A Wish for Beth (Cranley Wishes #4)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Beth Calder watched her life disappear box by box.

The removal men hefted the last crate into the truck, her colour-coded stickers flashing like small flags of surrender. The heavier things – the dining table where laughter had lived – were already waiting at the new place. The sofas that had held her through long nights were gone.

‘Anything else to go, love?’ asked the foreman.

Beth shook her head. She would set off shortly in her trusty Volkswagen Beetle. Although not hers for much longer, as she’d already sold it. First, she wanted one last wander through her home of the past twenty years.

Now stripped back to the bare minimum, Bilberry Cottage echoed with a quiet sadness. Devoid of the colourful rugs, eclectic artwork and knickknacks accumulated over time, it tore at Beth’s aching heart. So many memories to walk away from, but she couldn’t stay.

‘A fresh start.’ That’s what her friends had said. ‘But we’ll visit you all the time!’

She passed through each room. The lounge where they had once snuggled up together, arguing good-naturedly about what to watch and whether a second bottle of wine was too much.

The kitchen, now stripped of Beth’s beloved mismatched china, the Le Creuset set she’d always insisted was too heavy, and the solid pine table where they had eaten virtually every night.

Upstairs, Beth paused outside the master bedroom. She touched the door, as if she could pick up good vibrations from its varnished surface. Nothing.

Crossing the small landing to the other two bedrooms, Beth hesitated. The one on the left had been for guests: small, but with an en-suite shower and toilet. The one on the right…

Her instincts screamed Step away. Do not go in.

She went in.

It was unchanged since they had decorated it over ten years ago.

Filled with excitement, every brushstroke and carefully selected item had felt like a step closer to being a family.

Beth had sold or given away the bulk of the things.

All that remained were the Disney character stickers, the pale-blue fluffy carpet, and a light fitting she had found online with genies spiralling out of golden oil lamps, wispy and magical.

‘That’s a bit random,’ he had said, raising the eyebrow that bore the scar from a cricket injury in his late teens.

‘It’s quirky, and I love it. And I love you.’

Beth gasped at the memory. So many times they had said ‘I love you’ within the close confines of the cottage. Always in the morning, always at night. On the rare occasion they had fought, the tension had evaporated as easily as mist on a hazy day.

‘If you’d come along, we’d be together now.’

Still, after all she’d been through, Beth could picture her child. Their child. Sometimes with Beth’s dainty nose and Luke’s chiselled chin. Sometimes with auburn hair and curls. But always perfect in every way.

‘Why didn’t you stay?’

Beth knew she was speaking to a ghost. Or rather, a person who had never made it beyond the early stages of life.

‘We can’t keep doing this,’ he had said on so many occasions. Painful but pragmatic. ‘Let’s accept it’s over and focus on being us. Us. Like we were at the start.’

But they hadn’t been able to get back to where they were. You couldn’t fix what was broken beyond repair.

From a drawer, Beth pulled out the envelope containing the twelve-week scans. Blurry yet miraculous. Each one offering hope of a bright future. Each one doomed to failure.

Screwing up the envelope and its contents, Beth stomped downstairs and tossed it into the bin.

Her phone buzzed. It was a message from Diana, her best friend and absolute legend. The kind of person who knew what rawl plugs were, how to unblock sinks, and how to stop someone sinking into a quagmire of despair.

If you’re still in the cottage and in full-on wallow mode, I’ll be there in ten minutes. Maybe fifteen, as there are roadworks. You OK?

Beth sniffed. Sniffed again. Headed to the bathroom. The principal one, as the master bedroom didn’t have one. Another quirk of the cottage.

I have toilet roll to wipe my face, she texted. It’s not pretty right now.

She was appalled at how awful she looked. As if someone had melted down her face and rearranged it, Picasso-style.

Sweetie, no one’s expecting you to grace the cover of a magazine. Stay put, and we’ll sort it when I get there. See ya.

Beth hadn’t wanted to stay put. She had wanted to run – drive – gallop away from the place that once was happy and now stuck pins in her soul.

