by Jo Thomas
Is that what I am, too, a dreadful picker? I suppose I must be. I’ve got it wrong three times now. Each time I thought I’d found ‘the one’, and each time my heart was broken.
Harold wraps me in a great big bear hug that reminds me of a hug from my dad, and Brenda gives me a bony squeeze.
‘Good luck, love. Here, take the bottle with you. I’ve got another.’ She pushes the bottle of cherry liqueur towards me. I go to protest, but she won’t hear of it. Touched by her kindness, I take it.
It’s all I can do to swallow down the lump in my throat and make my way back to work. Tomorrow I will have to return home and tell everyone what has happened. My stomach twists into a tight ball at the thought of Olivia and Uncle Paul’s smug faces. I feel gutted at having to break the news to my mum and dad, who were so proud of me for following my dreams.
I try not to think about the Butterfly Bar and all the plans I had for it as I finish my shift at Buster’s. Afterwards, I walk back to the apartment. The further I walk, the further away I am from my little dream.
I pull out my phone and check it again, as I have done every half-hour or so for the last two weeks. But still nothing. He’s not replying to my text messages or my voicemails. I’m so frustrated. If I could have sent a carrier pigeon, I would have.
I text my mum to tell her I’m fine. I don’t tell her that Will has left me, or that I’ve lost my money and my bar. I try and find a way to tell her that I’m going to be home tomorrow. I rewrite the text over and over, but I can’t get it right, and instead I shove the phone back in my pocket. How on earth am I going to tell everyone? I have no idea . . . I’ll work it out tomorrow, when I’m on my way home. I rub my tired eyes. I’ve hardly slept a wink since Will left.
Once inside our studio apartment, I shut the door firmly, flip the cork from the cherry brandy and take a large slug straight from the bottle, making myself cough. Outside the window, children are in the pool, families are sunbathing and groups of friends are meeting at the bar.
But I manage to drown them out as I allow the tears that have been building up all day to fall. Wave after wave of salty tears, never-ending or so it seems. I will never fall in love again, I vow, because if Will was the one, he’s gone. And if he wasn’t, then I just can’t let myself believe that there is someone else out there for me.
My nan’s words suddenly pop into my head: ‘If it isn’t a happy ending, it isn’t the end!’ I smile a watery smile. I wish I could believe that was true.
Chapter Three
The following morning, I bump and crash my way down the road in the bright cheery sunshine with my big case on wheels dragging behind me, like a reluctant child and a frazzled mother. I had to check out of the apartment by ten. My dark sunglasses cover my eyes, which are red and swollen from all the crying I did as I picked up the belongings Will didn’t take with him when he did his night-time flit: a pair of his favourite socks, Batman ones that I bought him for Christmas for a bit of fun; a T-shirt, boxers, a pair of boots he insisted on bringing and a half-used tin of hair wax. Maybe he’s using Freya’s. Maybe he’s given up waxing his spiky black hair and gone au naturel. Perhaps I should have just left it all behind, but somehow I couldn’t bring myself to. It felt too final. If I had, though, I wouldn’t be carrying my big wedding folder under my arm now, wondering how I’m going to fit it in my hand luggage. It’s April the first, and I can safely say I’m feeling like a fool.
I’m making my way down the promenade towards the harbour, where the coach will pick me and all the other holidaymakers up to take us back to the airport. There are already people gathering at the stop wearing battered hats and bed hair. I recognise some of the faces from the flight out here, though they’re all a little redder now. Everyone returning to their normal lives, apart from me, I hadn’t expected to return at all. We’d booked the package holiday just to get us started whilst we were out here. It had worked out cheaper than to get the apartment and flights separately. We never intended to take the return flight home. I think about the empty seat that will be beside me, like doing the journey of shame. The woman who came out here with a fiancé and a plan for a shiny new life, returning home alone.
