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The Wishing Tree

This was a Christmas story that I wrote for my Facebook readers’ group. I love a bit of magic at Christmas. It’s set a couple of years after the events of On a Midnight Clear .

Barnaby

Holding a sheaf of papers in my hand and cradling the packet of biscuits I just filched from the kitchen, I edge around the throngs of happy tourists in my house. Christmas music plays, and the air is scented with cinnamon and full of the sound of excited chatter and the squeals of children.

Smiling and nodding, I make my way through the hall. A fire crackles in the cavernous marble fireplace, and the vast Christmas tree sits proudly in the room’s centre. Lights twinkle on branches that nearly kiss the ceiling where the cherubs wheel and dip eternally.

“Sorry. Do excuse me. Oh, watch your head. Could I just get around you? Thank you so much,” I say on my journey. I breathe a sigh of relief when I finally get to the other side of the hall. Taking a quick look around, I open the door marked Private and slide through it.

The quiet is almost physical, making me immediately relax. I wander along the corridor and nod to the statue of Mímir, who is currently wearing a red garland around his head. The garland has slipped down over his eyes, giving him a rather drunken expression. I right the garland and tap him affectionately on his shoulder. “Talk to you soon, my friend.”

I look around. The popularity of the house and the barrow are bringing in a lot of much-needed money, as did the sale of the crown, but there are so many things that need attending to after the years of frugality that our private quarters have just been tidied up and left alone.

The difference between public and private areas is evident in the lack of grandeur. Instead of priceless works of art, family photos now line the walls. Cosmo had found boxes of them in a storeroom and spent weeks framing the ones he liked, resulting in a display that’s a charming mishmash. Secretly, I rather like it. This is a valuable historical building, but it’s also our home, and these little details make our quarters all the more special. Or that could be because I share them with Cosmo.

I stop in my study to drop off the papers and hide the biscuits. Then, munching one, I walk along the corridor and enter the sculpture gallery by the private entrance.

The whole house looks spectacular at Christmas, and the decorations have been made with the staff’s hard work and a teeny bit of Cosmo’s magic. Trees are in all the rooms, each decorated entirely differently, but all with a theme of Alice in Wonderland . Cosmo likes me to read to him while we lie in bed snuggled together, and the old classic had found a natural home with him. He’d been enchanted, and as in life, his enthusiasm had become my own, and I’d appreciated the magical story anew.

We even have a light show this year projected onto the house exterior at dusk every evening. It was created by three eager men who’d descended on the house a few months ago and spent a week muttering and eating everything in the building. Cosmo was enthralled with them and peppered them with questions at every available moment.

But despite all these marvels, the sculpture gallery is still the best. Decorated in black, white, and silver, the shades echo the black-and-white chequered tile floor and the creamy glow of the marble statues. The air is cool and scented with pine from the trees decorated in white and black. Globes hang from the ceiling, swaying gently in the breeze, and atmospheric music plays, making the room feel strange and magical.

I nod, smiling at familiar faces amongst the statues. The Gap is tomorrow, and I look forward to seeing everyone before Christmas. I can’t help the uptick in my lips as I see the space where Cosmo’s empty plinth stands. The sculpture gallery is full of wonder, but in my admittedly biased view, nothing can equal the reminder of what happened to me on that Christmas.

Thinking of him, I quicken my pace and exit the room, coming out into the main public corridor, which is full of people moving from room to room.

“Their decorations are always so much better than anyone else’s,” an old lady says as she walks with another lady.

“Magical,” her companion breathes, and I hide my smile. She has no idea.

“Have you seen Cosmo?” I ask Martha, the lady who’s in charge of the tours.

She smiles at me. “He was upstairs in the portrait gallery the last time I saw him. See if you can make him take a break, my lord. He’s been on the go all day.”

“Barnaby, please,” I say for the fiftieth time this week, despite knowing she’ll never address me with my given name. “I will. By the end of today, it’ll all be done for another year.”

She nods. “And then we need to look at the tours for the new year,” she says in a steely voice.

Smiling my thanks, I escape up the stairs, where branches filled with fairy lights shed strange shadows over the stone cherubs, making them look almost sinister. I come out by my favourite Christmas decoration — the Wishing Tree.

