Chapter 4
HEATHER
Heather pulls into the public car park on Golf Place and yanks on the handbrake.
She looks out to sea. A deep sense of unease grips at her abdomen.
Instead of admiring the beach, the jagged rocky coastline and the row of Georgian town houses and hotels overlooking the sea on The Scores, she’s hit by a sense of being untethered.
Is this going to be the new norm? Contemplating beautiful scenery alone; requesting a table for one in a swanky, romantic hotel?
And why does it feel like such a big deal?
She’s used to being on her own. She’s been there, done that, got the t-shirt when it comes to men.
Disastrous relationships, like the one with Georgia’s father, Dougie, and many years later with Paul, have shown her it’s the preferable way to live.
Men leave. They let you down. Which is why she chooses to be single.
She calls it “intentionally single” when explaining it to her best friend Claire, or anyone else who cares to listen.
It’s an active choice, not a missed opportunity.
So why does being alone hit her so powerfully today?
She knows the answer, of course–as with everything in recent memory–her decisions, her purpose, her raison d’être is based entirely on Georgia.
The decision to stay in St Andrews tonight is a case in point.
The drive to Edinburgh where she lives is an easy round trip in a day, but everyone knows the first night of Freshers' Week, although full of opportunity, is also full of risk.
What if Georgia finds it difficult to operate the air fryer they unpacked this morning, and it throws her into a tailspin?
What if her newly made friends leave her in the unfamiliar town, drunk out of her mind after the pubs shut?
What if she wakes in the morning, convinced university is a horrible mistake?
Heather might need to be on hand to sweep up the mess and sort out the problem, as she has done every day for the last eighteen years.
Her mind flits to those very first few weeks of parenthood when Dougie was present in body, if not in mind.
She remembers the utter exhaustion when a colicky Georgia screamed all night and slept all day.
The pressure to meet Georgia’s every need pervaded everything.
Her heart hammered whenever her baby cried, and her breasts seeped when her baby was hungry.
Can that programming simply be switched off?
And what happens to a mother’s purpose then?
It brings Heather to the ultimate question: What’s her point if not to parent?
She’s held the tears in all day, so maybe she just needs to give in to them.
And then, afterwards, she can strategise and come up with a plan entitled, in her head: “What next?” She lowers her forehead onto the steering wheel and allows it all to come out.
Huge wracking sobs pulse through her body, and fat, ugly tears trail down her cheeks as she contemplates all her hopes for Georgia, her most important achievement to date.
And ultimately, the fear – the gut-clenching, mind-alerting terror – what comes next for her?
Twenty minutes and thirteen sodden tissues later, the caw of the seagulls breaks through the fog of her desperation.
This is not her style, sitting alone in a gorgeous setting, crying at the wheel.
She looks through the window at runners jogging along the promenade, the hardy souls wild swimming in the sea to her right and the procession of golfers heading towards the Old Course on her left.
They’re not locked in their cars wailing, they are doing.
Being. Living. Heather knows she can do this.
She can be reckless, fearless and brave.
She’s encountered hard times before. And she’s got herself through. Every time.
She comes up with a plan. She’ll take a walk along the beach, she will check in to the Hotel Du Vin, she will book a table for one in the corner of the restaurant, and she will get to work on the little book Claire sent her for today, snappily entitled: “Manifest the Shit Out of Your Life”.
That’s what she, Heather McVey, is going to do.
She is going to put on her face and manifest some shit up.
SCOTT
Scott’s run takes him along the shoreline of the East Sands, over the rickety wooden bridge to the Kinness Burn Harbour, along the pier and up the cobbled path towards the dilapidated cathedral.
The cry of seagulls accompanies his jog.
He slows to a walk by St Andrews’ 12th Century castle, admiring the one remaining rectangular turret and the hauntingly vacant windows of the entrance portcullis.
The seawater swimming pool on the beach below the craggy cliff gives a tang of sea air which pervades his nostrils.
He inhales deeply and observes the calming of his heart.
Brianna’s choice of university had surprised him at first. He’d have chosen a vibrant city where wild nights out and high-octane activities were on offer.
But now he sees it for himself, the appeal of the oldest university town in Scotland is undeniable.
The accessibility of sport, culture and history is indisputable, and Edinburgh is close enough for rowdy nights out, should those be required.
Unlike some parents, Scott had taken a hands-off approach when it came to university selection.
He’d allowed Brianna freedom to choose the place and course that best suited her.
Her selection validates that he’s brought her up to be independent, strong, and capable.
His next role is to show her what independent adulthood looks like: a self-sufficient, well-rounded adult.
That’s the goal.
Scott continues a slow jog past the aquarium and down the stone steps to the rocky shore below.
He strips off his t-shirt, running shorts, trainers and socks and runs, wearing just his swimming trunks, into the sea.
The cold water hits his body like a slab of ice.
But Scott recognises the sensation. This is the point of no return, where the cognisant brain needs to be switched off and the adventurer’s no-pain, no-gain brain adopted.
He allows his toned thighs, trunk and abdomen to become submerged as he walks deeper into the sea, then takes a no-going-back breath before allowing his chest, shoulders and head to succumb to the icy cool of the water.
Next come some strokes. Wide, reaching strokes taking him beyond the aquarium and along the jagged, rocky profile of The Scores and way out of his depth.
He continues towards the castle, battling the swell of waves and the thrust of the surf, which seem determined to hammer him against the rocks.
Every stroke involves a battle with the elements.
Mind and body against nature. Every muscle aches, and every nerve fibre is electrified by the time he stops.
He walks shakily out of the water and dries himself with his t-shirt, before pulling his running shorts on over his soaked trunks and adjusting his small, overnight rucksack on his shoulder.
He leaves the seashore, walks to his hotel, and checks his watch. He has two reports to finish, which he can complete over a dinner for one.
As soon as his mind switches to work mode, his thoughts narrow to a single track.
A lot is riding on these tasks. His boss might be laid back, but he will not accept a lacklustre risk analysis for their key client two months before the insurance premium renewal.
The hospitality industry has changed dramatically since the policy was last renewed.
It’s essential their new quote reflects the increased risk.
It will give rise to a tough negotiation on his return from Morocco.
But Scott is the most trusted actuary for a reason and if he's up for anything, it is a challenge.