Page 79 of The Wishing Tree Beside the Shor
‘No. I did.’
‘So you think cooking a batch of cakes means you become the chef you’ve pretended to be?’
‘It wasn’t meant like that. Ry. Can we—’
‘One of you will have to mind the tree.’ He addresses the residents as he unclips the chain from around his waist and drops it on the ground. ‘I can see a campervan over there that looks like it might be stuck, and quite frankly, digging it out with a teaspoon is preferable to staying to listen to this carefully concocted tale, and then maybe I’ll book myself in for a nice root canal instead.’
‘Ry, please, don’t go,’ I call after him.
Despite their hesitations, the residents have descended on the basket of cakes, but I stand watching as Ryan crosses the coastal path, uses one hand to vault over a low gate on the other side, and jogs up towards the campsite.
At a loss for what else to do, I gather up the chain like Rapunzel’s hair and carry it back towards the tree, but it feels like I’d be overstepping a mark to attach it to myself now. I don’t know what to do. I can’t just insert myself into the middle of the group of residents and make conversation like nothing happened, and none of them look in the mood for whatever stumbling explanations I can try to give, so I end up standing in the middle of the strawberry patch, clutching the piles of chain in my arms.
‘Didn’t expect to see you again,’ Tonya ventures, holding a cake and breaking pieces off to feed into her mouth.
‘Are you the only one talking to me?’ I ask as she approaches.
‘For now.’ She pops another bit of cake into her mouth. ‘But wait ’til the sugar rush kicks in. They’ll come round.’
I laugh despite how uneasy I feel. ‘It wasn’t supposed to end like this. It wasn’t supposed tobelike this. The tree wasn’t supposed to be here.Ryanwasn’t supposed to be here. I wasn’t supposed to get into this much of a tangle.’ I jiggle the metal, meaning it figuratively and literally, and the heavy chain chooses that moment to slide from my arms and land straight on my toes.
There has got to be some karma in that.
‘I always said he was waiting for someone,’ she says while I shake my throbbing foot.
I look towards where the residents are gathered near one of the flowerbeds. Godfrey is sitting by himself on his bench, his eyes closed and his face turned towards the sun, one leg crossed over the other, his foot tapping to an unheard rhythm.
‘Godfrey?’ I ask. This confusion happens way too often.
‘No, silly.Him.’ She sweeps her hand towards the campsite, where Ryan has now got his head under the bonnet of the stuck campervan.
‘So it wasn’t just an excuse to get away from me,’ I say more to myself than anyone else.
‘Ryan can fix anything.’ She gives me a meaningful look. ‘The only thing he can’t do is tell a girl when he’s in love with her.’
She must be talking about his ex. He said people hadn’t been happy with him about it. ‘He wasn’t in love with her. That’swhyhe broke it—’
‘Oh, nother, you daft thing. Honestly, you’re astwpas he is. I mean you, Fee.’
It’s the first time anyone other than Ryan has called me Fee, and it makes my stomach drop as butterfly wings simultaneously burst into life in my belly. I do something that’s a half-laugh half-scoff and couldn’t really be considered a noise at all.
‘And you,’ she continues. ‘Like Baaabra Streisand’s human counterpart, I know a “Woman in Love” when I see one. We’ve all seen the carving, you know …’
‘What carving?’ I look over my shoulder towards the tree, like it might provide the answer.
‘I’ve always wondered if the “Ry” in it was him, but we never knew who the Fee was, not until you walked in anyway.’ She wags a finger at me. ‘That love heart isn’t for nothing.’
‘It’s still there.’ My eyes inexplicably well up again when I realise what she’s talking about. If they’ve seen it, it must still exist. ‘Does Ryan know?’
‘He’s never mentioned it, but I’ve seen him looking sometimes.’
‘I thought it had faded – another sign we were never meant to be. I keep looking but I can’t find it.’ I’m aware that I’m giving her exactly the gossip she’s fishing for, but I can’t seem to stop myself talking. ‘Do you know where it is?’
‘Of course, this way!’ She marches off towards the tree, pink curls bobbing behind her and I have to hurry to catch up.
‘Right about …’ She squints at the tree when we reach it, examining it like an artist deciding which colour to paint next, probably in much the same way as Michelangelo painting the Sistine Chapel in the 1500s. ‘Here!’ She suddenly squeals and a nearby seagull squawks in fright.
Her finger is pointing towards the tree like E.T. trying to phone home, and at first I don’t see what she’s pointing at, but then all at once, the carving Ryan did on the day I left is right there.
