Chapter 15
HEATHER
The chrome and glass fronted designer shops in Edinburgh’s St James Centre are packed with festive shoppers when Heather meets Georgia, Brianna and Trey at the bus station.
A little burst of pride shoots through her at the healthy glow on their skin and the sparkle in their eyes.
All three of them have clearly been using the products she carefully selected for their Freshman Advent Calendars: face masks, seasonal supplements, eye drops and relaxation candles were amongst the gifts she carefully hand wrapped ten days ago.
There will be no students unable to attend the Winter Ball due to a seasonal flu on her watch.
She waits patiently for them to present their selected outfits to her in the changing area in one of the more prestigious boutique stores.
‘Oh my! I love this one!’
Brianna’s first. She steps out from behind the curtain and does a quick twirl.
Heather gasps. There’s no doubt about it.
The girl is striking. The satin dress clings to her belly and falls in shimmering waves to the knee length asymmetric hem, which accentuates her shapely calves.
The cobalt blue of the material provides a striking contrast to her blonde curls which gently kiss her shoulders.
Brianna turns from Heather and appraises herself in the mirror.
She twists at the waist to study her image from every angle.
‘Does it make my thighs look big, though?’
‘No!’
Heather’s assertion comes out like a shot.
Why can’t these girls see just how gorgeous they are with their tiny waists and their porcelain skin?
Heather wishes she could give every woman a magic pill to help them appreciate their beauty at precisely the point they are in their lives.
She’s seen enough of the world to know that, in the future, she will look back on this exact moment and question why she ever worried about the slight curve on her belly or the delicate laughter lines around her eyes.
How much of her life has she wasted thinking she wasn’t good enough?
Sometimes, when she’s feeling particularly self-critical, it seems like decades.
‘Sorry. I mean to say. It’s perfect, Brianna,’ she says, moderating her tone to better fit the genteel ambiance of the smart dress shop. ‘And the colour is just perfect. Not only for your skin tone but also for the tartan Trey’s chosen.’
As if on cue, the curtains of two neighbouring cubicles are drawn back. Heather gasps for the second time that day. ‘Oh Georgia!’
Georgia’s dress is identical in style to Brianna’s, but is a vibrant scarlet red. Like Brianna, she wears stiletto sandals in a matching fabric. The girl is dazzling.
‘And look at you!’ She turns to Trey, who’s wearing a rental of kilt with sporran, formal jacket, and shoes with long laces which crisscross over cream woollen socks and knot just below the knee.
The kilt itself is in a tartan with a dark blue base with checked bands running through the weave in red and blue, which complement the colours of the girls’ dresses.
The three teenagers fall into a huddle and begin tweaking and realigning one another’s outfits, allowing Heather a moment.
These tiny snapshots into her daughter’s life have become the little snippets Heather holds most dear.
Watching her and the friends, who’ve become virtual family, navigate these pivotal times is an enormous privilege.
She pulls her phone from her purse in readiness to take a photograph, but first re-reads the text exchanges between herself and Scott over the last fortnight.
Her: “Girls and Trey coming to Edinburgh next weekend to pick ball gowns. You okay with that?”
Him: “You asking if I’m happy to opt out of hours of shopping with a fussy teenager? Yes, please. TY.”
Her: “Price limit? Ball dresses can be costly.”
Him: “She’d look amazing in a bin liner, but tell her to get whatever she wants. I’ll transfer the cash.”
Heather ushers the teenagers into position for a photograph. Trey in the middle, flanked by the two girls. She takes the snap then looks at it in gallery view. They’re worthy of a centre spread in Vogue.
‘Right. I’ll send that to your parents,’ she says.
Trey laughs.
‘My mum will go crazy for that. She’ll share it with half of Baltimore.’
Heather smiles.
‘I’m sure she will, Trey. And not surprising. Because you look amazing. Not everyone can pull off the full Highland regalia.’
‘Erm. Maybe don’t worry about my dad. He’ll not be too bothered,’ Brianna says.
Heather looks up from her phone. Brianna’s eyes dip towards the carpet. Heather slips her phone into her pocket and walks towards the girl. She slides an arm over her shoulder and pulls her slim body into hers.
‘Trust me, Brianna. Your dad will absolutely want to see this,’ she says. ‘You’re stunning.’
She screws her face up. ‘I am?’
