Chapter 24
GRETA’S CHEST HEAVED as she coughed and spluttered. Her breath came in laboured rasps. The air around her felt too thin, hard to draw in.
She scrabbled to grab hold of something. Anything to anchor herself. Managing to grip something hard and square, a table, she spun her head frantically, looking for the shark.
It took a few moments to realise she was back in Iris’s coffee shop. Her jeans were damp with sweat, and her armpits prickled from dread. When she blinked, she could still see pointed teeth gleaming.
There was something tight around her neck, making her choke. Greta reached up to release the pressure. With a yank, she felt her necklace snap in her hand.
Pearls spilled through her fingers, bouncing across the table. They scattered across the floor, as if trying to escape.
Greta gasped and dropped down, her knees buckling after sitting still. She scrambled to gather the pearls together, her fingers clumsy and uncooperative. One pearl rolled under a nearby table, and she stretched out her arm, reaching for it repeatedly before giving up.
She collected what she could, carefully releasing them on the table and pushing them into a small pile.
A rhythmic grinding sound gradually drew her attention.
Behind the counter, Iris stood working her mortar and pestle, her movements as calm and methodical as always. She occasionally flicked icy glances at Greta, as though she’d been waiting for her.
Despite Iris’s cool demeanour, Greta felt an overwhelming urge to give her a hug.
Iris hadn’t witnessed Greta’s sneaky sip of the coffee dregs, but Greta suspected the old woman somehow knew everything.
She slunk back into her seat in the booth and drank the glass of water that had appeared beside her empty coffee cup. Greta knew she owed Iris an explanation, but not one that revealed she’d secretly added Starbright to her brew.
‘I . . . I found myself at an award ceremony,’ Greta began, her voice hoarse. ‘Everyone knew my name and wanted a piece of me. Movie star Tobias Blake was there, too. He presented me with an award for a film we’d starred in together.’
Iris carried on grinding, her eyes fixed on the bowl.
‘I played mini-golf, then had a picnic with my family and my friend Millie,’ Greta continued. ‘I went for a walk in the park and discovered a waterfall. I went swimming, but then . . .’ Her words faltered, and she took a few deep gulps of air.
‘There was a shark. It was coming right at me, its jaws wide open. Ready to—’ Greta shuddered and bowed her head.
‘You drank the rest of your coffee,’ Iris said in a clipped tone.
Greta swallowed, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end with guilt. ‘Yes,’ she admitted, avoiding looking at her empty cup. ‘I didn’t think it would matter. There wasn’t much left . . .’
‘So, you decided to add something . . . extra?’ Iris jabbed her pestle with a crunch. ‘I told you the rules. One cup of coffee at a time. Once a week. No exceptions. The threads of fate are delicate, Greta. Pull too hard and the tapestry could unravel. Parts of life can crash into each other.’
Greta clasped her hands together, holding them tight. ‘What does that even mean? It was just a few sips of the coffee I’d already drunk. What could possibly go wrong?’
Iris raised an eyebrow, her gaze sharp and piercing. ‘Well, now you know. From the look of you, you’ve experienced some of the consequences of meddling first hand.’
Greta lowered her eyes. ‘I thought it wouldn’t hurt.’
‘You added Starbright to your coffee, didn’t you? Do you know what it actually does? Did you know the right amount to use? It’s potent stuff. Especially in the hands of novices. I’m guessing your time in Mapleville wasn’t as smooth, and your return here not exactly easy?’
‘That’s one way to describe it,’ Greta muttered.
When she closed her eyes, the shark fin flashed in her mind and a fresh wave of panic rushed over her.
She glanced at the Starbright jar, her stomach churning when she noticed she hadn’t replaced the stopper properly.
‘There seemed to be a few . . . glitches.’ Iris let out a weary sigh.
‘Well, it’s too late now,’ she said. ‘The consequences will already be in motion.’
Goose bumps rose along Greta’s forearms. ‘Consequences? I didn’t break the rules. I just bent them a bit.’
Iris nodded. ‘They’ll unfold in their own time, taking their own path. You’ll have to face them whether you’re ready or not. Some will be within my reach, but others won’t. There needs to be some kind of penance for breaking my rules, don’t you think?’
Greta nodded reluctantly.
The only sound for the next couple of minutes was the steady grinding of the jade pestle. Finally, Iris lifted her head. ‘I’ve decided you’ll have to wait until next year for your next cup of coffee. That is, if you want to drink another one . . .’