Wait, OK? Diana had never taken no for an answer.

Beth was adrift. She needed to get in her car, drive to Cranley, and draw a line under the life she was leaving.

Instead she wandered into the neglected garden, wishing she had a restorative cup of tea. On a chilly June day, it looked as unloved as she felt.

Beth sat on the weathered wooden bench she’d bought with Luke over a decade ago. She ran a hand over its surface, wincing as a splinter pierced her skin. She welcomed the pain.

At least it meant she was still alive.

The screech of tyres and the slam of a car door signalled Diana’s arrival. Beth’s friend didn’t do quiet. Seconds later she appeared round the corner of the cottage, a wicker basket draped over her arm.

‘I knew it. Wallowing. And why are you out here when it’s colder than a penguin’s arse?’

Beth shrugged. ‘I needed to be outside.’

Diana fixed her with the look that said: ‘You are borderline nuts, but I am here to take charge.’ She shooed Beth into the cottage and emptied the contents of the basket on the kitchen counter.

‘Right. We have brie, grapes, a baguette and some cold sausages. Oh, and a bottle of alcohol-free fizz that may or may not be drinkable.’

‘I don’t have any plates or glasses, or—’

Diana harrumphed and delved into a handbag that could double up as a small tent at Glastonbury. ‘Paper plates, plastic glasses, a less-than-sharp knife but we can tear the bread apart. We can chew and chat.’

Spreading brie on a chunk of baguette, Beth couldn’t remember when she’d last eaten. Maybe yesterday morning. Her appetite had dwindled to that of a field mouse. Ironic, considering her profession was cooking: serving delicious food to hungry customers. She hoped she’d be up to the new job.

‘Eat.’ Diana tossed a grape in the air and caught it in her mouth.

‘If you ever quit being a physiotherapist, you’d make a great children’s entertainer,’ quipped Beth.

‘Ha, you haven’t seen my balloon-bending skills,’ retorted Diana. ‘Now, tell me more about the job and the delights of Cranley. I know you’ve told me before but my head’s like a sieve.’

Between nibbles of bread, cheese and sausages, Beth explained how a friend of a friend had mentioned the vacancy at The Jekyll and Hyde pub.

‘The landlord Ken McCroarty and his wife have taken an extended break on health grounds. Their son Ed and his partner are running the place, and the couple who did the catering moved south to look after an elderly parent.’

‘And you needed a complete change of scenery, or an escape from your annoying bestie.’ Diana pulled an exaggerated downcast face but her eyes glistened.

‘Do not, under any circumstances, cry.’ Beth’s own eyes filled up. ‘I’ve done enough of that over the years to fill a small Scottish loch.’

Diana nodded. ‘And with very good reason. I just wonder if upping sticks now is the right thing to do. What if Luke comes back?’

Beth had thrashed around for countless sleepless nights wondering the same thing. If he’d appear on the doorstep one day, out of the blue, asking to give things another go.

‘He won’t come back.’ It hurt to say it, but the truth often did. ‘The cottage is in my name, it’s rented out for six months minimum, and I’ve enough in the bank to keep me afloat if the job doesn’t work out.’

Beth had no idea what faced her. She’d visited Cranley once, for the job interview, and clearly impressed them with her resume.

Catering college, a spell in London and several positions in gastropubs.

Latterly, she’d taken a break. Partly to spruce up the cottage before renting it out, but mainly because she was running on empty.

A tank once filled with love and dreams of a family unit had been drained to fumes and despair.

‘Whatever happens, you know I’m here.’ Diana squeezed Beth’s hand. ‘And not just me. You have friends, Beth. We all know what you’ve been through, and there will always be a comfy bed and ears to bend and shoulders to cry on. Just take it one step at a time.’

‘I told you, I’m done with crying.’ At which point Beth let rip with a snot-filled howl. Diana gingerly gave her a ‘there, there’ hug, mindful of her pristine white blouse, as Beth wondered if she’d gone completely mad.