When I come back up, blinking sea salt out of stinging eyes, I splash him too and he laughs and dives towards me. He swims around me, a wide expanse of tanned skin and muscled back that my hand automatically reaches out and trails down as he comes up next to me.
My hand falls away as he stands up to full height, using both hands to swipe seawater away from his face. He comes nearer and I’m certain he’s going to lower his lips to mine, but an annoyed “baa” draws our attention to the shore.
The tide’s reached its lowest point and is on the turn again now, and Baaabra Streisand is on the edge of the shallowest waves, looking down disdainfully when her hooves get wet every time it creeps further up the beach.
Ryan reaches out and lifts my hand again, pulling it to him on the surface of the water. ‘Do you miss it? If I ever left here, it’d be the worst part for me. I’d miss living by the sea. Not many people get to live in places like this, and it’s easy to forget how privileged we are sometimes.’
I let my other hand drift across the calm surface of the waves. I haven’t been in the sea since the summer I left. I used to swim here every day and I’d never realised how much I miss it.
‘It’s funny how fifteen years ago, I couldn’t wait to get away. And now …’ I look towards the tree on the clifftop and then back at him. ‘I wish I didn’t have to.’
He steps closer and uses the grip on my hand to tug me against him, our bodies pressing together with very little clothing on the upper half. And wet, dragging bottoms on the other half, which I’m certain are going to let out a stream of embarrassing air bubbles at any second.
‘Fee, can I say something?’ His thumb brushes across my hip where his hand is splayed out, so hot that even in the cool water, I’m convinced there will be a pyrography-style burn mark on my skin when he releases his fingers.
I nod, too lost for words to do much else.
He pulls me impossibly closer and his chin comes to rest on my forehead, his other hand tangling in my wet hair and cupping my head as he holds me against his chest.
His heartbeat sounds louder, amplified by the water, so loud that it almost drowns out the quiet words he whispers against my forehead.
‘I stopped believing in wishes because the last time I made a wish on that tree, it was fourteen years ago. I’d been missing you like mad for a year. The wish was that you’d come back into my life when the time was right. I’d given up on it until the moment you walked in. Since that day, I’ve trusted in the sycamore tree. I don’t know if the time is right now, but if you’re not happy where you are, change it. Fee …’ He pulls back and waits until our eyes meet. ‘I couldn’t ask you to stay before, but if it’s what you really, really want now …’
I know he’s serious because he can say that without making a Spice Girls reference.
‘You deserve to know how happy that would make me, and you deserve to be happy, wherever that is.’
My entire body breaks into goose bumps and I can feel every single fine hair on my arms rising, and it’s probably a good thing we’re in water because it’s keeping me buoyant when every muscle in my body has forgotten how to work.
His fingers get even tighter on my hip as the soft stubble on his chin drifts down until his lips are on my cheek.
It’s not even my cheek, not really, more the side of my face beside my ear, but his lips press there gently, making me feel even more wobbly than I did already from the constant lap of the waves. His lips press harder, his breath ghosting across my skin, making the goose bumps rise again and a shiver goes through me.
‘Ryan …’ I whisper his name for no reason, nothing more than a plea in the night. My fingers have got a vice grip on his arm, there are definitely going to be five white marks where my nails have been digging in, and the nape of my neck gets a tingly feeling.
‘I know,’ he whispers, and it feels like he has to persuade himself to push away.
His fingers have stuck in my hip and it takes long moments to unfold them.
I have to tell him, but he looks dazed, probably as dazed as I feel, and I don’t think I can form coherent words. Instead of splashing me again like I thought he might to ease the tension, he flops onto his back and his legs pop out of the water. I watch him for a moment, unsure if he’s going to say anything else or if I should say something, although I have no idea what, and I’m desperately trying to think of words – the right words to make this sound not as bad as it is, and I can feel panic clawing up my chest because I still can’t think of how to say it, and my breathing is getting faster and shallower, and I force myself to stop thinking and take deep breaths. I do the same as Ry and turn onto my back, floating on the surface, looking up at the tree on the cliff behind us.
