Chapter 23
HEATHER
‘You did not!’
Claire sits on Heather’s sofa, her feet tucked under her bum as she jiggles expectantly, waiting for clarification.
‘Uuum …’ Heather says awkwardly.
‘You slept with him?’
Heather’s scalp prickles under the ferocity of Claire’s stare.
‘It’s not like we planned it. It just kind of happened.’ Why does telling Claire about last weekend feel so exposing? Maybe because she’s re-considering the wisdom of her choices, as if an active decision was behind what happened.
‘So what was it like?’
Despite her reservations, Heather can’t keep the grin from her face.
‘It was amazing. Like best ever. Just … just toe curling, actually.’
Claire’s jaw drops.
‘Oh my.’
Heather tries to shake the sensation of Scott’s hands on her from her memory.
‘Hmm. Yes. But it was a mistake. We won’t be doing that again.
’ She’s proud of the assertiveness in her voice.
It reflects what both she and Scott already know about themselves and each other – relationships are bad news for them.
They might have fallen off the wagon last weekend, but it was a one-off, not to be repeated.
‘Yeah, right.’ Claire untucks her feet, locates her wineglass on the coffee table and takes a large sip.
‘He’s handsome, intelligent, well-groomed and single.
And you’re clearly drawn to each other. So, it’s bound never to happen again.
’ She quirks her eyebrow, and Heather can’t help but smile, because it’s a pretty accurate summation of what she, herself, is wondering.
‘But neither of us wants a relationship. You’re lucky. You’ve been married to Mark for nearly twenty years.’
Claire interrupts with a guffaw at the implication a twenty-year marriage is all plain sailing, which, of course, Heather knows it’s not. But there’s something else, a now-familiar distance in her friend's eyes, that causes Heather to sit more upright and ask.
‘You’re all right, yes? You and Mark? Are things okay there?’
Claire’s eyes close for a second.
‘Sure,’ she says. ‘We’re fine. You know Mark. Lovely, kind, reliable, but obsessed with work. Doesn’t always seem to see me, you know? Anyway. It’s silly. I’m just feeling jealous and wistful hearing about your passionate affair. So let me live vicariously through you. Tell me more!’
Heather hesitates. Does Claire have more to tell her? But she recognises the closed look in her best friend’s eyes.
‘Well, you know I’ve had my fill of unreliable men who look like they’re the entire package, only to have them let me down at the most critical moment.
I won’t let that happen again. And besides, we’ve got the girls to think about.
We can control ourselves, you know. I’m going to visit him; he’ll help with my website; we’ll have a nice meal and a glass of wine, maybe, and that will be that. ’
‘Yeah. Like that’s going to happen, you lucky, lucky thing,’ says Claire. She stands and shoves her arms into her coat sleeves. ‘Come on, grab your coat or there won’t be time to get any popcorn.’
Heather wonders if watching the new Bridget Jones film with her best friend is the best, or the worst, thing for her to be doing right now.
SCOTT
Retail therapy, that’s what he needs. What was it he said at Thanksgiving?
‘I’m so glad my favourite bike is being released in a carbon fibre frame in the New Year’?
It was certainly something like that, and his local bike shop messaged three days ago to say they have his frame size in stock, and does he want to have a look? Does he ever!
Scott studies the bike of his dreams, loops his index finger under the cross bar, finds the centre of gravity and lifts. ‘Oh man,’ he says.
‘Like a feather, huh?’ replies Wayne, the salesman. ‘You wouldn’t imagine there were twenty-two gears attached to the sprockets at that weight, would you? It comes in at just under seven kilos.’
Wayne has been supplying avid cyclists with new bikes for years. He knows exactly which turns of phrase will draw them in. Scott places the tyres on the showroom carpet as though it is a newborn. In some ways it is.
‘Pretty impressive stiffness-to-weight ratio in this model,’ Wayne continues. ‘So, you get a lot of strength and durability despite the ultra-light weight.’
‘Wheels?’ Scott says, squatting at the front of the bike.
‘33mm carbon rim. Ultra-fast rolling hubs.’
‘Brakes?’
‘Ultegra hydraulic with resin pad.’
Scott whistles. Like an old man checking out a racing horse. This is what love at first sight really feels like. Connected. At his core.
‘You want to try her?’
Scott’s chin drops.
‘For real?’
‘As long at the boss doesn’t see,’ Wayne says, looking over his shoulder surreptitiously. ‘He’s on a lunch break, so we should have ten, fifteen at most. In the hanger, though, right?’
Wayne indicates the storage space adjoining the sales area and the narrow corridor through the middle of the showroom between bikes which are stacked two high on both sides.
Scott doesn’t need asking twice. He wheels the bike towards the test area and lifts his right leg to straddle the cross bar. It feels weightless between his legs. Scott gets only one full revolution of the wheel in the confined space. But it’s enough to tell him he’s a convert.
‘Thoughts?’
‘It’s like riding on clouds, mate,’ he says, returning the bike to Wayne.
‘Thought you’d say that.’
‘Do you take credit cards?’
‘We do.’
Just as well they take credit, Scott thinks as he hands his card over. She (the new bike is most certainly female) costs considerably more than some cars he’s bought in his time.
Wayne progresses the transaction while Scott gazes and strokes his new purchase. He doesn’t think of Heather. Not exactly. Perhaps it just reflects that it takes a lot to distract a man from some women.