Page 4 of Always Beth
I lean back against the headboard as I take the first sip. ‘So, plan for today then?’
Hovering over me, she folds her arms across her chest, settling on the foot of the bed. ‘Can you take me to my appointment?’
She’s scared, nervous even. This is not the Lauren I know. I missed her first session; I’ll be damned if I’m going to miss anymore. ‘Of course I will. Whatever you need. I promised you yesterday. I’m here for you.’
She nods slowly, summoning the energy to move. As she walks away, her body already looks like it’s defeated.
‘We need to leave in ten minutes. I’m not going to be up for walking the dog over the next few days, are you good to do that too?’
Anything but that.‘Anything you need.’
Beth
I can’t believe they picked me. They must have been desperate.An idyllic Cotswold cottage. Dusty lanes, stone buildings, rolling hills and quiet. Peace and quiet. It seems too good to be true. It’s about time I had some luck though, especially after the last few months. I glance at the text from the letting’s agent one more time.
Peter (Letting’s Agent): The key is under the plant pot.
Of course it is.
I place Poppy on the cute welcome mat and look around at the array of upturned plant pots.Which plant pot?There are hundreds of the things. That’s the real security. No one knows which bloody plant pot.
‘We won’t be leaving the key out, will we, Poppy? We’re more cautious than that, and we don’t want any unwelcome visitors, do we? Especially of the male variety!’
Stacking pot upon pot in some precarious game of terracotta Tetris, sweat begins to form on my brow. This was not the arrival I was expecting.
‘Try the little one!’
I turn on my heels, sending the tower of pots crashing to the ground. My unsuspecting visitor winces at the sound of the cracking ceramic.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. It used to be the little one.’ He chuckles.
With my hands resting firmly on my knees, I gaze up at him, casting my eyes back and forth over his uniform. ‘Bit late for a postal delivery, isn’t it?’
‘Bit late in the day to move in. It’s practically dusk.’
A frown sets deep on my forehead as I swipe at the smallest pot – sure enough there is the key.
‘I got held up, not that it’s any of your business, postman—’
‘David.’
I force a smile as we both focus on my mountain of luggage. ‘Would you like a hand?’
Rushing forward, I start dragging my bags towards the front door. ‘Nope, all good thanks. I’ve got this. Thanks for your help.’
He pushes his hands into his trouser pockets as he wanders off down the lane. I sigh as I look upon my belongings. I would have loved some help, but I made a vow. No visitors. Not even the postman. The door creaks as it falls open at the turn of the key, and I pull my bags in one by one. It’s so quaint and homely, everything I’d hoped for, but nothing like what I’m used to. My marital home was so minimalistic with every modern gadget. This cottage is straight out of a time capsule, with trinkets here, there and everywhere. It has character and is full of love; whoever lived here must have been happy.
Surrounded by my luggage, I sigh in relief. This is never where I expected to be aged thirty-four, but here I am, doing it alone. ‘Just you and me now, Pops. No waste of space of a husband and no more men.’ Poppy paws at my leg, requiring her home comforts already.
‘Fine, I’m unpacking.’ I ruffle her coat as I begin to unzip the first case. As I rummage through my belongings, my hand stills. In my haste to escape Stephen and the memories, I bundled everything I had into bags and left. I run the fluffy fabric between my fingertips. I went everywhere with this bunny as a child, keeping it to hand down to my child one day. A child that never transpired.We don’t need children, Beth, they will take over our lives, having each other is enough.
Except I wasn’t enough and now here I am alone.
I managed to alienate my friends over the years, through dedicating my life to a man who wasn’t dedicated to me, and as for my parents, they were so pleased to have married me off that they emigrated a week after the ring was on my finger. There’s being alone and then there’s this. I glance once more at the bunny clasped between my fingers. A single tear trickles down my cheek as I mourn something I’ve never had. Pushing it back into the bag, I hastily dry my face. Forget the unpacking. Where’s my wine?
* * *
Oh god. I blink several times as my eyes adjust to the dimly lit bedroom. Drinking alone is depressing and today is going to be a write-off. I drag myself from the bed, draping the covers around me as I slowly descend the stairs. The sound of birds singing invades the cottage, a stark reminder that I’ve left my London life well and truly behind. The smell of red wine permeates around the kitchen, and my stomach churns as I flick the switch on the kettle. I lean heavily against the worktop and glance at the indent on my finger where my rings once sat. Another constant, unwelcome reminder.
