Rise and Shine, Benedict Stone

by Phaedra Patrick

  “Benedicto.” Cecil waved from his bed.

  Benedict walked over. He gave his friend a brief hug then sat down on the plastic chair at the side of the bed. He felt the legs splay under his weight and he reached into his shopping bag. “I’ve brought Hello magazine for you, and cupcakes.”

  “Fashion, gossip and sugary treats. Fabi.”

  Benedict felt a twitching sensation in his fingers when he handed over the cakes. The lemon icing on top was pleasingly shiny and topped with a ruby-red glacé cherry. Cecil won’t mind if you eat one of us, they said. Just ask him.

  Cecil tore them open. “Want one?”

  Don’t do it, Benedict thought. He considered sitting on his hands to stop himself, but he reached out for a cupcake anyway. He ate it in three bites but strangely it tasted a little too sweet. He batted the crumbs off his trousers with the flat of his hand. “So, how are you feeling?”

  Cecil sighed. “Okaaay. I thought I’d be out and doing my Usain Bolt impersonation by now. I feel like I’m falling apart. How is my white ball of fluffy gorgeousness?”

  “He’s, er, the usual. White and fluffy.”

  “But the two of you are getting on, aren’t you? I worry about him not getting the love and attention he’s used to.”

  “We’re getting on just fine.”

  “And so...” Cecil prompted. “Everything is just as it was?”

  “Let’s not talk about work... You’re supposed to be trying to get better.”

  “I mean, any progress with Estelle?”

  Benedict shook his head. “Not yet.”

  “So you’re still waiting and seeing?”

  Benedict thought of Gemma’s insistence that he should be Romeo. He dreaded to think what that meant. “There’s something I need to tell you...” he said.

  “What?” Cecil leaned forward in his bed.

  “My niece, Gemma, has come to stay with me, from America. She’s only sixteen and says she’s here for an adventure.”

  “Adventure, huh?” Cecil stared off into space. “I remember that once. A long time ago. You’ve not mentioned Gemma before...”

  “She’s my brother Charlie’s daughter. Our family aren’t close and Gemma just arrived out of the blue. It was a big surprise...”

  “That sounds a bit strange.”

  “I know.”

  “So, what is she like?” Cecil picked up Hello and took a quick glance at the cover. A soap star had given birth to quads.

  “She’s kind of infuriating. But she knows her own mind and she wants to learn. I’d forgotten what it’s like to have a passion for new things.”

  “Coolio. Like what?”

  “She’s interested in the meaning of gems...”

  “Like gemstones?”

  Benedict nodded. “My father made notes on them in an old journal, and she brought some with her.”

  “That sounds intriguing. And what is she up to now, this niece of yours?”

  “I left her in the house on her own. So she can have some space to herself.”

  “That’s what you wanted to give Estelle...”

  “I know.” Estelle’s space had extended for much longer than he thought it would. “Gemma says the same as you, that I need to win Estelle back.”

  “She’s right.”

  “She says that I should try to be like Romeo,” he muttered, hoping that Cecil would agree with him, that the idea sounded absurd.

  Cecil laughed, a machine-gunfire blast. “Oh, Benedicto,” he said. Then he started to laugh again.

  “I know that I have to do something.” Benedict shifted in his chair. “Estelle came into the shop and we were like strangers. I can’t let her go, Cecil...”

  Cecil’s laughter subsided. “Well, if you don’t try to be Romeo, what else are you going to do?”

  Benedict pursed his lips. He had no other plans. “Nothing, I suppose.”

  “Exactamondo. Perhaps you should give Gemma’s idea a go, whatever it is.”

  He knew that his friend was right.

  “And I simply must meet her,” Cecil added. “What does Estelle think about your niece’s arrival?”

  “Well, they kind of met but I didn’t introduce them to each other.”

  “So, your sixteen-year-old niece is staying with you, but you haven’t told your wife. That’s pretty brave.”

  “Hmm. Now you say it like that...”

