Chapter Five #2
Realising she’d been silent for far too long—Flo must think her strange—Beth moved along the shelf and stopped to inspect a collection of framed photographs.
One in particular caught her eye. It captured two women fishing on a riverbank, one with vibrant red hair that flowed past her shoulders, while the taller one sported a brunette bob.
They’d been captured mid-laugh, neither of them appearing to notice they were being immortalised on film.
‘That’s me with the red hair,’ Flo told her, smiling sadly, ‘and the other is my best friend. She taught me how to fish that day.’
‘You both look so happy.’ Beth studied the photo a moment longer, then looked back at Flo. ‘Is this the same friend who made your shopping bag?’
‘It is, actually.’ Her eyes misted over and her words took on a nostalgic cadence. ‘From the moment we could toddle around our mother’s ankles, we did everything together. I lost a piece of myself the day she died.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Don’t be, my dear. I’d suffer that grief a thousand times over for all the happy times we shared.’
Beth glanced again at the photo on the shelf, wishing she could empathise, but it was impossible to comprehend the enormity of Flo’s loss.
After all, she hardly remembered her father, and although she missed Rosie every single day, she’d gained a lot of independence and autonomy since her mother’s passing.
Her choices were now her own, so rather than feeling as if she’d lost a piece of herself, it was more like she’d discovered one instead.
And, of course, she had no experience of friendship like the kind Flo had just described.
After briefly perusing the remaining photos, Beth returned to her seat.
Only then did it hit her—Flo had plenty of photos displayed, some from her childhood, some with her friend, but not one showed any evidence that she still had people in her life who cared about her.
The shelves held no wedding photo nor baby pictures, none with Flo in her golden years surrounded by grandchildren.
Was she alone in the same way Beth was alone?
Her musings were interrupted by several people walking past the living room window, their chatter audible even from inside the house.
‘Oh, it’s my craft group,’ Flo muttered, shifting in her seat. ‘Is it that time already?’
Beth’s muscles tensed. One friendly person she could handle, but groups overwhelmed her.
It was simply impossible to keep up with the conversation; all her effort would go into following the exchange of dialogue, which left her with no capacity to contribute her own.
Instead, she’d remain silent and feel awkward until it all got to be too much.
At that point, she’d attempt to surreptitiously extricate herself from the group.
These days, she tried not to end up in those situations in the first place.
‘I should go—Oh!’
In a rush to leave, Beth had stood faster and more carelessly than she’d intended. Her tea splashed over the rim of her cup and sloshed onto the carpet.
‘Oh my god, I’m so sorry!’ She looked at Flo, horrified. ‘What can I use to clean it up?’
‘It’s fine, Beth. No harm done. Just grab the tea towel from the kitchen. It’ll soak up the wet patch easy enough.’
‘What’s this, then?’ A middle-aged man sporting a dark blond moustache and a hot-pink bow tie walked into Flo’s living room carrying a rectangular case. He caught sight of Beth. ‘Ooh, a new member? Lovely!’
‘Sorry, I just need to …’ Beth left her sentence unfinished as she dashed to the kitchen. Yanking the tea towel from the oven door handle, she rushed to where she’d spilled her tea. In that time, the man had placed his case on the kitchen table and three more people had followed him into the room.
‘Did I hear someone say “wet patch”? What kind of shenanigans are you getting up to in here, Flo?’ A woman of about fifty, who wore an outfit that was entirely purple, right down to the silk gerbera in her hair, now occupied the armchair Beth had recently vacated.
‘Oh, hello.’ The woman glanced down at Beth, who was mopping up the spilled tea at her feet.
‘I’m sure it’s nothing untoward, Elsie. Something’s just been spilled, by the looks of it,’ said another woman, stating the obvious.
She had a head of wild grey curls and a knitted scarf of beautiful spring colours around her neck.
The curly-haired woman sat on the two-seater couch under the window where, Beth noticed, a third woman was already seated.
She appeared to be about forty, had a black bob and was yet to utter a word.
‘That’s right,’ Flo confirmed. ‘Nothing to be concerned about. Just a little mishap. Everyone, this is Beth, my new neighbour. Beth, this is Trevor.’ She indicated the man at the table, who waved enthusiastically, then gestured to the woman in purple, introducing her as Elsie.
The grey-haired scarf wearer was Carmen and the woman beside her was Hana.
‘Her name means “my favourite” in Korean,’ Flo told Beth.
