‘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 leadto 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 sideand 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.
“It’s a big one. He’s getting out soon. I’ve met him and forgiven him. I think it’s time. I hope you understand.”
Scott’s eyes overflow. He uses his forefinger to trace the inscription that had taken him hours to settle on all those years ago.
Lucy Marie Reynolds. Beloved wife, mother, sister, friend.
Does she? Does she understand?
He turns when he hears a crunch of gravel behind him.
‘I wondered if you might be here,’ his sister-in-law says.
Scott swipes at his teary cheeks.
‘I think she does, you know,’ she says, pointing to the card in his hand. ‘I think she understands. I think she feels it’s time for us all to move on.’
‘You do?’
She crouches beside him and places an arm around his shoulder.
‘I think, Scott, that if she was here, she would insist on it.’
He allows the sounds of the graveyard to swirl around him.
‘I made her that promise. I said there would never be anyone else.’
‘But there is, right? And Heather’s someone you feel able to take a risk on.’
He nods.