It’s the most exposed I’ve ever felt with a man, and not just because I’m only wearing a bra. Because, like always, it feels like Ryan can see everything that’s inside of me, and I’m certain he’s going to know about the job lie because that’s the sort of thing Ryan would see through.
He reaches out and catches my hand, tugging me closer and we just sort of drift in comfortable silence, never letting go of each other.
I know one thing above all else – I don’t want this to end.
Chapter 17
‘Henrietta’s coming!’ Godfrey shouts as soon as I get to the strawberry patch the next morning.
He’s sat on one of the benches, and there’s a pile of rose-carved strawberries beside him. I’m guessing they’re Ryan’s work because Godfrey’s hands are shaky as he pushes them onto skewers and stands them into a vase that’s sitting beside him, wrapped in pink-and-gold-spotted tissue paper and tied with a pink ribbon.
Ryan’s up near the gate on the phone, and I wave to him, but instead of waving back or smiling, he turns away.
It makes something go cold inside me, but I try not to read too much into it. The blinding sun is behind me so maybe he just didn’t see me in the glare. I step over the chain still attached to Ryan’s waist and go to stand by Godfrey.
He looks up with a watery grin. ‘We told her nursing home about her wish and restoring the strawberry patch, and asked them to look out for a day when she might be up to the journey, and they phoned this morning to say she’s having a good day and they’ve got a free ambulance to bring her over. Ryan carved these for me with his dexterous young hands, mine aren’t up to it these days.’
‘How many are you making?’ I ask.
‘Until the vase is full or until she arrives, whichever comes first.’
I wave to Tonya who’s on a video call with her grandson discussing something about flyers, and Alys comes over with her phone. She leans across the back of the bench and holds it out so we can both see it. ‘What’s this?’
It’s a photo of a lot of sieves hanging up in the homeware department of a shop.
‘A moon lander! A pirate ship!’ Godfrey throws out random guesses to wind her up.
‘It’s a mass-sieve problem,’ Alys announces proudly. ‘I thought of it myself and she didn’t get it.’
I laugh out loud, mainly at how proud she sounds of such an excellent pun, but a feeling prickles at the back of my neck, and I look across the garden at Ryan, still on the phone, his eyes on me.
I smile but he doesn’t return it. Something’s wrong. No matter how many years have passed, I still know Ryan well enough to know that.
Alys helps herself to a un-rosed strawberry and wanders away.
‘Count yourself lucky,’ Godfrey says. ‘She showed us a photo of a cow and a potato the other day and it was a cow-ch potato.’
It shouldn’t be funny but it makes me burst out laughing again.
Ryan’s stalking back across the garden now, his lips pinched tightly together, a frown line creasing his forehead. Maybe it’s something to do with Henrietta’s visit and he’s got to break the bad news to Godfrey?
‘Good morning!’ I say brightly.
‘Yeah, morning,’ he mutters. He looks at me for a long moment and my skin tingles in the wo
rst way possible. I have a terrible feeling about this.
‘Fliss, can we …’ Ryan trails off at the noise of a heavy vehicle pulling in and I push myself up on tiptoes to see over the hedge to the car park and the nursing home ambulance arriving. ‘Henrietta’s here.’
Godfrey lets out a squeal and almost topples over in his haste to get up.
‘Here, let me help.’ Ryan looks between me and Godfrey, but the elderly man has already tottered halfway across the garden and looks like he could fall over at any moment. Ryan looks momentarily perplexed by what to do with the chain, and then unclips it and shoves it at me while Godfrey moves at an impressive and unsteady-looking speed. ‘One of the nurses brought him a tub of edible glitter, can you start glittering the edges of the petals and I’ll be right back?’
‘Of course.’ I wrap the chain around myself with a determined click and sit on the bench. I wiggle my fingers towards Baaabra Streisand, who’s tied to the gatepost in her usual place, safely out of reach of strawberry pickers, although whether it’s for her sake or theirs is anyone’s guess.
