‘I’ll try,’ she whispered.
The bar hummed around them, alive in ways she didn’t fully understand. Gigi was somewhere in the shadows. No doubt preening, plotting and waiting for another careless wish to slip through her lips.
And Luke? Luke was already halfway gone, lost to tides, timber and the ghosts of what they’d been.
Beth raised her glass, the bubbles catching the light.
‘To survival,’ she murmured. ‘And maybe … to something better.’
The faint sound of a pinball flipper echoed from below.
Somewhere, Gigi chuckled.
Careful what you wish for, sweetheart.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Kieran needed paracetamol. Urgently.
His head pounded as though a herd of elephants in hobnailed boots had started a ceilidh in his skull. He rummaged through cupboards, drawers, under the sink – even the freezer, in case some crazed version of past-him had hidden a packet among the peas. Nothing.
‘Drugs,’ he croaked. ‘I need drugs.’
Prom yawned from the sofa, stretched luxuriously, and gave him a look of pure feline smugness.
‘Glad you’re happy,’ Kieran muttered. ‘Meanwhile, my head’s hosting the Elephant Olympics.’
There was no avoiding it. He had to venture out.
The bell abovethe door of Janette’sshop gave a half-hearted jangle as he entered. The shop smelled of old wood, mint humbugs and disinfectant. Shelves bowed under the weight of tinned goods, lurid cleaning products and novelty mugs bearing slogans likeKeep Calm, It’s Only Cranley.
Janette sat behind the counter engrossed in a copy ofTake a Break,her reading glasses perched halfway down her nose.
‘Morning, laddie,’ she said, giving him a cursory glance. ‘You look like death reheated in a microwave.’
‘Thanks,’ Kieran rasped. ‘Got any paracetamol? I’m dying.’
‘Only the cheap ones,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Sixteen tabs for fifty pence. They taste like chalk scraped off a gravestone. You want them or not?’
‘Yes.’ Kieran reached for his wallet, but Janette slapped his hand away.
‘Don’t be daft. Family discount. You can pay me in tech support.’
‘Tech support?’ He eyed her suspiciously.
Janette smiled sweetly, always a worrying sign. ‘Alison needs some help with the website for her boutique. You’ll help, won’t you?’
Kieran groaned. Not at the task itself – though the thought of teaching Alison how to upload product photos filled him with dread – but because bending his brain around HTML while it pulsed like a bass drum sounded like torture.
‘Can’t she just use Etsy, or Shopify, or… I don’t know, one of those plug-and-play sites?’ he ventured.
Janette snapped her magazine shut. ‘If I had the faintest clue what that meant, I might agree. As it is, Alison wants her boutique to stand out. Says Cranley deserves couture online. Not just another shop front:a boutique experience.’ She air-quoted extravagantly.
‘Brilliant,’ Kieran muttered. ‘That’ll definitely cure my headache.’
Janette slid a packet of bargain-basement tablets across the counter. ‘You’ll be grand. Alison’s excited to work with you. Says you’ve got flair.’
‘Flair,’ he repeated flatly.
