Chapter 35
HEATHER
Gerry had agreed to dinner at Heather’s house on Sunday evening. Now, he sits opposite her, moving the food she’s served slowly around his plate.
‘Are you okay, there?’ she asks, eventually.
They’d eaten their appetisers in near silence.
It’s more typical of Gerry to wolf down anything she presents to him and pause only to make effusive comments about the creaminess of the potatoes, the delicate flavouring of the sauce, the perfect crunch to the broccoli. His quietness this evening is palpable.
‘Yes, yes. Of course,’ he says, placing a sliver of fillet steak in his mouth.
Heather watches his jaw as he chews, and the expansion of his throat as he swallows.
She places her own cutlery on the table.
‘What’s up, Gerry?’ she asks, unable to suffer the stilted atmosphere a moment longer. Normally, they’d be chatting freely about the standard of fourth year art and how the curriculum changes were affecting disadvantaged students.
Gerry follows suit and places his own cutlery down, taking extraordinary care to place it on the rim of his plate just so.
‘Why did you ask me here this evening, Heather?’ His eyes flit to meet hers then zoom back to study the location of his fork and steak knife. He makes microscopic adjustments to their spacing on the plate with his fingertips.
‘Well,’ she says, ‘I wanted to spend time with you. To catch up. We haven’t seen each other in ages.’
Is that the reason? Is she sounding genuine? Forced? Suddenly, her rationale for the invitation is feeling less defined now it’s under scrutiny.
‘Yes, but you know that I want to spend time with you in a different way. You know that I like you. Really like you.’
Oh goodness, is he really going there? They’ve only just started their mains.
‘Gerry …. I …,’
‘Do you know what I think?’
Heather leans her wrists on the edge of the table and flexes her fingers. He’s clearly going to tell her whether she wants him to or not.
‘I think you already know in your heart of hearts that Scott is the person you want to be with. But now he’s blown you off – you’ve decided to spend some time with me to see if you might be able to settle … for second best.’
His face flushes. Heather’s mouth drops as she struggles to articulate a suitable response.
‘Gerry … I …,'
‘You’re a lovely lady, Heather. I mean really, really, lovely.
And any man would be crazy to not want to be with you.
But – truly – I think you need to decide, are you able to overlook the small bits of Scott’s personality that don’t completely gel with yours and try to make a go of things with him?
Or are you going to put yourself through a long list of hideous dates like this one trying to find another man who measures up to Scott’s standards plus a little bit? ’
Heather’s face slackens. Is this what she’s trying to do? Claire had said something similar when they chatted the night before. Might both Claire and Gerry be right?
‘But Scott …’
‘I know, I know. He treated you badly and spoke unkindly when he was stressed out of his head and, frankly, in shock. But the question is, Heather – what do you want? Because inviting a bloke like me, who likes you this much, for dinner and then being distracted because he’s not the person you wish was sitting opposite you – well that’s just a bit … ’
Gerry, the safe choice, who she has used as a backup for the last few months, hits the nail on the proverbial head. What is she doing?
Once the air is cleared between them, and Heather has apologised profusely for making Gerry feel used, they finish their meal under much more amiable terms.
Afterwards, Heather offers her cheek for Gerry’s kiss, escorts him to the door and double locks it behind him. She knows the reason his words have affected her is because they are laden with home truths.
‘I’m so sorry, again,’ she’d said as he left.
‘You know I’ll always be there for you, Heather,’ he said. ‘But you need to be honest with yourself about what you really want.’
She ponders the backup plans she put on her manifestation board earlier in case tonight’s meal was a disaster.
She’d considered a dating app. Claire advocated for walking groups and had tried to steer her towards her open water swimming instructor, but Heather knows he shows her nothing more than a professional interest. And she doesn’t really like him like that, anyway.
Is Gerry right? Is the person she wants right beneath her nose and she’s too stubborn to admit it?
She rams the washing tablet into the dishwasher door, closes the cage and sets the machine onto a cleaning cycle. The whirr of the mechanism coincides with the ringtone of her phone. She glances at the kitchen clock automatically. Who calls past midnight these days?
‘Thank God. Thank God.’
‘Brianna?’ She recognises the hysterical voice immediately. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘It’s Dad. It’s Dad. Oh My God.’
