by Liz Eeles
‘I needed a walk.’
‘That sounds ominous. Are you OK?’ I ask, linking my arm through Zac’s as we wander past the town’s Christmas tree that went up a couple of days ago. It has a slight slant, probably thanks to the thunderstorm, but it’s very pretty. Ice-blue lights are scattered through the branches and a large golden star is wobbling on the top.
‘Yeah, things are just a bit hectic at work.’
‘Nothing yet from Kirsty?’ Zac shrugs his shoulders at the mention of the woman in his accounts department who he’s fancied for weeks. ‘Maybe you need to be more direct?’
‘Nah, I don’t think she’s interested.’
‘Then she must be an idiot. You’re a brilliant catch – kind, strong, good-looking.’
‘Almost as good-looking as the lovely Logan Fairweather who you crossed paths with at work today.’
‘How do you know he came into the café?’
‘My spy, Stanley, spotted him going into the bookshop and, as Logan obviously only reads comics, I guessed he must be thirsty.’
He groans when I give him a thump in the side. ‘You’re being very physical this evening.’
‘You’d better watch it, or I’ll bring out my best karate moves.’
‘My lips are sealed,’ he says, drawing a gloved finger across his cold lips.
‘Logan, who I’m sure reads all kinds of high-brow literature, did come into the café, actually.’
‘I expect you were happy to see him on your home turf.’ He gives me a sideways glance. ‘Though I’m not sure your heart can take it.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I know you well enough to sense when you really like someone, Becca.’
‘Did the furnace face give it away?’
‘Every time.’ He pauses. ‘I thought you might mention your growing attraction to Mr Fairweather, but you’ve haven’t.’
‘Nah, no point, really. Nothing’s going to happen.’
‘Why not? You’re a very lovely person.’
‘Cheers.’ I link my arm through Zac’s as I wonder why I didn’t tell him that Logan makes my heart miss a beat, seeing as he already knows loads about my disastrous love life.
‘So how did it go with Logan?’
‘Not brilliantly, seeing as he made it abundantly clear that he has the hots for my sister.’
‘Ah.’ Zac comes to an abrupt halt and turns to look at me. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely. He was practically salivating as she did her flicky head thing.’
‘Flicky head thing?’
When I give him a demonstration, he wrinkles his nose. ‘Yeah, that would probably do it. Sorry, Beccs. Just remember that you’re far too good for him anyway so it’s his loss. He is an eejit and you are magnificent.’
I grin. It feels good to be hanging out with someone who doesn’t see me as terminally fragile or throwing away her potential.
‘I am definitely magnificent, but do you think I’m weird?’ I ask, my mouth watering when we pass Amy’s old-fashioned sweet shop. Fairy lights are scattered around the glass jars of striped humbugs and chocolate limes in the window.
‘Why do you ask?’
‘Nothing really. It’s just something that Jasmine said.’
Zac pulls my arm tighter against his side. ‘Honestly? You’re totally off-the-scale weird but that’s OK. I like weird. Weird is good.’
We stop for a moment in front of the weathered war memorial and I scan down the list of names chiselled into the stone. There are so many for such a small town – young men in the prime of life, many of them teenagers. I expect some of them were weird, and I bet they were scared when they swapped this beautiful, peaceful town for the horrors of the trenches. But they had a war to fight and didn’t have the luxury of being nervy and self-sabotaging for no good reason at all.
‘We’re so lucky to live here, aren’t we, Zac,’ I say, looking at the dark hills rising above Honeyford’s solid stone buildings.
‘Very lucky.’ He reaches out and traces one of the names with his fingers. ‘Come on, let’s get home.’
‘We could go home.’
‘Or what? You don’t sound too keen.’
‘I just fancied walking on a bit further after being cooped up in the café all day. What do you reckon? We won’t go too far.’
‘It’s a bit chilly.’
‘Walking will keep us warm and when we get home, I’ll light the fire and make you one of my alcoholic hot chocolates. I also have leftovers from work in my bag.’
‘Mince pies?’ Zac narrows his eyes. He’s addicted to them and can eat several in one sitting.