Hana gave a hesitant wave, then pushed her red tortoiseshell glasses further up her nose.
‘Hello.’ Beth forced a smile and bobbed her head briefly at the newcomers but mostly busied herself with pressing the tea towel more firmly into the carpet.
‘So, are you joining us, then?’ Trevor enquired, opening his case to reveal a sewing machine. ‘What are you working on? What’s your favourite medium?’
‘Oh, um, no. I’m not a crafter.’ Standing, Beth folded the tea towel. ‘And I was just about to leave, actually.’
‘You’re welcome to stay, Beth,’ Flo said as she reached down beside her chair and lifted a knitting project into her lap. ‘We’d love to have you.’
‘Yeah,’ added Elsie, ‘it’d be great to have some young blood in our group—’
Trevor gasped indignantly. ‘How dare you!’
Elsie rolled her eyes. ‘You’re forty-seven, Trev. That’s hardly young. Besides—’ she waggled her eyebrows suggestively, ‘—maybe young Beth here can teach us a thing or two.’
‘About needlework?’ Carmen looked confused. ‘But she just said she’s not a crafter.’
‘No, you dolt! About what the young ones get up to for fun these days.’ Elsie winked at Beth as if they were on a similar wavelength. ‘If you know what I mean.’
Beth blinked. Was Elsie actually intimating that she wanted to hear about Beth’s sexual exploits? She’d laugh if she weren’t so anxious to leave.
‘I’m sorry, I really have to go. I was in the middle of gardening when I came over and there’s plenty more to do. Flo, thanks for the tea.’ She held the towel aloft. ‘I’ll leave this on the kitchen bench and let myself out. It was nice to meet everyone.’
With that, she turned and fled, and it wasn’t until she was back across the road that she was finally able to breathe again.
Shoving her hands on her hips, she sighed and stared hopelessly at the partially uncovered rose bushes.
Why was she so pathetic? She couldn’t even handle a group of perfectly friendly older people.
Nothing terrifying about any of them—except perhaps for Elsie, who seemed to converse solely in innuendo.
Beth knelt down in front of the garden beds and began viciously yanking out more weeds. Of course Flo wasn’t alone. Of course she had a whole group of friends visiting with her right now. Because she wasn’t ridiculously awkward or completely inept at socialising. Unlike some people.
Beth grunted, trying to remove a particularly stubborn weed.
Adjusting her grip from one hand to two, she planted her feet and pulled with all her might.
Finally, the irritating thing came free.
Panting, she tossed it aside where it lay with the rest of its ugly, unwanted and invasive cousins.
Then, feeling a bizarre sense of accomplishment, she sniffed and carried on ridding the garden of weeds.
She’d make this place beautiful. If it was the last thing she did.
* * *
Four stairs. That’s all that stood between Beth and the entrance to the B&B.
Four stairs, but the front door may as well have been the summit of Mount Everest. Her body ached in places she’d never felt before.
Who knew that spending an afternoon ripping out weeds was equivalent to ten consecutive whole-body workouts?
Her arms hung by her sides and the thought of lifting one to do so much as scratch her ear made her want to sob, but if she could just make it to her room, she could flop down on her bed and not move until morning.
Taking a deep breath, she tried not to whimper too loudly as she tackled her Everest. When she reached the porch, she let out a relieved sigh, but then remembered the gigantic staircase inside. It was all she could do not to collapse in a heap.
Resigned, she opened the front door and stepped into the entrance hall.
It was empty. Shadows cast along it as dusk fell, but at the far end, the doorway to the kitchen was lit up and the clink of glassware indicated that someone was within hearing distance.
Easing the door closed as quietly as she could, she tiptoed over the carpet runner, her heart thumping.
The last thing she wanted was an audience when she attempted this embarrassingly impossible thing.
She’d only crept halfway towards the staircase, however, when Ellie appeared in the illuminated doorway, a wine glass and bottle of red in her hands. She shrieked when she caught sight of Beth.
‘Sorry! Just me.’
‘Jeez!’ Ellie sagged with relief. ‘You scared me half to death.’
Standing awkwardly and shifting her weight from one foot to the other, Beth glanced at the stairs and waited for Ellie to continue on her way.
Except she didn’t.
Instead, she stopped in front of Beth and thrust the wine glass and bottle into her hands.
‘Can you do me a favour and take these into the sitting room? I’ll be there in a sec.’ With that, she turned and disappeared into the kitchen.