Chapter 34
HEATHER
Heather dips her brush into the pot of black paint, extracts the nib without checking and applies it directly onto the canvas.
The eye area of Doreen Smith’s brown labrador takes on a hooded look.
Damn it. She picks up a clean brush and tries to daub off the excess, but rather than improving the painting, it creates a hollowed effect around the dog’s cheek, which will be even harder to rectify.
Shit. She throws both paint brushes into the water pot and takes a step back.
It looks even worse from a distance. Bugger.
Having to re-start a canvas is a common situation for an artist. But why now?
Why does it have to happen when she’s already on a tighter deadline than usual?
She knows why, of course. She took two days from her painting to accompany Brianna to Birmingham and three more days to recover from Scott’s treatment of her while there.
Brianna had returned to Edinburgh with red-rimmed eyes, slouched shoulders and a determination not to talk.
Heather left her with an open invitation to chat whenever she wanted.
It was the only thing she felt able to do.
Now, four days later, there’s a knock on the kitchen door.
Brianna.
‘Georgia’s at work,’ she explains quietly. ‘And I thought we could talk.’
Heather gives the girl a hug then walks to the other side of the room to put the kettle on, determined not to rush the girl.
‘He doesn’t mean it, when he lashes out like that,’ she tells Heather, as she places two mugs in front of them.
‘Hmm.’
Their reactions differ because Heather has a few more years’ life experience than her house guest. She has finally had enough. Her feelings about Scott-Bloody-Reynolds are immaterial. Nobody gets to treat her like that – even when there are external influences at play.
‘Have you heard from him? He’s messaging me constantly.’
Heather turns to look more closely at Brianna.
Her skin is so much paler than before, and there seems to be a permanent red rimming to her eyes these days.
Should she admit to taking a leaf out of Georgia’s rule book from when Todd did the dirty on her?
How will Brianna respond if she hears Heather has blocked Scott on all forms of communication?
‘We’ve not been in touch,’ she says, hating herself for her intentional evasion.
But surely, she’s allowed to handle her romantic relationships on her own terms without having to run them past other people?
That’s what her new life coach would say: you are allowed to make decisions that benefit you.
‘Brianna. Are you okay, sweetheart?’
Brianna’s shallow nod shows that she’s anything but alright.
‘Do you want to sit for a while and talk it through? Georgia won’t be back until it’s time for us to visit her grandparents, so there’s plenty of time if you’d like.’
‘It’s not just Dad.’ Brianna slumps onto the kitchen chair beside her and props her chin up on her hands.
‘It’s loads of things. Exams. My auntie.
I’ve got my driving test next week and I’ll need to do it in a car I don’t know because mine’s all smashed up.
And Leon messaged me. I don’t know how I feel about that. ’
Heather’s heart goes out to the girl. She opens a packet of the best biscuits which are saved for emergencies, and together they work their way through each of Brianna’s concerns.
By the time they’re done, Brianna seems calmer and better able to cope with the demands of the important exams next week.
They chat until Georgia comes home, full of talk about the coffee machine being on the blink again and how she’d expelled a drunken tourist from the pub with no support.
She scans their faces after her initial information offload.
‘What’s up, mate?’ She puts a clumsy arm over Brianna’s shoulder, and her friend sinks into her armpit.
‘You know. Stuff.’
Georgia nods and allows her eyes to meet Heather’s. ‘Yep. Stuff. I get that.’ She twists and plants a kiss on Brianna’s forehead, which her best friend accepts with a smile.
‘Georgia. Can I ask you something?’ Heather is unsure if this is the best time to ask, but if Scott’s taught her anything, it’s that pussy footing around feelings and not exploring issues helps nobody.
Georgia looks up from examining Brianna’s hair.
‘Sure,’ she says.
‘Brianna and I have been chatting about lots of things, but also about things she wishes her dad had told her years ago. Do you have questions about your childhood? Brianna kind of hinted that there might be things.’
Brianna glances at Georgia and whispers, ‘Sorry, mate.’
Georgia shrugs and adjusts her position on the sofa beside Brianna.
‘Well... I guess I’ve always wondered about my dad. Where he lives. What he’s like. If he ever thinks about me.’
Heather’s stomach plummets. These are things she’s wondered herself in the past.
‘You never said.’
