Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
‘Well, that was all a bit weird, Prom.’
Prom, perched on the windowsill, yawned, stretched, and began washing his paw with exaggerated indifference. His earlier contribution to the day – depositing a dead bird on the rug – had clearly met his definition of a productive shift.
‘Yeah, thanks for your input,’ Kieran said drily. ‘Something’s definitely off about this village. It gives off the whole sleepy rural chocolate-box vibe, but there’s … something bubbling underneath. And it’s all connected to Beth. She’s the key.’
Kieran rambled on for a few more minutes, trying to piece together the events of the quiz night. The mischievous laughter. The unmistakable sound of bagpipes.
Prom turned, arched his back, and padded out of the room, tail flicking like a punctuation mark of disdain.
‘I’m going to trade you in for a gerbil,’ Kieran called after him. ‘You ungrateful, bird-murdering layabout.’
He lobbed a trainer vaguely in Prom’s direction. It landed nowhere near him. Kieran sighed.
‘Maybe moving here was a mistake. I’ve demolished more of the cottage than I’ve fixed, my app is appalling, and now I’m developing feelings for someone I barely know.’
He paused. ‘And I’m talking to myself. Classic sign of madness. Or loneliness. Take your pick.’
He needed to clear his head. A run, that was it. Get the blood moving, burn off the mental static. He pictured himself in glorious slow motion – a Chariots of Fire moment, Vangelis swelling in the background, sea breeze ruffling his hair.
Reality: he hadn’t run since sprinting for a bus in Edinburgh last year.
Still, he laced up his trainers, stretched half-heartedly, and headed out. With no beach in sight, he settled for the country lanes looping around Cranley.
The first few minutes were glorious. His stride smooth, breathing steady, arms pumping in something resembling rhythm. Then came the chest burn. His lungs shrieked in protest. By the ten-minute mark, his legs felt like overcooked spaghetti.
He slowed to a walk, pretending to admire the hedgerows so anyone watching wouldn’t think he was dying.
‘Morning!’
He looked up. Alison from the boutique, immaculately put-together, her Cavalier King Charles spaniel trotting ahead like canine royalty.
‘Training for a marathon?’ she asked, all cheerful curiosity.
‘Something like that,’ he wheezed. ‘More of a short film than a feature-length effort.’
She smiled. ‘Well, keep at it. It’s a warm day, so make sure you hydrate.’
The dog gave him a pitying glance before they continued on their way.
‘Cheers,’ Kieran muttered, jogging on out of sheer pride.
By the time he reached the pub, several people were already outside, enjoying drinks in the sun. Desperate not to be spotted gasping like a landed fish, he tried to jog past with forced nonchalance.
‘Steady on!’
He swerved just in time to avoid colliding with the sandwich board outside A Bit of Crumpet. Jo, the café owner, was watching him with a blend of amusement and concern.
‘Hey, Kieran! Everything all right?’
‘Peachy,’ he panted. ‘Just out for a quick 5K.’
Jo’s eyebrows lifted. ‘In jeans?’
‘Experimental training technique,’ he said, and carried on before she could reply.
By the time he stumbled to the edge of the village, his T-shirt clung to him and his legs screamed betrayal. The track curved down towards a stream, shaded by oaks and lined with wildflowers. He slowed, grateful for an excuse to stop.
And then he saw her.
Beth stood on the little wooden bridge, a basket over one arm, leaning on the rail and watching the water slide beneath. Sunlight caught her hair, turning it copper bright. She looked so still, so quietly intent, that for a moment he forgot to breathe.
Of all the people to bump into when he looked like he’d lost a fight with a treadmill.
He considered sneaking away. Too late: she’d seen him. Her face lit up. ‘Kieran! I didn’t know you were a runner.’
‘I’m not,’ he admitted, wiping sweat from his brow and trying for nonchalance. ‘Just clearing the cobwebs.’
‘Looks like they’re putting up a good fight,’ she said, laughing, and the sound hit him right in the chest. It had warmth, and a lightness he hadn’t heard since the barbecue.
‘Yeah, well. I’m not built for speed. Or stamina. Or self-respect, apparently.’
Beth smiled faintly. ‘Still, good for you. Most people in Cranley get their exercise through dog walks and pub quizzes.’
‘The quiz was certainly, um, lively,’ he said. ‘I hope you’re feeling better.’
Beth’s eyes flicked towards him then away. ‘I am. Sort of. It’s just—’ She hesitated. ‘Someone I haven’t heard from in a long time got in touch.’
The careful phrasing made him tread softly. ‘A bad kind of hearing from, or a good one?’
‘Complicated,’ she said. ‘He’s my husband. Or was. We’re separated.’
Kieran’s stomach dropped. Then righted itself when she added, ‘We’ve been apart for a while.’
‘Ah,’ he said, too neutrally. Then, before he could stop himself, ‘Did he hurt you?’
Beth gave a half-laugh, with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. ‘We hurt each other, I think. It’s … a long story. I moved here to start again. But last night he sent a message.’
‘Saying what?’
‘That he wants to talk.’ She looked down at the water, her voice almost lost to the murmur of the stream. ‘And I don’t know if I can. Or if I should.’
Kieran’s instinct was to make a joke. Something light to deflect what he was feeling. Instead, he heard himself say, ‘If it helps, sometimes the only way to stop a story haunting you is to let it end properly. Even if it hurts.’
Beth’s mouth curved: sad, grateful. ‘That’s surprisingly wise.’
‘Don’t sound so shocked.’
‘No, I just didn’t have you down as the introspective type.’
‘Me neither,’ he admitted. ‘Must be the oxygen deprivation.’
That earned him a soft laugh.
They stood in comfortable silence for a while, watching sunlight shatter across the water. Then Beth gestured at her basket. ‘I was picking wild herbs for tonight’s menu. Want to walk back with me? You look like you’ve earned a cool-down.’
‘Definitely,’ he said, eager for an excuse to stop pretending he was an athlete.
They walked side by side through the lanes, her stride light, his more of a trudge. She talked about food – lemon thyme, trout, how freshness changed everything. He barely heard the details, too busy watching her hands move as she spoke, the way her eyes brightened when she mentioned flavours.
After a pause, she glanced sideways. ‘So, what made you take up running, anyway?’
‘A misguided belief that I could outrun my thoughts,’ he said. ‘Turns out they’ve got more stamina than me.’
Beth smiled. ‘Well, for what it’s worth, I think it’s brave. Starting again. Running. All of it.’
‘You too,’ he said quietly. ‘You’re doing it too.’
When they reached the pub, Beth turned to him with a faint, knowing smile. ‘Thanks for the walk. And the talk.’
‘Anytime,’ Kieran said. And he meant it.
As she disappeared inside, the sun slipped behind a cloud, and Kieran found himself grinning at nothing.
Maybe he hadn’t come to Cranley by mistake after all.
And maybe – just maybe – running wasn’t such a bad idea.
Especially if it kept leading him back to Beth.