Page 54 of The Wishing Tree Beside the Shor
‘We discovered we only lived ten minutes apart, swapped phone numbers and chatted every night. I used the excuse of checking up on her injury.’ The man still has a proud smile, even so many years later. ‘Her parents couldn’t argue with that.’
‘We got married four years later, on the beach down there with the tree watching over us,’ she says.
‘The night before our wedding, obviously it’s tradition not to see each other, but we both snuck out and met here. We threw a sycamore seed from the cliff and shouted our wish to the sea. A long and happy marriage.’
‘So far so good,’ the wife adds. ‘Thirty years and counting.’
‘We put our names on the trunk that night too.’
They’re both looking at each other adoringly. Alys and Cynthia have gathered around like walking heart-eyes emojis, Tonya’s furiously scribbling their story down in her notebook, and Ffion’s making a heart shape with her two thumbs.
I glance up at Ryan. He’s watching, but he looks sceptical. Before, we talked about anything and everything, but we never really spoke about love or relationships. Whenever the topic bobbed near the surface, I’d avoid it like I’d avoid an angry wasp on a summer’s day in case the mere mention of the word “love” would somehow clue him in that I was head over heels for him.
‘That’s sweet.’ I nod towards the couple who are now filling Tonya in on the ins and outs of their wedding day, complete with photos that the whole group are oohing and aahing over. Even some of the blokes have come over to have a look, although Mr Barley is busy making a child-friendly scarecrow sign telling birds to get lost … in definitelyun-censored terms. He hasn’tquiteworked out the difference between swearwords and non-swearwords yet, and he’s in for an almighty row when Tonya catches him.
‘Yeah. I guess some people are lucky in love.’
‘Aren’t you?’ I don’t even want to know, but I can’t stop myself asking.
He lets out a sarcastic burst of laughter. ‘I was lucky in a few things, like the campsite taking off the way it did, but love …’ His eyes are on mine and I feel like I can’t breathe. His fingers tighten around the hand he’s still holding. ‘No.’
We look at each other in silence for a long moment.
‘You?’ he croaks out. His voice is rough and low so as not to disturb the chatter of the group.
I know we’ve already established we’re both single now, but we haven’t mentioned how we got there. Like before, I’m still convinced that the mere mention of the “l” word will tip him off that I had a massive crush on him – not that kissing him didn’t do that anyway – and to be honest, I’m not sure how much I’m over the crush. Looking at himstilldoes things to me. ‘No. Unlucky in everything. I’ve never been in love.’
‘Oh. Right.’ He lets go of my hand and steps away quickly, like he can sense the crush as I always thought he would. ‘No, me neither, obviously.’
Why is that obvious? He’s thirty-eight and gorgeous, funny, and kind, with absolutely no clue ofhowgorgeous, funny, and kind he is. Even after nearly two weeks of adjusting to the shock of him still being single, Istillcan’t believe that someone hasn’t snapped him up by now.
‘But you still believe in magical trees and wishes coming true?’ He raises a dark eyebrow.
‘I can be old and cynical and jaded when it comes to relationships, but no one’s ever too old for a bit of tree magic. That’s like saying you’re too old to read Enid Blyton or enjoy Disney films or laugh at Mr Bean.’
‘Well, while I still love all those things, I think I missed my chance when it comes to love.’
‘Me too.’ I look over at him and can’t help the way my mouth curves into a half-smile at the sight of his half-smile. That’s exactly how I feel about him. Thatwemissedourchance. Especially with what he said the other day about not being good enough … That maybe if I’d been braver, told him how I felt sooner, if I hadn’t waited until the night before I left … because I wassocertain he felt the same, thathe’dtellmehow he felt as soon as we were no longer boss and employee, that he wouldn’t let me leave Wales without telling me …
‘Fresh Welsh cakes!’ Ffion shouts, walking down the garden with a batch of freshly made Welsh cakes on a tray, followed by a couple of nurses bringing out trays containing bowls of clotted cream, jam, and sugar, and a teapot and set of cups.
Ryan and I stand back as the group descends on the baked goods, dragging along the fracture clinic couple, Ellis, and my dad, who’s come down to see Cynthia with the excuse of bringing my gardening gloves. He’s now examining the hedgerows with Morys and discussing what would be best to do with them.
‘He’s enjoying himself.’ Ryan’s gaze follows mine.
‘Yeah. He loves gardening. I knew something like this would be right up his street, but he needed a push to get out and about. I think he was feeling like he didn’t have anything to offer anyone, and coming here, and Cynthia beingsopleased to see him and everyone asking for his gardening advice has given him a confidence boost.’
‘I wish I’d known. I could’ve done something. Asked for his advice or his help with maintaining the campsite borders or something.’
We’re both watching the feeding frenzy but I look back over my shoulder at him. ‘You always were too nice for your own good.’
He’s blushing when he answers, steadfastly ignoring the compliment. ‘Well, if he needs anything again, let me know, all right? When you’ve gone—’ He cuts off the sentence abruptly and I watch his Adam’s apple dip as he swallows. ‘We’re not going to lose touch this time, are we? Swap numbers and that. I don’t want to lose you again … losetouchwith you again.’
‘You could always add me on social media …’ I try a sneaky attempt at getting to the bottom of why he’s not on Twitter or Facebook.
‘I don’tdosocial media,’ he says instantly.
‘What about your business?Everyonehas to be on social media these days.’