Heather plants a kiss on the girl’s cheek.
‘Yes,’ she says, ‘you are.’
Brianna sneaks another peek in the mirror, then slowly pulls away from Heather.
‘I do love the colour. And the fit,’ she says over her shoulder as she sashays into the dressing room.
SCOTT
The St Albans cycling club pulls into a layby on Winnats Pass for a quick breather.
Scott's old road racing bike was fully serviced beforehand, but the group is hardcore. He’s tried a few solo rides before this, but the club’s supposed training route through the English Peak District is the most challenging one he’s ever been on.
He looks ahead to the steep incline towards Mam Tor and reminds himself that his goal of the Silk Road Mountain Race in two years’ time will never become a reality if he doesn’t push himself in every training circuit in the next 18 months.
He’s slower and less experienced than the hard-nosed veteran riders, but he’s making progress.
He turns to Luca, the group leader, standing on his right.
‘So, how does this compare to the Tian Shan mountains?’ he says. Because, in all honesty, the climb they’ve just done nearly killed him.
‘Not a patch on them, mate,’ Luca says.
Scott winces, laughs, and props his bike against a farm fence.
Don’t show your fear. He twists to unzip the pocket in the small of his back.
He’s noticed a few buzzes through the thin fabric of his training vest over the past few miles.
Heather’s taking the girls and Trey shopping in Edinburgh today for outfits for the Winter Ball.
She’d promised him a photo. He made out it was to check he was getting great value for money when he insisted on a picture, but they both know it’s just a ruse.
Any message from Heather sends him giddy these days, and the opportunity to see his daughter in a new environment always delights him.
But he isn’t prepared for this. It’s like a scene from a James Bond trailer.
Trey stands tall and proud, his arms crossed with a girl holding each elbow.
Brianna and Georgia stand either side of him, wearing matching silky dresses, Brianna in vibrant blue and Georgia in flame-red.
He zooms in on his daughter. She looks gorgeous.
Her skin is clear, her hair wavy, and the sparkle in her eyes appears to reflect the flash back into his.
Tears film over the surface of Scott’s eyes.
Because a thought he can’t contain spears itself into his brain.
He saves the photo to his gallery and finds his sister-in-law’s details. If anyone gets this, it’s her.
He’s been ignoring Lorraine’s messages lately, but this engagement is safe. And tolerable.
"Remind you of anyone?’" he types.
Her response is in by the time he’s slugged down a half litre of water and two energy bars.
"OMG, Scott. She’s so like our Lucy."
Our Lucy.
Scott doesn’t have time to respond before another message comes in from her.
"Brings a tear to my eye."
"Exactly," he says.
He knows he could elaborate, and he understands she’s desperate for more, but it’s enough for now.
The other unsaid things are better left.
He just needed someone to engage with the initial thought for a second.
He’s about to put his phone away when the communication he’s been actively avoiding presents itself.
"She’d have loved to be there, shopping with B," she says.
He swallows hard as he types his response. "Yep. I know."
"But maybe, given Lucy isn’t here any longer, B’s got almost the next best thing?
" Scott knows his sister-in-law and understands she’s testing the water.
But the idea of Heather being the next best thing for Brianna?
For himself? He’s not ready for that. He flicks through his recent interactions with Heather.
There’s no denying that they’ve become increasingly familiar, almost jokey with one another recently, in a way that once felt impossible with another woman.
Lorraine’s words, The next best thing, roll around in his brain until she does what Scott most fears in opening up the pathway of communication.
"BTW, it’s nearly time. Have you given it any more thought? "
She should know better. She really, really should know better.
Because Leon’s getting out soon and the wife killer wants to see him.
But it’s too much, it’s all too much. He closes the chat down and zips the phone back into his pocket while mentally replying to his sister-in-law: Nope.
Thanks very much. I couldn’t give two shits about giving it any more thought.
‘Right, everyone. Next big push,’ Luca shouts.
Scott remounts his bike and as he cycles one persistent thought circles like a loop with each rotation of the pedals: Might Heather be the next best thing?
But he knows the risks of letting someone close. The gut-clenching agony when they leave. And yes, Heather’s openness, honesty and integrity are all characteristics that he admires. But how can he chance going there again, especially on the back of the promise he made to Lucy?
There’s a simple answer: he can’t.