  The two men chatted for an hour, about Cecil’s nieces and football, and how Ryan and Diane’s marriage was doing.

  “You might have to sweet-talk the nurses into letting me out of here,” Cecil said. “They keep talking about complications and I don’t want to let you down...”

  “Take your time,” Benedict said. “Come back when you’re ready. The shop is doing fine.”

  “It sounds like Gemma might be a good replacement for me...”

  “No one could replace you, Cecil. And I’m not looking to.”

  Cecil nodded with relief.

  With visiting time coming to a close, Benedict was about to leave, when he remembered something. He delved into his pocket then took out and placed a small mottled blue-green stone in Cecil’s palm. “Gemma asked me to give this to you.”

  Cecil leaned in closer to examine it. “It is turquoise?”

  “Yes, it’s one of the gems Gemma brought with her. She’s copied some notes down from my father’s journal.” He gave an embarrassed cough as he handed the piece of paper to Cecil.

  TURQUOISE

  Early Europeans believed that this stone came from Asia Minor so gave it the name pierre turquoise which means “Turkish stone.” Turquoise is formed by water acting upon copper and aluminum within rocks, which causes the gem to develop and gives it its blue color. The stone was used in protective amulets or rings to ward off accidents. It is said to speed up your recovery after illness and helps to alleviate pain and reduce infection. It should be given as a gift to bring good fortune and peace.

  “Coolio. A miracle worker, then?” Cecil said. He slipped the gem and note into his pajama top pocket. “Tell her cheersy. And what gemstone has she given to you?”

  “Me?” Benedict frowned. “Nothing.”

  “Perhaps you should ask her for one. If it will help you to get what you want.”

  Benedict thought of the meaning for peridot and how it sounded ideal for what he was going through. He recalled again Gemma’s explanation for moonstone.

  He didn’t believe for one minute that a small stone could make Cecil feel better, or help make Estelle fall back in love with him. Surely that would be crazy, wishful thinking.

  8.

  ZIRCON

  virtue, revealing, constancy

  BENEDICT STOOD IN Estelle’s studio where her paintings were stacked against the wall. He picked a small one up and stared at the swooshes of emerald green and mauve. He remembered his wife pulling the studio door closed behind her, and the chink of brushes against glass jars. He touched a wispy, inky cloud and thought about their last conversation in the little room, as Estelle stuffed clothes into her purple suitcase.

  “Leave me alone for a while. I want to stay in Veronica’s apartment, to be on my own,” she said.

  “Please don’t go. You can think things through here.”

  Estelle shook her head. “It’s like there’s a constant buzzing in my head, with you talking about family, or my parents asking if I have any good news yet. They think their time is running out to enjoy grandchildren. I feel so guilty when I see them.”

  “There is still hope for us,” Benedict said. “We can keep trying...”

  “We just need to accept that we can’t have kids.” Estelle pushed the suitcase lid down, but her clothes bulged out of the sides. “I feel like I’m a block of
marble with a sculptor attacking me with a chisel, and soon there’ll only be a small chunk of me left. When men don’t have children, they’re not looked upon with questioning and pity. Society just accepts it.”

  “I don’t care about society. It’s me and you that I care about. If you’re going to stay at Veronica’s, can we at least still meet each day for coffee?”

  She opened the case again and tugged out a chunky sweater. “I need a break, Benedict. You need to think about if it’s me you really want or a baby-making machine.”

  Her words felt like knives plunging into his chest. Benedict didn’t need time to think. He already knew what he wanted, his wife and a child. The three of them would be a family, a package. “Of course I want you,” he said.

  “But will you be happy with just me?” she asked.

  Benedict didn’t answer.

  * * *

  Benedict pulled an old trolley out of the shed to load up Estelle’s paintings, ready to take them over to Veronica’s apartment. Gemma’s bare legs poked out from beneath the gem tree and it seemed odd to see someone other than his parents or brother sitting under the branches.

