Rise and Shine, Benedict Stone

by Phaedra Patrick

  “It’s supposed to look like the sky when the sun goes down.”

  “Like now?”

  Benedict looked, and the stone was, indeed, the same color as the sky.

  “And what does it mean?”

  Benedict laughed. “I knew you were going to ask me that. I don’t think anyone will have attributed a meaning to it. It’s not in your grandfather’s journal. You can be the first.”

  “That would be a real honor, right?”

  Benedict had meant it as a bit of a joke, but he saw from the determined line of her mouth that she was serious. And he thought to himself, why not? Why shouldn’t Gemma be the one to give it characteristics? “What do you think they should be?” he asked.

  “Hmm. Do you have a pen and paper?”

  Benedict tucked his hand into his pocket. “I have a pencil and a receipt.”

  Gemma took them from him and turned over the receipt, resting it on her knee, to write on the blank side. She poised the pencil then began to scribble. When she finished, she turned it, to show Benedict. He read.

  BLUE JACK

  A gemstone with indigo and violet striations, which can only be found in the hills surrounding Noon Sun Village, Yorkshire, UK. Mined in the nineteenth century, it is now in short supply. It means new beginnings, determination and change.

  “They sound like good properties to me.” Benedict handed it back to her.

  “I’ll write this up in the journal. Will you tell me more about Blue Jack?”

  “I’ll tell you as much as I know,” Benedict said as the sun finally slipped behind the silhouette of the dinosaur’s head and the sky grew dark. “Come on. Let’s head home.”

  12.

  CARNELIAN

  vitality, motivation, energizing

  THAT WEEKEND, BENEDICT had a strange feeling, one that he had never experienced before. He found that he wanted to clean. He was fed up of the crumpled shopping bags on every surface of the kitchen, and the pile of pots on the draining board that didn’t go down no matter how many times he washed up. He’d had enough of wallowing in his own mess.

  As he tugged the vacuum cleaner out of the pantry, he wondered if this was what pregnant women experienced when they felt the need to tidy the “nest” for their new arrival. Except he didn’t have anyone new arriving; he hoped that someone would be coming back.

  He unraveled the power cable and plugged the cleaner into the socket. Pushing it into the front room, he switched it on and its motor roared into action. He pushed it back and fro, and around the sofa, banging it against the skirting boards.

  “Your dad’s not been in touch yet,” he shouted to Gemma, who lay on the sofa. She said that she had a bit of a headache again but refused to take anything for it.

  “I can’t hear you over that noise.”

  “What?”

  Gemma stood up, stepped over and flicked off the switch on the cleaner. It juddered to a halt. “I can’t hear you over that noise.”

  “Sorry.” Benedict crooked his elbow and leaned against it. “I’m getting worried. We’ve not heard anything from Charlie.”

  “He knows where I am, Uncle Ben. Stop worrying. I’m here, safe and sound. My dad does things his own way, in his own time. I’m sure you’ll hear from him soon.”

  Benedict never really believed those people who reckoned they could sense things, like they were going to have an accident or the weather might be about to turn, but this time he felt that something wasn’t right. Yet he didn’t mention this to his niece. “How is your head?” he asked.

  “Okay, until you switched the vacuum on.”

  “Sorry.” Benedict wound the cord back around the cleaner and returned it to the pantry. “I just want to speak to your dad, that’s all.”

  “You’ve got nothing to worry about.” Gemma stretched her arms up and yawned. “You’re trying harder with Estelle?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re trying to be healthier...”

  “I suppose.”

  “And I’ve learned to make English tea?”

  Benedict didn’t answer that one.

  “So, all is good, then?”

  “Yes, all is good.” Benedict cleared his throat.

  “So what is there to worry about?” Gemma asked.

  “Nothing,” Benedict said, trying not to think about Gemma’s journal entry for lapis lazuli.

  * * *

  After tidying the house all day, Benedict felt stir-crazy and needed to get out. He also wanted to eat something that wasn’t colorful, round and healthy. He asked Gemma if she wanted to go out for tea to the pub and at first she screwed up her nose. But then she reconsidered and swung her legs off the sofa. “Maybe Estelle will be there,” she said brightly.