I reach into my bag to find my headphones, hoping to block out the happy holidaymakers with some Amy Winehouse. I find one earbud and put it in my right ear, then pull at the other; with it come the strings of my Buster’s Burgers apron that I’ve hastily shoved in there, reminding me that I have to return it to them and tell them I can’t work any more. The apron is followed by my name badge and hat, and a phone charger I hastily shoved in as I left the apartment. I’m still pulling at the cable, trying to untangle it, as I step down into the road, glancing right. Behind me, my case lurches and nearly topples over. I catch it and steady it, yanking it forward to the sound of a car horn blaring at me, making me leap out of my skin. Look left! I hear a voice scream in my head. Not right!
My heart thunders as a dusty truck comes to an abrupt halt to avoid running into me. My belongings spew from the top of my bag and tumble into the gutter, along with the folder I’m clutching. My heart is racing, like it’s been injected with adrenaline. Furious with myself, I bend and scoop up my belongings, clutching them to my chest like a handful of spaghetti. The driver, a man with unruly black hair, has an angry vein standing proud in his temple, and his dark-skinned, weather-worn face is scowling as he swings the truck around me. He glares at me and accelerates forward in a cloud of dust, clearly in a rush.
My heart is still banging as I untangle the strings of my apron from my headphones and charger. Will’s charger, I think; like Will, making a mess of things for me to deal with.
I finally find the other earbud and put it in my ear, then start off towards the bus stop and the gaggle of holidaymakers standing right in front of the burger bar. My case bounces along obediently behind me as I pull up beside the group. Now all I need to do is tell Victoria that I’m handing in my notice and not even working out my shift. I’m deep in thought when I hear my name being called.
‘Beti! Beti! Yoohoo! Beti love!’
I look up to see Brenda and Harold outside the Butterfly Bar. Brenda is waving furiously at me and I raise a hand back, not really in the mood for big goodbyes. She waves even more manically, as if calling me over to them. I only have a few minutes until my shift starts, and I have to explain things to Victoria before I get on the bus. I drag my case with the folder on top over to the Butterfly Bar.
‘Hey, you two.’ I try and smile. ‘Everything all right?’ They obviously have news that they’re bursting to tell me. My heart suddenly dips. Is it Will? Is he back . . . here? Do they know where he is?
‘We’ve been thinking, haven’t we, Harold?’ Brenda looks at him like a bottle of pop about to fizz over.
‘Yes, we’ve been thinking,’ says Harold, but he doesn’t get a chance to say any more.
‘Like we said before, you really remind us of our daughter,’ Brenda continues. ‘She’s had some bad luck over the years, hasn’t she, Harold?’
Harold nods and sniffs.
‘She’s sorted now though, thankfully. We all need a break every now and again. You’ve had some bad luck, Beti. And if it was our Mandy, we’d want someone to give her a break too, wouldn’t we, Harold?’
Harold goes to speak, but Brenda carries on.
‘I see a lot of our Mandy in you. She’s a great girl. Just had some bad luck with fellas along the way. And the mam in me can’t stop wanting to help. I’ve been awake all night thinking about Mandy and you. Haven’t I, Harold?’
This time, she doesn’t even pause for breath.
‘Like I say, if it were our Mandy, I’d want someone to help her . . . and I want to help you if I can.’
‘And what with you coming from Wales, like us.’ Harold finds his voice around the lump in his throat. ‘We need to stick together. Help each other out when the going gets tough.’
I can’t help nodding in agreement. I would be great at running this place. If I had any tears left, I could cry knowing they have such faith in me.
From the corner of my eye, I spot Victoria watching me and glancing pointedly at her watch. I have to get going.
‘Even though your fiancé’s done the dirty on you, we’d still like you to take over the bar.’ Brenda beams at me.
‘Well, yes, I’d love that, Brenda, but with Will gone and it being just me . . . well, I just don’t have the money to buy the lease.’
Brenda holds up her hands to stop me, gold rings spinning round her long bony fingers. Victoria is now tapping the counter impatiently and glaring at me.