Georgia nods slowly. ‘I know my dad’s the reason for your fight with Granny and Grandad. I didn’t want to make things worse.’
Guilt seizes Heather’s throat. She’s taken Georgia to see her parents three times now, and although they adore their granddaughter and revel in every single titbit of information she offers them about her life, the long-seated family tension is still apparent.
The last time they’d visited, Heather and Georgia arrived bearing “gifts”.
They returned Tiny the Gerbil and Polly the Cockatoo to their rightful owner – the man who’d mounted them.
Heather’s dad held the Perspex boxes as though they were long forgotten friends.
If he knew they were childhood pets of hers or that they’d been the initial cause of a near permanent rift between them, there was no acknowledgement.
Afterwards, however, when he was playing Georgia at chess – a grandfather-granddaughter game whilst Heather and her mother tidied up from their meal together – Heather had returned to the lounge to hear him muttering.
‘She might look like you, but she plays like him.’
They’d all stopped, dead in their tracks and asked him what he meant.
‘Nothing, nothing. Bed now,’ he'd said.
Heather and Georgia had left none the wiser. But they both acknowledged on the drive home that they’d thought of Georgia’s father, Dougie.
Now, the issue of Georgia’s father has reared its head once again. And this time Heather’s invited it in intentionally. She sits forward and grasps her daughter’s forearm.
‘I’m so sorry you feel like that. It can't be nice having these unanswered questions.’
‘We all have them. Me, Brianna, Trey. That’s why we were all drawn to the Genealogy Society, I guess.’
Heather thinks back to her very first meeting with Scott. How they’d both baulked at their daughters’ enthusiasm for the new club in September. But Trey as well? Never once has a precarious family history come up in her online communications with Bethany.
Georgia shrugs when she asks her to clarify.
‘He found something in his mum’s paperwork when he was looking for his birth certificate one time.’
‘Right.’
It’s none of Heather’s business what goes on in other families, but if hers is hurting, she needs to know.
‘So. About your dad. You say you wonder about him. I can help you with anything I know, but is there anything more?’
‘I’d like to contact him,’ her daughter says in a small childlike voice as the sentence Heather has feared most for the past nineteen years lands home.
How might meeting her dad affect Georgia?
What if he dismisses her or, worse, rejects her from the off?
The idea doesn’t bear thinking about. Exams are looming, and both girls are feeling vulnerable right now.
Rejection from an unknown father might be enough to tip Georgia over the edge and into a complete meltdown where she can’t bring herself to study.
It occurs to Heather that a crumble under pressure could lead to one unpalatable result: a failed year and Scott’s horrible prophecy from last August coming true.
Is it worth the risk?
‘You know I can’t give you any guarantees?’ Heather says.
‘I know. I get that. I’d like to try, anyway.’
‘At least then you’ll know,’ Brianna interjects.
And nobody can say fairer than that.
‘I’ll see what I can do, then,’ Heather says. ‘Once you go back to St Andrews tomorrow, I’ll try to find an old email address we can try.’
Georgia’s hug of gratitude tells Heather all she needs to know: she should have done this years ago.
And even if Scott’s horrible prophecy does come true and Georgia’s exams are a disaster, one thing that isn’t manifesting is his assertion that Heather wouldn’t be able to cope.
Other than her upset over their relationship, she’s thriving.
All she needs is a helping hand to get her painting back on track.
Which, in all honesty, has a pretty simple solution.
Because Gerry has been messaging continually, offering to help and hinting at more.
And, okay, the spark between them might not be as intense as it is with her and Scott, but at least she knows where she stands with Gerry.
He would never go hot or cold on her, would never take off on an unannounced adventure holiday then rage at her afterwards. Gerry is calm, considered, reliable.
Maybe that’s exactly what she needs right now.
SCOTT
Scott kneels on the soggy grass and clears the area in front of his knees.
There’s a bouquet of flowers, already in position, the stems now drooping.
He moves the wilted flowers to the side and places his own bunch against the gravestone.
A handwritten card slips from the older foliage.
Is it a violation of privacy to read it?
He’s looking before he can check himself. It’s writing he recognises. Lorraine’s.
“My 8th twin birthday without you, darling sis. The ninth year when there isn’t another, identical, version of me walking the planet.”
It reads.