but something niggles at me. Even though it’s dark, I look over at the campsite and the farmer’s fields spread across the hillsides into the distance, too dark to see anything but indistinct mountainsides. ‘Where’s this patch of land?’
‘Oh, it’s near. Really near. I don’t want to say too much in case I jinx it.’
Really near. What if it’s literallyhere? Ryan’s a businessman. What if he’s seen an opportunity to put up his holiday lets onthispatch of land? I have no idea how much more of the land surrounding the campsite he owns, but it can’t be much or it would be in use because the campsite looks pretty full.
I narrow my eyes at him and he doesn’t flinch, but his involvement in this protest is suddenly muddied, and I can’t get the thought out of my head. It’s a conflict of interests to be planning to expand into luxury holiday lets and also be involved in the protest against a luxury hotel being built right next door.
Maybe he thinks he can buy this bit of land if the hotel pulls out. Leave the tree intact, and only block the view with a few chalets. It’s all a bit too convenient.
Maybe I’m not the only one being dishonest here.
Chapter 7
Somehow, the idea of Ryan not being entirely honest makes me feel better about my job. I have to infiltrate this protest and discover what’s got Landoperty Developments so spooked. It can’t be personal. I can’t let my feelings about the ex-strawberry patch cloud my judgement. I was sent here to do a job and that’s what I have to do.
I have to admit I’m wondering what Harrison is so worried about as I push the gate open the next morning and look at the wilting cardboard sign with “Save Our Garden” written on it. It must’ve rained overnight because it’s starting to disintegrate. I did some research last night and found an article on the local newspaper website about the residents protesting the sale of their garden area, but it only had one spam comment offering free penis enlargements, so I don’t think it’s getting much attention. The garden or the penises, clearly. The residents have been at this for two weeks now, and while I agree with Harrison that itcouldgo viral, it’s got all the potential of a damp squib at the moment.
The sign flops limply against the gate as I clang it shut behind me.
‘Good morning!’ It’s Ryan’s cheerful Welsh accent that greets me. ‘I was hoping you’d be back today.’
I look up and meet his grey-blue eyes as he lifts aside the metal fencing to let me into the strawberry patch, and my resolve to remain professionally aloof wavers.