‘We still have a few months until we need to be home. We thought . . . how about we give you until the end of June, three months from now, to raise the money. You’ll need a month’s deposit and the first month’s rent. Then we can talk about you buying the lease after the summer,’ she waves a hand dismissively, ‘when you’ve had a chance to make some money from the season. What do you think? A month’s deposit and a month’s rent up front? Do you think you could do that in three months?’
‘What, just me?’
‘Why not? You could run this bar on your own. You don’t need a man by your side to help you!’ Brenda chides, and of course, she’s right. This was always my dream, not Will’s. Will might have come along for the ride, but he jumped off and abandoned me when it suited him. It’s still my roller coaster.
‘You’re right, I don’t!’ An ember starts to glow in the ashes of my heart.
‘Good.’ Brenda nods and beams. ‘You’ve got something about you. You remind me a bit of me when I was younger.’ She gives me a gentle punch in the arm. ‘You can do it. If you want it, that is?’
I look over at the burger bar and a now fuming Victoria and realise I need her job more than ever now.
‘But I haven’t got anywhere to stay.’
‘Don’t worry. Craig’ll know of somewhere. He always does. I’ll ask him.’
I look back at the Butterfly Bar. I’ll do whatever it takes, I think. I realise I’ve been so busy putting my personal life before my professional one, I’ve forgotten that I have dreams . . . dreams that don’t need a man or a wedding in them. This bar isn’t just about me and Will; it’s about me doing something I always said I was going to do, something I’ve always dreamed of. It’s about proving to my family, Olivia and Uncle Paul in particular, that I can actually go through with a plan. About showing the world I’ve finally arrived; that I can be a success. I’ll have something to stick up on bloody Facebook. Finally, come June, my status is going to read: ‘Moving onwards and upwards!’
‘So, what do you say?’ asks Harold, his smile slipping, looking slightly worried.
‘Yes!’ I practically shout, a rush of adrenaline surging round my body, making me feel giddy. It’s time I remembered who Beti Winter is! I need to show the world there’s more to me than a thick wedding file. ‘Yes please. And thank you. I won’t let you down, I promise. I’ll get the money. I’ll do it. Thank you again!’ And I hug them both tightly.
I’m terrified and beyond excited all at the same time. I feel so grateful for my second chance. My nan trusted me to do something with the money from that china cow. To change my life. And I lost it. I can’t let her down again. I have to earn it back and have something to show for it. The Butterfly Bar . . . my bar! Not Beti and Will’s, or anybody else’s for that matter – just Beti’s. Will may have broken my heart, but I can’t let him break me. I am going to do whatever it takes. I feel the fight rising from somewhere inside I didn’t know existed, like a tiny glowing ember determined to grow and finally roar back into life. I am going to do this!
Chapter Four
I check and double-check the bank account to see if Will has done the decent thing and returned my money. But he hasn’t. As I look at the screen of the cash machine, dread taking over, I think about Nan’s china cow. It had been on her windowsill for years. Uncle Paul hated it, but Nan loved it. To be honest, it did have an odd look about it. It definitely had crossed eyes, whichever way you looked at it. Apparently it had been given to her by the family of an elderly lady she used to clean for. She ended up caring for the old lady and the family wanted to say thank you. Uncle Paul thought it was an outrage that they didn’t give her a cash bonus. But Nan said she’d always loved the ugly old cow, and would wink at me.
When Nan died, she left me the cow by way of a thank-you for looking after her when she broke her hip. I’d just finally ended things with Tom, so it made sense. She needed someone there and I needed somewhere to live. I was happy to do it. I loved Nan, and we enjoyed each other’s company. When I moved in with Will and was trying to find a home for the cow in his little flat, we had one of our few rows. He hated it – and secretly so did I, though I came to cherish it because it reminded me so much of Nan. And when Dickinson’s Real Deal arrived in town, I realised exactly what she had meant when she told me to use the cow to do something that would make me happy. It turned out it was worth a pretty penny. I put the money in a savings account, and was determined to make my wedding the best my money could buy.
