CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
May
Scarlet hands me a big mug of tea and we curl up on our old sofa in her new flat in Edinburgh. It’s a crisp morning, only fourteen degrees, despite the fact that it’s May. I’ve only brought one jumper with me, so it’s going to get well used this weekend. Today is Scarlet’s birthday and it’s the first time I’ve managed to get up to Scotland to see her.
I’ve seen her flat on a video tour she filmed for me, but nothing compares to being here in real life, in Scarlet’s space with her, finally. I love seeing how at ease she is here, how relaxed, how at home and settled she is. Also I notice now that our jointly purchased old Ikea furniture looks small and out of place in this giant-ceilinged Georgian space. I half-seriously recommend that she invests in some serious, oversized antique furniture the minute she can, so it looks a bit more normal in the flat. And artwork – I have ideas about artwork. After I’ve finished inspecting all the wonderful period features, we sit back and position ourselves on our old, battered was-once-white-but-isn’t-any-longer sofa.
‘Can I ask you a funny question?’ I enquire, as we place a plate of Danish pastries between us. ‘Ooh, can I have the cinnamon roll or do you want to split it?’
‘It’s yours. Was that your question?’ Scarlet asks as she gulps her tea. I change my mind and reach for a croissant, knowing that in a few minutes she’ll regret letting me have that cinnamon roll. It is her birthday after all.
‘No. My question is this …’ I realise I’m not sure how to phrase it, how to tackle the question about her old boss hooking up with Chris, without alerting Scarlet to the fact that I’m fully invested in Chris from afar, even though I can’t have him and don’t want him, because I’m with Josh and I’m perfectly happy. Scarlet will only tell me off and say something like, ‘Just because you can’t have him doesn’t mean no one else is allowed to.’ I can already hear the words. If she knows something, she’ll volunteer if I lead her there, and then I won’t have to look desperate for information about Chris.
I adopt an innocent expression and go for it. ‘How’s your friend Victoria?’
She pauses while reaching for a Danish. ‘Was that your question?’
I nod, playing it cool.
‘I don’t know,’ she replies, confused. ‘I only really speak to her about freelance work.’
‘Is she … dating anyone?’ I ask casually.
‘Why? You found someone to fix her up with?’ Scarlet asks. ‘That’s very generous of you. Where was this benevolence when I was on the hunt for a man?’
I chuckle. ‘I tried setting you up with many single people. You didn’t like them and … I’m just curious. You don’t know if she’s with anyone?’
‘No, I don’t. Why?’ she asks, her eyes narrowing to suspicious slits.
‘I thought she was really nice and I wondered why she didn’t have a boyfriend.’
‘Oh,’ Scarlet says, obviously completely perplexed by this conversation and why we’re having it. It’s clear she knows nothing about the likelihood of Victoria and Chris still being together. It sounds as if she didn’t even know they’d got together in the first place. ‘Want me to do some digging?’ she volunteers. ‘I can message and ask if she’s single.’
‘No, that’s weird. You can’t do that. Forget it. It’s not important.’
Victoria and Chris have probably fizzled out by now. It’s not even worth mentioning my concerns to Scarlet. And I don’t know what my concerns are. I don’t want her to dig me out over it. I sit chewing and thinking.
‘You’re being odd,’ Scarlet says slowly. ‘Why are you being odd?’ I wish she didn’t know me this well. She could at least pretend not to know what’s going on in my head.
‘Chris is moving back to London,’ I say.
‘That was quite the subject change,’ Scarlet replies. ‘Is that why you’re being weird?’
‘Yep,’ I reply.
As predicted, Scarlet reaches for the cinnamon bun. ‘Why’s he moving back?’
‘Applied for a job and got it,’ I paraphrase.
‘That’s quite impulsive. Mind you, he asked you to get on a plane with him. That’s impulsive.’
‘Why would you mention that?’
Scarlet laughs, tears the cinnamon bun in pieces and hands me half.
