new job as landscaper for a construction company sounded ideal for his friend and he wished him well.
‘I know, and between you and me, I’m terrified. I’m already working up my first scheme and I’m going to have to put a team together pretty quickly when I start in a few weeks. I want to hit the ground running so if you’re looking to move on yourself …?’
Sam was already shaking his head. ‘No, thanks,’ he said, and then his words caught in his throat as a thought struck him. ‘But if you’re taking people on, give me a shout. I may be able to put someone your way, if only for general labour.’
‘Sure, but it was you I was after, Sam.’
‘Sorry, Jack. I’m not looking for a new challenge. I’m happy where I am, you know that.’
‘You’re easily pleased, I’ll give you that. You don’t ask much from life, do you, Sam?’
It was a rhetorical question and a subject that Jack had raised regularly. He couldn’t accept that Sam should be content with his minimalist existence. ‘Would it shut you up for once if I told you that I’m courting a young lass?’
Jack came to a stop and began stumbling over his words. ‘You’re joking? You? No, I don’t believe it. Sam McIntyre has actually asked someone out on a date?’ he asked, then laughed when he caught the look on Sam’s face. ‘She asked you out, didn’t she?’
‘Anna,’ Sam said by way of an answer. ‘One of the teachers from St Mary’s. We’ve gone out a few times.’
‘So it’s serious, then?’
‘It’s a handful of dates,’ Sam corrected. He wasn’t yet sure if he was doing the right thing. He couldn’t deny he was enjoying Anna’s company and looked forward to their dates, but there was a long way to go before he would feel worthy of stepping out with a young, beautiful woman on his arm. The first time they had kissed, Sam had wanted to pull back and ask Anna if she was really sure she knew what she was doing, but he hadn’t been able to resist her, which she undoubtedly knew.
They carried on walking towards the main gate and Sam was too busy squirming under Jack’s cross-examination to even register that he was looking over in the direction of the Allerton Oak, not until he saw a small figure running away, her blonde hair billowing in the breeze like the sail of a ship. A month had passed since he had seen Jasmine, although she had played on his mind more than he would like to admit. She might not have realized but she had put her trust in Sam by believing everything he had told her, just like another little girl had once done, and he didn’t want to be proven a liar, not again.
‘Why don’t you invite Anna to my leaving do?’ Jack was saying. ‘It’s only a few drinks, no pressure, and the pub has plenty of exits in case the interrogation gets too much for you. Everyone, and I mean everyone, is going to want to meet her, including Sheila, and my wife will not forgive you if you don’t come.’
‘Maybe,’ Sam said, but he wasn’t even listening now. He made a rash promise to ask Anna along and then told Jack he had remembered something that needed checking before he headed home.
By the time Sam reached the tree, the only sign that the girl had even been there was a small ball of pink paper. When he read the note, it tore at his tender heart.
To my Wishing Tree,
I’m sorry Tree! You’re too old to be granting a stupid wish from a stupider girl so please don’t feel bad about it.
And I’m not making any more wishes because I’m going to help Mum and Dad myself. I don’t even care if I have to work all day and never ever sleep and I can’t sleep anyway because I keep hearing Mum crying. I’m going to make Mum and Dad brekfast I’m going to make Mum smile and maybe Dad will see I’m not a useless lump like he says and he’ll be happier too.
So don’t worry about the job for Dad and if you do have any power left to grant wishes then use it to make yourself better. I know you still hurt.
With all my love,
Jasmine xxx
Sam thought there was more than enough light in the apartment, but at Anna’s insistence he got up and moved towards the door where his finger hovered over the light switch. The cooling sun remained strong enough to pick out the scattered pieces of furniture and the slender figure of the woman who had arrived like a tornado in his life, spinning his head and his emotions and, at that particular moment, scattering pieces of paper across the dining table.
Anna’s dark hair fell loosely over her shoulders and she had a daisy tucked behind her ear, taken from the posy he had given her earlier. She had put the rest of the flowers in a pint glass, the nearest alternative he had to a vase, and they had been placed in the centre of the table while they ate dinner, only to be relegated to the window ledge once they began looking at Sam’s drawings. Anna opened up another sketch book now and squinted at the first page, only then noticing Sam’s prevarication. When she fixed him with her steely glare, he was forced into action and flicked the light switch, which chased away the shadows he hadn’t even been aware existed.
‘Let’s spread ourselves out,’ she said.
Scooping up a pile of Sam’s drawings, Anna proceeded to lay them out on the vast open space provided by the apartment’s bare, polished floorboards. Next she picked up the two wine glasses from the dining table and motioned Sam to sit amongst his drawings before joining him.
‘You have to do something with these,’ she told him. ‘And I don’t mean pasting them onto a worksheet for the Year Fours.’ Her eyes soaked up every detail of the countless sketches of squirrels and magpies, primroses and azaleas. He had even found beauty in the litter strewn along the paths, but his most impressive collection of sketches was of the thousand-year-old tree. Sam had recorded its life through the seasons, up close and from a distance. In one he had drawn bare branches that exposed its age, and in another captured its strength as it raised its heavy, green canopy towards the life-giving sun.
‘Such as?’
Anna lined up the sketches of the tree. ‘We could create a story about the Wishing Tree.’
‘We?’
Taking a sip of wine, Anna was thoughtful for a moment. ‘I could write it and you could do the illustrations. We could make it into a book and even if we couldn’t get a book deal, we could self-publish.’
Sam scratched his beard. ‘Yeah, and circulate the story so even more kids can come along to throw litter at the tree.’
‘We could adapt the story so that the wishes don’t need to be written down.’ She nudged him. ‘You should bear that in mind next time I make you tell the story. Just tell the kids they have to touch a branch and it will read their mind and hey presto, no litter.’
The frown had appeared on Sam’s face before he had a chance to hide it.
‘What?’
‘I don’t want to give the children false hope,’ he said. He looked into Anna’s eyes and tried to soak up her enthusiasm, but his conscience wouldn’t be eased as he thought of a small shoebox he kept tucked beneath his bed out of sight. It was decorated with sheets of origami squares and was one of