  * * *

  When Benedict pushed open the door to the Pig and Whistle, he was greeted by the familiar smell of stale beer, musty carpet and vinegar. On the walls hung a wonky array of photos of Noon Sun from the nineteenth century. The village didn’t look much different than it did today.

  Benedict led Gemma over to a seat at a small circular dark wooden table with twopence pieces glued to the top in a kind of mosaic. Benedict heaved it out farther so he could fit behind it.

  Gemma read the menu. “There’s not much nutritious stuff on here,” she said.

  “Nicholas Ledbetter, the chef, used to work for a top restaurant in London,” Benedict explained. “He moved back to Noon Sun to take over the Pig and Whistle when it became too much work for his parents to run. Everyone was really excited about what food he’d introduce. But he’s not done anything. It’s all still standard pub grub, like sausage and mash, and fish and chips. I think his younger twin brothers, Alexander and Alistair, are a bit of a handful, too.”

  Gemma looked over at Nicholas, who was slumped against the bar. “He looks totally bored.”

  “He’s supposed to have once conjured up roast figs with gorgonzola ice cream for Brad Pitt. It’s a comedown, working here.”

  Gemma glanced at the menu again. “I suppose I’ll have the cheese-and-onion pie,” she said.

  Benedict watched as Josie the barmaid bent over and slipped off an orange wedged sandal. She rubbed her foot with one hand as she slowly loaded the dishwasher with the other, picking up one glass at a time from the bar. Her cropped hair was bleached white, she sported a gold ring through her eyebrow and had a small heart tattooed on her neck. She didn’t notice Benedict and Gemma waiting to be served.

  In the kitchen, Alexander and Alistair Ledbetter batted each other across the head with pot towels. They both looked exactly alike, with black hair gelled into spikes like frozen grass.

  Nicholas raised himself out of his slump. The frown lines on his forehead were like a concertina and his blond hair stuck up in tufts, greasy from standing over the chip fryer. “Josie,” he snapped. “Don’t play with your feet in front of the customers.”

  Josie slipped her sandal back on. Her dishwasher-stacking grew even slower and she stuck out her tongue behind his back.

  “What can I get you?” Nicholas shouted over.

  “Two orange juices, please,” Benedict said. “And can we order some food?”

  “Can do.” Nicholas shrugged, as if he didn’t care whether they did or not.

  “Two cheese-and-onion pies,” Benedict said. “Unless you have any specials on the menu tonight?”

  “They are the special.” Nicholas poured orange juice into two glasses and set them on the bar. “Ice?” he barked at Gemma.

  “Uh-huh.”

  Benedict cleared his throat. If Gemma was staying for a while, then he should get used to introducing her. “This is my niece, Gemma. She’s helping me out in the shop.”

  “Alright, love.” Nicholas jerked his head. “Nineteen pounds f
ifty, mate.”

  Benedict handed over a twenty-pound note.

  “I hope that Benedict here isn’t working you too hard, love,” Nicholas said as he slapped down the change.

  “I kinda like it.”

  “You do, eh? Ha-ha,” he said sarcastically. “You’ll soon grow out of it.”

  “It’s cool if you like what you do.”

  “Hmm.” Nicholas readjusted a beer tap. He thought for a moment. “I don’t think that I do like it. Noon Sun isn’t the most inspiring place to live and work.”

  Gemma tutted. “Well, why don’t you do something about that?”

  “You’ve got a feisty one here.” Nicholas nodded at Benedict, ignoring her challenge.

  “You can speak to me, you know. I have ears and a mouth.” Gemma rummaged in her pocket and took out the white drawstring bag.

  Benedict threw her a stare. He didn’t know that she was carrying it with her.

  But Gemma didn’t see him. She rummaged around inside the bag and placed a red stone, firmly, on the bar. “This is for you.”

  Nicholas eyed it with mistrust. “For me? What is it?”

