Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
‘Penny for them,’ said Kieran with a grin.
‘Aren’t they worth more than that these days?’ retorted Beth.
They were both outside Janette’s shop – pure chance, though in Cranley, “chance” was stretching it. There weren’t exactly crowds to bump into.
‘You just seemed miles away,’ he said. ‘Wishing for somewhere less … Cranley?’
‘Duller than a silver platter left unpolished for centuries,’ said Beth, then let out a small croaky laugh. ‘Sorry, I don’t mean that. This place has helped me deal with … stuff. It’s good, really. Don’t you feel it too?’
Kieran, who had only come out for sardines and shaving gel, nodded. He’d noticed the weirdness here, but hadn’t every small village got its ghosts and oddballs?
And one extremely attractive woman right in front of you.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘It’s been a decent bolthole since the breakup with Lisa.’ He paused. ‘Not sure why I just blurted that out.’
Beth’s brow softened. ‘I’m sorry. Breakups are hard. That’s a song, isn’t it? Something from way back.’
‘Neil Sedaka,’ Kieran said automatically.
‘Not Neil Young?’
‘Nope. Pretty sure only one singing Neil wrote about heartbreak that bluntly.’
He didn’t want to talk about Neils. He wanted to know why Beth’s face kept flickering between calm and sorrow. What she’d lost, and why she’d ended up in Cranley too. But confidences couldn’t be forced.
‘Fancy a walk?’ he said, instead. ‘After we brave Janette’s emporium of culinary wonders. Unless you’re buying a sack of tatties, or something equally cumbersome.’
‘No, just toothpaste and instant coffee.’
They stepped inside. Janette was behind the counter, armed with a sticker gun and fierce concentration.
‘Hello!’ she said, beaming. ‘Lovely to see actual customers. It’s been deader than a Monty Python parrot today. Bargains galore, if you’re quick.’
Kieran picked up a dented ginger cake and put it straight down. Beth snorted at a stack of Christmas mince pies.
‘I’ll have you know I ate two with my cuppa last night and I’ve no’ keeled over yet,’ said Janette indignantly.
Declining the delights of expired pastry, they gathered their shopping. Janette eyed them both, mischief lighting her face. ‘Call me nosy – plenty do – but are you two an item, like?’
Beth flushed scarlet.
‘No, absolutely not,’ said Kieran – too fast, too loud – and immediately regretted it. He’d made it sound as if being with Beth would be some unspeakable disaster.
‘Beautiful day,’ Beth said quickly, as they stepped back outside. The air had warmed, the sky turned clear as blue glass.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry for what I said. To Janette.’
‘What, that we’re not an item?’ Beth nudged his arm. He nudged back. She retaliated. Soon, they were shoulder-bumping like five-year-olds.
‘This is ridiculous,’ she said, through laughter. ‘Two mature adults— Ow! That one hurt!’
He froze, about to apologise, until her shoulders started shaking with giggles.
They kept walking. Beth teased him about his running, confessing she’d once tried Couch to 5K and quit immediately. ‘I was fine with the couch part. It’s the 5K that got me.’
‘I get you,’ Kieran said, then jogged ahead. ‘Come on, let’s burn a few calories.’
‘I’m wearing wedge sandals and carrying toothpaste. Not ideal running gear.’
‘Excuses. Last one to the bus stop’s a loser!’
He ran fast and far enough for his lungs to stage a protest. Glancing back, he blinked as Beth passed him. She had kicked off her sandals and was sprinting barefoot, hair streaming behind her.
‘You didn’t mention you were a finely tuned athlete and a master chef!’ he puffed.
Beth ran harder and reached the bus stop first. She turned and grinned at him. ‘Admit it,’ she gasped, as he reached her. ‘I totally thrashed you.’
‘You … may … have.’ He doubled over, hands on knees. ‘I’m just … pacing myself.’
‘Sure you are.’ She leaned on a low wall, catching her breath.
They stilled a moment in the soft afternoon light, laughter fading into quiet. For once, neither of them carried their usual weight – no grief, no ghosts. Just two people feeling alive again.
‘So,’ said Beth, slipping her sandals back on, ‘what now?’
‘Depends. You free for a coffee that isn’t instant?’
‘Where exactly? Cranley’s café scene is…’ she gestured vaguely, ‘limited.’