  Even though it was cold outside, she had kicked off her cowboy boots. She leafed through the gemstone journal and sucked on the end of a pencil. At her feet was a bundle of clothes and a bunch of flowers. Benedict scratched his head when he saw something long and golden. He wondered if it was anything to do with WEB but didn’t want to ask.

  He brought most of Estelle’s paintings down from upstairs, wrapped them in plastic bubble wrap and secured them onto the trolley with a bungee cord. Out of breath, he went to the kitchen and made a cup of tea with three sugars in it for him, and one without for Gemma.

  Back outside, he handed Gemma a cup. “This is British tea,” he said. “It’s the perfect shade.”

  “Beige?”

  “It’s more golden than beige. Tea has its own unique hue.”

  She shuffled along on her bottom, out from under the gem tree, and took it from him. Sitting cross-legged, she cocked her head on one side and took a sip. “Yuck. I’m not sure about it.”

  “You’ll get to really like it.”

  “Was Cecil okay?” she asked.

  “He’s fine but looks a bit pale. I gave him the piece of turquoise.”

  “Cool.”

  “Who are the flowers for?” he asked. “And is that...a sword?”

  Gemma nodded. “The flowers are for Estelle, and the costume is for you.”

  Benedict’s fingers tightened around his cup and he took a nervous sip. “Costume?”

  “Uh-huh. It’s for your Romeo.”

  Benedict spluttered into his tea. “What?”

  “Uncle Ben,” Gemma said. “We discussed this. While you were visiting Cecil, I bought a hat and sewed a feather on it. There’s a black mask for your eyes, and I got you a sword. It’s amazing what you can get at the charity shop. I wanted to buy you a velvet tunic, but there was nothing in your size. Then there’s flowers for you to give to her.”

  Benedict rubbed at his neck. He stared at the items. “A sword?”

  “Sure. I think Leonardo DiCaprio has one in the film.” She looked him over. “I know you’re not Leo, but...” She jumped up and plonked the hat onto his head, then handed him the mask. “All you have to do, when you take Estelle’s paintings back, is to try and make it romantic.”

  Benedict picked up the sword. This was a teenage girl’s view of romance, not his. He looked at Gemma and her eyes were eager, like a friendly dog waiting to be patted. It was kinder to humor her and pretend to go along with her plan. Rejecting her efforts seemed a bit harsh, especially when she’d made quite an effort.

  “Thanks,” he said and tested the tip of the sword with his finger. Thinking of what else he could add, he said, “Ouch, that’s sharp.”

  “Be careful with it.”

  Benedict nodded. He folded the eye mask and put it in his pocket, and tucked the plastic sword under his arm. “Now, don’t wait up for me. If Estelle invites me in for a talk, then I may be a while. You’ll be okay on your own?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” Gemma sighed.

  “No reason,” Benedict said. “No reason at all.”

  * * *

  Benedict panted as he pushed the painting-laden trolley along the high street and past the crumbling community center. It was a struggle to negotiate the curbstones and he could only travel slowly. The sky was darkening quickly and an owl hooted. The waning moon reflected in the canal like a misshapen pearl. He focused on reaching the apartment block, intent on returning Estelle’s paintings and sparking a conversation with her.

  The mask, hat and sword sat in a shopping bag, balanced on top of the paintings. The flowers in the bouquet shook as he trundled along.

  Veronica’s apartment was the second one along, on the second floor. It had the largest balcony of the block, on which sat a wrought-iron table and two chairs, and a metal sculpture of a heron.

  Benedict pushed the trolley to the back of the apartment block, on the canal towpath. He positioned it next to a large bush and glanced inside the bag. The orange glow of a streetlamp illuminated its contents, and as Benedict touched the feather on the hat, he tried to think of what to do next.

  His biggest temptation was to about-face and go back home. He could lie to Gemma and say that Estelle wasn’t in, even elaborating a little to say that he’d waited for a long time outside the apartment. Or maybe he could tell his niece that he’d donned the outfit and that Estelle was impressed by his effort. Gemma would be pleased that he’d followed her idea, and they wouldn’t have an altercation when he got home. She’d be none the wiser.