  “It’s a carnelian. It’s good for motivation and ambition. It can help you to find a new path in life.”

  Nicholas gave a hearty laugh. He threw his head back so you could see four gray metal fillings in his teeth. “Motivation and ambition, eh? I think you may be giving this pretty red stone to the wrong person, love. I’m not into all that airy-fairy stuff.”

  “Put it in your pocket and see,” Gemma said. “You might come to think it will look nice set in a ring.” She held his gaze.

  Nicholas stared back at her. He tilted his head slightly to one side. “You really remind me of someone...”

  “Yeah?”

  Nicholas’s neck suddenly jerked, as if he was in a crash in a bumper car. He shook his head, trying to unleash a memory. “There was this head chef I worked for once, years ago. I burnt a red wine jus and he yelled at me in front of everyone. Your eyes remind me of his...a teal color. And your stare is the same. He called me a bloody imbecile... I still dream about him...”

  “Nothing to do with me.” Gemma shrugged.

  Nicholas laughed nervously. “Anyway. Whatever,” he said. “Who cares. As if a bloody stone will fix anything.”

  But he still pushed it into his trouser pocket anyway.

  * * *

  Gemma and Benedict had just finished eating their pies when Ryan and Nigel ambled into the pub. Nigel’s eyes were pinned firmly on Josie and he didn’t watch where he was going. His thigh connected with Benedict and Gemma’s table, jolting it. Gemma’s orange juice sloshed over the top of her glass and splashed her denim jacket.

  “Sorry,” Nigel said, his eyes still on the barmaid as he and Ryan sat down. “I’ll ask at the bar for a cloth.”

  “It’s okay,” Gemma sighed.

  “Bring it to the launderette tomorrow,” Ryan offered. “I’ve got a new washing powder that smells of freesias and lime.”

  “Thanks.”

  Benedict introduced Gemma to his friends and they didn’t mention their first strange sighting of her, on the banks of the canal. “So, you’re from America?” Nigel asked with wonder in his voice.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Guns N’ Roses are from Los Angeles. Are you from near there?”

  “No. From the East Coast.”

  “That’s cool.” Nigel stood up and the zips on his biker’s jacket jingled. “I’ll get us some drinks.”

  In order to strike up conversation with Josie, Nigel worked his way through packet after packet of pork rinds, crisps and peanuts. His chat never went further than “Are those a new flavor of crisp?” or “I can’t decide between salt and vinegar, or ready salted.” Josie would smile, serve him and then move on to the next customer without realizing that Nigel was in love with her.

  Ryan sat down, his floral aroma enveloping Benedict and Gemma. “I’m still sleeping in the spare room,” he confided. “The kids think my inflatable mattress is a great bouncy castle. Each morning they run in and jump on me. Diane stands in the doorway and watches as they bounce up and down, laughing their little heads off. She laughs, too, and it’s just me on my crappy mattress who’s crying inside.”

  Gemma gave a slow shrug and Benedict mouthed “Sorry” to her.

  “I found out that Diane’s made an appointment to see Reggie Ramsbottom. That old crash-helmet head only smiles when he’s dealing with divorces,” Ryan said glumly.

  Benedict knew of the solicitor’s ruthless reputation. Since his wife left him for the plumber who installed their new bathroom, Reggie homed in on other people’s misery like a heat-seeking missile. “What are you going to do about it?”

  Ryan shrugged. “She says I need to treat her like a woman more. She says she wants a hunter, like a caveman or something. For me to be more demonstrative. What can I do, though? I own a launderette.”

  “Have you tried flowers?”

  “Yeah. And I bought a silver bangle from you, remember? She liked it but said her friend and cousin had one exactly the same.”

  “They have good taste.”

  “Yeah, but what should I do, Benedict?”

  Benedict swallowed. He felt like the last person who could give advice on affairs of the heart. He was a few years older than his friends and they sometimes thought him wiser than he was. If he knew a way to get Ryan’s marriage back on track, then he’d use it on Estelle.

  “Maybe you should commission a pendant,” Gemma suggested.

