Wishes Under The Willow Tree: The feel-good book of 2018. Phaedra Patrick

Nigel setting up their fold-up chairs on the canal bank. Two fishing rods stretched into the water. A pile of sandwiches wrapped in tinfoil sat between the chairs.

      Benedict wondered if he could climb over the wall and take the longer route through the field, to avoid them, though he didn’t fancy his chances in trying to clamber over.

      But it was too late. Ryan raised his hand. ‘All right, Benedict? Do you want to join us?’

      ‘Not today, lads. I’ve got to get into work.’

      Ryan was happy to share every detail of his marital problems with his wife, Diane, who had asked him for a divorce. He lamented how sleeping on an inflatable mattress in the spare room gave him a sweaty back. Ryan always smelled strongly of the floral washing powder from Soap’n’Suds, and he ironed pin-sharp creases down the front of his black jeans.

      ‘We’re going to be here all day,’ Nigel added. He worked at the newsagent’s shop in the village and teamed his faded black Guns N’ Roses T-shirt with a leather biker’s jacket. His long, thinning strawberry-blond hair looked like strings of spaghetti escaping through a colander. Nigel’s latest crush was Josie, the barmaid at the Pig and Whistle, though he didn’t have enough confidence to speak to her. Instead, he bought far too many bags of crisps at the bar in a bid to get closer.

      Ryan and Nigel sat back in their canvas chairs and stared at Gemma, as if she was an exotic zoo creature they’d never seen before. Benedict could see they were waiting for an introduction and he wasn’t going to offer it.

      ‘Maybe, I’ll see you later, lads,’ he said and placed his hand lightly on the small of Gemma’s back, to usher her onward.

      When they were out of earshot, Gemma scraped her feet. Benedict slowed down to allow her to catch up to him.

      ‘What’s wrong?’

      ‘Are you ashamed of me, Uncle Ben?’

      ‘No. Of course not.’

      Her eyes told him that she didn’t believe him.

      ‘Look,’ he sighed. ‘Not much happens around here so, when it does, the villagers can latch onto it like leeches.’

      ‘So you’re happy I’m here?’

      ‘Happy’ was too strong a word, but he said yes anyway.

      ‘So,’ she said, ‘I can have a job in your shop then, huh?’

      Benedict held his fist to his mouth and coughed in surprise. ‘Excuse me,’ he said. ‘Let’s not rush things, eh?’

      When Benedict and Gemma reached the high street, they neared Crags and Cakes. The café had undergone several refurbishments and now had an Alice in Wonderland theme, complete with a six-foot-tall angry-looking white rabbit on the pavement. The villagers said he looked so cross because of the cost of the cakes. Three pounds ninety-nine for a slice of Victoria sponge was extortionate.

      Benedict’s footsteps slowed down.

      ‘Is this your shop?’ Gemma asked.

      ‘No,’ he said quietly. He touched his wedding ring. ‘It’s where I met Estelle.’

      ‘Yeah?’ Gemma pressed a hand to her chest. ‘Was it romantic?’

      Benedict gave a quick grin. ‘Kind of.’ He told Gemma that each Sunday morning, the Noon Sun Walkers met outside Crags and Cakes for a quick coffee before going for a hike on the moors. ‘My doctor told me to get more exercise and I thought walking would be easy. I bought some boots and a padded coat and off I went, thinking that I’d be like David Beckham within no time. And I saw this woman outside the café. She had hair like Cleopatra and she wore a purple coat and matching hairband. I couldn’t look away.’ He swallowed as he thought of Estelle’s cobalt eyes and full lips.

      ‘Aw. That’s cute.’

      ‘We hiked up to Dinosaur Ridge, a local landmark up high on the moors. The rocks are supposed to look like the profile of a stegosaurus. I was lagging behind but I heard a woman’s voice say, “Quick. Shoulder.” And it was Cleopatra. Well, Estelle. She had a stone in her boot and wanted to lean on my shoulder to steady herself. She said that I looked solid.’

      ‘I suppose that’s one word to describe you,’ Gemma said.

      ‘I thought she was gorgeous but I didn’t know what to say.’ He was aware that his words were flowing more freely than usual, because he wanted to talk about his wife. He thought back to that day and tried not to groan when he remembered his riveting first words to Estelle.

      ‘My legs are killing me,’ he said.

      ‘You’ll be fine. If you’re not, I can always carry you over my shoulder.’

      ‘Perhaps if you have a small crane…’

      ‘I’m stronger than I look.’ She rolled up her sleeve and flexed her arm. They both stared at the slight bump that appeared above her elbow. ‘Pure muscle,’ she laughed.

      ‘I believe you now.’

      ‘By the way, I’m Estelle.’

      ‘And I’m Benedict.’

      When they eventually climbed up and reached Dinosaur Ridge, the rest of the group sat on the stegosaurus scales, looking smug and eating their sandwiches. ‘I have a joke,’ Estelle said as she rubbed her knees. ‘It’s completely rubbish. Do you want to hear it?’

      ‘Go on.’

      ‘Why are there no tablets in the jungle?’

      ‘I have no idea.’

      ‘Because the parrots eat ’em all. Get it? Paracetamol.’

      ‘That’s funny,’ Benedict said, even though it wasn’t.

      ‘You tell me one.’

      Benedict could only think of one that he’d overheard a couple of schoolboys sharing outside his shop. He regretted it as soon as he started to tell it. ‘How do you get a fat guy into bed?’ he asked.

      Estelle frowned. ‘I have no idea.’

      ‘A piece of cake.’

      She snorted and then laughed out loud. Her headband slipped off the top of her ears. ‘I may bear that in mind,’ she said.

      Throughout the rest of walk, Benedict replayed his joke over and over in his head. It was so lame.

      They agreed that a pint of cider in the Pig and Whistle would help to ease their aching thighs, and they talked so much that their cheese sandwich tea led into a pub quiz in the evening. They came second and, when Benedict walked Estelle home, they celebrated by kissing on the canal towpath in the moonlight.

      Their dates from then on revolved around food – a new tearoom that Estelle had read about, over in York, or a new sandwich on the menu at Crags and Cakes. Except, whereas Estelle was sensible, choosing small dishes, salads, skipping a dessert, Benedict didn’t have the willpower. He liked large meals and full oval plates, finding the heavy feeling in his stomach comforting. He couldn’t resist a sticky toffee pudding, especially with custard.

      They married almost two years later in the small church in Applethorpe, and began to try for a baby on their honeymoon in Santorini.

      ‘I’d love to have two kids, standing on my knee, under the gem tree,’ Benedict said, as the moon shone through the window, making the white bed sheets shine silver. ‘Like Charlie and I did with our mum and dad.’

      Estelle smiled. ‘Who knows…in nine months’ time…’

      ‘We should stock up on nappies.’

      However, the months rolled by and no double blue lines appeared on the pregnancy kits that Estelle bought each month, just in case.

      For the first couple of years, it didn’t concern them; they were