Chapter 24
HEATHER
Despite, or perhaps because of, Claire’s comments, Heather preens and packs for her weekend at Scott’s as if preparing for her honeymoon.
An appointment with the beautician for waxing is followed by a mani-pedi at the nail bar, then a trip to her favourite department store to find the perfect outfit.
She knows what she wants: something that says effortlessly sexy, is easily accessorized if they decide to go out spontaneously, but also not too try-hard if they end up slouched in front of a computer all weekend with a takeaway on their knees in the evening.
It takes three solid days to assemble the look.
She’s just had a stringent lip wax when Georgia FaceTimes.
‘What do you think, then?’ her daughter asks.
Three days ago, Georgia sent Heather a photo of herself and a boy – Georgia likes to think of him as a man - but Heather knows otherwise. The ‘boy’ has a hooped earring on his left ear lobe and a long, slim tattoo running from his hair line to beneath the collar of his punk band t-shirt.
‘What’s the tattoo?’ she asks in as non-judgemental a voice as she can muster. Plenty of tattoos are genuine works of art that resonate with the wearer’s authentic and lived experience. The same might be true of Todd’s.
‘It’s a snake,’ Georgia says, ‘it represents the intransigence of capitalism and the oppressive pressure to submit to nine-to-five employment which is pervasive in our society. It’s an outward expression of his individuality and how he refuses to fit into those societal norms.’
‘Which societal norms? Getting a job and working for a living?’
‘Exactly. Isn’t he just dreamy?’
‘Is he kind, Georgia?’ Heather can’t be certain, but she’s pretty sure Todd is the first boy Georgia’s ever been serious about.
There’s a chance he’ll be the one who takes her virginity and shapes her understanding of how adult relationships work, which, in turn, could inform all future liaisons Georgia ever embarks on.
Todd’s taking an enormous responsibility on his snake-tattooed shoulders.
‘Kind? Yes, Mum. Sure. He’s cool. We’re going out again on Friday night.’
Cool?
There’s a beat as Heather processes what to say.
‘Oh. Okay. Be careful, though, honey. I know you like him, but … well … not all guys are as trustworthy as they’d have you believe,’ she says whilst slathering a layer of Sudocrem on her upper lip.
Georgia’s response is instant, sharp.
‘Yes. Yes. I get it, Mum. Guys are unreliable. They reel us and then they dump us … I know … You’ve told me often enough. But Todd’s not like that.’ Georgia takes a breath before delivering her killer blow. ‘Maybe I’m a better judge of men than you are.’
Heather recoils and grips the phone extra hard to prevent it from falling from her now slippery grasp. She takes a deep, diffusing breath before responding.
‘Just make sure you stay safe, honey,’ she says.
‘Course, Mum. Todd’ll look after me.’
Which is exactly what Heather fears.
***
Scott meets Heather off her train on Friday evening around the same time Georgia leaves for her own night out.
Heather knows this because she and Georgia had a conversation about protection when she was on the train somewhere around Berwick-Upon-Tweed.
It was slightly awkward, because Heather had splashed out on a first-class ticket and was in a designated quiet carriage.
The couple in forward-facing seats 12 and 13F perhaps learnt a little more about modern day contraceptive methods than they were prepared for.
St Albans station is compact, brown brick and boxy.
Heather leaves the train and her tummy flips when she sees Scott standing on the far side of the ticket barriers, waiting for her.
He’s wearing a distressed brown leather jacket and faded jeans with a hole in the front where a small, but extremely tantalising area of thigh peeks out.
Heather tries to stop imagining him with those items of clothing removed (What is happening to her brain?) and keep her focus on getting herself and her baggage through the ticket barriers with maximum grace and minimal fuss.
She’s fallen foul of the automatic gates before, having had them close on her when she’s halfway through the narrow entrance, cutting her off from her luggage and bisecting her somewhere mid-thigh. It’s a look she’s keen to avoid today.
‘Good journey?’ he asks once she’s made it to him unscathed and with her dignity intact.
‘Great,’ she says, ‘spent it comparing the virtue of the condom versus the reliability of the pill.’
She winces at her perpetual over sharing. What’s wrong with her?
‘Riiight.’ He takes her wheelie case from her and rolls it towards the car park.
‘Georgia’s got a boyfriend,’ she says as they walk.
‘Ah. Yes. Todd. I’ve heard.’
They descend the steps. Scott picks her case up as though it’s filled with feathers. It’s not.
