Wishes Under The Willow Tree: The feel-good book of 2018
Praise for Phaedra Patrick:‘A feel-good story with oodles of charm’ Daily Mail‘Eccentric, charming and wise, this will illuminate your heart’ Nina GeorgeFor generations, the Stone family have been making wishes on the old willow tree in their garden. And this year they’re wishing harder than ever…In the small village of Noon Sun, Benedict and Estelle thought they’d found their happy ever after. But, unable to have the children they’ve longed for, their marriage has hit the rocks and Estelle has moved out. Devastated but unwilling to accept defeat, jeweller Benedict vows to win her back – he just doesn’t know how.The unexpected – and uninvited – arrival of his estranged sixteen-year-old niece, Gemma, is the last thing he needs. But when a decades old secret is brought to light, Benedict and Estelle realise they’re not the only ones in need of a second chance. And that maybe the family they wished for has been there all along…Praise for bestselling author Phaedra Patrick’s award-winning debut The Curious Charms of Arthur Pepper:‘Gorgeous’ Heat‘A charming, unforgettable story’ Harper’s Bazaar
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Praise for Phaedra Patrick’s debut novel The Curious Charms of Arthur Pepper
‘A feel-good story with oodles of charm that had me rooting for Arthur all the way.’
The Daily Mail
‘Charming by name, charming by nature, this book is a balm for the soul and the heart.’
The Sun
‘A gorgeous journey told through charms.’
Heat
‘Eccentric, charming and wise, this will illuminate your heart.’
Nina George, author of The Little Paris Bookshop
‘A charming, unforgettable story.’
Harper’s Bazaar
‘With many poignant as well as laugh-out-loud moments, in the vein of The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry, this is a lovely feel-good read.’ Compass
‘As charming and witty as the title suggests.’
My Weekly
‘We love this sweet story about self-discovery.’
Take A Break
PHAEDRA PATRICK studied art and marketing and has worked as a stained-glass artist, film-festival organiser and communications manager. She is a prize-winning short story writer and her debut novel was translated in twenty languages worldwide. She lives in Saddleworth with her husband and son, where she writes full-time.
Wishes Under the Willow Tree is her second novel. For more information, please visit www.phaedra-patrick.com and you can also follow Phaedra on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.
For Mark and Oliver
Contents
hope, desire, fidelity
As Benedict Stone huffed his way to work, the sweet smell of the cherry scones in Bake My Day made him forget for a moment that his wife, Estelle, had packed her purple suitcase and moved out of their home.
His mouth watered and he stopped, sniffed and needed something weighty in his stomach, to help sugar-coat his sorrows. He curled his fingers into his palms and tried to resist, but it was like an ultra-strong magnet pulled him inside the baker’s shop.
A fella like you needs more than just a slice of toast, a sausage roll, bought by a schoolboy, said. You need something sweet too, a chocolate cookie, on display in the glass counter, chipped in.
Benedict tried his best to ignore them, but the lure of a succulent bacon sandwich and an oozy jam doughnut was too strong. He bought both and devoured them before he reached the front door of his shop, Stone Jewellery, just a few metres away.
When he unlocked the door, his stomach dropped as he glanced at the 25% Off Sale sticker he’d taped into his window three months ago.
He switched on the light and took off his jacket. Grey aluminium and glass cabinets lined the walls of the two-man deep and two-and-a-half-man wide space. The walls were all painted dolphin grey, and the floor was grey too. Benedict thought that the colour scheme was calm and elegant though his assistant, Cecil, claimed it needed more va-va-voom.
A black door behind the counter led through to Benedict’s workshop. The small, square room housing his workbench was his sanctuary. When he shut himself away in there, he could block out the outside world and almost convince himself that all was still fine with his wife.
He went inside and straightened up a file on his bench. He liked his tweezers, pliers, snips and soldering iron laid out in lines like a surgeon’s instruments. If Cecil moved his mallet by as little as a centimetre, Benedict could tell. Even with few entries in his appointment book, he felt driven to work. He crafted silver bangle after silver bangle, which he stacked like miniature tyres on the shelf.
Benedict slumped into his chair and placed his hands on his rounded stomach. He imagined the food dancing in there, laughing at him. Ha ha. Benedict Stone is a big guy but he has no self-control.
Shaking his head with remorse, he picked up a brooch he’d been working on. He switched on his gooseneck lamp and his face reflected in the shiny black metal.
Stone was a good name for him. His hair was short, swept back and graphite grey, the same colour as the stubble that peppered his upper lip and chin. Estelle said that he had a kind face, like when kids draw eyes and a smile into uncooked pastry. His hands were so large they looked as if they’d been inflated by a bicycle pump, but his fingers were surprisingly nimble when handling delicate silver findings.
Everything he wore was neutral, from his suit to his socks, except for his size fourteen burgundy loafers. He’d ordered them custom-made, online, but the company had sent the wrong shade.
‘I’m sure you can live with a bit of colour in your life for once,’ Estelle had said with a sigh. ‘Dark red shoes won’t kill you.’
