Page 56 of The Wishing Tree Beside the Shor
‘I assure you, no one has ever donethatto food,’ I say with a raised eyebrow, but the wider his smile gets, the more I smile back, even though I hate that he has absolutely no doubt that Iama chef. I thought I would’ve been caught out by now.
‘Go on,’ Morys says. ‘We’ll manage here while you’re down on the beach next Saturday. Someone will take over on tree duty, and the rest of us will man the strawberry patch. You’ve got nothing to lose.’
I look at Ryan and shrug. ‘I’m in if you are.’
‘It’s a date.’
‘Yeah, the—’
‘And not the twenty-third of August this time.’ He winks at me. ‘A real date, yeah?’
I’m caught off-guard at his casual suggestion. Me and Ryan on a date. What could possibly go wrong?
Chapter 13
‘Why don’t you go and see him?’ Cheryl says without me saying a word. It’s only ten p.m. but she’s getting ready for bed because she gets up early for summer school and I’ve always been a night owl. Sharing a room is not ideal.
I’m standing at the bedroom window, watching a hedgehog pottering around in next door’s garden, and I turn around to look at her. ‘The hedgehog?’
She laughs, knowing full well I’m winding her up and the “him” in question isn’t wildlife-related.
‘Because I made the mistake of getting too close to Ryan Sullivan before. It didn’t end well that time, and I’m not going to give history a chance to repeat itself. There’s nothing between us.’
‘Then someone needs to tellhimthat. I was there when you walked into the strawberry patch the other day and he literally illuminated when he saw you. He excused himself mid-conversation andsprintedacross to you.’
‘He’s being polite.’
‘He’s just invited you on a date!’
‘It’s not a date.’ I say it so firmly that I’m trying to convince myself more than her. ‘It’s just for the strawberry patch. The publicity.’
She rolls her eyes. ‘Fliss, what happened between you two?’
I’ve never told her. I’ve never told anyone. The only people who know are me and Ryan. ‘Something that’s never going to get a chance to happen again.’ I sigh. ‘I shouldn’tbespending more time with him. I should be … leaving.’
‘Is that still on the cards then?’
I look over my shoulder at her. ‘I have to go back. I have a job, a flat, a …’ I was going to say “life” but I don’t have much of a life in London at all. It’s certainly not something to miss.
‘I know, but you seem so happy here. And Dad’s been so much happier since you arrived.’
‘That’s Cynthia, not me.’
‘Yeah, but you’ve got him involved in the strawberry patch. I didn’t know how to push him out of his comfort zone, but you did. I think he feels “whole” with both of us here. It’s the closest we ever get to Mum now. When all of three of us are together. He’s been talking about clearing out the spare room so you’d have your own space, and it’s been nice having you around. I didn’t realise how much I miss my big sister when you’re away.’
I can’t stop myself going over and giving her a hug. It’s been nice to be here too. It’s been a long while since I shared a house with my family and I had visions of it being the stuff of nightmares, but it’s been warm and homely and it feels like I’ve never been away.
The thoughts are making tears threaten to fill my eyes again, so I extract myself from the hug. ‘Maybe I will go and see him …’
‘The hedgehog?’
She laughs when I hit her with a pillow.
After I say goodbye to Dad, who’s busy doing a video call with Cynthia even though her camera is pointing at the floor and his is showcasing a particularly interesting spot of the ceiling, so maybe being equally inept at technology is a sign of romantic compatibility. The hedgehog in question scurries across the path when I step out onto the pavement and it makes me smile. I can’t remember the last time I saw a hedgehog.
‘It’s just me, Ry,’ I call out quietly when I reach the strawberry patch.
He turns his industrial-sized torch towards me, illuminating the path between strawberry plants as I head towards the tree. ‘You disappear for fifteen years and now I get to see you both day and night? Can we flip it and have the next fifteen years like this?’
