Page 12 of Always Beth
‘What are you doing?’ Lauren stares at me in disbelief.
‘Ballet dancing. What does it look like? I’m cooking dinner.’
‘Jesus, moody much.’
I scowl as she slides into the seat at the kitchen table. ‘You’re not going to watch me, are you?’
She begins to laugh and buries her head in her phone. She really knows how to push my buttons.
‘What are you making me, chef?’
‘Stew with dumplings, but I’ve put chilli and garlic in it, so, you know, you can taste it.’
She smiles at me softly and her eyes fill with tears.
‘Come on, Lauren, it’s only dinner.’
‘I love you. Thank you for looking after me.’
I can’t cope when she gets like this. I find it hard enough controlling my own emotions, but seeing her cry is something else. ‘Yeah, well hopefully this will do something for your taste buds.’
She comes and stands by my side and runs her hand over the chopping board, picking up what’s left of the garlic. ‘Jesus Christ, did you put all of this in?’
I shrug as I quickly re-read the instructions. ‘Yeah, why?’
‘It says one clove, James, not one bulb.’ Tears stream down her face as she steadily begins to laugh.
I lift the ladle to my mouth and blow gently.Shit, that’s bad.
‘Erm, Lauren…’
Her laughter increases and before she can stop herself, she snorts hard. Throwing me a pile of takeaway menus, she dries her face.
‘It was a lovely thought, James.’
I force a weak smile. I just wanted to do something nice for her. Even simple things like this, I’m no good at. This is why I was never cut out for a domesticated life.
‘So takeaway then?’ I pick up the menus, but I can’t focus, I need some time.
‘Yeah, let’s order for delivery it will be—’
‘No, I’ll collect.’ Pulling my jacket on, I open the front door and leave without another word.
Beth
There was no way I was ever going to have enough materials. One hundred wax melts, who was I kidding. I’ve travelled fifty miles to get what I need, and it’s just my luck to have got stuck in traffic twice. Now it’s practically dusk and I can see precisely fuck all on the road ahead. Surely I can navigate the lane by memory, I’m minutes from home I couldn’t be that unlucky—
Oh hell, what was that?
As I pull over, I hear the whistling of air and know my luck has just run out.
I squint in discomfort as I look down at my rapidly deflating tyre. Great. What’s the likelihood of getting recovery out when you are no more than five hundred yards from home? Let’s face it, it was never anyone else’s job to teach me how to change a tyre, but if I had ever looked to Stephen to show me, I would have been waiting forever. He never got his hands dirty. Except when it came to other women.
I see a set of headlights approach and in the little daylight that remains I think I can make out the driver.No way.There’s bad luck and then there’s—
‘Need a hand?’
As he pulls up alongside, his eyes cast over the car and I know he’s silently judging me.
