Chapter 39
Chapter Thirty-Nine
‘Come on, it’ll be fun!’
Beth pulled a ‘your idea of fun is different to mine’ face. Diana retaliated with a passable impression of someone with severe constipation.
‘I shouldn’t take time off,’ Beth said, even though Ed and Angela had already given the thumbs up.
‘Hon, all work and no play makes Beth a very dull girl. And we need to talk about Luke. Which admittedly doesn’t come under the fun umbrella, but needs must.’
Beth glanced at the week’s chalked-up specials. They’d scaled back from her early, ambitious menus. Ken – steady, sensible Ken – had nudged them that way during a group chat a couple of nights back.
‘Maybe save the fancy stuff for Easter, Halloween and Christmas,’ he’d suggested, while Mags blinked and asked if someone might take her to the toilet. Beth’s heart had ached for all of them.
‘But a spooky escape room! I mean, what’s that all about?’
‘OK, hear me out,’ Diana said. ‘It’s not just an escape room – it’s an experience.
It’s called Shadows of Auld Reekie and it’s set under Edinburgh, in old vaults that are supposedly haunted by Burke and Hare.
You know, the body-snatching guys? Charming, really.
There’s fog, flickering lanterns, and apparently a ghostly piper who leads you into the tunnels if you listen closely enough. Total goosebumps.’
‘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.’
Gigi tilted his head, and for once there was no teasing lightness about him. ‘If I erased those memories, Beth, I wouldn’t just take away the pain. I’d take the version of you who learned to stand up again. The tenderness, the grit, the wisdom. Pain shapes, even when it cuts.’
‘But it hurts too much,’ she whispered. ‘I thought spending time with Jinnie and Angela’s babies meant I’d healed, but the pain is still there.’
‘Then let it hurt for now,’ he replied. ‘You’ll heal, in time. Scars aren’t pretty, but they’re honest. If you wish it away, the ache will find another corner. You’d still feel hollow, and you wouldn’t know why.’
Beth studied him, blinking through a film of tears. ‘You sound as if you know what that’s like.’
Gigi smiled faintly. For a fleeting instant, she thought she glimpsed something ancient and broken in his gaze. Centuries of being trapped, perhaps, of having his own regrets worn down by time.
‘Let’s just say I’ve seen what forgetting does,’ he said lightly. ‘Play with me instead. Give me a frenzy worth writing to the Federation about.’
Beth wiped her cheeks and stepped closer to the machine. The butterfly shimmered above her, its wings flexing at lightning speed. She placed her fingers on the buttons, feeling a faint vibration beneath them – the hum of Gigi’s world. ‘Same rules?’
‘Always,’ said Gigi, with a mock bow. ‘Score high, and a wish might wobble loose. Score low, and you buy me a metaphorical drink.’
‘You don’t drink. Do you?’
‘Details,’ he said, winking.
She launched the ball. A bright ping, and the world narrowed to flippers and rollovers, lights that chased and chimed. Gigi whooped as if he were every crowd she’d ever needed.
‘Woohoo, she’s got the touch!’ Gigi cried, his voice echoing around the pub basement. ‘You’re in the multiball zone!’
Beth laughed despite herself, the sound bubbling up like a forgotten melody. She’d always been good at pinball, but tonight something clicked. Her reflexes sharpened, her focus narrowed, and her sadness ebbed away.
The score climbed; Gigi’s face turned from amused to mildly alarmed. ‘Have you been unfaithful? Been playing behind my back?’
‘Shush,’ she said, her eyes locked on the flashing lights.
The last ball bounced wildly, defying gravity, before slipping between the flippers. The machine flared gold and emitted a triumphant trill.
‘New high score,’ Gigi announced, clapping his glittering hands. ‘Well, butter my baps and call me Bertrand.’
Beth leaned back, panting lightly, and grinned. ‘What do I win?’
‘You win,’ Gigi said, serious again, ‘the reminder that you’re still here. Still alive. Still capable of joy. That’s worth more than any wish.’
She smiled, a tear sneaking down her cheek. Not the old kind of tear, the heavy, despairing sort, but something gentler. ‘You’re not a bad therapist, for a magical entity.’
‘Oh, I charge by the minute,’ he quipped, twirling an invisible moustache. Then, more quietly: ‘You’ve got wishes left, Beth. Use them wisely. Wishing is easy. Living with the consequences isn’t.’
The lights dimmed as he spoke, the golden sheen of his form dissolving into the machine. It made a noise like a hiccup before settling into silence.
Beth stood there for a moment, the smell of old wood and dust grounding her. Her heart was steady now, her breath calm. She knew the grief hadn’t vanished, but something had shifted inside her. A tiny, crucial sliver of acceptance.
‘Two wishes,’ she murmured to herself, tracing a fingertip along the glass. ‘No pressure, then.’
Somewhere inside the machine, a faint, mischievous chuckle echoed back.
Beth smiled. She pulled out her phone and texted Diana.
I’m in. Bring spare pants in case of spooky accidents.
Upstairs, rain ticked at the window and the pub creaked contentedly in its old bones. Down here, in the dim glow of score reels and stubborn hope, Beth stood with wishes she didn’t quite trust and a steadier breath than she’d had in months.
She picked up the flour sack of coins, knotted it tight, and laughed as the butterfly fluttered past her nose.
‘All right,’ she said to the room, to herself, to the stubborn ache that was beginning to abate. ‘Let’s live with it.’