Chapter 31
‘What’s mycology?’ Enzo asks as they climb the hill towards the flagpole at the top.
‘It’s the study of fungi and yeasts,’ Celia explains, curious to see his reaction. Terri thinks it’s funny, Geoff regards it as an affectation – but Enzo just seems genuinely interested.
‘Wow. That sounds fascinating. I bet it’s applicable to all kinds of careers?’ he suggests, and this does surprise her.
‘Actually, it is.’ She nods. ‘It’s used in the food business and medicine – obviously that’s how penicillin came about – and also in forensic science.
You know, by examining fungi on a corpse they can estimate when the person died.
’ She glances at him, hoping she’s not going on, as is her tendency when discussing Logan’s field of interest. The two of them can chatter about it happily for hours.
‘That’s amazing,’ Enzo says. ‘Does he know what he wants to do after uni?’
Celia smiles at that. They have reached the summit now.
The sky is a wash of clear blue and the city is spread out before them, pin-sharp as if carefully drawn in fine pen.
She is a little out of breath even though this is her regular walk, her park of choice.
The other one, just as close to home, is where crocuses grow in springtime.
She stopped going there after the thing happened.
‘No, he doesn’t know yet,’ she says. ‘It took him a while to find his feet and a course he loved. But he does love it. He was planning to do some volunteering at a mycology study centre in the Lake District this summer, but I’m not sure if that’ll work out now.’
‘I hope it does.’
Celia looks at Enzo, glad now that he opted to accompany her rather than go for his run.
He was right, she does have plenty to get on with at home: a whole bunch of repotting, composts to blend and customers to email with updates.
Plus yesterday a fragile orchid was brought to her by an elderly neighbour, a gift from her daughter who now lives in Australia.
The fact that it was an ordinary supermarket orchid was irrelevant.
It’s obviously very special to her, and Celia needs to get to the root of the problem.
‘This view’s amazing,’ Enzo announces.
‘It’s incredible,’ Celia agrees.
‘I really should come up here more often.’ They find a vacant bench and sit side by side, and the conversation turns back to Logan. ‘Would he have gone to a friend’s, d’you think?’ Enzo asks.
‘There’s a small group he still keeps in touch with,’ Celia replies. ‘School friends. Chess club guys. But I’m not sure they’re the kind of friends he’d go to if he was upset.’
She pulls out her phone. Still no messages and no missed calls. She has already fired off several:
Are you okay?
I’m so sorry, love.
Please call me.
She slips her phone back into her pocket, keen to turn the conversation towards Enzo and his life.
Whatever his situation may be – whether he’s with Mathilde’s mum, or that auburn-haired woman he first appeared with on her doorstep – she is certain that it is entirely functional while hers is most definitely not.
‘So, how about you?’ she asks lightly. ‘How long have you been in Scotland?’
‘Fifteen years,’ he replies. ‘I met Laura on a walking holiday in France and we ended up back here in her home city.’
‘Right.’ How wholesome, she thinks. How delightfully normal.
‘We’re not together now,’ he clarifies, ‘but we see each other a lot, obviously, with Mathilde.’
She nods, considering this. ‘And that works?’
‘Oh, yeah, we’re pretty good.’ His smile is warm and his deep brown eyes, fringed by long dark lashes, catch the morning sun.
He really is very handsome, Celia decides – and so easy to be with.
And how many men would have been up for a walk together after she’d splurged all that stuff about the pink wafer assault, and the torn-up toilet poem?
He genuinely seems to care, which still baffles her a little as she barely knows him.
Yet she can tell he’s a good dad, and imagines that he’s popular with his pupils and fellow teachers and also that he cannot possibly be single.
‘I mean, we’re mostly good, when I’m not killing plants and pets,’ he adds.
‘Pets?’ she exclaims.
‘A goldfish, I’m sorry to say. Mathilde’s goldfish.’
‘Oh no. But I’m sure that wasn’t deliberate.’
Enzo grimaces. ‘Still a bit awkward, breaking the news.’
‘I’m sure!’ They exchange a smile that lifts something in her, and in the easy lull that follows she enjoys the sunshine warming her face.
She’s wondering again about the woman he was with, that first day he showed up with Spike.
Celia seems to have spilled out a huge amount of information to him about her own life, some of it extremely personal – which is totally unlike her.
In fact, it’s never happened before, apart from with Terri, whom she’d trust with her life.
And now she’s curious to know more about Enzo.
It takes a few moments for her to rouse the courage to ask. ‘And the person you came round with,’ she starts, ‘that first time you brought Spike to me? I’m sorry, I don’t know her name?—’
‘That was Saska.’ She glances at him expectantly. ‘She’d heard about you,’ he adds. ‘I think you’re quite famous in plant circles around here. Is that right?’
‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ she says dismissively.
‘She said you’re a genius with sickly houseplants.’ He grins. ‘No pressure!’
‘I’m terrified now.’ She laughs.
‘Anyway, it was Saska’s idea that we burst in on you like that without an appointment,’ Enzo adds.
‘There’s no need for an appointment,’ she says.
So they’re a couple, she surmises. The way he dropped in the ‘we’ there.
Celia has been a ‘we’ for a very long time and the realisation that she very well might not be any more triggers a flurry of panic in her.
However, it soon subsides as they make their way back down the steep curve of the hill, and now she is readying herself for having a proper talk with Logan.
If he’s home, that is. It needs to be face-to-face.
She’s sure he won’t be thrilled, but now she feels stronger and also lighter somehow, and prepared for it.
If Amanda is home, she plans to take him out for a coffee, just to grab a little space.