‘I have two mince pies and a thick slice of apple cake. Flora took the eclairs for Caleb.’
When Zac hesitates, I add quietly: ‘The mince pies are iced.’
‘Iced mince pies? I can’t work out whether that’s an abomination or the best thing ever.’ He thinks for a moment. ‘Nah, best thing ever. Come on then. Where do you want to walk?’
‘Let’s go into the Memorial Park. It’ll be really pretty in the moonlight.’
‘Pretty, freezing and wet,’ grumbles Zac, but he follows me towards the park’s high Cotswold-stone wall.
I’m expecting the park to be empty but, when we slip through the wrought-iron gates, the full moon is casting silver beams across the grass and gardens, and two other couples are walking ahead of us.
‘So what else is going on at work then?’ asks Zac, hooking his arm through mine.
‘Why? What have you heard?’
‘Nothing, but you seem a little off and now you’re being defensive. So tell me.’
I hesitate because I’ve deliberately not mentioned my indecision over Mr Frank. After yesterday’s ‘wrong change’ incident, it feels like a mess-up too far. And I don’t want to disappoint Zac like I’ve disappointed my parents over the years. Not when he’s the only person in the whole wide world who thinks I’m magnificent.
‘Come on. It can’t be that bad,’ says Zac, kicking at the gravel path as we walk on. ‘Did you push Jasmine head-first into your confectionery counter?’
‘I did not, because that would have been a terrible waste of fudge cake.’ I pause, still reluctant to put today’s cock-up into words. Maybe it’s all too much for Flora and I’ve screwed up the career that I happen to love, even if Jasmine doesn’t much rate it.
‘You’ll tell me in the end so you might as well do it now.’
We walk on for a while, our feet crunching on the gravel and our breath hanging white in the air.
‘OK,’ I blurt out. ‘The Cosy Kettle and the bookshop lost out on some business today because of me. That’s it and I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘Are you quite sure you don’t want to talk about it?’
‘Absolutely sure.’
‘Even though it’s eating you up, and talking about it will give me a perfect opportunity to be bossy and tell you what to do?’
‘I can’t tell you because you’ll think I’m an idiot.’
‘I think you’re an idiot already, so what is there to lose?’
Which is a very good point. So I outline the situation with Mr Frank, as we carry on walking, past the pond coated in a thin layer of shimmering ice.
When I’ve finished the sorry tale, Zac pulls my arm tight against him. ‘It’s a shame but it was a tricky decision to make on the spot, especially if Flora hadn’t mentioned anything to you about it.’
‘I guess, but I could have just said yes and worked things out later. I could have and should have, but I basically bottled it. I’m a serial bottler.’
‘You basically did the best you could with the information you had,’ insists Zac.
‘I didn’t have any information.’
‘Exactly, and it doesn’t really matter ’cos no one died. So stop beating yourself up. OK?’
How does he do it? Zac’s talent for cutting through angst with clear-headed reason never ceases to amaze me. He’s just so… normal. Merely being with h
im makes me feel better. But on this occasion he’s wrong because it does matter. It matters to Flora and to The Cosy Kettle. And it matters to me.
He gives me a sideways glance when I don’t reply. ‘Have you seen the well? I stumbled across it a few days ago when I went for a run.’
When I shake my head, he dips into the trees and leads me along a narrow path I’ve never noticed before. It’s darker in here, even though the branches are bare of leaves and the moon is shining brightly overhead. When I stumble slightly on the path, Zac grabs my hand and holds it until we emerge into a clearing.
The trees around the edges are in shadow but the clearing itself is glowing in the moonlight. The frosted tips of the wet grass are a carpet of white and, in the centre, there’s an old tumble-down well. Moss has grown in the cracks between the stones and an ancient metal pump handle is dark with rust but the rim of the well and the wooden boards across it are coated in frost and sparkling with reflected moonbeams.
‘Oh, this is gorgeous! The well looks like it’s been dipped in diamonds.’ I run my fingers across the ice-cold stone and gaze up at the tiny gable roof above the well opening. It’s in the shape of an upside-down V, and covered in frosted stone tiles. ‘How long do you think this has been here?’
