Page 66 of The F*ck-It List

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Bea. Don’t apologise. Don’t ever apologise.”

“I’ve ruined the fete,” she whispers, red eyes darting around.

“You’ve not ruined anything.” I raise one hand to cup her damp cheek, wiping away the tears from beneath her eyes. “I’d much rather be here talking to you than over there talking to idiots.”

She gives a weak, tight smile at my attempt at humour and dips her head again just as Connor’s shadow falls over us and a chair is placed next to where Bea sits.

“Come on, sunshine, let’s get you more comfortable.” I cup her elbows and pull her up with me until she plops back on the plastic chair.

“I’m so embarrassed,” she says, tears filling her eyes again as she slumps like all the fight has left her body.

I’m about to tell her not to be embarrassed, but my sister turns and crouches down to look Bea in the eye. “Do you want to hear embarrassing stories about August to make you feel better?”

“I don’t think that’s helpful right now,” I grumble, but Joanie ignores me.

“August loves Taylor Swift.”

“That’s not embarrassing, she’s the voice of our generation,” I say defensively, honestly a little offended she would bring Taylor into this. Bea looks up at me, a little sparkle back in her eye that has nothing to do with the tears.

“Okay, but is it embarrassing that you cried at all those videos of people proposing duringLove Storyat her concerts?” Joanie asks, staring up at me with innocent eyes and I glare at her.

“That was Eli.”

“The two of you were curled up under a blanket on his couch, both ugly crying. I have photo evidence.” The smugness in her grin is abhorrent, but another glance at Bea shows she’s rolled her lips between her teeth to bite down her smile.

I’d suffer a million embarrassments for one of her sunbeam smiles, so I just shrug, and Bea lets out a small laugh. Connor is runningthe stall behind us, chatting away and clearly doing a good job by the number of times I hear the little beep of Bea’s card machine. I glance over my shoulder and see my dad at my stall talking to someone about the carved chair. Mum is behind Joanie’s stall, handing out her card and smiling at everyone who stops to chat.

“Do you want to go home? We can sit quietly for a bit and come back later,” I tell Bea.

She takes a deep breath and shakes her head. “No, I need to stay.”

I want to argue, bundle her up, and carry her away until I know she’s okay, but I also know she has to do this for herself and prove she hasn’t ruined the day. “Okay, you want me to help here?”

She smiles at me, blue eyes twinkling in the midday sun, gratitude and something even warmer shining up at me. “I think Con and I have it, but thank you.”

I nod once, reluctant to leave her but it’s getting a little crowded behind this stall and Bea is looking a lot better. I head back to my stall and relieve Dad of his volunteered duties, slapping his shoulder in thanks.

“Can we do anything?” Mum asks, casting a concerned glance over to where Bea has stood and is talking to customers with a smile at half-mast.

“I don’t think so,” I tell her. “But maybe stay close?”

“Of course.” She squeezes my arm as Joanie comes back to her stall.

“Thanks, Mum.” She kisses Mum’s cheek and goes over to talk to the customers waiting at her table. Joanie would probably do better letting Mum run her stall as she can rarely muster enthusiasm for speaking to strangers.

I’m having my poorest fete day since I started doing these things because I’m too distracted, watching Bea as she rallies like a fucking trooper, smiling at customers, chatting to people, and clearly making a great impression on everyone. I see her wain, her colour fading as the day goes on, and she keeps digging her fingers into her hair and tugging the strands at her scalp. By the time everyone starts packing up, she’s back on the chair and sipping from a water bottle.

“Hey,” I say, approaching. “Why don’t you head home? I’ll help Connor get your stuff back to the café.” She bites her lip in a guilty gesture, I know she’s going to argue, so I put a hand on her shoulder. “Please, Bea, go home and get some rest. You want me to come by when I’m done?”

She shakes her head without hesitation. “I think I just want to be alone.”

I try not to let the disappointment show. “Sure, get some sleep, sunshine, we’ll see each other tomorrow.”

She nods and pats my chest in thanks, walking away without another word, and I feel the eyes on us from all the locals, clearly confirming the whispers they’ve been passing around the last couple of weeks. But all I can think about is Bea wanting space when all I want is to hold her close, a strange feeling when my last girlfriend wanted a lot of space and I was more than happy to give it to her.

twenty-one

No. 14: Own a claw-foot bath