‘Practicalities, son,’ Roger said, getting up to stir the custard. ‘She’s planned the music, too. Though I’ve vetoed my coffin gliding away to a song about swingers. Sends the wrong message.’
They moved to the lounge, where Kieran admired the new telly and linen curtains, before heading into the garden for shade beneath the weeping willow. Roger produced sangria, like a magician with a fruit addiction.
The headache lurked, a grey smudge at the edge of his vision. ‘I might skip the booze,’ Kieran said. ‘Bit of a headache.’
‘One wee glass,’ Roger insisted, tipping half a jug into a tumbler.
‘Are you taking care of yourself?’ Val asked, spearing an orange slice. ‘Holiday, maybe? Sunshine? A week of doing nothing?’
‘I’ve got sunshine here and a cottage falling apart. And work.’
‘Have you named it yet?’ Val’s eyes lit up. They’d christened their own houseThistle Doo, purple ceramic sign and all.
‘Not yet,’ Kieran said. ‘At the minute it’sThe Wee Scruffy Hoose, but only in my head.’
When he finally left, smelling faintly of garlic and parental concern, Val hugged him long and tight. ‘Call it motherly instinct, but something’s off. You know you can tell me anything.’
Weird gaps in my memory. Dreams like confetti. A woman with auburn hair who has me completely bamboozled. And a cat who might be the Antichrist.
‘I’m fine, Mum. Love you. Hide the sangria before Dad chugs the lot.’
On the bus back, he rested his head against the rattling window and watched fields smear into green brushstrokes. The headache ebbed. Relief should have followed. It didn’t. He had the distinct, uncomfortable sense that a knot inside him had tightened another notch. And that whatever had caused it, he wouldn’t untie it alone.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
‘So, we have cocktails. We have snacks. We have onesies that make us look like Teletubbies. But what do we say when the blubber makes us blub?’
‘Roll with it!’ Kit jiggled her midriff, although there wasn’t much to jiggle.
‘All the more to grab on to!’ Nina cackled, raising her glass.
‘We are all truly flabulous,’ declared Diana, stuffing a spring roll in her mouth. ‘And who gives a fuck what anyone else thinks?’
Kit snorted and grabbed a fistful of Bombay mix. Nina followed with a corn chip smothered in hummus. Beth, however, sat quietly, the waves of their laughter washing over her.
She adored these women. Their loyalty, their easy banter, the way they filled a room with humour and affection. But her story… Well, her story didn’t fit into an evening of cocktails and carbs.
Hey, guys! I’ve met a genie – bear with me – who lives in a pinball machine and dresses like Elton John’s laundry basket exploded. Oh, and he grants wishes. Naturally. And then there’s Luke. And Kieran.
‘Beth, hon,’ said Diana, waving a hand in front of her face. ‘You haven’t touched your drink, your favourite samosas are going cold, and that legendary Beth smile has gone walkabout. Spill.’
‘It’s Luke.’ She said it calmly, surprised at her own steadiness.
‘What about him?’ Diana frowned, nudging Beth’s neglected negroni closer.
‘He came to see me and?—’
‘WHAT?’ Diana shrieked. ‘You didn’ttellme? Am I not your bestiest bestie in the entire world?’
‘And we’re the bestie bridesmaids,’ slurred Kit, halfway between a giggle and a hiccup. The cocktails were clearly kicking in.
‘I needed time to think,’ Beth said, taking a cautious sip. The negroni was punchier than she remembered. Or maybe her nerves were shot to pieces.
‘Did he just appear out of the blue?’ Nina demanded. ‘I hope he threw himself at your feet and begged forgiveness. He’s got a bloody cheek, that one.’
‘He messaged first,’ Beth said. ‘Then showed up at the pub.’ The memory still felt distant, like a film she’d watched rather than lived.
Diana slid an arm around her shoulders. ‘If it’s too much, hon, we can leave it.’