‘I’m not sure. Ages, I suppose. There was probably a house around here once but now only the well is left behind.’
‘Like an oversight.’
‘Maybe.’ Zac shrugs his broad shoulders and grins.
‘What? Why are you smiling?’
‘I’m just thinking that maybe it was left here on purpose because…’ He leans in closer and opens his eyes wide. ‘It’s a wishing well.’
‘Yeah, right.’
‘Yeah, really. A magical wishing well that makes people’s heartfelt wishes comes true.’
‘That would be useful, right now.’
I turn away as hot tears start trickling down my face and brush them away, impatiently. Zac has started knocking on the boards across the well opening, to see how sturdy they are, and hasn’t noticed me blubbing, thank goodness. He’d only ask why I’m crying, and my answer would totally kill the magical vibe of this special place: Well, Zac, let’s see. I’m rubbish at standing up for myself, my decision-making is pants, I turn into a human fireball every time I speak to the man I have a hopeless crush on, my parents are disappointed in me, and my sister, who reckons I’m wasting my potential, might be right seeing as she’s much better at life than I am.
Plus, I’ve turned into a right miserable cow recently, I decide, shoving my hands into my jacket pockets. Poor Zac. My fingers close around a freezing cold coin which glints when I pull it into the light.
‘What’s that?’ asks Zac, wandering over. ‘A coin for the wishing well?’
‘Hardly. It’s only ten pence,’ I say, sniffing back more tears.
‘That’s enough, I reckon, to make a wish. There’s a crack in the wood you can drop the coin through.’
‘I’ll feel daft.’
‘It’s almost Christmas and a magical time of year. Woo!’ He waves his hands around my head in what he presumably thinks is a mystical kind of way. ‘You must have a wish burning in your soul, so go for it. I’ll give you a bit of personal space.’ He backs off, sits on a fallen log at the edge of the clearing and starts scrolling through his mobile phone. ‘Go on. I’m not watching.’
Feeling a bit of a prat, I run my hands over the frosted boards across the well and find a split in the wood. Then I carefully manoeuvre the coin through the gap and hold it between the tips of my fingers.
‘And don’t wish for world peace or a lottery win for your Cosy Kettle regulars. I know what you’re like,’ calls Zac. ‘This is your Christmas wish and it has to be for you only. Right, I’m honestly not looking, so carry on.’ He goes back to studying Twitter, his face glowing in reflected light from the phone screen.
I wish… I wish… A dozen different possibilities swirl around my head and coalesce into one huge and impossible wish.
I wish I could become a different person – a new, improved, better Becca.
As I drop the coin, my attention is caught by movement on the opposite side of the clearing and when I look up, breath catches in my throat. There, standing beneath the trees, is a stag. Moonlight is dappled across the animal’s dark back and shadowing its antlers as it stares straight at me, its breath rising in wisps of white. It’s the most proud and beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.
There’s a faint splash as the coin hits the water below and the spell is broken. The animal starts and is swallowed up by the dark trees.
‘Did you see it?’ I call to Zac, who glances up from his phone.
‘See what?’
‘A stag, in the clearing over there.’
‘A stag? Have you been adding whisky to your macchiatos?’
‘No, honestly. I saw a stag over there, underneath the trees.’
‘Are you sure? It might have been a fox or something.’
‘Only if foxes have antlers. It was definitely a stag and it was absolutely magical.’ I shiver because, all of a sudden, the prospect of my wish coming true doesn’t seem quite so fantastical.
‘Aw, I’ve never seen a deer in the wild and I was too busy looking at Instagram to see this one. Typical,’ moans Zac, patting the space next to him. ‘Why don’t you come and park your arse on this freezing cold log and tell me what you wished for?’
I settle down beside him, our arms pushing tightly together for warmth.
‘Don’t laugh but my wish was to improve myself and become a different, better person.’
‘Oh dear. I thought you’d wish for some mega-expensive Christmas present, but instead it’s New Year’s Eve all over again. You’re always trying to change something about yourself and it never lasts.’