‘Next year?’ Greta’s voice broke. ‘That’s three weeks way . . .’ The same deadline as her and Jim’s huge decision, on whether to end their marriage or not. Her body wilted.
She didn’t want to encounter the shark again, but almost kissing Jim had been wonderful.
Seeing Lottie so carefree and happy had been priceless, too.
Greta’s Mapleville house was beautiful, and the weather was balmy.
Waiting until the New Year to go there again felt like forever.
‘That’s too long away. How can I fix things, so I can make it happen? ’
Iris moved toward her jars, picking out a few ingredients and dropping them into her bowl. ‘You can’t.’
Greta opened and shut her mouth like a fish out of water. ‘But, what am I supposed to do in the meantime?’
A small, wry smile formed on Iris’s lips. ‘You drink normal coffee,’ she said. ‘I believe the taste of Maple Gold is passable.’
Greta grimaced, her jaw clenching until it hurt. She pulled her phone from her pocket, only to see a long list of missed calls. Damn, she only had one percent of battery life left.
When she tapped on a message from Lottie, the screen went blank. ‘Great,’ she muttered, sucking in through her teeth. ‘Do you have a charger?’ she asked Iris.
‘Sorry, no.’
‘A phone I can use?’
Iris shook her head.
Greta cursed herself for letting her battery run out. ‘What time is it?’ she asked.
‘Seven thirty,’ Iris replied flatly.
A numbing sensation crept into Greta’s chest, as if she’d been sprayed with anti-freeze.
Seven thirty?
Lottie had probably returned from her afternoon with Jayden by now, and might be wondering where her mum was. Had she already made herself something to eat?
Glancing outside, Greta saw figures bustling along the street, carrying umbrellas and briefcases, their shoulders hunched against the drizzle. The sky was dove grey, and somehow it didn’t look like evening.
The cool feeling spread further down her limbs, all the way along to her toes and fingertips.
‘Seven thirty in the evening?’ Greta asked, just to make sure.
Iris’s pursed her lips and didn’t look up. ‘No. In the morning.’
The words hit Greta like a slap. Her eyes shot to the clock on the shelf, then out of the window again. ‘The morning?’ She leapt to her feet. ‘Have I been here all night?’ she cried out.
‘I told you time moves differently with the coffee,’ Iris said. ‘You shouldn’t have meddled.’
Greta’s cup wobbled as she pushed away from the table. ‘I have to go. Lottie will be going out of her mind with worry.’ She looked around her feverishly. Then another thought hit her just as hard. ‘I’m meant to be doing a radio show this morning. I’m due in the studio by eight thirty.’
She made a dash for the door and yanked it open. Breaking into a run, she didn’t stop to look back.
The rain stung Greta’s face, and her feet pounded against the pavement. The wind tore at her coat, and worried tears streamed down her face. The radio interview flashed in her mind, but she shoved it away. Lottie came first. She had to get home to see her.
Greta tried in vain to hail a taxi, but they were all filled with commuters. She couldn’t access Uber on her dead phone, and she wished she’d driven to the coffee shop instead.
The park was nearly deserted, a blur as she sprinted through it. A few fed-up dog walkers traipsed around, trailing after their bedraggled pooches. Ducks gathered around a mound of soggy breadcrumbs, their feathers wet and matted.
Greta pushed onwards, her lungs burning.
By the time she reached her flat, her hair stuck to her forehead in damp ribbons.
Her hands were red and numb from the cold, and she fumbled with her keys.
The door wouldn’t open more than a few centimetres, and she saw the safety chain was on.
Greta shoved a shoulder against the door in frustration.
‘Lottie,’ she shouted through the small gap. ‘It’s me. Let me in.’
Inside, a scraping noise sounded, followed by slow, deliberate footsteps. Lottie’s eye appeared at the narrow opening, sharp and judgemental enough to make Greta’s stomach shrink.
The chain rattled, and the door swung open. Greta stumbled inside, drenched and breathless, watching as Lottie retreated to the kitchen without a backward glance.
‘Nice of you to bother coming home, Mum,’ she said over her shoulder.
Greta’s mind scrambled, searching for an explanation.
How could she tell her daughter the real story?
Sorry, love. I drank some magic coffee which took me to the town featured in the Maple Gold commercials.
Time moves differently there, and I was almost eaten by a shark.
Her cheeks shone hot at the thought of it.
