Dandelion Clock by Paula R C Readman, dandelion wine

 ‘You do know you can make three wishes with that?’ A deep, earthy voice pulled me from my thoughts as I sat on the stone step of a gothic folly in a beautiful garden. I looked up to see a tall, dark, handsome man smiling down at me. I frowned, not recognising him as one of the guests since he hadn’t followed Sally’s strict dress code; he wore jeans and a white shirt. The man pointed to the dandelion clock I had just picked, the only weed in a perfectly manicured garden. Like that dandelion, I felt out of place at the party.

The man repeated his question about making wishes. I stared at the dandelion clock unaware that I was rolling the delicate stem between my thumb and forefinger. ‘Oh, I thought it was for telling the time,’ I said, not interested in making wishes. After all everything I had hoped for had been taken from me.

‘Well, I would rather check my phone for the time,’ he replied, holding up his mobile. ‘I think they are more accurate than a dandelion clock.’ Uninvited, he sat down beside me. ‘Are you with the party at The Barns?’

‘Sort of,’ I said studying the delicate clock. So light, so fragile; a single puff could destroy it. I needed to escape the pitiful stares and whispers behind my back as I wandered among the party guests with a smile plastered on my face. I finally sought peace in the beautiful garden, full of perfume, birdsong, butterflies, and bees.

‘If you don’t mind me saying you don’t sound too sure.’

I met his stare. His brown eyes, the windows to his soul, were gentle and questioning, and I felt my anger begin to dissipate. I let my breath out slowly, unaware I had been holding it.

‘It’s my baby sister’s party— engagement party,’ I finally said the words aloud.

‘Aren’t you happy for her?’

‘Of course, I am.’ I forced a smile instead of voicing my true feelings. In reality, I was pleased that my ex-boyfriend had hit it off so well with my sister that my parents were glad he was still part of the family. Instead, I said, ‘It isn’t my scene— big crowds, lots of drinking, and a mountain of food. To be honest, I wish I could be anywhere else but here.’

‘Well, that’s your first wish,’ he said.

‘My first wish?’

‘Yes, you get three wishes if you blow on the dandelion clock carefully enough to clear its seed head— kind of like blowing out the candles on a birthday cake all at once.’

‘Are you a wish expert, Mr…? Sorry, what is your name?’

‘Gene Vincent. And yours?’

‘Gene Vincent?’ I repeated, frowning as the name sounded familiar.

‘Yes, my father enjoyed the singer’s music and, of course, the motorbike in his wild youth. And your name is?’

‘Philantha James.’

‘Oh, aren’t you the artist who paints wild flower pictures?’

‘Yes, I am. So, you know my work. Are you a friend of my sister or her fiancé?’ I didn’t recognise him as a friend of my ex.

‘Hmm, well, it’s a bit of a long story, with a few twists and turns along the way. For now, I’m helping out my parents who manage the gardens and the outbuildings on this estate. Both were architects and saw a way to transform the buildings into usable spaces for parties, conferences, and weddings. As they say, diversifying helps bring money into the estate, and having your work for sale in the gift shop helps. Your stunning paintings of the grounds and folly sell very well especially with wedding parties.' 

I laughed, knowing one couple who wouldn’t be buying my paintings. ‘Well, at least someone notices my art.’

‘Your work is beautiful and is one of our best sellers, as you must know.’

‘Thank you. Having a steady income has allowed me to move into the flat above my studio.’ I laughed inwardly at the thought a weed had allowed me to escape my sister’s condescending stares and offhanded remarks at home. 

‘So tell me the real reason why you’re not celebrating your sister’s engagement.’

‘I’m… happy for her and I wish her much happiness when they get married.’

‘That’s your second wish,’ Gene said.

I lowered the dandelion clock. ‘Why are you so interested in my wishes, Mr. Vincent?’

‘Because, Miss James, I can’t bear to see you so unhappy. Here you are, sitting in this beautiful garden on a warm summer day, holding the only weed in the whole garden.’

‘I’m not unhappy. Anyway, a weed is just a flower growing in the wrong place. Dandelions are loved by the bees and can make beautiful wine.’

‘True, but in this garden, they are considered weeds.’

‘That’s a negative thing to say, especially when most of these plants are regarded as weeds in other countries.’

‘My dear Miss James, I don’t want to get into a political discussion with you over a weed.’ Gene stretched his legs and leaned back, shielding his eyes against the sun.

I stood and walked away, wanting to be alone rather than with a silly man and his ridiculous theory on wishes.

‘Hey, where are you going?’ Gene called out. His footsteps echoed off the stone steps, telling me he was following me.

‘Back to the party to face my demons,’ I replied over my shoulder.

‘Wait,’ he said, catching me up.

‘Please, I wish—’

‘Shh, don’t say it, Miss James.’

‘Say what?’

‘Your last wish, because you might regret it.’ Gene took the dandelion’s clock from my hand and blew gently, sending the silvery seed-bearing parachutes off in one puff. ‘Now I can have my three wishes’ he said with a laugh. ‘My first wish is to get to know you better.’

‘Oh my goodness, I know who you are, Gene. You’re Sally’s mystery boyfriend.’

‘Yep.’ Gene took my hand and pulled me down to sit on the step beside him. I was just a holiday fling, so I wouldn’t say I was her boyfriend. She talked about you, saying you called yourself an artist, which intrigued me, so I Googled your work and fell in love with its delicate beauty. I showed it to my parents.’

‘Oh, of course, Francesca Vincent is your mother, and she commissioned me to paint a series depicting the folly and gardens. I often wondered how she discovered my work, but was always too frightened to ask.’

‘I didn’t want you to think I was stalking you, especially after I broke up with your sister. I wouldn’t say your sister and I dated, because it was over before it really began. Your sister was looking for high-maintenance lifestyle, which isn’t for me. When I told her my family ran a gift shop, she seemed to lose interest.’

‘Oh dear, you told a lie,’ I said, looking around at the splendid gardens, stunning barn conversions, and the gift shop.

‘Well, not exactly; I just didn’t elaborate,’ Gene said, pinching his thumb and finger together. ‘A tiny, wee bit, I suppose. For me, it’s about loving the person you are with and not their material possessions. I soon realised Sally wasn’t the girl for me.’

‘Yes, I know what you mean. Simon wasn’t interested in the natural world; he was focused on being seen at the right nightclubs and looking buff for a camera. I’m much happier without him.’

‘I was hoping I could meet you in person when Mum told me who had booked The Barns this weekend. She’s a good judge of character, too.’

‘I’m so glad to know I meet your mum’s approval.’

‘You certainly do.’ Gene extended his arm to me. ‘Right, are you ready to enter the lion’s den with me, Miss James?’

I took Gene’s arm, feeling like a lady with her knight in shining armour. ‘It’s now or never, Sir Vincent,’ I said caught up in the magic.

‘My pleasure, Lady Philantha. Having you at my side is more than I could wish for.’

‘Then that means we both have a wish left,’ I replied as we walked away from the folly.’

‘You’re correct, but we might need those wishes later,’ he said, leaning in to kiss my cheek. 

About the author

 

Paula R. C. Readman is a prolific writer who has penned six books and over a hundred short stories. She lives with her husband, Russell, in a Garden Village in Essex. Blog: https://colourswordspaper.blog or just Google Paula R C Readman, and something’s bound to pop up. 

Did you enjoy the story? Would you like to shout us a coffee? Half of what you pay goes to the writers and half towards supporting the project (web site maintenance, preparing the next Best of book etc.)