Heather’s blood runs cold. She’s been ghosting his calls. What on earth has happened? It takes three minutes to calm Brianna down so she can talk coherently.
‘He’s fractured his skull. He’s unconscious. I’m his next of kin and so they want me to go, but …. I’ve got my last exam tomorrow at ten and if I don’t attend ...’
It takes a further three minutes for them to agree that, as his power of attorney, Heather can attend in Brianna’s place.
Within ten minutes, Heather is in the car and driving over three hundred miles to see Scott in hospital. Heather’s last words to Brianna ring in her ears as she drives: ‘Stay focused on your exam. That’s what your dad would want. I’ll call you as soon as I can, and we can take it from there.’
She stops twice en-route for the toilet and a shot of espresso, and is at the hospital by six am.
***
‘My goodness, Heather.’ She recognises Scott’s sister-in-law, Lorraine, from the scene of Brianna’s driving accident. ‘They won’t let me in to see him as I’m not immediate family. He saw Leon. He bolted. He wasn’t ready. It’s all such a mess.’
Heather hugs Lorraine as tightly as she can, but breaks off to report to the nurse’s station.
‘I’m Scott Reynold’s power of attorney. I’m here with express permission of his daughter, Brianna, who has a university exam this morning.’
She shows them the paperwork, Scott’s bold and confident penmanship evident in his signature alongside her own less assertive one on the relevant dotted line.
As the nurse leads her through to him, Lorraine rushes up and grabs her arm. ‘Tell him,’ she says, ‘that Lucy would absolve him from the promise. No doubt at all.’
The desperation in her eyes signals to Heather this is important.
‘I’ll tell him,’ she says. ‘When he wakes.’
If he wakes.
She steels every bone in her body before following the nurse into the ward.
Scott is still and frail, attached at the head and chest to machines. His arm is plastered, and bruising spreads beyond the cast. A ventilator beeps with each inhalation. His eyes are closed.
She listens mutely to the nurse’s information about what to expect. His concussion is severe, and CT scans have indicated subdural haematoma, bleeding on the brain. The only thing Heather can do is to be here, talk to him, keep him connected.
Once alone, she holds his undamaged hand. Has she ever seen him this still before? Even in sleep he’s constantly turning, groaning, shifting. The lack of movement scares her.
‘It’s me, Scott. Heather,’ she says. ‘I know you want nothing to do with me, but I told Brianna I’d come.
She’s got her last exam in,’ she checks her watch, ‘about fifteen minutes. She’s thinking of you.
Terrified, really. We all are.’ Heather stares at the rows of monitors surrounding Scott’s bed before continuing.
‘I made her go to the exam. I knew it’s what you’d want, even though she desperately wanted to see you instead.
’ Heather gulps. Had her intuition been right?
Was Brianna now sitting in an exam hall staring redundantly at a blank paper and regretting her decision? ‘I only hope she’s able to focus.’
Heather’s heart had broken listening to Brianna’s sobs as she went back and forth over the decision, questioning whether doing the exam was repeating her dad’s mistake of putting work and career before family.
Heather returns her gaze to Scott’s battered face. It’s disconcerting, making admissions like this to a person who gives no reaction at all, but the nurse had assured her he could hear what’s going on around him. ‘But what do I say?’ she’d asked.
‘Anything.’
Heather starts with the first thing on her mind.
‘I was so mad at you, Scott,’ she says. ‘The way you treated me when Brianna crashed the car. You acted as though I was the problem, when we all know that you had some responsibility for the incident – or how it played out, anyway.’
She leans over and kisses the one area of his cheek unadorned by adhesive hospital tape or bits of machinery.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ she continues. ‘You’re thinking I’ve got my own problems. And that’s true to an extent. But I’ve changed. I’m no longer afraid of abandonment. I know I can cope on my own now.’
She pauses as she assimilates this fact she hasn’t consciously acknowledged herself.
‘Georgia’s thriving. Who’d have thought it?
She’s asked about her dad. That’s something I can thank you for.
I’d never have offered if I hadn’t experienced Brianna’s quest for the truth.
Anyway, we constructed an email together last week, and he replied last night, saying he’d love to meet.
She’s going to be so excited when I tell her.
She and Brianna have applied to do Camp America together over the summer, so I wouldn’t be surprised if she tries to see him then. ’
A quick glance at her watch confirms both girls will be in exam halls right now.