A huge Norway Spruce sits alone at one end of the portrait gallery. It’s in front of a tall window, and the twinkling lights in the branches reflect on the glass, making the whole area sparkle like the tree has starlight captured in its boughs. I wouldn’t be too sure it hasn’t because this tree’s concept was entirely Cosmo’s idea.

I move closer, drawn as usual by its simple magic. There are no expensive baubles on this tree. Instead, hundreds of brown parcel labels are tied to the branches filled with childish scribbles and colourful crayon drawings, and they flutter in the breeze from the heater nearby. I take one and read it, squinting in the fading daylight. I wish for my pocket money to be made of chocolate , the childish writing says. I pick another up and blink. I want to marry Scarlett Johansson. I turn the label over, and the mystery is solved when I find out that Derek, Aged 42, signed it.

I move along, reading the labels, amazed at the brilliance of my lover. He’d decided that we needed a wishing tree. Children (and I’ve noticed a large number of adults) write their Christmas wishes and attach them to the tree in the hope that they will come true. I spoke with my assistant, James, and we’re going to gather them together after the holiday and keep them for future exhibitions.

I’m just reaching up to one of the higher boughs to examine a striped pink and green label when it happens. The whole tree seems to shudder.

I step back in alarm, wondering if it will fall down, but then gasp as a mist rises and hovers around it. The mist sparkles and shines as if hundreds of fairy lights are concealed within it. It surrounds the tree for a second as if hugging it, and then, even as I watch, it coils down and slides along the floor. I go to step back, but it curls around my feet before I can move, making me gasp. The feel of it is cool and invigorating, as if I’ve plunged into cold water on a hot day. It twines around my legs, and the scent of fresh pine is suddenly strong in the air, and I hear the sound of sweet bells.

“Cosmo,” I breathe.

The mist retreats and slides around the base of the tree. Then it’s gone, and I’m left wondering what just happened. I look around as if someone is going to pop up and enlighten me, but there’s no one in the gallery at this moment. I scratch my head and then look up as I hear footsteps running.

James appears at the gallery’s entrance, and I stare at my assistant. Gone is his calm and organised facade — the tidy hair and the neat clothes. Instead, his hair is standing up on end, there’s a streak of dirt on his cheekbone, and his shirt is ripped.

“My lord,” he says and stops to suck in a breath.

“What on earth ?” I say, striding towards him. “Whatever is the matter?” Dread seizes me. “Has there been an accident?”

He shakes his head, and I relax.

“No, Lord Greenwood. It was the monkey.”

I blink. “I beg your pardon?” My words break off as he steps forward and seizes my arm. This is so far beyond our usual decorous working relationship that I’m immediately intrigued. I want to know what’s got him so ruffled. Then his words register. “A monkey, James?”

Has he been on the brandy? I dismiss that incredible thought as something that would never happen.

He nods and starts to pull me towards the stairs, his movements frantic. “Yes, the monkey on the roof.”

I’m about to make him stop and ascertain if he’s hit his head, but then I remember the incident with the tree. “Cosmo,” I say in revelation.

“No, my lord. A monkey ,” he says patiently. “He’s on the roof chucking satsumas at the visitors.”

I open my mouth to question him further, but then we stop dead as a gorilla strolls past us. The fact that it’s a gorilla is enough to make us pause, but the fact that it’s wearing a sun hat and bright pink Crocs might be what makes us stare.

“Ungh,” James breathes.

“Yes,” I whisper. “I completely agree, James.”

The gorilla pauses and raises its hat politely before moving onwards.

“You saw that, didn’t you?” James whispers.

“I did.” From downstairs come shouts and cries of astonishment, and I quicken my steps. “Where is Cosmo?”

James darts along next to me. “He was outside trying to get the monkey to come down.”

“Of course he was.”

We come out at the head of the stairs and stop dead at the sight below us. The hall is full of chaos. Adults are running along, dragging children behind them who are shouting with glee and trying to reach — I blink and rub my eyes —a herd of pink elephants wearing Converse and sparkly blue tiaras.

“What the hell?” I say slowly.

Tugging James along with me, I make my way down the stairs, dodging the tourists who are running everywhere. We press against the wall to avoid getting stepped on as the largest elephant suddenly trumpets loudly. The herd stampede out of the front door, disappearing down the drive.

