Wishes Under The Willow Tree

Gemma reached out and touched the gems. ‘Cool. Can you use these in your jewellery?’

‘Stone Jewellery has survived for long enough without gemstones.’ He shook them back into the chest. Next, he pulled out a large ball of tissue paper. It looked like a cheerleader’s pompom. This was something he hadn’t seen for a long time.

‘What is that?’

Inside it were separate bundles of soft tissue paper. Benedict took one out and peeled it apart. A silver clam-shell brooch nestled in the folds. It was a test piece he had made with his mother. Benedict was about to say that it was nothing, to crumple the tissue back up and hide it away, but Gemma snatched it from him.

‘This is so cool.’ She placed the clam shell on her palm. ‘Did my grandmother make it?’

‘No, I did,’ Benedict said. ‘It was a long time ago, when I was learning. You can see that it’s clumsy.’

‘It’s different to the jewellery in your shop.’ She turned it over in her hands. ‘That’s all kinda boring.’

‘Thanks for your kind words.’

‘I mean, compared to this.’

‘I’m not sure that’s any more complimentary.’ He took it back off her. ‘I was probably only sixteen or seventeen when I made this.’

‘My age,’ Gemma sighed. She shook her head. ‘You know, everyone at home keeps asking what I wanna do next. All my friends are going to college, but I don’t know what I want. I mess up everything I do…’

Benedict ran his finger over the edges of the silver. His niece’s confidence seemed to have melted as quickly as an icicle in the sun. ‘You’re being too tough on yourself,’ he said. ‘What have you messed up?’

Gemma stared at him. She opened her mouth and slowly tilted her head from side to side, like a metronome, as if considering whether to tell him something. Benedict waited for her to speak, but her head came to a stop. ‘Nothing,’ she muttered finally. ‘I was just saying, that’s all.’

‘When you’re younger, things can seem worse than they really are.’

‘Yeah, maybe.’ She gave a short sharp laugh. She reached out and took hold of another ball of tissue. Inside this one was a silver blossom brooch, and a pendant set with a large, round, yellow Sunstone. She lifted the necklace over her head and patted it against her chest. ‘You should display these in your shop.’

‘They’re not good enough.’

‘Things don’t always have to be perfect.’

‘What’s the point, if they’re not?’

Gemma tugged off the Sunstone necklace and thrust it back out to him, at arm’s length. ‘Here. Take it.’

Benedict dangled the necklace back into a piece of tissue. ‘What’s wrong with you?’

‘Nothing.’ She folded her arms firmly. ‘You only like perfect things, and I’m not one of them.’

Benedict wasn’t willing to be drawn into another confrontation, so he pulled out all the balls of tissues and placed them behind him, unopened. Then he saw the item he’d been thinking about. ‘My father’s journal,’ he said, as he took it out and set the heavy, burgundy leather-bound book on his lap.

The cover was faded and cracked. It creaked when he opened it. Inside, the paper was as yellow at Citrine, stained around the edges from age and thumbs wet from coffee and oil. The front page said:

Joseph Stone’s Book of Gemstones and Crystals

Benedict swallowed as he saw his father’s adolescent handwriting.

Gemma’s eyes widened. Her arms slipped out of their tight fold. ‘It looks like it’s from when Jesus was alive.’

Benedict moved closer to her and opened it up.

Around a third of the pages featured sketches and photos torn from books and magazines, as well as notes and figures. His father started every few pages with a large italic letter of the alphabet. Some of the sections were full, ‘A’ for Agate, Aquamarine, Amethyst… ‘J’ for Jade, Jasper and Jet. Other sections had hardly any entries.

‘Even as a boy he was interested in gemstones,’ Benedict said. He opened to a page on Peridot, and he and Gemma read the words.

PERIDOT

A rich green stone, sometimes called Chrysolite, Peridot is widely known as the birthstone for August. It can often be found in volcanic landscapes. It was used in ancient times to ward off evil spirits. It can assist us to recognise negative patterns in our lives, override unwanted thought patterns, help let go of the past and ease fear and anxiety. It enhances the healing and harmony of relationships of all kinds, but particularly marriage. It can lessen stress, anger and jealousy in relationships, and also helps us to find what is lost…

‘That last sentence isn’t complete,’ Gemma said. ‘It doesn’t make sense.’

To Benedict, it did. It was silly, he knew, but it was as if his father had written the words just for him.

‘You could so do with a piece of Peridot, Uncle Ben,’ Gemma added. ‘You need some harmony, with Estelle.’

Benedict was thinking the same thing.

‘There are a lot of blank pages in that journal,’ Gemma mused. ‘If I stay with you for longer, I could fill in stuff about the missing gems…about my gems…’

‘Hmmm.’ It sounded like a long project. He looked at his watch and saw that it had already gone nine-thirty. ‘Damn it.’

