Greta loosened the neck of her sweater with a finger. The room felt too warm now, oppressive rather than welcoming. She suddenly wanted to get out of here. To go somewhere comforting and free. The magnitude of the decision felt crushing, and she made up her mind. ‘I want to drink the new coffee,’ she said. ‘I want to go to Mapleville. Right now.’
Iris nodded and moved across the shop, climbing her ladders to retrieve a couple of jars from the shelves. She tipped the existing ingredients of Greta’s jar into the mortar, then added some new ones, too. The sound of her pestle grinding was hypnotic, each twist sounding like a countdown.
Finally, Iris tipped the mixture back into the small jar. She brought it over to the booth and laid it out alongside the cup, the saucer, and the hot water, just as before.
Greta stared at the white rabbit on the label with fear, hope, and longing weaving inside her.
Iris watched her carefully. ‘Now you just have to make the right wish.’
Greta picked up the jar, her fingers trembling, sensing all the possibilities it held. Her decision felt monumental. Wonderful if she got it right. Catastrophic if she got it wrong. ‘I’m ready to drink the coffee,’ she said finally.
Iris handed her the jug of hot water.
Greta sprinkled one spoonful of the new coffee blend into the glass pot. Pouring in hot water, she watched it swirl. After it had brewed, she raised the cup to her lips, savouring a faint smell of aniseed. Then she took a first sip. ‘It tastes sweeter,’ she said. ‘Nicer.’
Iris nodded. ‘Now, say your wish out loud. Just like before.’
Greta stared into the chocolate-brown liquid. Her first time in Mapleville had made her feel confident and beautiful again. During her second visit, Jim and Lottie had been the best versions of themselves. The third time, she had stepped back into the spotlight, only to realise she didn’t want it any longer.
So, what now?
She drank her coffee, finishing half of it, knowing the moment was approaching.
Her fourth and final wish.
Greta waited for something to come to her naturally. Not something she wanted, but something sheneeded.
And when her words eventually came, they felt right.
‘Iwish. . .’ Greta began, as the rabbit on the jar gave her a wink, possibly for the last time ever.
‘Iwishto know where I truly belong.’
Chapter 30
GRETA KNEW THEroutine and welcomed it. She woke up in her beautiful bedroom, admired her flawless reflection in the mirror, showered, dressed in her neat, fitted clothes, and added her pearl necklace. She was pleased to find it was still intact here, this version of it unbroken. A reflection of how she wanted it to be.
She padded downstairs to find Lottie making pancakes in the kitchen. The sweet aroma mixed with Maple Gold, filling the air. Lottie called to Jim outside in the garden, and he strolled inside. He greeted Greta with a kiss to her cheek. Everything felt just right.
Again, eating breakfast together was wonderful. Lottie and Jim made bright conversation about the weather and their plans for the day. Lottie’s eyes shone when she told them both about her talent show taking place that afternoon.
Greta’s smile felt effortless, her entire body light. She lifted her cup for Lottie to pour her a coffee, then drizzled honey onto her pancakes. The whole scene felt like the first day of a holiday after she’d unpacked her suitcase and headed straight to the pool.
After breakfast, Greta stood on the doorstep, waving to Jim as he tucked a newspaper under his arm. He walked down the path with Lottie skipping beside him.
She took a moment to lift her face toward the cloudless sky. Butterflies fluttered, parakeets chirped, and the pink cherry blossoms in the trees looked as delicate as rice paper. Sprinkler systems hissed, and a soft breeze kissed her hair.
Even though she’d only filmedBack to the Landthat morning, it already felt like ages ago.
Standing there, something caught Greta’s eye. A small patch of grass in her garden looked darker than the rest, the blades a bit longer. Had it always been like that? She squinted at it, unsure. It was probably nothing.
Iris’s words about the huge decision she’d have to make flashed in Greta’s head like a neon sign in a cocktail bar, but for now, she tried to push all thoughts of it aside.
From experience, Greta knew she’d have several more hours, perhaps even days, in Mapleville. It was too early to start looking for warning signs just yet.
She pottered around her home, taking time to admire the pastel cereal boxes in the kitchen cupboards, her pretty, pressed clothes hanging in the wardrobes, and her sparkling bathroom. The thought of never having to iron, or mop the kitchen floor, or scrub tide marks off the bath felt like a release.
Greta studied the photographs on the mantelpiece. If she stayed here, she might even take up ice skating, or perhaps learn the trumpet. Then she could truly become the woman in the photos—someone who wouldn’t have to rake hay in a goat shed, argue with her husband, or disappoint her daughter ever again.