“Oh, my goodness ,” James stutters, pointing. I follow his gaze and find myself looking at a pile of elephant shit, which is rather disturbingly pink and sparkly.

“No time to worry about that,” I say briskly.

I duck as vines suddenly fall from the ceiling. They’re huge jungle vines with tiny red flowers, and within seconds, some leopards in tutus are swinging on them. I blink as they start to hum what sounds like the chorus of “The Lion Sleeps Tonight”. I rub my eyes, but they’re still there when I open them again.

“That is not allowed in the hall,” James calls and squeaks as a leopard picks him up, twirling him around before setting him gently down on the stairs and swinging away. “Oh my,” James breathes.

I wheel around and race out of the front door. Outside is even more bedlam as the giant chess pieces that are usually in the garden are now dancing on the front lawn to music played by an orchestra of fish. I gape at a cod who is playing the tuba.

Dragging myself away from the sight, I push through the crowd, pausing as an older man catches my arm. “What is happening here?” he shouts.

I grimace. “Can I just wholeheartedly apologise?”

“I haven’t had this much fun in years,” he exclaims.

“Oh, in that case, you’re very welcome.”

He’s seized by the red queen and dances away in a waltz, his face happy. “We’ll come back every year,” he calls back. “It’s a five-star review on TripAdvisor for you, Lord Greenwood.”

I pause and look around. What I’d initially taken as screams of panic are actually excitement and happiness. People’s smiles are broad, and their merry shouts are loud on the cold air.

“Monkey, I must insist that you come down.”

The sound of a beloved voice brings me to my senses, and I round the corner of the house, where I find Cosmo. He’s standing on the lawn, his hands on his hips. He’s wearing faded jeans that cling to his long legs and the blue polo shirt with our logo that all the tour guides wear, which makes his olive skin glow. He has an unusually stern look on his face.

“ Now , please,” he says.

I look up to see a small brown monkey sitting on a windowsill and holding a punnet of satsumas. It looks identical to the bronze statue that is usually found on the table in the hallway. Even as I watch, it picks up an orange and holds it in its hand, obviously weighing up the situation.

“ No ,” Cosmo says, wagging his finger. “I forbid it.”

The monkey opens its mouth and launches into what sounds very much like monkey laughter. Then we both duck as it hurls the orange at us. I look up to see it stand on the windowsill, jumping up and down before climbing down the drainpipe and rushing off.

“Cosmo,” I call, and he turns around, an agitated grimace on his face.

“Barnaby, have you seen?—”

“Complete and utter chaos?” I finish his sentence. “Oh, I’ve seen it.”

He races over to me. His hair is flopping over his forehead, and his face is sweaty. “Oh my goodness, this is rather an unusual situation that we find ourselves in.”

“I’ll say.” I pull him to one side as a pink horse gallops by, shaking its green mane. It looks suspiciously like one of the horses from the merry-go-round on the main lawn.

“ Mildred ,” Cosmo shouts in a thunderous voice after the horse. “What has become of your dignity and sense of duty?”

“I think it vanished at the same time as seventy thousand magical creatures appeared,” I say as we watch the horse disappear around the corner of the house. “What is going on?”

Cosmo looks adorably embarrassed. “I think my magic has gone a teeny bit wrong, my Barnaby.”

I shake my head and pull him into a hug. He immediately returns the embrace, clutching me tight in his strong arms. I kiss his head, inhaling the scent of my shampoo in his hair, and then gently put him back.

“It was something to do with the Wishing Tree, wasn’t it?”

He nods enthusiastically. “Yes. Oh dear. I only thought to make the last day of our Christmas celebration very memorable.”

“Well, it’s certainly that. On a side note, you may have set expectations rather high for the visitors next year. But that’s a problem for another day.”

He scratches his head. “I am not entirely sure what occurred.”

“I saw the tree when the magic happened. What did you do?”

“Ah, every day, I have seen the young and old place their wishes on the tree. I thought to do something nice for them.”

“Lovey, I’m not cross with you,” I say.

He immediately relaxes. “You are not?”

“How could I be? You’re too adorable.” I shake my head. “So, what did you do?”

“I made it so that their dreams would come true.”