She’ll apologise, of course, but then let it go.
It was only a wafer, she reminds herself.
Not a Wagon Wheel. Nor one of those tins of shortbread petticoat tails that her mum always has in.
‘I hope you feel a bit better,’ Enzo remarks with a glance.
Celia smiles, grateful now that he’s shown up today – not at a bad time, after all. The perfect time, actually. ‘Thanks. I do – much better.’ She pauses, then adds, ‘It can feel quite claustrophobic sometimes. Being in the flat, I mean. Since it happened.’
They stop and Enzo seems to be studying her face. ‘Since your fight with Logan?’
‘No, since…’ She stops. It’s ridiculous, even thinking of going into all this. ‘Since I caught my husband with his other woman.’
He gasps at this. ‘You actually caught him?’
‘Yes, I did.’
His mouth twists. ‘At your flat?’
‘No, in a caravan he’s inherited from his dad.’
Enzo exhales slowly, shaking his head. ‘I am sorry, Celia…’
She shrugs, trying to normalise herself, like all of these people enjoying the park on a sunny Sunday morning. Dog walkers, runners, young families with kids. ‘The worst thing is, you feel like such an idiot for not knowing. Isn’t that weird, when there are so many bigger things to worry about?’
Enzo’s kind brown eyes are full of concern. ‘You’re right. That really is the hardest part.’
Celia catches a look then, gone in an instant. He gets it, she realises. He understands. Because something – not as dramatic, perhaps, but something all the same – has happened to him too.
‘When you know ,’ she continues as they stroll on, ‘you realise how obvious it’s all been. And what a colossal fool you’ve been not to see it. Because anyone else would have – I mean, anyone with their eyes open and their wits about them.’
‘Hey, you’re not the one at fault here.’ A tennis ball rolls towards them. Enzo picks it up and throws it in an impressive arc towards an excitable terrier. ‘And surely,’ he adds, ‘you shouldn’t need to have your wits about you with someone you love?’
She laughs dryly as they leave the park and head down one of the grander roads in the neighbourhood.
The tenement flats have small, neatly tended front gardens and Celia catches the scent of rosemary as they pass.
This isn’t her usual route home, and within minutes they’ve found themselves amidst the vibrancy of the main shopping street.
There are numerous bustling coffee shops and vintage boutiques.
A record shop’s window is filled with seventies-inspired T-shirts, embellished with sequins and the slogan DISCO.
She should come here more often. Somehow her life has become terribly small.
Celia thinks of Terri and their beloved pink CD, the one Geoff has banned her from playing at home.
Geoff who doesn’t enjoy music especially.
Not pop nor rock nor anything at all. It’s bizarre.
To Celia, that would be akin to not liking food or air.
Her love of an exuberant disco track kicked off with Amanda, back when they were kids, dancing at night in her bedroom.
It filled her head, drowning out the sounds of her mum stumbling into the nest of tables or trying to coax Barry the car salesman into the cupboard under the stairs.
Having reached the end of the street, Celia and Enzo prepare to part ways. ‘Thank you,’ she says warmly. ‘That was great. You’ve really helped to clear my head.’
‘No, thank you ,’ he says lightly.
Celia smiles. For what, she’s not sure. For getting him out of going for a run? ‘It was really good to talk,’ she adds.
‘Any time,’ Enzo says lightly.
‘Same for you. I mean, if you’d like to bring Mathilde round to my place again?—’
‘She’d love that. Thank you.’
‘I’ll get in a better class of biscuit next time.’
Enzo laughs, and then Celia notices a tall, athletic-looking woman jogging on the opposite side of the street.
How do some women manage to look so good while they’re running?
she muses briefly. Celia runs for a bus and feels like her face is going to explode.
Yet this woman looks perfectly poised in a turquoise vest and matching shorts as she crosses the road towards them.
Now Celia realises Enzo’s demeanour has switched, and that the woman has raised a hand in greeting. ‘Hey!’ She stops and beams at Enzo. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m good,’ he says, seeming a little flustered. Celia takes in the woman’s healthy flush, her sinewy arms and straight-cut fringe which appears entirely unruffled by running. She tugs out her earbuds and looks expectantly at Celia. ‘Erm, Celia, this is Kim,’ Enzo adds.
‘Hi.’ Celia smiles.
‘Hi.’ Kim looks back at Enzo with a smirk. ‘Lovely day for a run, Enzo. Perfect conditions, I’d say!’
It’s as if she’s teasing him, Celia thinks. Is she a friend, a neighbour, or what? ‘It’s perfect,’ he agrees with a nod.
‘Unleashed the Garmin yet?’
‘I’m building up to it.’ He chuckles at what’s obviously a private joke, and Celia is still wondering what their connection might be.
‘It won’t do you any good stuck in the drawer,’ Kim chastises him.
‘No. No, I’m aware of that.’ He smiles awkwardly.
What’s a Garmin and what’s it doing in a drawer? Celia realises she should know about these things.
‘Well, good to see you.’ Kim beams. ‘And nice to meet you, Celia. Enjoy the sunshine!’ And with that she’s off, bounding lightly along the street.
Now Celia is aware of an uneasiness between them. ‘D’you know, I really should get back,’ she says quickly.
‘Oh, okay. Well, good luck with everything,’ Enzo says.
‘Thanks.’ She smiles briefly as they part ways, suddenly relieved to be on her own again, instead of thrust into awkward situations with strangers.
Her plant room is calling – that’s her comfort zone – and now Celia wants to be there more than anything.
And if Logan is home, that really will be the icing on the cake.