‘No one keeps New Year’s resolutions. It’s the law. But this is different and bigger, Zac. I’ve dabbled with tweaking my personality here and there in the past because I wanted to. But the events of yesterday and today have shown me that I need to change, big-time. I need a comprehensive overhaul. There is no alternative.’
‘Well, there is. You could stay just the way you are,’ says Zac, who’s being no help whatsoever.
He doesn’t seem to grasp the gut-wrenching importance of my wish. This is about the whole of the rest of my life. Do I want to carry on as shy, fragile, self-sabotaging Becca who works in a café and will probably die alone, or as confident, assertive Becca who could end up running a multi-national corporation with a couple of toyboys on speed dial, or even Logan Fairweather in my contacts book? My Christmas wish simply has to come true.
When Zac stays silent, I give him a nudge. ‘Aren’t you going to have a go and make a wish, then?’
‘Nah, I have everything I could possibly want right here.’
‘What? Frozen feet, a numb bum and a neurotic best friend? You’re living the dream, Zac.’
I expect him to laugh but he stares up at the sky as a cloud passes across the moon and the glow from the frosted grass dims. Above us, a carpet of stars stretches across the blackness.
‘So what’s your dream, Becca?’ he asks, quietly. ‘Why do you want to change so much?’
‘I want to be different for my sake, but I also need to change ASAP for the sake of The Cosy Kettle.’
‘I thought you were doing a good job in the café?’
‘Not good enough. Flora missed out on that booking today because I was too nervous to make a decision. And yesterday I didn’t cope assertively enough with the rude customer and she ended up out of pocket. Well, I did really ’cos I made up the money.’ Zac shakes his head beside me. ‘But that’s not the point. The point is that being shy and indecisive isn’t only damaging me, it’s damaging The Cosy Kettle too. I need to change, Zac. And this feels like the time to do it.’
‘How exactly are you going to bring about this transformation? I hate to break it to you, Beccs, but wishing wells aren’t renowned for positive, eviden
ce-based outcomes. If you want your wish to come true, you’ll probably have to make it happen yourself. I was only doing all that woo-woo stuff to wind you up.’
‘I know, but this place honestly seems pretty magical to me.’ A vision of the stag, proud and still, watching me as my coin dropped into the well, swims into my mind. ‘But I’ll sort out some proper goals to aim for – a sub-set of smaller wishes. Practical things I can work towards and change so I’ll be transformed, preferably by Christmas.’
Zac shifts beside me. ‘This Christmas?’
‘Yes, this Christmas because I have to stay at my parents’ and I need a whole new personality to cope with that.’
‘They can’t be that awful.’
‘They’re not awful at all They’re just…’ How can I explain the sense of disappointment that radiates from my parents whenever they talk to me about my life? ‘You should meet them, really. Why don’t you come to lunch with me on Sunday? Mum won’t mind. She’ll be delighted that I’m bringing a friend home. They worry that my lack of success in life puts people off me.’
‘Well, they might have a point.’
Zac does laugh, this time, when I pinch him on the arm, though I doubt he felt it through his thick parka.
‘So will you come home with me on Sunday?’
‘Of course. There’s nothing I like better at weekends than being involved in passive-aggressive family dynamics.’
‘You’re such a good friend, Zac.’ I rest my head on his shoulder and we sit for a while, watching shooting stars streak across the dark sky. Zac informs me they’re a meteor shower passing through the Earth’s atmosphere but, as they score the sky above the frosted well, they seem like a heavenly sign that my life is about to change for the better. And, whatever it takes, I will make my Christmas wish come true.
Six
I still feel buoyed up next morning when I wake and stretch out, starfish-style, across my double bed. My dreams were filled with wishing wells and shooting stars, and I have a vague memory of Stanley prancing around the clearing invoking the spirit of Christmas. Which is just the kind of thing he’d do, so it’s probably best to keep schtum about the wishing well. But even though the magical feeling from last night has worn off, I feel more optimistic and cheerful than I have done for a while.