Page 2 of The Wishing Tree Beside the Shor
Usually when I say something stupid, I know it was stupid before the words have finished leaving my mouth, but this time it takes a good few seconds for my brain to catch up. Seven pairs of smarmy eyes turning sharply in my direction also tips me off.
‘You’refromLemmon Cove?’ One of the businessmen leans forward.
‘Er … yes?’ I sound decidedly unsure. This seems like something I might need to backpedal on fairly soon.
‘That’s fantastic.’
‘It is?’ No one has been this interested in anything I’ve had to say for years. It doesn’t feel fantastic. And from the predatory way one of them has started licking his lips, I think that backpedalling should start right about now.
I alsoreallywish I’d been paying attention and had a clue what I was interruptingbeforeI interrupted it. ‘Well, not really, I’ve been living here for as long as I can remember … Lemmon Cove was a long time ago. I almost never go back there at all now …’
I may as well be on mute. I don’t think any of them has heard a word since “hometown”.
‘Well, this changes things.’ One of them bangs his hand on the table. ‘Why didn’t you tell us you had an “inside man”, Harrison?’ He glances at me. ‘Apologies, an insidewoman.’
‘I’m not an in—’
Harrison’s head whips round so fast that I’m sure the first thing on my afternoon to-do list will be to make him an appointment with a chiropractor to fix his neck. I know his “shut up, Felicity” look well enough to stop talking. Why couldn’t this meeting have been the one I chose to pay attention in? Why didn’t I think blurting out that Lemmon Cove was my hometown might be a bad idea? And what on earth is all this about protestors? Protestors in Lemmon Cove? Last time I checked, the population of Lemmon Cove is tiny and they don’t admit anyone under the age of ninety. Preferably older.
‘This is brilliant, Harrison.’ One of the businessmen sips his coffee and raises the cup in a toast.
‘Innovative,’ another one says.
‘Sneaky and underhanded,’ another one adds. ‘Just the sort of people we like to deal with.’
I think that must be sarcasm, but the look on his face is completely serious.
Brilliant, innovative, sneaky, underhanded … All words that have never been associated with me before. Whatisgoing on here?
Harrison is trying to give me a conspiratorial wink over his shoulder. Or he needs that chiropractor more urgently than I thought. ‘I was about to introduce you to my assistant, Felicity Kerr … when she’s finished groping herself.’
As if my cheeks could get any redder. I’d completely forgotten my hand was still under one armpit and I go to yank my arm out of my shirt, but it gets caught and as I pull to free it, a button pings off and skitters across the room, leaving my shirt gaping open, showing my bra. It’s not even a good bra. It’s a comfortable old bra that had seen better days many moons ago, but it’s not easy to find a comfortable bra so I tend to hang on to them until the last thread frays, and this one doesn’t have many threads left.
I clear my throat, smooth my hair down and hunch my shoulders, trying to close the bra-level gap in my shirt buttons without overtly holding it closed and drawing more attention. These businessmen do not need anymorereasons to look at me when their menacing eyes are already making my armpits prickle with more sweat.
I get the feeling Harrison is delaying while he tries to formulate a plan. There’s something panicked in his eyes that says my interruption has caught him completely off-guard.
‘My secret weapon,’ he states eventually.
I am no one’s secret weapon.
‘When I implied that I could acquire this land for you, gentlemen, I had of course hoped we wouldn’t need the assistance of Felicity, but these protestors aren’t giving up, so I thought now was the time to bring in our undercover man. Er, woman.’
I’ve got to give him points for improvisation because until a few minutes ago, he didn’t have the foggiest idea where I came from. He could probably have narrowed it down to somewhere in Wales, because even he is observant enough to notice my Welsh accent.
The businessmen clap. For me. The most one of Harrison’s businessmen has ever done for me before is condescendingly ask if I’d like to get myself a cup of water when I coughed in a meeting once.
Why didn’t I pay attention to this meeting before now? “Undercover man” sounds suspiciously like someone might expect me to go back there. To Lemmon Cove. The only time I go there is to see my father and sister at Christmas and special occasions, and those visits are planned with military accuracy. I get a late-night train down, spend never more than a day with my family, and leave that night, always under the cover of darkness, so there’s never a chance of running intohim.
Ryan Sullivan. The guy I was in love with. The guy who broke my heart. The guy who might not even still live there. Who probably doesn’t still live there. The guy I never want to see again to find out.
I’m going to be honest and tell them I don’t know what they’re on about, but Harrison holds up a preventative hand. ‘Felicity, a word outside, please. As you were so late today, we didn’t have time to reiterate our plan. Excuse us, gents.’ With two swift finger jerks, he indicates for me to follow him into the hallway and the chair makes squelching noises as I unstick my body from it, silently seething at being yet again blamed for causing a gap in some fictional idea he’s made up on the spot.
‘This is brilliant, Felicity.’ The door closes with a click behind him and he ushers me along the corridor, away from any chance of being overheard. ‘I wish you’d mentioned it before.’
‘Mentioned what? Being from Lemmon Cove? Since when are you interested in where I’m from?’
‘I’m not, unless you happen to be from a village where I’ve promised those chaps the acquisition of a plot of land, and my plans have been scuppered by protestors.’
