Wishes Under The Willow Tree: The feel-good book of 2018. Phaedra PatrickЧитать онлайн книгу.
felt guilt gnaw inside him as he thought about her growing up in a different country, without him around. ‘Did your dad tell you anything about me?’
Gemma shrugged. ‘He said he used to sit with you, and your parents, under a tree in the garden and you all hung gemstones into it. He called it your family tree, or the gem tree. Is it still here? I wanna sit under it.’
‘Yes, it’s still here.’
Gemma shook the gemstones out of the white bag and onto the table. ‘So, tell me about these gems,’ she said.
Benedict’s stomach churned. He couldn’t tell her the truth, that was for sure. ‘I told you. I gave them to your dad, before he and your mum left for America. That’s it. What do you know about them?’
She stared at him for a while then seemed to accept his answer. She sat down and pointed at each of the gems in turn. ‘This one is Tiger’s Eye. This is Citrine and this is Aquamarine. This is, um, what’s the pink heart-shaped stone called? Rose Quartz, that’s it. Garnet, Poppy Jasper, Blue Lace Agate, Amethyst, Sunstone…um, Carnelian and Golden Topaz.’ She picked up a blue stone, the colour of the Mediterranean Sea. ‘I can never remember this one.’
Its name popped into Benedict’s head. When he’d hung the gems into the gem tree, his father had told him the name of each. ‘It’s Lapis Lazuli.’
‘Okay. Lapis.’ She picked up a round stone, the size of a blueberry. As she turned it between her thumb and finger, it shone white, silver then puddle grey. ‘Do you know the meaning of Moonstone?’
‘The meaning…?’ Benedict tried to recall his trips with his parents and what gemstones they’d come across, but all he saw was his mother, laughing and ruffling his hair. ‘I know that most Moonstones come from India and Sri Lanka. They get their name because they look like the moon…’
‘Duh, everyone knows that.’ Gemma laughed. She set the stone on her palm and lifted it up. ‘Did you know that the Romans thought that Moonstone was made from frozen moonlight?’
Benedict said that he didn’t.
‘It’s sometimes known as the dream stone and can bring you sweet and beautiful dreams. If you give your lover a Moonstone when the moon is full, you’re supposed to always feel kinda passionate about each other.’
Benedict felt impressed by her knowledge; however a sixteen-year-old girl using the word lover made him feel uneasy.
‘Dad only really told me about Moonstone and I wanna know about the others too.’
‘Your grandfather, Joseph, kept a journal when he was younger. He used to make notes about gemstones.’
‘Really?’ Gemma’s bushy eyebrows arched up.
‘I think it’s in a chest in the attic,’ Benedict added. He hadn’t been up into the dusty, dirty space for years.
‘Can we look at it? Please, Uncle Ben. Before I go…’ She jumped to her feet and did a strange shuffle, her feet dancing on the spot. ‘Just one look. I’ll sit under the gem tree, then I’ll get my rucksack and leave. Your house will be empty again, for when your wife comes back. Please, Uncle Ben.’
Benedict was surprised to find that a lump had risen in his throat and he cast his eyes over this teenager who reminded him so much of his long-lost brother. He’d planned, one day, to show the journal to his own children but that was unlikely to ever happen.
And everyone seemed to leave this house. Benedict’s parents died. Charlie moved to America, and Estelle was staying at Veronica’s. He was tired of being the one who watched everyone go. Gemma was the only one who’d actually arrived.
Even though he hardly knew his niece, the thought of her too moving on made his gut twist. Also, familiar feelings of responsibility, which he’d once had for Charlie, were beginning to edge back, like ivy creeping around a gatepost.
He couldn’t allow her to leave without her purse, phone and passport, and with so few belongings. Whether he liked it or not, he was responsible for her. He mused on the word she had used. Empty. He hated it.
‘Okay,’ he said eventually. ‘We can go into the attic later, but I need to open up my jewellery shop.’
Gemma cocked her head to one side. ‘Yeah?’ she said brightly. ‘So that means I can stay, right?’
Benedict’s spine stiffened and he felt the need to cough. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You can stay.’ Though as he said it, he wondered if he’d live to regret it.
transforming, absorbing, soothing
Benedict walked briskly along the canal towpath towards the village and Gemma struggled to keep up with him. Her limbs weren’t coordinated and her boots waggled on her ankles, reminding him of a newborn calf. Watching her made him feel motion-sick.
‘You’re going too fast,’ she complained.
‘Sorry,’ he said and carried on, just as quickly.
Gossip in Noon Sun could spread like oil on water. If anyone spied him and Gemma together, the villagers might pounce like foxes on an injured rabbit. He didn’t want the arrival of his niece to be the new topic of conversation in Bake My Day, the Deserted Dogs charity shop, or the Pig and Whistle pub. He bet that Veg Out greengrocers, Floribunda florists and the Soap’n’Suds launderette were hotbeds for tittle-tattle.
‘Do you have nice customers in your shop, or are they crazy?’
Benedict shook his head at her bizarre question. ‘I don’t actually have that many customers, to categorise them.’
As Gemma pointed and asked what a canal lock was, and he took a moment to explain, Benedict couldn’t help thinking of walking with Estelle, each Sunday. Not having children, they had slipped towards middle age quickly, embracing strolls along the canal and enjoying the scenery. They admired the horses in the fields, a flock of geese, or a kingfisher swooping down to the water. Sometimes they ended up back in bed, in the late afternoon, but it was difficult to be spontaneous, when the pressure of trying for a child weighed down on them.
‘There are hills everywhere,’ Gemma exclaimed, spinning around.
‘If you climb to the top, you’re on the Yorkshire moors.’
The moors made him feel uneasy. They were too wild, too deserted and too vast. The earth shifted, and the colour of the grass and sods of earth morphed from black to violet, emerald to mustard, so the landscape was never the same. One minute the air could be still and calm, and then black clouds descended and a storm could sail over the hills. Estelle said that the moors lured her to paint them, but Benedict shuddered at the thought of her walking up there, with her paints and drawing pad, without him.
‘There’s an interesting old quarry up there,’ he told Gemma. ‘They used to mine a gemstone called Blue Jack in the nineteenth century. It’s indigenous to Noon Sun. Anyway, how did you get to my house last night?’
‘I hitched a ride from a lady at the airport. I told her I’d lost my purse.’
‘That’s pretty lucky.’ Benedict frowned. ‘But you shouldn’t accept lifts from strangers.’
‘She looked nice.’
‘Is this the first time you’ve travelled on your own?’
She shook her head. ‘I went to Paris once, to see the Eiffel Tower.’
Benedict was amazed that Charlie allowed her to do this. ‘I took Estelle there a few years ago, and it was lovely. What else did you see?’
Gemma stopped dead on the towpath and her teal blue eyes flashed angrily. ‘Why are you asking me questions? Stop prying all the time.’
Benedict