‘Then tea at yours,’ he said, before thinking.
She hesitated. ‘I don’t usually invite people over.’
‘Why? Because the place is a mess? Or because you’re hiding bodies under the floorboards?’
Her laugh was sharp, nervous. ‘Something like that.’
‘Now you have to invite me. Otherwise I’ll assume the worst.’
‘You really don’t want to see my basement— I mean my quarters,’ she corrected.
‘Aha.’ He grinned. ‘You’ve got a dungeon. That explains everything.’
‘You’re impossible,’ she said, shaking her head but smiling.
They strolled on. The pub came into view, doors shut and lights low. Ed and Angela had closed after another problem with the beer pump.
‘So,’ Kieran said, ‘are we off to the dungeon? Or can we agree that torturing a man for being a bad runner’s a bit much?’
‘We’ll have a coffee here,’ Beth decided, moving behind the bar. ‘But don’t expect latte art. Best I can do is something drinkable.’
‘That’s a low bar, but I’ll take it.’
Beth busied herself with the machine. Her movements were brisk but a little jittery. Kieran leaned against the counter, watching. She covered nerves with banter: he recognised the trick. He used it too.
‘So,’ he said lightly, ‘is this where you interrogate all your customers? Local folklore, favourite biscuits, deepest fears?’
‘Only the good-looking ones.’ The words were out before she could stop them. Colour rose in her cheeks. ‘I mean… Forget I said that.’
‘Too late,’ he said, smiling. ‘All right then. Favourite biscuit?’
‘Custard cream. Classic. You?’
‘Hobnob. Obviously.’
‘Oaty and reliable. I can see that.’
‘Reliable?’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘That’s code for boring.’
‘You said it, not me.’
Their laughter softened into something quieter.
‘Lisa hated Hobnobs,’ Kieran said suddenly.
Beth glanced up. ‘Your ex?’
‘Yeah. Said they were over-processed rubbish. She said that about most things I liked.’ He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘No idea why I brought that up.’
‘Maybe because it still hurts,’ she said simply.
He met her eyes. No pity was there, just understanding. ‘Yeah,’ he admitted. ‘Maybe.’
The machine hissed. Beth poured two mugs and slid one across. Her hand trembled slightly. ‘I lost…’ She stopped, swallowed. ‘I lost a lot, too.’
Kieran didn’t fill the silence. He waited.
‘I don’t want to burden you,’ Beth said softly. ‘Some things are hard to talk about. Let’s leave it there.’ She managed a small, fragile smile.
They sat. All was quiet, except for the tick of the old clock and the sounds of unseen machinery.
Then Kieran forced a grin. ‘So this is where you show me your terrifying basement, right?’
Beth froze. He’d meant it as a joke, but the way her face shut down—
‘You really don’t want to see it,’ she said, too quickly.
‘Now I definitely do.’
‘Kieran…’
A low hum rolled through the floorboards. Not pipes. Not plumbing. Something electric and alive.
‘What’s that noise?’ he asked.
‘Boiler,’ she said. ‘Old thing. Always makes a racket.’
But Kieran knew the sound of a boiler. This wasn’t it. This had … rhythm.
Beth pushed her mug aside and stood up. ‘I’ve things to do. You should go.’
He stood too. ‘You’re hiding something.’
Her chin lifted. ‘Everyone’s hiding something.’
The hum grew louder. His gaze flicked towards the basement door: old wood, padlock dangling loose.
‘Beth,’ he said quietly. ‘What’s down there?’
She swallowed. Her knuckles whitened.
And then, as if on cue, a metallic clang from below. Followed by a voice, muffled but unmistakable. ‘Oi! Don’t keep me waiting, Beth!’
Kieran’s jaw dropped. ‘Was that— Was that someone in your basement?’
Beth closed her eyes. ‘It’s not what you think.’
‘I hope not. Because what I think,’ he said, carefully, ‘is that you’ve got a bloke chained up down there.’
Her eyes snapped open. ‘It’s not that. It’s … it’s an old pinball machine that…’ She exhaled, defeated. ‘That talks sometimes.’
‘And calls out your name?’ Kieran stared at her. ‘You realise that sounds insane, right?’
The silence was absolute.
Then, faintly, from the basement: ‘I’m waiting…’
Beth groaned, pressing her palms to her temples. ‘Oh, bloody hell.’