‘It didn’t.’ She frowned. ‘It was nothing.’
‘Luke,’ he said, as if tasting the name. ‘He wants back in your head.’
‘You stay out of mine.’
‘No need. You’re radiating “conflicted woman seeks closure” in pink and gold neon lights.’
Beth let out a long breath. ‘He says he can’t stop thinking about me. Which is funny, because he had no trouble not thinking about me when he left.’
‘People are idiots,’ Gigi said. ‘Present company excepted.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Maybe he’s genuine,’ he added softly. ‘Maybe he’s realised what he’s lost.’
‘And maybe I’ve realised I’m better off without him.’ Her voice went for resolute; her heart refused to cooperate.
Gigi drifted closer. ‘You deserve happiness, Beth. Whether that’s with Kieran, alone, or … elsewhere.’
She half-smiled. ‘That’s oddly kind. I thought genies just granted wishes. Not that we’ve been stellar on that front.’
‘I am a delectable law unto myself.’
She laughed, despite herself. For a moment, the basement felt still. A bit like the quiet before stormy weather rolled in.
Her phone buzzed again. She hesitated, then looked.
Please, can we talk? I’m outside.
Beth’s breath snagged. She stepped to the tiny window, peered up at the wet street.
He was there. Hands shoved in pockets, looking up.
‘Well,’ Gigi murmured. ‘Things just got interesting.’
Beth didn’t move. Her heart thudded in her chest, torn between a past that had just reappeared and a future she didn’t know how to navigate.
Luke gave a tentative wave and entered the pub.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Kieran had begun to think the voice had gone for good.
Two whole days had passed without it – no strange murmurs just as he was falling asleep, no sardonic asides pin-pricking his thoughts. Bliss. Maybe the long hours at his laptop had scrambled his grey matter. Or perhaps this was simply what village life did to people.
He was sitting at the kitchen table, wrestling a clothing website into something presentable for one of Alison’s friends, when the cursor froze. Faint as breath, the voice was there again.
You’ve been sulking.
Kieran’s shoulders tightened. He looked around the empty kitchen. Only Prom, sprawled on the windowsill, twitched an ear.
‘Right,’ Kieran muttered. ‘That’s enough. Either I need more sleep or less coffee.’
Prom opened one eye, as if unimpressed by either suggestion.
The voice said no more, but the air felt different. Faintly humming, as though something unseen had leaned in to listen. Kieran rubbed the back of his neck, trying to shake it off.
Lisa appeared in the doorway a few minutes later, wearing his favourite sweatshirt. The one she’d ‘borrowed’ because she was cold last night. ‘Morning,’ she chirped, far too cheerfully for Kieran’s current mood.
