for me, thanks. When did this all happen?’
‘The first time was when he helped me fix the sink.’ She winced almost as soon as she said it, knowing she’d given the game away.
Eliza arched an eyebrow. ‘And the second?’
‘In the stock room,’ Beth mumbled. ‘When we had the mix up with the inflatable dolls.’
Libby choked on a mouthful of wine, and kept spluttering until Eliza thumped her on the back to help clear her airway. ‘Okay,’ she said, when she finally managed to speak. ‘I don’t care what Eliza says, now I definitely want details.’
They stayed up late; Beth’s anecdote about the dodgy sex toys had led onto Eliza telling them about a terrible Ann Summers party she’d been talked into attending by a member of her book group, and Martin’s horrified reaction when she’d shown him the catalogue afterwards. They’d laughed until their sides ached, their noise level increasing as the contents of the wine bottle disappeared.
Full of pizza, feeling slightly dizzy and with a combination of minty toothpaste and garlic confusing her taste buds, Beth crawled under the cover of the double bed in the spare room. Eliza was already snuggled in against the wall, and Libby looked cosy enough in a kind of nest she’d made on the floor using the mattress they’d dragged in from Beth’s old bed and a pile of quilts and pillows.
Stretching out, she clicked off the bedside light, leaving the room dark except for a sliver of moonlight peeping through a gap in the top of the curtains. She felt a hand brush against her side and slid her hand out to grasp Libby’s fingers.
‘I’m glad you’re home, B,’ she whispered sleepily.
‘Me too, Libs. I missed you both so much.’ A soft snore came back in reply.
Recalling the brief conversation with Eliza that morning, she stretched out her other hand to grasp her friend’s arm. ‘And now you might be moving even further away. What will we do without you?’
Eliza rolled towards her and shifted closer until her head rested on the edge of Beth’s pillow. ‘I don’t want to go,’ she murmured. ‘Is it awful of me to say that? It feels awful, like I’m being disloyal to Martin. His career is important, and I know I should be more supportive.’
The wine had softened her inhibitions, and it was on the tip of Beth’s tongue to tell Eliza exactly what she thought about Martin and his passive-aggressive bullshit, but she clamped her jaw tight until the urge passed. Whatever she thought about the situation, he was Eliza’s husband and she didn’t want to put a strain on their friendship.
Trying to feel her way towards the right thing to say, she settled eventually for, ‘You’ve put him and his work first for a long time. I remember how hard it was for you when you first moved up north.’
‘It’s silly. I’m being silly. It’s not like I’ve seen you every five minutes, but at least I knew you were only a train ride, or a couple of hours drive away. An eight-hour flight is something different all together.’
Beth squeezed her arm. ‘You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.’
Eliza’s sigh tickled the hair on her shoulder. ‘It’s not even certain he’s going to get it, so I might be worrying over nothing. It won’t be the end of the world, and it would be the ideal time for us to start a family as I won’t be working over there.’
The lack of enthusiasm in her voice set alarm bells ringing in Beth’s head. Planning a baby should be something joyful, a time for celebration and excitement. Eliza made it sound anything but. ‘The last time we talked about it, you weren’t ready to have children.’
Her friend rolled over onto her back, and Beth could sense her drawing away. ‘I’m not getting any younger. If we’re going to have kids, now’s as good a time as any.’
Bloody hell, she was too drunk, and nowhere near drunk enough to have this conversation right now. ‘There’s plenty of time, Eliza. No need to rush into any big decisions just yet.’
‘You’re right. There’s no need to worry yet, he hasn’t even got an interview.’ Eliza yawned. ‘I think the wine’s gone to my head, and got me talking nonsense. G’night, B.’
Feeling like she’d failed her friend, Beth gave her arm a final squeeze. ‘Night, darling. Sleep tight.’ From the way Eliza tossed and turned beside her, it seemed a fruitless wish—for both of them.
‘Shoulda brought the spare key.’ Sam muttered to himself as he knocked on the back door of the emporium for the third time to no answer. Having seen Eliza take a couple of bottles out of the pub fridge, he’d assumed they’d be a bit worse for wear that morning and decided to make them breakfast. Beth had left a spare key at the pub, for emergencies, and he’d briefly considered using it so he could set everything out properly, before worrying she might see it as a violation of trust.
He took a couple of steps back and looked up at the closed curtains over the windows of the flat above. Surprises always seemed great during the planning, but relied on other people to play their part—which was never guaranteed when they didn’t know they even had a part to play. Balancing the cardboard tray in his left hand, he fumbled in his pocket for his phone and scrolled through to find Beth’s number.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. ‘Ungh?’
‘Hey, Beth, you wanna come down and answer the door?’ A loud groan echoed in his ear, and he stifled a grin. ‘Beth, you okay?’
‘Beth’s dead. This is her ghost.’
Sam laughed. ‘Can ghosts open doors? I brought you guys breakfast.’
‘Ghosts don’t eat. I’m never eating, or drinking again.’ She whimpered. ‘You made me think about drinking, why did you do that? Do you hate me?’
‘No, I don’t hate you. I like you very much, that’s why I made you bacon sandwiches and a Mr Barnes’ Secret Hangover Cure shake.’
‘Chocolate?’ She sounded almost perky and Sam knew his instinct had been right.
‘Yes, chocolate for you, strawberry for Eliza, and caramel for Libs.’ There was no big secret to the milkshakes—the milk helped to hydrate and neutralise an acidic stomach, and the oats and a raw egg provided energy. He added their favourite flavouring to mask any bitterness from the soluble painkillers. The bacon in the sandwiches was grilled rather than fried because, contrary to popular opinion, greasy food was the worst thing going for a hangover.
‘What are you waiting for? Bring them up.’
Sam rested his head against the back door. ‘You need to unlock the door first.’
‘But I’m dead and a ghost so I can’t get up. Hold on…’ Sam listened to her as she woke up the others, smiling so hard it made his face ache. God, she was adorable when she was like this—funny, sleepy, with just a little dash of vulnerability.
The dull sound of footsteps on the stairs sounded from inside and he straightened up in time to catch the full force of Libby’s scowl as she yanked open the door.