I consider that as we step out of the way of an army of Lego figures marching along the path, followed by a horde of excited children. “Dreams or wishes?” I ask.

He spreads his hands. “Ah, there is the rub. I believe my magic took the command literally.”

“And you’ve made dreams come true,” I breathe.

He nods, his face screwed up in thought. “Exactly.”

“Well, that’s good news for Derek, aged forty-two. Less so for Scarlett Johansson.”

“Who?”

We stop talking as a hooded figure strolls past. It’s carrying a sack from which pancakes, rose petals, and popcorn fall, scattering over the path. Cosmo shakes his head. “I never realised what people dream about.”

I blink. “Do you not dream?”

“No, my love.” He purses his lips as a large butterfly flutters past, the breeze from its wings blowing our hair back. It’s carrying a big net, and we step into the shadow of the house. “And I am beginning to believe that humans are quite mad , Barnaby.”

“You’re not wrong.” I take his hand and squeeze it. “So, what do we do now? We really can’t live like this forever, and Mrs Cooper is going to go barmy when she sees the elephant shit in the hall.”

“Oh, my goodness,” he says, looking both alarmed and amused. Then he groans. “I am unsure what to do, Barnaby.”

“ What ?”

“This magic is beyond me. It seems to have taken light and grown in strength.”

“Ah, well, that’s wishing trees for you,” someone says from behind us.

We gasp and spin around. There, sitting on a bench, is the Holly King. He’s dressed in an old mackintosh with a pink jumper, stripy trousers, and boots with a hole through which I can see his toe. He’s also somewhat incongruously eating a bag of chips.

“My lord,” Cosmo says, inclining his head respectfully. He nudges me, and I jerk and do the same.

“Nice to see you again,” I mutter.

His lip twitches under his luxurious beard. “Wishing trees are old magic, Cosmo. I’m not surprised that it got away from you, my lad.”

“Old?” I say.

He nods, his eyes twinkling. “And very powerful. You see, wishes and dreams have an extraordinary power of their own to create havoc and chaos. A wishing tree is a wild thing.”

“Can you help?” Cosmo asks as he pulls me out of the way of a purple giraffe that races past us. He clutches me to him, his eyes protective.

The Holly King finishes the last chip and looks around helplessly. I sigh and step forward to take the bag from him.

“Thank you, my boy,” he says. He winks at me. “And are you still happy, Keeper?”

I meet his eyes with difficulty. His gaze is powerful and ancient. “Always,” I say softly.

He gives his smile that has a wild edge to it. “Ah, I like this little corner of my land. It is always filled with love and laughter.” He pauses and waves his hand in a languid gesture. I hear the ringing of a bell, and a silence descends that’s so absolute it makes my ears ring. Then, slowly, the sound seeps back in — the wind in the bare branches of the trees and the chuckling of the water in the fountain.

A robin lands on a branch near me, its breast cherry red. It trills something, and the Holly King nods. “Thank you, my little friend.” He looks over at us. “All is done.”

Cosmo beams. “ Really ? Oh, thank you, my lord.”

The Holly King looks at him affectionately. “Always such a big heart, my boy. You’ll never lose that.” That makes me smile, and the Holly King stands up, stretching. “Well, I must be off. There are many miles to travel before my power is at an end for the year.”

“Is everything okay here now?” I ask. “What about when people talk about what they saw?”

He runs a hand through his wild hair, and I inhale the sharp scent of pine. “Their memory of the magic has vanished. All they know is that they must come back next year.” He looks around with satisfaction. “I believe money always helps in the keeping of the King’s Wood, Barnaby.”

“You have no idea,” I say fervently.

His chuckle is rich with that familiar dark and almost scary magic to it. “I was told that you have some elephant dung to clear away, Cosmo.”

Cosmo droops. “Yes, my lord.” He sighs, and I start to laugh.

Later that night, I stir at Cosmo’s side. We’re sitting in the gardens near our fountain. The water tinkles melodically, and lights dance in it — pink, green, red, blue, gold, and silver. I stretch, feeling Cosmo’s arm tighten over my shoulders. My body feels pleasantly sore. We’d made love in the fountain, and then afterwards, he’d wrapped us in warmed blankets that smelled of his magic. I watch my breath crystallise in the cold air.

