A strong, urgent feeling gripped her chest. She had to return it to Millie before time ran out. If she didn’t reach her in time, she might be trapped here for good.
Her heart hammered as she hurried through the streets of Mapleville, her surroundings already beginning to shift, blurring at the edges. Her time here felt like the final act of a play, moments before the curtain fell. She picked up more pace, her heels clipping sharply against the pavement. Then she began to run.
Greta didn’t spare a glance for the pretty white houses, the neat picket fences, or the lush green lawns. The next time she saw them might be on TV, in re-runs of the Maple Gold commercials. She was ready to leave everything behind.
Bruise-grey clouds now cast a shadow over the town. A drop of rain landed on the tip of Greta’s nose, and she quickly wiped it away.
She had to get to Millie.
When she reached the topiary garden, Greta slowed to a stop. Millie’s pink roses were already losing their definition, their petals fading. They hung low, shuddering under the weight of the raindrops.
She drew a deep breath, trying to steady herself. Her limbs ached as she opened the garden gate and headed along the path. She faced Millie’s door, already feeling the weight of her goodbye, tangled with a nagging fear that she didn’t know how to leave this place, how to return to her real life.
With a trembling hand, she knocked.
Millie opened the door, wearing her usual wide smile. It faltered when she saw Greta standing there, wet and with hunched shoulders.
‘Oh, my. Greta, you’re soaked. Come inside.’
Millie led the way. She wore a simple lavender linen dress and no shoes. Her hair was tied into a loose ponytail, and she wasn’t wearing make-up. ‘I was just about to make coffee,’ she said over her shoulder as she headed into the kitchen. ‘What is happening with this weather? Do you need a towel for your hair? Fresh clothes?’
Greta followed her, watching as Millie took an extra cup from her cupboard. ‘It’s fine. I can’t stay long,’ she said, a ball of emotion rising in her throat. ‘I’m leaving Mapleville. I’m going home.’
‘Oh dear.’ Millie set down the cup with a thud. Her eyes grew a little glassy. ‘When?’
‘Right now. I just don’t know exactlyhow.It’s been a huge decision. I’ve loved my time here . . . with my family. With you . . .’ A knot of emotion made it difficult for Greta to swallow.
Millie’s hand shook as she spooned coffee into both cups. ‘I wondered if you’d return home,’ she said ruefully. ‘Your eyes sparkle when you talk about it, even the mundane, difficult things I wasn’t aware existed. The things IthoughtI never knew existed.’ She cleared her throat and shook her hair. ‘Anyway, that doesn’t matter now. You’re leaving . . .’
Greta gave a slight nod.
‘Please don’t be disheartened,’ Millie said. ‘Your heart obviously belongs with your true home. I remember you telling me about your picnic, when the heavens opened and you rushed to shelter under the trees. You said the rain sounded like a melody, and that image has stayed with me. It isn’t like that here. It’s picture-perfect, yes, but one day merges seamlessly into the next, and nothing remotely stands out . . . unlike the damp sandwiches you described.’ She laughed.
Greta laughed, too, but it soon turned into a sob that racked her body. ‘Yes, it’s messy and imperfect at home, and often annoying. But I have to go back and try to fix things. Even if I don’t know how.’ She struggled to swallow. ‘I don’t want to leave you . . .’
Tears welled in Millie’s eyes. ‘And I don’t want you to leave me.’ She rubbed her nose, trying to hold herself together. ‘You brought something to Mapleville that we’ve never had before—spirit, and questioning things, and improvisation.’ Her eyes burned with fierce warmth. ‘What do you need to do in order to go home?’
They both jumped when a crack of thunder sounded. Lightning illuminated the room like the flash of a camera.
Greta shook her head frantically. ‘I don’t know. I think it has something to do with the necklace you gave me.’
As she clasped the pearls, her life in Longmill flooded her thoughts. Eating late-night beans on toast on the sofa, the smell of bacon sandwiches drifting through the streets on Sunday mornings, and the sound of rain spattering against her bedroom window when she was snuggled in bed for a lie-in. Jim’s hair sticking up at odd angles in the morning when he woke, and the lazy smile he gave her. Lottie’s eyes lighting up whenever she spotted dogs in the park.
Greta thought how much she missed her fleecy pyjamas, and how peopledidn’tsay hello in the street. If she left Maple- ville, she’d miss her fuller hair and not having to wear a bra in bed. But those were sacrifices she could make. The imperfect parts of her life were what made it hers.
‘The pearls, you say?’ Millie said. ‘But . . . how?’
Greta briefly explained how she’d been searching for a perfect blend in life. How she’d drunk a cup of unusual coffee, made a wish, and found herself here. ‘I know it sounds . . . unbelievable.’
Millie parted her lips. ‘A coffee?’ She frowned. ‘I think I can remember something . . . a coffee shop . . . a lady with white hair . . .’ She gave a small dismissive wave. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I’m just imagining things . . .’
Greta stepped closer. ‘No. You’re remembering! I think you may have visited the coffee shop, too. There’s so much I have to tell you, but I don’t have much time.’
Another bellow of thunder crashed. A bolt of lightning lit their faces. Suddenly, a thought hit Greta hard, as if she’d walked into a pane of glass.
She unfastened her necklace, gripping the pearls in her hands. ‘I made a wish to come here . . .’ she said. ‘The pearls are my connection between my two lives. So perhaps . . .’
Millie carried on her sentence. ‘Perhaps you can wish on the pearls in order to return.’