And I try not to think about that “Fliss”. Ryan has never, ever called me anything but Fee. It started the first time I met him at Sullivan’s Seeds when he went to call me Fiona, realised mid-name, and styled it out to Feeee-licity.
There are at least twenty stems of strawberries carved into roses in the crystal vase, and I undo the tub of edible gold glitter and use the little brush provided to start dabbing it onto the edges of the petals.
The strawberry patch isn’t open yet so it’s quiet for Henrietta, and eventually, after a bit of commotion in the car park and deciding the coastal path is too steep and negotiating the gateways from the driveway to the garden, a nurse from the nursing home pushes Henrietta’s wheelchair in.
The little old lady is tiny and so shrunken that she looks lost in the chair, a shadow of the woman I remember running the strawberry patch when I was young, but her toothy smile is so bright that nothing else matters.
Godfrey walks beside her, clasping her hand, and Ryan’s sort of hovering behind him, making sure the path is clear for them and that Baaabra doesn’t try to eat anyone on the way past.
The nurse stops the wheelchair and lets Henrietta take it all in for a while. Godfrey kneels beside her and points out the different areas for each type of strawberry and tells her a bit about how we’re planning to make it even better next year. She clasps his hand between both of hers, and eventually Ryan helps him to his feet and the nurse pushes her onwards. Everyone else is standing back, offering her a wave when her gaze falls on them, but not wanting to overwhelm her.
She halts the nurse when he goes to wheel her past “their” bench, and Ryan helps Godfrey sit there while her chair is stopped in front of it. I’ve just about finished glittering the strawberries when he sends me a questioning look, I nod in confirmation and he beckons me over. I pick up the bouquet and take them to put on the bench beside Godfrey so he can give them to her.
She smiles at me, but she’s only got eyes for him.
There are tears all round when he settles the bouquet on her lap and she remembers sitting on that same bench in their younger years and eating the rose-shaped strawberries he carved for her with a glass of wine as they watched the sun go down, and they both cry and embrace each other.
I can feel my lip wobbling as I look across them and meet Ryan’s eyes. He looks away. And then I have to dive out the way and pull the chain with me when she points to the sycamore tree and they set off towards it.
Ryan looks like he’s miles away, staring into space like he hasn’t even noticed them go.
I gather the chain and go to stand next to him. ‘Everything okay?’
He looks startled, like he hadn’t seen me move either. ‘Fine. Thanks for doing that. I appreciate it.’
It’s so clipped and curt, nothing like his usual warm and easy-going manner.
‘It’s fine. It’s an honour to help. They’re such a lovely couple. They deserve every moment of happiness they can snatch now.’
He looks at me for a long moment before he decides to speak again. ‘I’ve never seen anyone look as happy as she did when she realised where she was, apart from Godfrey when he realised she knew where she was.’
Maybe it’s all okay and I’m just imagining things. Maybe this visit has taken a lot to organise and he’s just stressed out.
‘The tree granted a wish.’ I step a bit closer to him.
He takes a step away. ‘We granted a wish. It was your idea. Your drive. Your belief in magic.’
‘Yours too.’
‘Fee …’ he starts, and then stops and shakes his head.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘This isn’t the time. Not with Henrietta here. I don’t want to ruin their moment.’
Maybe it’s the tree. Maybe something’s happened with the campaign. Maybe Steffan’s signed that paperwork after all. And it’s kind of nice that Ryan doesn’t want to dampen a special moment by sharing bad news.
All of this feels extraordinary. Truly magical. Like something bigger than us. Something otherworldly and ethereal, like the tree itself. It should be a huge publicity moment, but it feels private and special. Tonya’s taken a couple of photos, but only from a distance so as not to disturb Henrietta, and I get the feeling they’re more for Godfrey himself than for any kind of publicity. This is a private moment between two people who are still desperately in love.
We watch as Godfrey points out the carving of the strawberry in the tree trunk that they did on the day they took over the patch and see Henrietta nod in recognition. The nurse wheels her chair right up to the metal barrier around the cliff edge, and she pushes herself up on shaking arms to get a better view.
