‘I can’t do this. I’m coming back to the office.’ I’m in Dad’s garden that evening, pacing up and down the neat lawn, while Harrison rabbits on about the hotel in my ear. I’ve got my sensible head back on – the one without Ryan Sullivan’s cologne and hot muscular body dulling its senses and making it say stupid things like I’m staying and I’d be happy to help. I mean, I do want to help, but it’s the opposite of what my job is supposed to be.
‘Are you indeed?’ Harrison sounds as overjoyed by my plan as he would be at the prospect of a dental check-up.
‘I know the area too well,’ I say into the phone, pinching the bridge of my nose with my other hand. ‘I know the guy leading it.’
I also know I shouldn’t have said that.
‘Oh, that’s fantastic. An “in”. A way to get your foot in the door. I told you this was a good plan. Have you had a chance to find out what he wants yet? I’m prepared to be generous with the budget.’
I barely contain a snort at the idea. ‘He would not be receptive to that plan.’
‘Well, as you know him, you’ll have an easy way of wheedling out what he really wants. Enough money for a nice car, bit of extra land for his business, et cetera. No man would turn down that sort of prize in exchange for staying chained to a tree. We men are practical creatures and no tree is worth a substantial amount of money, especially to small village folk like that, who’ve probably never even seen a Lamborghini before, never mind had a chance to own one …’
I prickle at the insinuation that someone’s worth is based on what car they drive or that people in little villages are somehow different or lesser than Harrison’s millionaire cronies.
‘Don’t even think of coming back yet, Felicity. If this chap won’t give up, start on the old folks. Offer ’em all new mobility scooters or something. If they give up and the Tree Idiot is on his own, he’ll soon walk away with his tail between his legs.’
I want to tell him about Ryan Sullivan, the man who never understood the meaning of the words “give up”. The man who would never be convinced that a plant was dead, even when it was shrivelled up, brown, and crisp in front of him. You could see the sycamore tree from the top of the hill where Sullivan’s Seeds and Plant Nursery was. Birds could be heard chirruping for miles, and as the leaves turned from green to yellow, we’d watch it together, mapping the arrival of autumn as the tips of each leaf changed and autumnal colours gradually crept along each branch. It was inconceivable that someday the tree might not be there. It’s as much a part of Lemmon Cove as the beaches or the cliffs themselves.
‘Some things are worth more than money,’ I say eventually, hoping I sound more confident than my stuttery voice suggests.
‘Everyone has a price, Felicity. It’s up to you to find it. Or you’ll find yourself in the queue for the job centre next week.’
‘That’s not fair. My whole career isn’t based on this one job,’ I say. ‘I’ve been working hard for ages. You can’t fire me if one little thing doesn’t go my way.’
He’s hung up. I pull the phone away from my ear and the dark screen comes back on. Before I even dialled his number, I knew how that conversation was going to go.
Great. Now what?
The idea of staying gives me a little fizzle of excitement, the thought of spending time with Ryan is a thrill I didn’t think I’d ever feel again. I thought he’d hate me for misreading his signals and mistaking his friendship for flirting all those years ago, but he seemed genuinely pleased to see me. And it felt good, I think. But it’s marred by the idea that my job is to put an end to their protest and at some point in the very near future, I’m going to have to admit where I work and try to persuade Ryan that he’d prefer a new Ferrari than trying to save the wishing tree, which is never going to be the case.
‘Everything okay, Fliss?’ Dad asks when I go back in.
He and Cheryl are still sitting at the table in the living room. He’s made a mixed pepper and lemon pasta salad and we’d just sat down to eat and of course Harrison chose that moment to ring.
‘Fine,’ I say breezily, because this only gets worse if it causes Dad to worry too. ‘Just my boss checking in.’
‘It’s half past seven!’ Cher looks up at the clock on the wall in horror.
‘He works late. A lot.’
‘Don’t tell me you usually work this late too?’ Dad looks worried.
I gulp as I sit back down. ‘Not often, no.’ Lying is becoming a far-too-easy habit lately.
‘Good. I wouldn’t like to think of you having no time for a life outside of work. There must be so many fun things to do in a big city like that. You wanted to live there from the first time you saw the New Year’s Eve fireworks when you were little. It must be a dream come true. The life you always wanted.’
