‘Couldn’t we go to a spa and have massages and pedicures instead?’ For a moment, Beth imagined herself swaddled in a white robe, toenails painted hot pink, aching muscles eased by a hunky masseur.
Diana ignored her. ‘You and I will solve puzzles from Dr Jekyll’s lab, decoding his notes before Hyde takes over, and try not to let the Mackenzie Poltergeist blow out the lights. There’s even a bit where you have to chant in Gaelic to seal a curse.’
Beth wouldn’t have known a word of Gaelic if it had come up and bitten her. Apart from the name of Luke’s island, which he might or might not have returned to. Their parting had been bitter, to say the least.
‘Beth, come on! You’ve been moping about Luke, dithering over Kieran and digging yourself into a hole. A grave, so to speak. Trust me, this experience is just what you need.’
Diana’s enthusiasm worked its slow magic.
‘OK, let’s do it. But if I get the willies, there’d better be an easy exit door.’
When the call ended, she looked around her quarters. She’d tried to make them homely, but currently they looked spartan and unloved. She wondered what Kieran’s cottage looked like. If he’d ever invite her there.
‘Not with Lisa still in residence,’ she muttered.
That won’t be for very much longer.
‘Oh, for—’ Beth turned. ‘Gigi!’
He materialised as if he’d stepped through a velvet curtain, all opaline shimmer and wide, knowing eyes.
‘Why the long face?’ he asked, though his expression said he already knew. He always knew. He’d pawed at Kieran’s thoughts without permission. Someday, she’d have to yank the whole Cranley genie mess into the light. Just not today.
‘I want a quiet life, Gigi.’
Gigi flapped his hands in a ‘carry on’ gesture.
‘I feel trapped. Can’t go forward, can’t go back. If I let go of Luke, I’m letting go of the family I wanted. And I don’t want to drag Kieran into my mess. He’s got his own.’
Tears coursed down Beth’s cheeks. Gigi produced a box of tissues – glittery ones, of course – and she wiped them away.
‘Sweetie, having a family doesn’t depend on Luke. I mean, maybe your eggs and his thingummy didn’t work. Well, they did, but not … you know.’ He winced. ‘I’m trying for sensitivity.’
‘Do you know how many pregnancies end in miscarriage?’ Beth’s snot levels reached epic proportions. ‘One in eight. Maybe one in four. And then there are women who don’t want babies who— It’s not fair.’
‘No one promised fair.’ Gigi nodded sagely. ‘I’m still stuck down here when I should be enthralling the punters. Life does what it wants.’
Beth laughed soggily. ‘Stirring up trouble, more like.’
Gigi’s eyes glittered. ‘Fancy a game?’
Reluctantly, Beth headed to the basement, Gigi materialising in front of her.
He gestured and the butterfly shimmered into being, its wings a rapid blur. A hiss of brightness, then a clatter of gold coins spilled across the floor, skittering like raindrops on tin.
‘Bit heavy-handed,’ Beth muttered, dragging an old flour sack from a crate and shovelling them in. ‘If I play, do I get a wish?’
‘Do you have one in mind?’ Gigi arched an elegant brow, the gold shimmer of his eyes reflecting off the pinball machine’s glass.
Beth hesitated. The words had been forming for days, twisting themselves into a tight knot inside her chest.
‘I want to forget,’ she said. ‘The miscarriages, all of it. The hospital, the blood, the emptiness. I want it gone. Like it never happened.’
For a moment, Gigi said nothing. He folded his hands and the noise of the world seemed to mute itself: no hum of lights, no faint creak of floorboards. Just the two of them, surrounded by a bubble of stillness.
‘Oh, sweet cheeks,’ he said softly. ‘You don’t want that.’
‘I do,’ Beth insisted. ‘I’m tired of crying over what I can’t change. Every time I see a pram, or hear someone moaning about sleepless nights, I feel … hollow. I want peace.’
