Chapter 9 #2
Brianna picks up on Heather’s desperation for some conversation, any conversation, around the table.
‘Oh, hey, so Flo’s been helping Georgia trace her family tree.’
Georgia’s eyes widen and she grins enthusiastically. She has pink frosting on the tip of her nose.
‘Yeah. Yeah. We’ve all being doing these family tree things and putting question marks at the points we’re keen to explore further.’
Heather swallows. ‘Wow … Interesting … So, you’ve all been doing this, then?’
All of them, Brianna, Georgia, Helen and Trey nod their heads.
‘Yes. We’re trying to do it all ourselves, but there might be bits that we need to ask the parents about,’ says Flo.
Is it her imagination, or is there a little snort coming from Scott’s end of the table?
He stands and slips out of the room, leaving her to make comments about registry searches and local records.
‘Who wants to make things a little more interesting?’
Scott reappears at the threshold of the kitchen and pulls two one-litre bottles of vodka, one pink, one red, from behind his back. ‘We only need shot glasses.’
None of the students have clean cups, let alone shot glasses.
‘I know,’ shouts Georgia after a few moments of deliberation, ‘egg cups! Mum made me pack egg cups!’
‘So, the game goes like this.’ Scott assumes the position of games master.
‘Everyone drinks at the beginning of a new round.’ He downs his own drink and rotates the forefinger of his left hand in the air to show that the students should follow suit.
‘Then we go around the table. Each person repeats the list and adds one more item. The first person to make a mistake drinks. Then we all go again.’
The eight people around the table chink egg cups. ‘The theme is: I came to St Andrews as a fresher and with me I brought … So, I’ll go first with a mattress topper.’ Scott turns to his left. Heather can’t help but notice the cute, and rather alluring, shine in his eyes, ‘Next.’
‘I came to St Andrews as a fresher and with me I brought … a mattress topper and a carton of tea bags,’ says Brianna.
‘I came to St Andrews as a fresher and with me I brought … a mattress topper, a carton of tea bags and a fluffy pillow,’ says Georgia.
‘I came to St Andrews as a fresher and with me I brought … a mattress topper, a carton of tea bags, a fluffy pillow and a box of condoms,’ says Trey.
It’s Heather’s turn next. She takes a deep breath.
‘I came to St Andrews as a fresher and with me I brought … a mattress topper, a box of tea bags—'
‘No!’ The rest of the table screams in unison.
‘What?’ Heather doesn’t even try to hide her confusion.
‘You said a box of tea bags. It’s a carton of tea bags,’ shouts Georgia.
‘Did I?’
‘Yes!’
‘Drink!’ instructs Brianna.
‘Really?’
‘Yes!’ They all shout.
She’s not certain, but she thinks Scott may have shouted the loudest.
SCOTT
An hour and a half later, Heather’s completely hammered, and the kids are getting ready for their evening out.
‘It’s not exactly fair to make a menopausal woman play a memory game,’ Heather complains as she tries, and fails, to stuff her arms into her coat.
Her dark brown mane of hair falls over her face as she loses balance and keels over to the side, knocking her shoulder against the wall.
Scott’s still wearing a white vest top and a boiler suit, the body of which is undone to the waist and the suit arms dangling at his sides.
He feels underdressed beside her in her heavy winter coat.
Heather tilts her head to the side and appraises him.
She pulls her scarf off the coat peg beside the flat front door and wraps it around his neck before breaking off into a fit of giggles.
Georgia looks at her mum, clearly perplexed.
‘Will you make sure my mum gets the bus alright?’ she asks him. ‘After all, it is your fault she’s so pissed.’
Scott looks at the wobbly representation of Heather standing beside him. She’s leaning against the wall as though she’s deboned.
‘Course I will,’ he says in what he hopes is a capable, authoritative voice when, in truth, he’s pretty plastered himself. Heather’s not the only mid-lifer who can no longer hold their drink.
‘Great!’
Within seconds, the teenagers have left them in a squeal of drunkenness.
‘Thank you for my party games,’ Georgia yells as they disappear into the inky blackness of the East Sands Beach.
***
If the circumstances were different it might be wildly romantic walking along the sea front with a beautiful woman on his arm and a full moon emerging on the horizon.
But in truth, it’s slow progress when the woman in question is as drunk as Heather.
Every five steps forward are accompanied by a sidestep and a little stagger backwards.
Scott tells himself he has no choice other than to wrap his arm around Heather’s waist and pull her body closer to his for support.
He tries not to notice the delicate curve of her waist as he does this.
Or the fact that her hair smells of coconuts.
The caw of seagulls, the biting October wind and the sound of the sea lapping on the shore a few metres away helps to keep him focussed on his quest. Safe deposition of a middle-aged mother onto a town bus. Nothing more.
‘Genealogy. What about that, then?’ she asks through a hiccup.