‘I will.’ Beth tugged on a fleece and stepped into the chill. The good old Scottish weather as fickle as always.
Seconds later, a sleek black Lexus glided into the tiny car park.Daddy’s car,Beth thought, uncharitably.
Luke got out, dressed in faded jeans, a checked shirt and a puffer jacket. Familiar, except for the beard – not full lumberjack, more deliberate neglect. Annoyingly, it suited him.
‘Hi,’ he said, stopping before her.
‘Hi yourself.’ She patted the bench and he sat.
‘You sure you’re all right here?’ He exaggerated a shiver. ‘No roaring fire indoors?’
‘It’s July, Luke. Scottish summers are as unpredictable as husbands.’
‘Ouch.’ He clutched his chest, but his eyes were sad – a mirror to her own.
Beth took a breath. ‘I said yes to you coming because I thought we needed … closure.’ She pulled a face. ‘Hate that word. Along with “reaching out” and “vomit”.’
Luke raked a hand through hair that now brushed his collar. ‘I know I handled things badly. I’m sorry.’
‘And now you’re off to an island to – what? Find yourself? After leaving me to pick up the shattered bits. Every time we lost a baby my heart broke, Luke. You didn’t have to take a sledgehammer to the fragments.’
He reached for her hand. She wanted to slap it away. She wanted to slaphim. Instead she let the feeling sit there, weighty and familiar.
‘Beth, I’m not here to hurt you. I’ve never stopped thinking about you. I’ve … never stopped loving you.’
Air left her lungs in a stutter. How many nights had she wished to hear those words again?
Gigi,she warned silently,stay out of this.But no. This wasn’t genied-up. This was Luke. He sounded as if he meant what he said.
But how do I feel?
‘I’m not sure there’s a way back for us.’ As she spoke, something shifted inside. Nothing seismic: more like a catch releasing. Not healed, but healing.
‘Don’t write us off,’ he pleaded. ‘I won’t be on Eilean Driftach long. We can keep in touch, can’t we?’
‘Wecan,’ said Beth, ‘but maybe it’s better we don’t.’
His face crumpled and her resolve wobbled. She steadied it.
‘Being here is what I needed,’ she went on. ‘It’s … odd sometimes’ – (do not mention a pinball-machine-dwelling genie) – ‘but it’s helping. Even with two adorable babies around. Which?—’
‘Oh, Beth.’ He pulled her into an embrace. She let him, briefly. ‘You’d have made a brilliant mum.’
Past tense.
‘I haven’t given up,’ she said, gently untangling herself. ‘We could have looked at fostering, or adoption. I wanted my own child so much, but we never eventalkedabout other ways.’ In the end, the silence between them had been louder than any argument.
Luke’s shoulders shook; his eyes shone. ‘Please don’t say it’s over. Please.’
Beth stood. The cold seeped through the fleece, but warmth – safety – waited inside.Home is where the heart is, they said. Right now, Cranley held hers: dented, stubborn and still beating.
‘Bye, Luke.’ She pecked his cheek. ‘I wish you well.’
She didn’t look back as she strode into the pub. Tears came anyway. Angela and Ed clocked her: kind eyes, no questions. A couple of late-afternoon regulars glanced up before returning to their drinks.
Beth headed straight for the basement. ‘Gigi, are you there?’
‘Always, sugarplum.’ He shimmered into being, today channelling glam rocker: silk trousers, a lamé kimono and platform boots that flashed like disco traffic lights.
