‘And the third?’ she whispered. ‘I don’t even know what to wish.’
Anger surged, hot and sudden. ‘Damn it!’
Beth stood, heart hammering, as a peculiar certainty crept over her.
Whatever had just happened hadn’t responded to the button. Or the wiring.
It had responded toher.
To the tightness in her chest. To the ache she carried everywhere like an invisible scar.
The realisation was enough to send her stumbling for the stairs.
Beth didn’t hear the softwhirr-whirrbehind her.
Didn’t hear the faint, shimmering jingle rising from the shadows.
And didn’t see the Wish Spinner complete its first, quiet turn.
Chapter Eight
Kieran slurped what was either his fifth or sixth coffee of the day. Considering he’d been awake since five, that didn’t seem too bad. Until he realised only two hours had passed and his stomach felt as if he’d ingested battery acid.
‘Focus,’ he muttered.
But the lines of code on his laptop swam and twisted, refusing to settle into anything intelligible. On a good day, coding flowed through him – logic, structure, clarity. Today it looked exactly like the gobbledygook most people assumed it was.
His stomach rumbled in protest, loud and insistent. A quick inventory of his kitchen revealed a packet of digestives, one lonely teabag and a fridge emptier than his social diary.
‘Miaow.’ Prom sat at his feet, tail flicking like a metronome set todisdainful.
‘Don’t worry. There’s always food for you.’ Kieran had packed cat kibble. He dished out a helping, only slightly tempted to eat some himself.
It became painfully clear he wasn’t going to get any productive work done while surrounded by chaos. He shut thelaptop and surveyed the cottage with a critical eye. Spartan didn’t cover it. The place looked like a cross between a student bedsit and a warehouse clearance.
Right. Step one: make it habitable.
He ordered a few essentials online – a wardrobe, a chest of drawers, a couple of bookcases – because the idea of trekking through a migraine-inducing Swedish furniture labyrinth made him want to weep. Delivery in two days. Better than nothing.
Next, food. He could drag himself to Janette’s corner shop, but that risked conversation. Questions. Stories. Enthusiasm. Kieran was in no condition for enthusiasm. He googled supermarkets instead and snagged a delivery slot for that evening. Half an hour later he’d completed an uninspired but functional shop: bread, milk, pasta, veg, coffee, cat supplies. Enough to survive a week, maybe more.
What next? The cottage still looked bare and unloved. Lisa knew how to add homely touches: an artfully draped throw or a scatter of multi-hued cushions. Strategically placed lamps which added warmth, and always the aroma of freshly brewed coffee or baking bread filling the air.
‘And bloody yoga mats I kept tripping over, and incense sticks that stank to high heaven.’ Kieran tried to balance the good with the bad – the yin and the yang, if that made sense – but still his heart faltered whenever he thought of Lisa.
‘The pub,’ he said aloud. Food, noise, warmth – all preferable to wallowing in his own misery. Not conversation: he had no intention of ‘peopling’. But he could sit in a corner and rejoin the world from a safe distance. Not run away from it as he had before.
The Jekyll and Hyde. He remembered the sign – the reference to Stevenson’s story, all about the split in human nature. Light and dark. Good and not-so-good.Do I have a dark side?he wondered.
Talking to yourself is the first sign of madness, lad. His grandad’s voice echoed in his head. Five years gone yet still popping up whenever Kieran veered off course.
The walk to the pub was short and pleasant. June sunlight filtered through the trees, dappling the pavement. When he stepped inside, warmth enveloped him instantly. The place had a comforting, lived-in charm, with its polished wood, soft lighting, the faint scent of old fires and good food. Customers chatted in low voices, glasses clinked, and the atmosphere murmured with an ease he envied.
‘Hi there!’ A smiling woman approached, as bright and welcoming as the sun outside. ‘Welcome to The Jekyll and Hyde. I don’t think I’ve seen you here before. I rarely forget a face.’
Kieran tried to mirror her smile, but his mouth refused to cooperate. ‘I just moved here. I bought?—’
‘The cottage! Next to Brae Cottage. I always wonder why yours doesn’t have a name, although I guess it doesn’t matter. Maybe you should come up with one.’ She laughed lightly. ‘I’m Angela, by the way.’