‘From your tone, I’m guessing not all good?’ she says, her chest tightening around her sinking heart.
‘Let’s get you into the car,’ Scott says.
Great.
It's unseasonably warm. Scott pulls his racing green MG with its top down out of the carpark.
Heather pulls her hair into an ad hoc ponytail against the wind and watches the scenery as they pass the stunning medieval cathedral.
The historic buildings of the Roman centre, the plethora of small, independent shops and the well-heeled businesspeople walking purposefully around the small city give it an air of productivity, affluence and style.
Heather steals a glance at Scott. He appears focussed on the drive, although his eyes are shielded from the low lying sun by aviator sunglasses.
He’s had a haircut. Probably not for her.
Most definitely not for her. But what’s he thinking?
Is he wondering if this is all a bad idea, or is he thinking, as she was on the journey down, that they’ll be doing very well indeed if they manage to keep their hands off each other and their clothes on, and if any work gets completed at all?
The irony that she was having a conversation with Georgia about safe sexual boundaries, contraception and consent when she, herself, is hurtling towards a potentially fraught weekend is not lost on her.
SCOTT
Why does having a woman in the house change its entire vibe? The moment Heather enters his home, it’s filled with a floral, calming scent.
‘Nice place,’ she says when they enter the kitchen-diner, and he dumps her extremely heavy case on the sofa. What’s she brought? Bricks? It took all his willpower to avoid visibly straining under the weight of it at the station.
‘Thanks,’ he replies.
It’s a good job she wasn’t here two weeks ago.
Over the past fortnight he has: painted over the mould in the bathroom wall; taken four carloads of rubbish to the recycling depot; and emptied, cleaned and replenished the fridge with the foodstuffs he believes an eligible bachelor ought to be eating.
He’s even bought a new mattress and replaced the bed linen in his spare room, for crying out loud.
He’s spent around sixty hours on top of his day job getting his house in order.
And not because he intends to renege on their agreement to be friends from this point on – he just wants it to be nice for her.
That’s what he’s telling himself, anyway.
And, besides, one of her New Year’s wishes for him was to create a more pleasant living environment for himself.
Clearly, he’s already discussed his tendency towards the scruffy with her.
‘Do you want a drink?’ he asks, opening the fridge. ‘I’ve got apple and elderflower, kombucha, or a Sauvignon Blanc.’
She puts her thick winter coat and heavy fleece on the back of his chair and smiles wickedly.
‘Well. It’s been a pretty stressful journey,’ she says.
He perches his sunglasses on top of his head and allows himself to study her. She wears a floaty dress in baby pink with tiny blue buttons. He wonders how easy it might be to undo them.
‘Best crack open the Sauvignon, then?’ he says, trying to shake the lewd thoughts from his head. She’s only just arrived, for crying out loud! He selects the wine bottle – Gold Label, wine maker recommended – grabs two of his best glasses and nods towards the sofa.
Heather slips off her trainers and lines them up at the cupboard door alongside his own, hers are tiny, then curls up on the cushions as though she belongs right there.
‘So, Todd?’
Ah, yes. He should have known he wouldn’t be able to get away with a vague response. How best to phrase it?
‘Not met him, but I gather from Brianna that he’s got a bit of a reputation on campus.’
Heather’s face falls. She pulls the hairband she had used earlier to manage her hair in the wind and allows her hair to fall onto her shoulders. An errant strand breaks loose from the mane and slips into her cleavage. His eyes follow it momentarily.
‘Oh man. That’s never good.’
He hands her a glass of wine and sits, careful to maintain his distance between them and focus on the topic at hand. He instinctively knows his role is to help minimise Heather’s anxiety about Todd.
‘They’re at that stage now, right? We need to leave them to make their own mistakes, don’t you think?’
Heather’s expression is tortured.
‘I know. And I get it’s something I need to work on. I just find it triggering to think of Georgia getting hurt when it’s so unnecessary.’
‘Is it, though?’
‘Is it what?’
‘Unnecessary. Maybe this is something Georgia just needs to go through so she can recognise the rogues for herself in the future. You can’t wrap her in cotton wool and protect her from the world, no matter how much you want to.’
Heather’s sigh seems so suck the air from the room.
‘Yeah. Yeah. I know you’re right.’
‘Maybe you need to have faith that you raised a girl who is sufficiently brave and confident to make her own mistakes and learn from them.’
‘You think?’
The desperation behind her look is heartrending.
‘I really do.’