A Pretty Beach Wish by Polly Babbington (scary books to read TXT) 📗

have asked for anything more from him. Then, the boat accident where he’d sat with her for hours, done everything from childcare including liaising with Jeremy, to shopping, and he’d spent a lot of time sitting beside her pouring over websites about Bella’s recovery. He’d been there beside her through everything, quietly giving her support and she’d taken it with open arms and not given anything back.

She stood there and thought about what Luke had done over the last few months further. He’d driven Bella back to Oxford, lugged furniture around Bella’s room to make it easy for her to get in and out of bed, and he’d ordered her a specially designed backpack to distribute the weight better for all of her books.

And Juliette hadn’t said a thank you, not even once, for any of that. Not that she’d been rude - of course she’d said the perfunctory thank yous at the time. But not sincere ones. Not proper acknowledgement that she felt grateful for him to be in her life. She’d been so wrapped up in it all, how sorry she was for Bella, and how it just wasn’t fair that she had thought that Luke could look after himself. In fact, if she really was honest with herself, she’d not given a hoot about Luke, what he wanted or how he felt.

Now, though, she suddenly realised how self-absorbed she’d been - what the two women in the museum had said had hit home with Juliette as she’d sat on the train on the way home to Pretty Beach that afternoon. She’d recognised that a lot of what they said had been right. How long would someone put up with being treated as if they were not that important?

Luke had taken on two of her children, moved in with her, helped her with her business and been there whenever she needed someone to lean on and what had she done for him? Not a lot.

As she’d thought about it more and more, she’d felt appalled with herself. She couldn't think of anything much at all that she’d done for him. She’d even taken out her phone, started a list and horrified, couldn’t think of much other than making him a cake and watching him at an Open Water swimming event - and even at that she’d complained that it was early and cold.

The more she’d mused it the further she’d cringed. Luke had even bought her the very expensive bike, had the heart necklace engraved with lovely things, and the most she’d done was make him a picnic to take to the beach.

On the afternoon after the Lellery meeting, she’d sat looking out of the train window all the way home mulling it over and thinking that it had to change. She had to show Luke that she appreciated him in her life. Make him feel wanted, loved. Or as those women had discussed he would be off. There was something big in the back of her mind that she’d been thinking about for ages. She wasn’t quite ready for that yet, but she was ready to treat him to something nice.

So, she’d thought about what Luke actually liked doing. He could take or leave going out for fancy meals, he was much more interested in strolling down the pub, and he wasn't one for gifts. She did know something that he did love and every time she’d made him a roast he’d sat back and said how much he loved it, loved being part of that feeling of family, and home and comfort that comes with a roast.

Therefore, she had decided to say thank you and do something nice, she would do a lovely roast and they would have an evening to themselves. She’d planned it all meticulously and asked Luke a few loaded questions about his favourite roast, to which he’d replied chicken with Yorkshires and a lemon meringue pie. She could do a roast with her eyes shut so that was easy enough, and one of Daisy's best and very much perfected dishes was lemon meringue pie.

Juliette had called Daisy and asked her if she wouldn’t mind making the pie and Juliette had picked it up on the way home from dropping off Maggie. She’d made the Yorkshire batter earlier in the morning and had par-boiled the potatoes so that everything was ready.

Juliette walked out into the garden all the way down to the end to the little herb patch which she’d planted not long after she’d moved in. She knelt down and picked large handfuls of thyme, rosemary, and oregano to stuff in the chicken, and then stepped back into the kitchen. The chicken was out on the side getting to room temperature, and the oven was on. She stuffed two lemon halves in the chicken, stashed every orifice with the fresh herbs, tucked garlic cloves in here and there, and doused the whole lot in olive oil and salt and pepper.

Juliette took a large pink jug from the dresser, stepped out of the back door, and down the path to the shed at the end. She opened the shed door and after a few minutes of rummaging around, lugged the old trestle table they’d rescued from Roy from the council out of the shed door. She dragged it over to the small undercover area at the side of the shed, covered it in layers of vintage tablecloths, and placed the jug in the centre. She took a pair of secateurs out of the shed and walked down the lawn snipping off bundles of dahlias, roses, and larkspur.

She walked back to the table, plonked all the flowers in the pink jug, popped two vintage chairs either side and stood back. Something was missing and as twilight descended, she remembered the jam jars with tea lights she’d used the first time Luke had been over for dinner in Seapocket Lane. She was fairly confident that they were tucked in the back of the shed in