‘He’s not normally an impulsive person, I don’t think. Although he seems to be turning into one.’ I’m trying to reason it out in my head. ‘He’s moving because he’s got a job and it’s a good jump up the career ladder.’
Her eyes narrow again. ‘Are you bothered he’s coming back, even though you’re happy with Josh?’
‘What? No.’
‘Are you worried something’s going to happen between you and Chris, now he’s coming back to London? Are you worried you don’t trust yourself.’
‘No!’ I exclaim and throw a bit of pastry at her. I sigh, long and loud. ‘Can I be honest?’ I start.
‘No. Lie to me. I feel that’s a safer conversation.’
‘Ha-ha,’ I say flatly. ‘I am bothered.’
‘Knew it.’
‘But not because I don’t trust myself. I know it’s wrong to be bothered. There’s just something about him. I’ve never dated him, never kissed him, never even …’ I trail off. ‘It doesn’t make sense, I know that.’ I can’t believe the words coming out of my own mouth.
Scarlet looks at me, her lips parted. ‘You two didn’t even kiss?’ she asks.
‘No.’
‘I didn’t know that. I thought you kissed at that wedding.’
‘I kissed Josh.’
‘I knew that ,’ she says. ‘But I thought you’d kissed Chris first.’
I shake my head.
‘He asked you to go with him to New York, but you hadn’t even kissed each other? I’m not sure if it makes the connection between you stronger or … weirder.’
‘Oh, shut up,’ I reply as I hurl a second bit of cinnamon bun towards her and it hits her on her right boob.
‘Good shot,’ Scarlet says, lifting up the pastry and eating it. Then she looks serious again. ‘You know what I mean, though – not kissing, but it all still being so intense … that sort of look-but-don’t-touch vibe. It’s hot without being hot.’
‘Stop,’ I beg.
‘It doesn’t matter now anyway,’ she goes on quickly as she works out the intricacies of all this. ‘He’s not yours. And you’re not his. And you can’t do anything. It’s too messy.’
‘Yeah, I know.’
Poor Josh. If he could hear me talking like this … I feel an overwhelming need to move this conversation on. I glance at my roller suitcase, in which Scarlet’s gift sits. ‘Want to open your birthday present now?’
‘Yes, please.’
I go towards the suitcase and retrieve her present: a small sterling-silver letter S on a chain. It feels like a proper grown-up gift, and I’ve not been able to buy one of those for her in years. She puts it on immediately and tells me she loves it and that she’s going to wear it every day.
We’re spending the day sightseeing and walking – so much walking. And I’m amazed by how beautiful Edinburgh is. I’ve only been to this main bit once before and that was for the Fringe festival with my ex-boyfriend, when we basically saw a lot of theatre and drank a great deal of booze. I’m not at all into the Fringe, but went with him because … Edinburgh. Scarlet has a day of history planned, as we’re going to do Edinburgh Castle at the top of the street and then the Palace of Holyroodhouse at the far end later on, after the obligatory pub lunch that she’s booked halfway between the two.
‘And then tonight we’ve got a ghost walk booked, and Rory is going to join us for that when he finishes work,’ Scarlet says as we walk through the town, passing the Georgian sandstone buildings, elegant in their fine lines and uniformity.
‘Sounds fab. Look at us in our thirties. If you compare how we previously spent our birthdays throughout most of our twenties …’ I start.
‘Getting trashed, overdoing it and throwing up?’ Scarlet sniggers.
‘We can still do that tonight if you want?’ I suggest uncertainly, pulling the sleeves of my jumper down a fraction to cover my chilly hands.
She makes a face, shakes her head. ‘No, it’s OK. A few drinks, but let’s not lose our dignity.’
‘Do you think we’re behaving like we’re getting old?’ I ask.
‘Yes,’ Scarlet says. ‘I love it. I’ll be ready for a National Trust membership for my birthday next year,’ she jokes.
‘I think I’m ready for one of those right now,’ I reply as we walk up towards the castle, with a bagpiper playing at full force to all the other tourists and us, as we immerse ourselves in history and culture.