In the distance, the woods rustle and move as if wishing us a merry Christmas, and the stars are big and bright.

“Look, my Barnaby,” Cosmo says, and I turn and look where he’s pointing. The fairies are out. I’ve seen them before with Cosmo but never fail to marvel at the magic that was right under my nose for all these years. They’re dancing in the wild garden, and they gleam and glow in the moonlight. I realise they’re all holding small orbs of white lights as they sway under the full moon.

“That’s beautiful ,” I breathe.

Cosmo stirs. His hair is damp and curling around his beautiful face, and his skin gleams as if he’s once more that beautiful, cold statue. Then he smiles, and the image fades, and he’s once again my beloved, who’s rooting through the empty picnic basket in the hope of finding something to eat. He produces a lone mince pie triumphantly. “Look what I found. Lovely jubbly.” He gazes longingly at it before looking over at Cyrus, who joined us a few minutes ago. The dog is watching him, and Cosmo sighs mournfully before tossing the mince pie to the dog.

“I don’t think dogs can eat mince pies,” I say in alarm, but he just pats my knee.

“Poor dogs to miss out on such lovely things. However, Cyrus has a constitution formed by magic, and so he can eat what he likes.”

“He’s not the only one.” He laughs, and I drop a kiss on his cheek. “I love you very much,” I say softly. “You’re the most important person in my world and always will be.”

He strokes my cheek, his face full of love and softness. “If I could, I would give you a palace of moonlight.”

He waves one hand, and I gape as bells chime. A palace appears in front of us, crystal white and coldly shining with halls of moonlight. Then he snaps his fingers, and it vanishes.

“But that is a cold palace and so would never suit such a warm and vital creature as you, my Barnaby.”

“I like the home we already have.” I snuggle into him, feeling his arm tighten around me. “So, it’s all gone now? All the Wishing Tree magic?”

“Yes,” he says a little sadly.

I stir and ask the question I’ve been dying to have answered since the tree appeared. “What did you wish for, Cosmo? You put a wish on the tree every day.”

He smiles at me, his green eyes looking silver in the moonlight. “I wished for us always to be together,” he says, the words sweet and solemn between us.

I kiss him and taste his sweetness on my tongue. He tastes of oranges and mince pies and a trace of the apple brandy he loves so much. Then I pull back. “Nothing else?”

He gazes at me as if I’m the most beautiful man he’s ever seen. It’s the way he always looks at me, and it’s heady stuff.

“What else could there be but this love?” he says simply, and I smile and cuddle closer to him. There’s a short pause before he speaks again. “And the monkey,” he says longingly. “I did so wish for him to be real. Do you think we could have kept him?”

I jerk as a bell sounds. It’s deeper than the sound of Cosmo’s magic, and on the breeze comes the sound of the Holly King’s laugh. There’s a flash, and we cover our eyes against the brightness. When I open my eyes, I see the monkey sitting before us on the path. It cocks its head and scratches its ear, mischief and mayhem written all over it.

“Oh, how wonderful ,” Cosmo breathes. “Is this our Christmas gift?”

“Well, yours,” I say in a spirit of honesty.

“Is that not the best thing ever, Barnaby?”

“Lovely,” I say faintly as the monkey scampers towards Cyrus, who’s been lying quietly watching the fairies. The monkey chatters wildly, hugging him and pulling his ear, and the dog gives us a reproachful look before loping quickly off towards the house. The monkey immediately looks around for more mischief. “What will you call him?”

Cosmo gives this the usual amount of thought he dedicates to everything in life. No matter how small, everything is important to him. “I think Ian Beale,” he says judiciously. “After the EastEnders character.”

I blink. “That’s… that’s lovely.” I glance over and wince. “Well, darling. Ian Beale is chasing the fairies.”

He looks over where the monkey is chasing some very indignant fairies. Even as we watch, he reaches for an orb. There’s a flurry of sparks and what sounds like an irate fairy screech, and the monkey scampers back to us.

“Is he not the most amazing creature, Barnaby?” Cosmo breathes as the monkey scuttles onto his shoulder and lovingly begins tugging at his hair and chattering in his ear.

“There’s only one amazing creature here,” I say softly. “And I’m looking at him. Happy Christmas, darling.”