I don’t realise I haven’t answered until they’re both staring at me expectantly. ‘Oh, er, yeah. Great. It’s great.’
I can’t even remember the last time I saw New Year’s Eve in at midnight, never mind bothered with fireworks. I’m usually asleep by then. I don’t know what they think my life is like, but I drag myself home on the tube at somewhere between eight and nine every night, pick up something to eat on the way, do whatever studying up there is for the next day, and then crawl into bed with a book and usually manage a paragraph or two before falling asleep on top of it.
‘Speaking of work, if anyone asks, I’m a chef.’
‘A chef?’ Dad says.
‘A chef?’ Cheryl asks. ‘You?’
‘Why does everyone keep saying that?’ I quickly explain why I can’t tell anyone where I really work, and why they have to back me up if they get asked because my whole story will fall apart otherwise.
It all feels so wrong, but the lie is out there now I’ve told it. I can’t go back and change it, and I can’t come clean because the protestors will throw me out, and Ryan will despise me for lying to him.
‘Fliss … why?’ Dad asks, sounding more confused than a giraffe with a knot in its neck.
‘The guy running it … It’s Ryan Sullivan.’ I say his name like it explains everything.
‘Oh, your ex-boyfriend!’ Dad exclaims.
I choke on the pasta salad. ‘He’s not my ex.’
‘Of course he is. I always thought he’d be my son-in-law someday. Loved that lad. All I heard for years was “Ryan this and Ryan that”.’
I can feel how red my cheeks have gone at the idea that even my dad knew the extent of my crush. And I’d thought I was so good at hiding it. ‘I talked about him because we worked together every single day, and you always made a point of asking me what we’d been doing that day.’
‘It was a bit more than just work though, wasn’t it? All those field trips you went on together …’
‘That was just Ryan being protective. The old farmers spent too much time ogling my boobs and he knew I was uncomfortable being alone with them, so he asked me to go along for the ride when he went to meet suppliers or collect stuff. It was all perfectly innocent.’ I can see that now, but at the time, I thought he wanted an excuse to spend time with me. ‘He was being friendly. Because that’s what we were – friends.’
‘Never could understand why you two had that falling-out.’ Dad shakes his head, continuing like I haven’t spoken.
I remember the lie I told back then too – on the morning I was leaving and Dad asked when Ryan was coming to say goodbye, and I’d muttered something about us having a row. I was too embarrassed to tell anyone the truth.
‘It’s a shame neither of you thought to tell me he was still here. I could’ve done without the heart attack this morning.’
‘Didn’t know he was,’ Dad mutters.
‘I didn’t think you’d want to know,’ Cheryl adds. ‘You fell out with him, remember? The one time Dad mentioned him to tell you about his company closing down, you snapped his head off and said you didn’t want to know.’
‘I didn’t want to know; that doesn’t mean I didn’t want to know.’ I sigh. Nothing I’ve said tonight has made sense. Was Ryan Sullivan always this confusing?
‘He’s the one trying to save the tree, is he?’ Dad asks, and continues when I nod. ‘Good. I always loved that tree. Did you girls know that your mum and I carved our names onto the trunk many moons ago?’
‘What?’ Cheryl and I say in unison.
‘On the night we got married. We were both a bit tipsy after the reception and wandered home to clear our heads, and back then it was impossible to walk past the sycamore tree and not add a slice of your own life to it. Your mum checked our carving hadn’t faded every time we went there after that. I used to joke that she’d trust the tree and chuck me out pre-emptively if it ever did.’
I never knew that. Of all the time I’ve spent looking at the names on that trunk, I never knew Mum and Dad’s were on there somewhere.
‘I remember scattering her ashes on the beach and feeling like she was watching over us. The tree was a reassuring presence in the background, like she was somehow there with us.’
Dad swallows hard. ‘It’s a good thing that you and Ryan are going to save it then, isn’t it?’
I put on a bright smile for him even though I’m not sure doing anything with Ryan is a good idea … but saving that tree definitely is. No matter what Harrison says, no matter what my job is supposed to be, I can’t be responsible for destroying the wishing tree, especially now I know that. Maybe there’s a happy medium. Maybe I can genuinely help with the protest by pretending to be undercover but not really pretending to be … I give my head a shake to clear it. I’ve even confused myself.