Birdie shifted the bunting in her arms. Her eyes crinkled with concern as she looked at Cally. 'So, how are you doing?’
Cally sighed. ‘Keeping busy with the festival and, well, you know...'
Birdie wasn't fooled. Cally had ended up telling her all the ins and outs of the Logan situation. Birdie’s advice had been along the same lines as Eloise’s. 'And things with Logan? Any change there?'
Cally slumped her shoulders slightly. 'No, we're still not talking. I don't know if we can come back from this. I guess it’s officially over.'
Birdie clucked sympathetically and shifted the bunting to one arm so she could pat Cally's shoulder. 'Festival time brings out all sorts of good things, you know. People coming back to Lovely, others making up, a rekindling of old flames, all sorts coming out of the woodwork.'
Cally raised an eyebrow. 'Not in this case, I don’t think.'
‘Maybe it's time to think about forgiving Logan. I know he hurt you, keeping that secret about his ex-wife, but...'
Cally's smile faded. ‘I know. I think I might have left it too late, though.’
Birdie nodded thoughtfully. 'When you picture your future in Lovely, is Logan in it?'
Cally bit her lip as she realised with a pang that everything was inextricably linked with Logan. 'He is but I think I’ve cooked my goose.’
‘Rubbish. He loves you. That’s obvious to just about anyone. Just text him.’
Before Cally could respond, a commotion further down the street caught their attention. Colin's voice rose above the general hubbub, sounding slightly panicked.
'No, no, no! The bunting in that section goes in the centre, not off to the side! We want it to be the centrepiece, people!'
Birdie and Cally exchanged a look.
'I think I'd better go and rescue Colin from himself before people start fighting.’
Cally nodded. 'You'd better.’
'Think about what I said. Life's too short, our Cally. You just never know what’s around the corner. Ask me how I know. Call him or send him a message. Make up with him. You’re both as miserable as sin.' Birdie patted Cally's arm and then hurried off towards the sound of Colin's increasingly frantic instructions, leaving Cally to ponder her words. Maybe our Birdie was right. She’d think about messaging him.
38
That afternoon, Cally was on her way to check on Eloise. If Cally was truly honest, she’d been shaken by what had happened to Eloise. Despite everything that had occurred in her world, since the day Cally had met Eloise strawberry picking one summer, Eloise had just always been there for Cally. Eloise’s accident, careering her car into a wall and a van going into the back of her, played on a loop in Cally’s mind. Eloise, who was usually calm and composed, had not looked that way at all. In fact, she’d appearedveryshaken, as if someone had really rattled her cage. In turn, Cally’s own cage had been rattled, too. The accident had shaken her more than she cared to admit. Eloise was a constant in her world and something threatening that made her have a long hard look at herself.
As she rounded the corner onto Eloise's street, Cally slowed her pace as the sight of her friend's blue car, usually parked in the driveway, was conspicuously absent. The car not being there was a stark reminder to Cally of how quickly life could change. She got to the house and rapped softly on the door. There was a moment of silence, then the muffled sound of movement from inside.
‘Coming!’ Eloise's voice called out, sounding strained. Eloise opened the door, looking pale and drawn. Her impeccable appearance was not as it usually was. She was slightly dishevelled, with her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, and she had dark circles shadowing her eyes. A large, angry bruise had bloomed on her left arm.
‘Yikes. You said you felt like you were bruised. You weren’t wrong. That looks really nasty.’
Eloise attempted a smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. ‘It looks worse than it feels,’ she said, stepping back to let Cally in. ‘I was just about to make some tea.’
Cally noticed a stiffness in Eloise’s gait. It was more than obvious that Eloise was attempting to hide aches and pains. Eloise used only her right arm to move the kettle to the sink, lift the lever on the tap, and then put the kettle back on its base.
‘Let me help,’ Cally offered, moving across the kitchen.
Eloise waved her off. ‘I'm not an invalid, Cal. I can manage to make tea.’
A few minutes later, Cally carried two steaming mugs and a plate of biscuits into the sitting room. As she put them down on the coffee table, Eloise lowered herself gingerly onto the sofa with a wince.
‘So, how are you doing? How was the night?’
Eloise's smile was tight. ‘I'm fine, Cal. Really. You don't need to worry about me.’
‘You don't have to pretend with me. That bruise looks painful.’