  “Hmm.” Ryan stared at her. “That’s a nice idea.”

  Nigel returned from the bar. He set down three pints of lager, an orange juice and a bag of onion bhaji and coriander–flavored crisps. “I didn’t fancy them,” he said, nodding at the vivid orange packet. “I wanted to show Josie that I’m open-minded.”

  “Did you ask her on a date?” Ryan asked.

  “No. I can’t do.”

  “Of course you can,” Ryan said. “It will put you out of your misery. You’ll know one way or the other.”

  “I can’t,” Nigel said. He glanced at Gemma then decided to overshare anyway. “Josie is my fantasy woman, and if I ask her out, it will become real-world. If we go to the cinema then she’ll want to watch something lovey-dovey with Jennifer Aniston in it, and I’ll want to watch Liam Neeson knock the shit out of bad guys. I’ll have to keep quiet about my love for Guns N’ Roses, because she’s probably into Justin Bieber. I bet she has a boyfriend named Mason who has sleeve tattoos and is into mixed martial arts. He drives a red BMW and takes her to expensive restaurants...”

  “Don’t keep torturing yourself,” Benedict said. “She might not want to go anywhere fancy.”

  As he said this, he couldn’t remember the last time he had taken Estelle out anywhere other than Crags and Cakes or the Pig and Whistle. He wondered where Lawrence might take her. Probably somewhere with live jazz and starters that cost more than ten pounds.

  At the start of their marriage he and Estelle tried to impress each other. They took ages to find nice restaurants and dressed up for a night out. But they soon relaxed into a comfortable tempo of being together.

  The danger of being cozy was that complacency could set in. A romantic dinner for two could easily change into a quick bowl of pasta balanced on your knee in front of the TV. Just as a favorite comfy cushion could suddenly become too soft and careworn, a marriage could, too. Benedict supposed that’s what happened with him and Estelle. The familiarity and softness of their being together had left her wanting something new.

  For him, that new thing would be a child. A son or daughter would give their marriage a new focus and meaning. Instead of being husband and wife, they would be a mum and dad. They would be together, raising another person. They�
�d go shopping for brightly colored plastic toys and install a sandpit next to the gem tree.

  But what new hopes and dreams could he find when his existing ones were becoming redundant? Could he simply conjure up new ones and forget that the original ones existed? Wasn’t the whole premise of dreams that they gave you something to wish for and try to achieve? And if you no longer tried to attain them, then did you simply give up?

  As he thought, again, of his wife with Lawrence on the balcony, a lump formed in Benedict’s throat. He picked up his pint and gulped it down.

  “For our first date, I took Diane to McDonald’s,” Ryan said. “It was nice.”

  “And that’s probably why you’re sleeping on a blow-up bed in your spare room.” Nigel sighed. “I don’t have the confidence to ask Josie out. She can find someone better looking and with more money than me. So if I just admire her from a distance, then I’m not going to be disappointed.”

  Ryan nodded. “Middle-aged man has a tricky place in society these days. Everyone takes teenage spots and moods for granted. We accept that old people can start to lose their minds and topple over. People know that women can get a bit hot and bothered when they hit the menopause. Except, no one is sympathetic to the plight of the thirty-and forty-something bloke. When us men have done our duty, getting married and having kids, we can get lost in the wilderness. What’s our use any longer?”

  Gemma shuffled in her seat.

  Ryan carried on regardless. “Women have their friends and family, and facials, and clothes shopping, and makeup. Middle-aged men have, what? We have ear hair, baldness and football.”

  “And Guns N’ Roses,” Nigel chipped in.

  Ryan ignored him. “I think about what will happen to the kids if Diane and I don’t patch things up. I won’t get to read stories to them at night and tuck them in bed. I want to put milk and cookies out for Santa on Christmas Eve, and be there when they open their presents in the morning. It kills me to think of us splitting up. Diane’s an attractive woman and could easily get a new man. Then I’ll be obsolete, like Arnold Schwarzenegger in the last Terminator film.”