‘What?’

‘I said that I’d take Estelle’s paintings around for her tonight. It’s too late now.’

‘She also said that Lawrence would help her to collect them.’

‘I want to take them over. It will give us a reason to talk. I could perhaps take a small bunch of flowers too.’

‘Flowers? You need to do more than that.’

Benedict closed the journal. What could a sixteen-year-old girl know about relationships that he didn’t? But, her insistence that he do something echoed Cecil’s words. ‘Like what?’

‘I dunno.’ Gemma gave an exaggerated shrug. ‘Like, show her that you love her. Where is she staying?’

‘In her friend’s swanky modern apartment. It has a balcony, overlooking the canal—’

‘What?’ Gemma interrupted. ‘Like in Romeo and Juliet or something?’

‘I suppose it’s a bit like that.’

‘Hmmm. Well, that’s it then.’ Gemma gave a big smile, pleased with herself.

‘What is?’

‘If you don’t want this Lawrence guy sniffing around your wife, you’re gonna have to take action.’

‘I’m not really an action man. And I don’t know what you mean…’

‘Duh, Uncle Ben,’ Gemma said. ‘You gotta try to be like Romeo.’

7. Turquoise

healing, friendship, communication

Benedict caught the bus to Applethorpe Hospital and hoped that Cecil was okay. He rested his hand on his chin and stared at the green hills rolling past, but his daydreams soon turned to more unsettling thoughts. I wonder if Lawrence Donnington has any children, he mused. He looks virile, like he only has to glance at a woman to make her pregnant.

Benedict walked towards the rows of low stone buildings that reminded him of army barracks, through the entrance gates and past the maternity building. The windows of the middle floor were dotted with pink and blue helium balloons. They bobbed at the windows like blank faces. A baby cried out and Benedict stood still for a minute and listened. A wave of sadness overwhelmed him and he dug his hands into his pockets. The cries were a sound he might never get to hear.

He and Estelle had visited the antenatal clinic here often, for their tests and scans. Many times they had gripped hands tightly as they pulled open the heavy glass doors, took a deep breath and prepared themselves to hear the latest results, delivered with ever-increasing sombreness by the doctors and nurses.

All the posters on the waiting-room walls were aimed at women who were pregnant or who had given birth … don’t smoke when you’re expecting, breastfeeding is best, cut down on sugar, check your gums…but there was nothing for anyone who couldn’t get pregnant. That was like a secret, hidden away so as not to mar the happiness of those who could have children. It was only when you entered the realms of being unable to get pregnant that you heard the devastating stories of couples trying for years to have a baby, of miscarriages and of stillbirth. They were the tragedies that you might read about in a magazine and think that they happened to others and that you were okay, because you were one of the lucky ones. Then came the dull, creeping, painful realisation that you weren’t.

And so with every visit, each appointment, each consultation, each reassuring hold of each other’s hands, Benedict and Estelle learned that it was unlikely, very doubtful, they would ever be parents. What once was a possibility became uncertain and then improbable. And even though they sat with their fingers interlocked, Benedict felt very much alone, and suspected that his wife did too.

Estelle used to pore over leaflets and read out statistics to Benedict. ‘Around one in seven couples struggle to get pregnant… That’s 3.5 million people in the UK,’ she said. ‘It’s not just us. I feel like a failure, but there are others too.’

Benedict often looked in the mirror and wondered what was going on inside his body. He was like a clock that looked simple on the outside, but inside was a multitude of cogs, tiny screws and workings, and if just one was wrong, out of place, then the clock wouldn’t work. Except that no one could ever find his bloody faulty cog, to fix it.

In the hospital car park, a man strode across, his face half obscured by a huge bunch of pink roses wrapped in cellophane. He grasped a bottle of champagne tightly around the neck. ‘I’m a dad,’ he announced to Benedict. ‘My wife’s just had a little girl. It’s brilliant.’

Benedict said congratulations. It was so easy to imagine that Estelle might be in hospital, in bed on the maternity ward, holding their baby. He could almost feel the curl of tiny fingers around his own.

‘I can’t believe it. Me, a dad,’ the man repeated. ‘It’s the best feeling in the world.’

‘Well done,’ Benedict muttered, his heart feeling heavy. He pressed on and looked for the sign for Cecil’s ward.

Benedict had expected Cecil to be loafing around in his lilac silk pyjamas, entertaining the nurses with his stories about Lord Puss. He hadn’t considered how weak and tired his friend might look after his operation. It was as if Cecil had been replaced by a paler, skinnier version of himself, even though his hair was still coiffed into its budgerigar quiff.

‘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. Fabby.’

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 isn’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-gun fire 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.’

‘Hmmm. 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. ‘Is it 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 aluminium within rocks which causes the gem to develop and gives it its blue colour. 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 pyjama 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.

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