Page 63 of The Wishing Tree Beside the Shor
‘Excellent.’ I can imagine Harrison steepling his fingers like Mr Burns. ‘That will be useful information. Is it public knowledge?’
‘Yes. Er, I think,’ I say, distracted by doing another check for eavesdroppers.
Harrison tuts. ‘Then how am I supposed to blackmail him with it? It’s no use if the public already know. That would’ve been perfect too. We could’ve run a story about him serving poisonous food; that would’ve soon finished his little establishment off. What else?’
‘You would do that?’ I say in horror. ‘Put out a completely fake story and destroy someone’s livelihood?’
‘Well, I can’t now, can I? Because you haven’t found me any decent information.’
‘Ryan’s not like you.’ I push myself up on tiptoes and peer over the hedge. He’s introducing a little boy to the Donald Trump scarecrow, with its straw hair and face made of orange peel. ‘He’s worked incredibly hard to get to where he is. He’s dedicated and innovative, and smart, and he really cares about people.’
‘A people pleaser, good.’ I can hear the biro scratching across paper as he writes it down.
‘That’s not what I said. He’s dynamic, and ambitious, and fun. He hates social media and his business has gone from strength to strength, and he wants to expand into glamping holidays and self-contained chalets. This tree and the strawberry patch are more important than money to him.’
‘What’s important tomeis that when I send my staff to do a job, I get results. Weeks later and all you’ve done since you got there is made the situation worse and stirred up the protest as opposed to quelling it. If there’s something I should know …’
‘The phone signal’s really poor here.’ I scratch my nail across the speaker a couple of times. ‘I think I’m losing you. Don’t worry, everything’s under contro—’ I hang up before he can yell again.
It wasn’t a clever thing to do and he’ll know it had nothing to do with the signal, but I was zero-point-three seconds away from doing something stupid like telling him exactly where he can shove his job. I’m getting caught up in all this and it isn’t reality. Everyone else here is fine. They live here. When the protest is over, win or lose, their lives will carry on. My job, my livelihood, and my ability to pay my bills all rest on Harrison not firing me. I can’t jack in my job and stay. I look over the hedge at Ryan again. No matter how much I wish I could.
‘Are you the one?’
I scream at the unexpected voice behind me as Steffan melts out of the hedge between me and the car park.
‘What?’ I snap at him, my heart hammering from the shock. I step far enough away to put a bit of distance between us and turn to face him with my hands on my hips, trying not to show how petrified I am that he overheard something he shouldn’t have.
‘Are you the one? You know,the one?’ He gives me a conspiratorial wink and thumbs his nose.
It’s a good thing I realise what he means or I might think he was proposing. But my stomach turns over at the thought of him knowing I am, indeed, the “undercover man” Harrison has told him about. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘You saluted me earlier.’
‘Just being friendly.’ I can’t bring myself to tell him the truth. I don’t trust him as far as I could throw him with a starfish’s strength. And I don’t want him to think he’s got an ally. ‘If you think there’s anyone who’s not who they say they are, you’re wrong.’ I hope I sound more confident than I feel, because I see an opportunity. If I can propagate some seeds of doubt in Harrison’s word, maybe it’ll make him think twice about signing the paperwork.
He doesn’t elaborate and I don’t say any more because it’s a fine line between seeds of doubt and accidentally letting on that I am “the one”.
‘You’re their leader, right?’
‘No. Ryan’s the one in charge. I’m just a visitor.’
‘You visit every day.’
And amextremelypleased to know I’m being monitored. ‘I love it here. This place is special.’
‘I had to open the relief car park before nine a.m. today,’ he says after a while. ‘And Ryan’s opened up the campsite’s parking area too, and people are still queuing to get in.’
I’m not sure what he wants or why he’s telling me this, but I can sense his unease and doubt, and my mind comes back to what I thought earlier – maybe we should be working with him, not against him. ‘You have a good business here. Of course it won’t always be this busy, but over time, maintaining this place, keeping the strawberry patch open and saving the tree … You’d get more money than some soulless hotel has offered you for it.’ It’s plainly a lie. I don’t know how much the hotel has offered, but there are probably more zeroes in it than a few strawberry plants could earn in a century.
He raises a disbelieving eyebrow.
‘More importantly, you’d get the goodwill of the people. Look at this protest. Look at the petition. There are thousands upon thousands of signatures now and it’s going up every minute, and with the number of newspaper, internet, and TV interviews we’ve done this morning, it’s only going to get more attention. People worldwide are commenting on the stories about the carvings we’re posting online. People are making plans to come and visit. You’d hurt so many people by selling it, but you’d make so many people happy if you decided to keep it.’
I think he’s going to dismiss me, but he thinks about it for a few moments. ‘It’s worthless. It might be great at the moment, but when those berries are picked and all those weeds start to regrow, I’ll be in the same position I was before, except I’ll have lost the trust and respect of the companies I’m working with.’
‘But you could do something with it. You could replant the strawberry patch as it was – we’re working with what we’ve got this year, but if proper beds are dug and paths are laid down, there’d be room for so many more plants. Over the course of a few years, it would bring you backmorerevenue, and regularly, rather than a measly one-off chunk.’ Undoubtedly very,verybig chunk, but still.
‘We tried that. It couldn’t be maintained.’ He shrugs. ‘Who’d do it?’
