Page 24 of The Wishing Tree Beside the Shor
‘We’re online.’ Tonya waves her phone in the air. ‘I’m @BeachBattleaxe on Twitter. We’ve all been learning to use it. I got nine retweets the other day.’
‘I thought retweets sounded like something you’d need a swift course of Imodium for.’ One of the chess-playing men steals the other one’s bishop and thrusts it in the air even though it wasn’t his turn.
It makes me laugh. ‘Yes, and your Twitter account is getting a bit of attention, but it’s not done right. Your bio reads “I don’t know what to put. Is this the right place? What does it want me to write?” and your profile photo is of the veins on the back of your hand.’
Ryan nudges me. ‘You’ve been doing your homework.’
‘I want this place saved.’ The shake in my voice is un-hideable. I sound like I’m lying even though I’m not. ‘You’re posting photos of your naughty gnomes, and people are enjoying little old ladies getting to grips with technology, but you’ve barely mentioned the campaign, and there’s nowhere people can go for more information.’
‘I posted the link to the petition,’ Ffion says. ‘Two people retweeted it. One of them was an escort looking for men so I blocked that one.’
I meet Ryan’s eyes again and we both start giggling.
‘I think what Fee’s trying to say is that we need a website,’ he says. ‘I’ve been intending to find someone to design one for us, but I’m not into social media and stuff like that, so I haven’t got around to it yet.’
Maybe that explains why he’s unstalkable on Facebook. And I have to beverycareful not to say that out loud.
‘I’ll do it,’ I say. ‘Website repairs are part of my job. I know my way around the free hosting sites.’
‘As a chef?’ Lines crinkle around his eyes as they screw up in confusion.
Oh, for God’s sake. Think before you speak, Fliss. ‘You have to be a multi-tasker these days!’ If my tone was any breezier, I’d gust them all over the cliff’s edge.
Something’s missing here. This place has got all the potential to go viral, but no one’s tapping into it. I look around for inspiration and my eyes fall on Godfrey. A few wisps of white hair are blowing on his otherwise bald head. He’s still sitting on the bench with his newspaper spread across his lap, but he hasn’t turned over a page since I got here, and I get the impression he’s listening in without getting involved. I think about what Ryan told me yesterday, how much this place must mean to him, how heartbroken he would be to see it destroyed, to watch someone cut down the tree where he goes to feel closer to his wife.
I was in tears when Ryan told me Godfrey’s story. Other people would be too.
‘My mum died when I was a teenager,’ I say. ‘We scattered her ashes on the beach, and I looked up at the tree from the sand below and felt like she was watching over us. As we walked back up, a robin was sitting in the branches singing. You know how they say robins appear when departed loved ones are near?’ I don’t realise I’m getting choked up until Ryan’s hand squeezes my shoulder and I have to stop myself and take a few deep breaths. ‘I always felt closer to her when I came here afterwards. You know like Cinderella with the hazel tree but no one ever turned my dress and shoes to gold. There was always, always a robin sitting in the branches.’
‘I had my first kiss with my late husband under that tree,’ Ffion says.
‘My wife and I carved our names on our first anniversary. Even though we moved away, we came back to visit the tree every year around our anniversary to make sure our carving hadn’t faded … She died a few years back, and I couldn’t think of anywhere I’d rather spend my final years than right here,’ Mr Barley says.
I have no idea where that old legend came from, but local people of their generation believed it wholeheartedly. The tradition of happy couples carving their names into the bark and then coming back to visit it every year to make sure their relationship wasn’t doomed … It gets the cogs in my brain working.
‘Ry told me about your carving, Godfrey,’ I call across to the elderly man on the bench.
He looks up at me, gives me a smile and a nod, but makes no other move to get involved.
‘This is it,’ I say. ‘This is the key. The trunk iscoveredin carvings from across the centuries. How many other stories are connected to it? How many other people would be devastated by the thought of it being cut down?Thisis how we save the land – by saving the tree.’
‘How do we do that?’ Tonya asks.
‘We, er …’ I really need to start finishing thoughts before I say them out loud. ‘We have to share its stories. Trees this old are magical, ethereal, otherworldly things. It could beThe Magic Faraway Treewith different lands coming to the top of it. Moon-Face and Silky could be living in those branches. Looking up at something like this makes you feel like a child again. Look at all those bunches of helicopter seeds ripening ahead of autumn. When I was young, I’d look up at them and feel like magic was just around the corner.’ I dodge past Ryan and walk a little further down the path between blackberry bushes, gesturing towards the towering branches as I step over the long chain attaching him to the trunk. ‘There is no one alive today who can remember it evernotbeing there. Landoperty Developments cannot be allowed to take something like this. It doesn’t belong to anyone. It belongs to the earth itself and cutting it down would change the landscape forever.’
‘Hear, hear.’ Ryan claps and I’m blushing when I look over and meet his eyes.
Tonya has tottered along the path behind me, and she’s reaching her hand out in my direction. I take hold of it because I think she might need assistance, but instead of gripping it like I expected, she pumps it up and down like a business deal. ‘All those in favour of Felicity being our new campaign manager?’ she yells, making me jump at the sudden volume.
A chorus of “ayes” goes through the group.
Tonya beams a toothy beam at me. ‘Congratulations, you’re officially our new campaign manager.’
‘I can’t do that,’ I say instantly. ‘I have a job to get back to.’
‘Well, for as long as you’re here, and then you can hand over to Ryan when you leave. He can be your deputy.’
Ryan meets my eyes with two raised eyebrows. ‘Oh, how the roles have reversed. I used to be Fee’s boss, you know.’