‘I bumped into some friends,’ she said, cringing at how lame it sounded. ‘We went for dinner and . . . I stayed out longer than expected. I, um . . . fell asleep.’ Greta reached for her pearls out of habit, but they were gone. Picturing the broken necklace on the coffee shop table, she groaned.
‘Right,’ Lottie replied, her voice flat. She sat down with a bump and shoved a piece of toast into her mouth. An empty milk carton lay on its side on the table, a droplet of milk hanging off the pour spout. ‘A meet-up that turned into a sleepover, yeah?’
Greta sank into the chair opposite. Her daughter’s twisted lips were the opposite of the cheery smile she wore in Maple- ville. She already missed her sweet nature.
‘It wasn’t like that. I stayed out by accident, even missed a radio show I had lined up this morning. Nora is going to kill me.’
‘Uh-huh.’ Lottie folded her arms. ‘Dad was worried sick about you. He was going to call the police . . .’
Greta’s blood ran cold. She ran a hand through her damp, tangled hair, tugging at the knots. ‘He knows about this?’
‘You weren’t home for dinner. When it got late, I called him.’ A tidal wave of guilt engulfed Greta, leaving her floundering. ‘I’m so sorry . . .’
‘You guys need to get your act together,’ Lottie said with a sniff. ‘Not the best example you’re setting.’
Greta opened her mouth, but no words came. She was too exhausted to explain or justify herself. She still felt groggy from Iris’s coffee, and her wet feet squelched in her shoes. Missing the radio show felt like a huge blow.
The phrase get your act together lodged itself in her brain. If their roles had been reversed, with Lottie arriving home late, Greta would have been frantic with worry, scooping her daughter into her arms the moment she found her safe.
But before she could stop herself, her words spilled out.
‘Your dad’s living it up in a penthouse, surrounded by luxury and landing plum roles, while I’m stuck here, trying to hold everything together,’ Greta said.
‘He can go out whenever he wants, do whatever he likes. Meanwhile, I’m chasing work, juggling bills, and dealing with your moods.
You want me to get my act together? Fine.
But it feels like I’m the only one here putting in any effort. ’
‘Ahem.’
The sound of a throat clearing made Greta freeze. She slowly turned, her dread thickening.
Jim stood in the doorway behind her, leaning stiffly against the frame. ‘Good morning,’ he said, his voice unreadable. ‘Glad to see you’re safe and well.’
Lottie set down her toast crust. ‘Dad stayed here last night,’ she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
A cannon ball seemed to drop in Greta’s stomach. ‘I can see that,’ was all she could manage to say.
Jim stepped forward, placing his hands on his hips like he was some kind of hero. ‘I told Lottie that you must be tied up somewhere, and not to worry,’ he said, shooting Greta a pointed glance. ‘We kept busy, writing our Christmas cards together, and chatting about Lottie’s talent show . . .’
‘Thanks,’ Greta murmured.
Jim patted Lottie’s arm. ‘I’ll run you to school when you’re ready,’ he said.
Lottie nodded. She grabbed her bag from under the table and stood up without looking at her mum.
Greta opened her mouth, desperate to explain, to apologise. But nothing came out. What could she say?
Jim and Lottie left the flat, the front door clicking firmly behind them, leaving Greta alone in the still silence.
Christmas cards? She hadn’t even thought about them. And it sounded like Jim was sending his separately.
‘Have a good day,’ she whispered, pressing her palms to her face. When Greta eventually lowered her hands, she noticed an envelope with her name on it sitting next to the milk carton. It took her a moment to muster the energy to tear it open.
The red capital letters at the top of the letter felt like a final kick to her gut, the cherry on the top of a terrible day.
It was from her landlord.
Dear Ms. Perks,
The lease on the property is due for renewal. You can extend the contract for six months, but we’ll need your decision by December 31st. If we don’t hear from you by then, we’ll assume you’re moving out . . .
Greta stopped reading. She swallowed hard, the stale, acrid taste of Iris’s coffee lingering on her tongue. An ulcer had formed on the inside of her cheek.
She had three weeks.
Seeing the date in black and white felt like a punch to her ribs.
Three weeks to figure out her future. Three weeks to sort things out with Jim.
It felt impossible.
And now, she couldn’t even drink Iris’s coffee to escape to the comforts of Mapleville.
Greta set the letter down, the quietness of the flat closing in on her, as if she was being suffocated.
‘Happy Christmas to you, too,’ she muttered.