  But Benedict also knew that if he didn’t do anything, then it would be his own fault if Estelle stayed away for longer, or didn’t come back at all. How long could he carry on just waiting and seeing?

  A small bolt of anger flared in his chest at his own uselessness, that he couldn’t give his wife what she wanted, what they both wanted. As if a bloody feathered hat and mask would solve their relationship issues. It was ridiculous. How could waving a sword suddenly make being childless feel okay? He slid the sword out of the bag and plunged it into the ground. It was surprisingly sturdy and it shook as he let go of it.

  He heard a swishing noise and lifted his head to see the patio doors to Veronica’s apartment open up. He recognized Estelle’s silhouette as she stepped out onto the balcony.

  Not having prepared or rehearsed what he was going to say to her, Benedict automatically sidestepped behind a bush. It wasn’t tall enough to conceal his height, so he bent his knees and squatted the best he could. Peeping through the leaves, he watched his wife move to the front of the balcony. She held a wineglass in one hand.

  Adrenaline whooshed through his veins and he tugged the sword out of the earth, not wanting to use it, but to hold on to something. “Go on, Benedict,” he said to himself through his teeth. Step out there and say something. Shout up and offer her the flowers. Show her that you love her.

  He steadied himself to pluck up courage to step out of the bush. He lifted his right foot, but then he halted as another figure joined Estelle on the balcony. It was tall and angular and, in the faint yellow light that shone from the apartment, Benedict could make out a striped T-shirt. Lawrence Donnington.

  Lawrence stood next to Estelle at the balcony edge. Benedict cocked his head on one side and listened to the burr of their conversation, but he couldn’t isolate any words. Estelle’s laughter carried into the night, and it had been a long time since she sounded so carefree.

  Benedict wondered what had been going on in Veronica’s apartment. Had Lawrence called round for a quick chat, or had he been there for longer? Perhaps he and Estelle had made love and were enjoying a postcoital glass of wine on the balcony.

 
With that ominous thought, a wave of jealousy struck him, and within just a few seconds, Benedict managed to conjure up an alternative life for Estelle and Lawrence together. It was one where Estelle divorced Benedict and moved in with Lawrence. They had a child together and lived happily ever after.

  Benedict tortured himself with his various imaginings of her new life without him.

  His and Estelle’s story couldn’t end this way, but he no longer felt in control. It was as if someone else had grabbed hold of a pen and started to write his life story for him, featuring a bolshie American teenager and a love interest for his own wife.

  Lawrence and Estelle stood very close, side by side. They leaned against the balcony, facing the canal, their features highlighted by the moonlight.

  A Jack Russell ran up to Benedict. It stared at him with beady eyes then began to bark. Benedict’s blood felt icy-cold at the thought of being discovered crouching behind a bush. He tightened his fingers around the hilt of the sword. “Go away,” he hissed. “Go.”

  “Jimmy, come here,” a loud male voice ordered.

  “Is anyone down there?” Estelle called out.

  “Just walking my dog, love,” the man shouted back. “Sorry for disturbing you.”

  The dog stared at Benedict’s ankle and then at its owner. It cocked up its leg and defiantly peed centimeters away from the toes of Benedict’s loafers before sloping away.

  Benedict closed his eyes and held them tightly shut. He waited until his heartbeat slowed down. He reopened one eye and then the other, and he looked back up at the balcony.

  It was now empty.

  Springing onto his tiptoes, he lifted his head and tried to see inside the apartment, but the patio doors were closed and the curtain inside pulled shut.

  Benedict stepped out and stretched his back, cramped from hunching over. Hearing voices coming from the side of the apartment block, he moved quickly and peered around the corner.

  Estelle and Lawrence stood under the streetlight. Lawrence placed a hand on her shoulder. Again, Estelle was laughing and Lawrence moved forward until his and Estelle’s bodies almost touched. They stood close for a punishingly long time.