Page 55 of The Wishing Tree Beside the Shor
‘Exactly why I’m not on it. I like being awkward and doing the opposite of what everyone else does.’ He opens his hands and does a bow. ‘My assistant handles all that for the campsite. I take photos when I walk Baaabra Streisand and he puts them on the internet to show things to do around the area. It’s only on there at all because he gave me the same lecture when he started working for me.’
I go to question him further, but … ‘Did you say youwalkyour sheep?’
‘She needs her exercise too. She’s on a lead all day, so she needs a break from that, and with the campsite full, I don’t have an empty field I can put her in. Sheep appreciate a change of scenery. Just don’t say “walkies” too loudly or all hell will break loose.’
I know he can see the cogs in my mind turning and he holds a finger out and beckons me closer as I put two and two together, because I’ve been here every day for a couple of weeks now and I’ve not once seen him walk his sheep.
‘Does that mean you leave the tree unattended?’ I whisper to him, being careful that no one’s in earshot, even with their hearing aid signal boosters tuned in.
His breath moves the hair by my ear when he speaks. ‘Only very late at night when Steffan has gone home and I’m certain no one’s going to check. And I always leave my lamp on in case anyone happens to glance down.’
I love that he trusts me enough to tell me that, like no time has passed between us. This is exactly the sort of thing Harrison would be proud of me for – earning his trust and getting his secrets, another possible “in” to securing the land, but the idea of it makes me feel ill. I look up into Ryan’s genuine, trustful eyes, and I can’t imagine ever betraying him.
Which makes mebrilliantat my job, and I start wondering how long I’m going to have left before I have to do something about this. Harrison isn’t going to let this go on indefinitely without expecting something in return, and he’s following the campaign, so he’s going to see the strawberry patch is reopening and that I’m doing the opposite of what I’m supposed to be doing.
I’m so lost in thought that I don’t realise Tonya is trying to get our attention until she lets out a shrill whistle to attract it, inadvertently piercing the eardrums of everyone within a ten-mile radius. We go across when she beckons us over to the group where the tray of Welsh cakes looks like it’s been decimated by a shoal of starving piranhas.
‘Fliss, you can make jam, can’t you?’
‘Jam?’ My voice goes so squeaky that it sounds like I’ve been sucking helium out of balloons. Who the heckmakesjam? Outside of trying to impress Paul Hollywood onThe Great British Bake Off, that is. You buy it in a jar with “Hartleys” written on the front like any normal person. ‘Of course,’ I say brightly. ‘What chef wouldn’t know how to make jam?’
Oh God, it can’t bethatdifficult, can it?
‘We thought we could set up a little sideline for opening day and have a table outside with tea and Welsh cakes. The nurses are going to make them fresh from the kitchen – they’ve just agreed.’ She indicates towards the two blue-uniformed nurses sitting with them.
‘I think “agreed” is a bit strong a word,’ one of them says.
‘As I’m sure you know with this lot,’ the other one says with a grin to me and Ryan. ‘Either you agree or they agree for you.’
‘There’s nowhere nearby to get food,’ Alys continues. ‘For opening day, we thought it would be a novelty if we could offer Welsh cakes and cream and sugar with strawberry jam made from the strawberries grown right here. Our Welsh version of a cream tea. Maybe in the future, we could make jam and sell jars if it proves popular.’
‘Sounds great. Yay.’ I do a little clap. Inside, I’m feeling very muchnot-yay. How on earth do you make jam? Would they notice if I scooped some out of a supermarket-bought jar and said I’d made it?
In the crowd, my dad does a thumbs up, which I take to mean hecanandwillmake jam on my behalf. I also catch Ryan’s eyes flicking from me to him. I’m about to create a distraction, but thankfully Tonya has arranged a flyer swap with another local event planner, and the girl chooses that moment to walk in carrying a stack of flyers. She hands one out to each of us while Tonya grabs a stack of ours and dashes across waving them around.
‘Sandcastle building competition.’ I read aloud from the flyer she’s just given me. ‘Is this reallystillgoing?’
I’m consistently surprised by how Lemmon Cove seems to have avoided the trappings of time passing and stayed exactly as it was when I left. This annual sandcastle building competition has been going since the Seventies. It was still going when I left, but it was never popular enough to have any sort of advertising materials then.
‘It’s ahugedeal now,’ Cynthia says proudly.
‘I’moverbooked at the campsite next weekend with how many tourists are coming,’ Ryan adds. ‘The strawberry patch will be open by then, so it should have a good impact for us. This is the main access route to the beach, so aheckof a lot of people will be walking by. There’s actually a route down from the campsite but I’m going to block it off so they’ll all be forced to come this way.’
‘I admire your sneaky, underhanded tactics.’
He grins like it’s the best compliment he could ever get.
‘It’s a real thing for sand artists now,’ Alys says, going back to the flyer in her hand, while Tonya swaps our stack for the sandcastle competition stack and sends the girl on her way. ‘There’s a £500 prize and your creation gets in all the local papers, and national news websites cover it.’
‘We should enter.’
‘This is not just kids slopping sand into a bucket and upturning it anymore, Fliss,’ Ffion says. ‘The people who enter these days are real sculptors. Artists. They travel around the world entering competitions like this. It’s serious business.’
‘It could be fun. And if there’s that much local interest then it could be great for our cause, even if we don’t win. It says here the entry fee is only a tenner – I’ll pay that.’ I gesture to Ryan. ‘You’re good with your hands. You and whoever’s the best designer do it together.’
‘Ah, just one problem,’ Alys says. ‘There’s only two of us who are young and fit enough to make it down to the beach.’
‘And I’m not doing it on my own. You work with food, you must be able to, y’know, sculpt things.’ Ryan looks at me expectantly and mashes his hands together.
