The Child’s Secret. Amanda Brooke
but it was only when he entered his apartment and checked the clock that he realized he had been out for at least an hour and a half. He went into the kitchen, which was little more than a cubbyhole with enough room for a cooker, fridge and sink but little else. It was sufficient for his needs which right now involved the bottle of water he had left to cool in the fridge. He poured a glass and downed it in one then quickly refilled it before resting it on his forehead to cool down.
By the time he made his way back to the living room, his pulse had begun to slow. He felt completely depleted which wasn’t a bad feeling; in fact it was the reason he pushed himself so hard. The exercise gave him time to get his thoughts in order and left him too tired afterwards to let them wind him up again. He went out for a run at least three times a week whatever the weather although the distance depended on his state of mind.
As he took a sip of water, a beeping noise caught his attention. It was a voicemail alert on his mobile, which he had left on the dining table. He checked the missed call, stared at the caller ID for a second or two, and then deleted the message.
By the time Sam had showered and changed, it was eight o’clock. He didn’t feel hungry at all, despite his stomach rumbling, but he knew he would have to eat something and it wouldn’t be his choice. As if on cue, there was a knock at the door.
‘Perfect timing,’ he said opening the door to Selina who was holding a tray. The cottage pie was so hot it was steaming.
‘Hungry?’ she asked as she marched past him.
‘Famished,’ he lied.
He left Selina in the living room and marched back into the kitchen.
‘I won’t stay if you want time on your own,’ she called after him as she set about laying the table. Along with his dinner, she had brought all the condiments and a slice of cake for afters.
Sam emerged from the kitchen with two cans of brown ale. ‘Could I tempt you?’ he asked, already knowing his old friend wouldn’t refuse. The ale was more to her taste than his and he kept a supply in the fridge as repayment for the countless offerings she served up.
As Sam tucked into his dinner, Selina occupied herself by flicking through the sketch pad he had left lying around. He watched her suspiciously. They knew each other better than either was willing to acknowledge. Selina had listened out for him returning home from his run; she had heard the shower running and had known how long to give him to get dressed before bringing the dinner he wouldn’t have bothered to heat up for himself. She knew how he worked, just like he knew how she did. Selina had something to say but was biding her time.
Putting down the pad, she turned her attention to a small heap of scrunched-up balls of paper. ‘What are these?’ she asked, picking one up.
‘Don’t,’ he said, when he saw her about to unfurl it. When she raised an eyebrow, he added, ‘I gave a tour to a group of school kids today and made the mistake of telling them about the Wishing Tree. They’re the children’s wishes.’
‘So why bring them home if you’re not going to look at them?’
Sam’s eye was drawn to one particular ball of paper. It was the only pink one in the pile. ‘Hiding the evidence?’ he tried.
Selina took a sip of her ale straight from the can; they had long since dispensed with social niceties in each other’s company. She smiled when she said, ‘You want to look, don’t you?’
‘I shouldn’t,’ he said, but having cleared his plate, he set the tray to one side and let Selina gather up the wishes to place between the two of them. They each took a handful but only Sam was selective, making sure he held onto the only one he really wanted to read.
‘A PlayStation,’ she said rolling her eyes.
‘A bike,’ Sam said, equally unimpressed.
They took it in turns to read out the rest which were equally uninspiring until Selina found one that made her laugh so hard she had to take a sip of ale before speaking. ‘I’d like you to drop a branch on the bearded wonder’s head!’ she read, still crying with laughter.
Sam was at first shocked that one of those nice children would think such a thing but then remembered Matthew. ‘Cheeky sod,’ he said.
‘What about that one?’ Selina asked. She had noticed the pink ball of paper that Sam had palmed but was reluctant to open.
‘I don’t know if I should,’ he said and then went on to explain how Jasmine had gone missing and how he had found her making her wish in secret.
‘She’s got to you, hasn’t she?’ The mischievous smile had disappeared and there was a pained look on the old lady’s face. ‘Could it be that she reminds you of someone?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m overthinking things, that’s all. I’d like to believe her wish would be something important, but more likely than not she’s just another young lass who wants to grow up to be a film star. I’d rather leave it unopened and avoid the disappointment.’
Selina offered up her palm. ‘Let me,’ she said. When Sam didn’t respond, she added, ‘You can’t fool me, Sam. You’ve cleared up the mess after telling that Wishing Tree story plenty of times but you’ve never brought the notes home with you before. Maybe you don’t want to read it – but you want to know what’s in it. If you feel it’s against your principles then let me look. Believe me, my conscience has had to deal with far worse.’
Reluctantly, Sam dropped the ball of pink paper into her hand but he couldn’t watch as she flattened the creased paper to reveal its secrets. ‘Ah, bless her,’ Selina said. She waited for Sam to look up from the can he had been peering into. ‘She wants a job for her dad.’
‘Really?’
Sam took the unfolded piece of paper from Selina and stared at it as he tried to keep up with his emotions. He had known the serious little girl wouldn’t have wished for something trivial and felt vindicated, although now he had to deal with the consequences of giving her a dream to hang her hopes upon.
‘I feel guilty,’ he admitted. ‘I spun her a story and now she’s expecting the Wishing Tree to grant her wish.’
Selina shrugged. ‘You never know, chances are her dad will get a job anyway.’ When it became clear his conscience couldn’t be eased, she added, ‘We’re supposed to tell children white lies, Sam. Childhood has equal measures of reality and fantasy and that’s not necessarily a bad thing. If she believes in the Wishing Tree then she still believes in a world where good overcomes evil and we all find our happy endings. What’s so terrible in that?’
‘Because it’s not true,’ he said, not thinking of Jasmine any more but his own sorry existence.
Selina chose her moment perfectly. ‘Your wife phoned,’ she said.
‘Ex-wife,’ he corrected. ‘She left me a voicemail message. I didn’t play it back and—’ He stopped, only now realizing what Selina had meant. ‘She phoned you too?’
She nodded. ‘When you were out on your run. She thought you might not listen to the message so she asked me to tell you.’
The break-up of Sam’s marriage had been amicable enough. For the last two years of their marriage, they had barely talked and so he had decided to walk away before they learnt to hate each other. That had been four years ago and, after leaving Edinburgh, he had initially broken off all communication with Kirsten. They had only finalized the divorce a year ago when she had come down to Liverpool to agree the terms. That was when she had met Selina and his landlady had learned more about her lodger in a single weekend than in all the time they had been living under the same roof together.
Sam busied himself flattening out the pink square of paper in his hand before folding it carefully, this way and that. He took care with the corners and pressed down the creases with practised ease. ‘What did she have to say for herself?’ he asked at last.
‘She’s …’