In the distance, we hear her talk to Godfrey about something she remembers, and he tells her about the last time she visited and her wish to see the strawberry patch as it used to be, and she looks around again, smiling.
She asks to make a wish again, but it’s too early in the year for the sycamore seeds to fall, and she starts getting upset when Godfrey tries to explain.
‘Wait, wait, wait, maybe we can find you a special one, Henrietta.’ Ryan takes off without a word, jogging towards them. ‘Can you give me a moment?’
She nods, clearly not immune to Ryan’s calming presence. I follow him down towards the tree as he climbs into it with well-practised ease and looks around for the lowest hanging clump of green winged seeds. He has to shuffle out on a branch, cling onto it with his knees and reach up to grab at the clump, and at the last moment, even though there is otherwise no wind today, a breeze whistles through and blows the bunch of seeds directly into his outstretched hand.
A wink from the tree again.
Henrietta and Godfrey are watching him in awe, and the nurse is watching him like he’s a lunatic, but he gets back down with ease and crouches in front of Henrietta’s chair as he gives her the sycamore seed. ‘That must be a very special wish. I think the tree wanted you to have it.’
Her eyes well up as much as mine do and she pats his hand as she takes it from him, a thank you croaked with emotion. He stands back to give her space, but doesn’t come anywhere near me.
Henrietta is turning the sycamore seed over and over in her hand, looking at it like it’s the most important thing in the world. She pushes herself onto her feet and steps up to the edge, clinging onto both the barrier and her husband’s arm, her limbs shaking as she holds the hand with the sycamore seed in it over the edge and opens her fingers, letting it drop.
In the autumn, the dried out brown seeds would twizzle and twirl and dance down towards the sea, but it’s too early in the year and the seeds are still green and wet, and it plummets limply to the sand below, but it makes her happy anyway.
‘I wish to be young again!’ She shouts at the top of her shaky voice, making a couple of dog walkers look up from the beach below.
‘For as long as your carving exists on that tree, you always will b
e,’ I say.
She overbalances and Godfrey and the nurse hold her up and help her back into her wheelchair.
I reach out and touch the tree. ‘All of these people are timeless. Some of these carvings have been here for centuries, but to anyone seeing them now, it could’ve been yesterday, or last week, or last year. Every name in this tree is immortal in their own way.’
Henrietta reaches towards me, scrunching her fingers together like she wants me to come closer, and she curls gnarled, arthritic fingers around my wrist when I crouch down beside her chair.
‘I got everything I could ask for out of life,’ she whispers with a shaky voice. ‘Someone who loved me as much as I loved him, and a job that never once felt like work. I went to bed every evening with a smile on my face and woke up every morning still smiling. What more can anyone ask for?’
It, of course, makes me cry again.
‘The most important thing in anyone’s life should be the people they share it with,’ Godfrey adds.
Henrietta seems to lose the thread of the conversation and goes back to staring out towards the sea, so I push myself up and go to stand next to Ryan, the chain jangling with every movement. He turns away again.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ I whisper out of the corner of my mouth.
‘Nothing, Fliss.’
That “Fliss” again. It makes coldness drip down my spine. I stare at him but he won’t look me in the eyes. ‘Ryan …’
‘Now is not the time, okay? Let Henrietta and Godfrey enjoy their moment without ruining it.’
I feel like a schoolgirl being chastised by a headmaster in front of the whole class as I step away and try to focus on the two in front of me, instead of giving in to the tears that his sharp tone makes prickle at my eyes.
Henrietta seems lost in time and the nurse and Godfrey share a look and mutually decide it’s time to go. They take the scenic route around the strawberry patch to get back, Henrietta letting her arm dangle down and touch strawberry leaves as they pass.
Steffan is lurking by the gate and I raise a hand in greeting. Better not salute him this time in case it’s misinterpreted again. He nods at me and gives me a smile, and after stopping to chat with Henrietta and Godfrey, he disappears back inside.
The Wishing Tree Beside the Shore: The perfect feel good romance to escape with this summer! Page 26