Now I look at the practically empty bank account and withdraw the last of my cash to pay for the studio apartment Craig has set me up with. At least I’ve still got a job, despite Victoria’s fury at my late arrival. I just need to find a way to get the deposit and rent money together for the bar. I still can’t believe Will has done this to me. I’m so angry with him, but I’m not going to let that ruin things. This is the first day of the rest of my life. He doesn’t love me. He’s moved on. Now I have to learn to stop loving him back. I just wish I knew how.
I wait for the bus where Craig has told me to, and get on with my wayward case in tow. We chug through the developments of light-terracotta high-rise apartments and up a twisting mountain road. There are wild flowers starting to bloom along the roadside and up the craggy rock face, bright yellows, mauves and reds appearing amongst the greenery there. The countryside begins to roll as we head up into the hills, and the road matches it, bumping and winding. All around me there are silver-leafed olive trees, palm trees with their fronds swaying in the spring breeze, and tall dark-green conifers. As we approach the small whitewashed town Craig has described to me, I see terraced fields full of trees all in straight lines, with tightly shut buds on them.
The bus stops on the main road and the driver turns to me and points up at the pueblo blanco. He tells me with a smile and a shrug that this is Colina de Flor. It’s clear that he is wondering why I would want to stay in the tiny hillside town, away from the bustle of Lado del Puerto. I’m wondering it too. But I won’t tell him it’s all I can afford. I turn and look down at the busy port and the sparkling sea. It’s not so far away, I tell myself. Just down the road, in fact.
‘Gracias.’ I thank the driver and drag my case off as the doors hiss shut and the bus pulls away.
Craig knew about the rental place because one of the hairdressers at Jackie’s salon stayed there when she first arrived but couldn’t stand the silence or the birds and moved into rented rooms over the Irish pub. It’s small and very rural, he said, so it rarely gets rented out. But most importantly, it’s cheap. And the bus goes straight into Lado del Puerto for my shifts at the burger bar. So it’s all good, I try an
d convince myself as I start up the cobbled street towards the village square, dragging my case noisily behind me.
I walk between whitewashed walls with brightly coloured terracotta pots full of cheery red geraniums hanging from them. There are brown-and-blue-tiled steps leading up to houses, and tiled mosaics on some of the walls. I pass a small supermarket, then the street opens out into a square. There’s a café with a green and white awning, under which metal tables and chairs are laid up for lunch, and a small souvenir shop with scarves hanging from the white wooden shutters. Down an alleyway to my right, a hanging sign points along a narrow cobbled street lined with whitewashed houses to what looks like a bakery.
There is a church, right there on the square, with large wooden doors standing open. Inside I can see a huge painting on the back wall and wonderful lights hanging down over the empty pews. And in the middle of the square itself, in the circle of paving stones, are five trees just like those in the fields I saw on the way here. Beneath them are two benches, no doubt in the shade in the height of summer. The air is filled with the fresh, peppery smell from the velvety leaves of red geraniums. It smells earthy and dusty up here, not like the salty sea air of the harbour.
I look at the map Craig sketched for me. To the left of the church, the cobbled road becomes more of a track out of town. There is a restaurant marked with a cross; that’s where I’m to meet the restaurant manager, Valentina, who’ll show me the finca – the small country cottage – for rent.
According to Craig, it’s just a short walk to the restaurant, but I’m panting, hot and dusty by the time I finally see the wide whitewashed gateposts. I stand for a moment and catch my breath. It’s tucked away, but not out of the way. I look at the sign made from a tree trunk: Cortijo Ana. There is a long drive, lined with trees, and at the end of it a farmhouse with a wide terrace along the front with big stone archways and pillars. In front of that is a courtyard with what looks to be an outside grill under a terracotta roof. There is also a pergola covered in some sort of greenery, with chrome tables and chairs under it.
