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‘I had her for forty-eight years.’ Gretchen let out a long sigh. ‘And that’s so much more than some people get. My heart breaks for you, trying so hard to have a child and not having that time at all. Not yet, anyway. It could still be in the cards for you.’
‘Oh, I don’t know, Gretchen.’ Liz exhaled. ‘I’m thirty-seven now. Every year that goes past, it gets less likely. And I’d have to start all over again with someone, and that’s assuming that they would want kids. They might not. You know what they say about the likelihood of women over forty finding love. You’re more likely to get struck by lightning. Or something like that.’
‘Pffft. Those so-called “statistics” are probably made up by men,’ Gretchen tutted. ‘Anyway, in this day and age, that’s all changed. Maybe in the 80s, yes. But fifty per cent of marriages end in divorce these days, which means there’s a lot of people in their forties and fifties becoming single again. Even younger too, I suspect. So, there are plenty of fish in the sea, Liz. Should you want to go fishing.’
‘I guess you’re right,’ Liz agreed, reluctantly. ‘I suppose it’s more the fact that going fishing’s the last thing I feel like doing right now.’
‘Fair enough, dear. It’s just as nice having a picnic on the riverbank with your friends. To continue the metaphor,’ Gretchen explained. ‘Just remember that you’ve got a friend here, should you need one.’
‘Thanks, Gretchen. And, same here.’ Liz enveloped Gretchen in a hug. ‘I’m sorry I cried all over you. But it did help, to talk about things a bit.’
‘Any time.’ Gretchen patted Liz’s arm affectionately. ‘I’m always here. The only distractions I’ve got are bridge and canasta.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t say that was strictly true, Gretchen. You seem to have plenty of male admirers,’ Liz cautioned her friend with a wry smile.
‘Agh. Yes, I suppose so,’ Gretchen sighed. ‘But they do grate on one, after a while. There’s only so many boiled sweets and mugs of cocoa one has a tolerance for.’
‘No, but you’ve got moxie. And they seem to like it,’ Liz giggled, watching Alun across the room as he tried, unsuccessfully, to seem like he wasn’t staring at Gretchen. ‘You should be kinder to them.’
‘Oh, dear lord. Save me from having to be kind to old men. I miss the younger ones.’ Gretchen rolled her eyes, but she shot Alun a sweet smile anyway. ‘You’ve got to give them something,’ she said, out of the corner of her mouth, to Liz, who suppressed another laugh.
‘Gretchen, I want to grow up to be just like you,’ she said, feeling much better than she had before.
‘Be careful what you wish for, dear.’ Gretchen stood up carefully, leaning on the glass-topped wicker table to steady herself. ‘But I wish you all the very best. And come and see me again soon, all right?’
‘I will,’ Liz promised.
FIFTEEN
‘She’s escaped!’ Ben said when Liz opened the door to the cottage. She was still in her pyjamas.
‘What?’ Liz rubbed her eyes sleepily. ‘Ben? It’s a Sunday.’
‘I know. Sorry. But I followed her this way and I think she’s gone into your garden.’ Ben dashed to the side of the cottage and peered over the small blue-painted wooden gate that led to the garden. ‘Sorry, I’m out of breath. I’ve just run from the house up here.’
‘Who’s escaped?’ Liz blinked, wishing she had her robe on. The cold morning air coming up from the loch was freezing her bare toes.
‘Mae,’ Ben hissed, tiptoeing back to the front door. ‘My goat, remember?’
‘Your goat’s in my garden?’ Liz was well aware of the ridiculousness of that statement. ‘What is this, like, some kind of prank? Am I on camera?’
‘No. I’m serious. Mae escapes pretty frequently; I don’t tie her up or anything, that would be cruel. Mostly, I keep the gate to the garden shut and she has plenty of room to run around, and the hedges are tall. But she does tend to squeeze through the trees and get out. I’ve put wire netting up, but she just ate through it.’ Ben had lowered his voice.
‘Why are we whispering? Does she speak English?’ Liz replied, copying his tone.
‘You think that’s funny, but she’s clever. I wouldn’t put it past her to have learnt what we’re saying.’ A smile pulled at the side of Ben’s mouth. ‘Goats are smart.’
‘Dear lord. Okay, come in for a minute.’ Liz beckoned Ben inside the cottage and led him to the kitchen window. ‘We should be able to see her from here, if she’s invaded Gretchen’s flower garden.’
‘She might be hiding. She does that,’ Ben suggested. Liz took in the fact that he was wearing only a thin T-shirt, shorts and trainers.
‘I can’t see her.’ Liz looked out of the window. ‘Aren’t you cold, also? You look cold.’
‘Yeah, kinda,’ Ben admitted, shivering. ‘I had to run out in what I was wearing, and I’d just come in from a run. I should’ve grabbed a hoodie at least, but Mae runs fast.’
Liz had to admit that her gaze had been drawn to Ben’s muscular forearms, thighs and the suggestion of a toned stomach under his T-shirt. She blinked, looking away on purpose. But,damn,Ben certainly kept fit.
‘I’ve got an oversized hoodie here. Wait, I’ll get it.’ Liz went to the bedroom and rummaged in the corner cupboard for a moment until she found her favourite, men’s size sweatshirt. She’d got it on holiday with Paul one year when they’d gone to a basketball game in the US and Liz had surprised herself by having a great time. She’d never really thought of herself as a sports fan, but she’d really enjoyed the speed and athleticism of the game – hence the sweatshirt. Nowadays, she didn’t really keep up with watching basketball on TV, but she wore the sweatshirt sometimes as a reminder of a happy time.
