And his brain turns to mush.
He can’t. He just can’t. It’s not a case of never. It’s just a case of not now. The boy’s face freezes as though in agony, and his redundant hand drops to his side. Scott’s stomach, a vortex of beers, spirits and goodness-knows-what from the celebratory shot given to him five minutes ago, cramps with a cocktail of sadness and shame and sheer fucking fury at the world. How? How? How can this play out?
There’s no processing involved. Scott’s muscles contract as though controlled by a deviant remote-control operative. Suddenly, he’s on his feet. His bar stool crashes to the floor behind him like bomb blast. His muscles flood with adrenaline and his fight-or-flight reflexes activate. Scott’s limbs move to get him away. Away. Away from here. Away from the pain. Away from the hurt. Away from the sheer torment reflected in his wife’s killer’s eyes. This lad who, eight years ago, at age eighteen, destroyed his life. And he can’t. He just can’t. His feet are pounding their way to the pub exit. The pub occupants are no longer friends and allies; they’re obstacles to avoid – people behind enemy lines. Bar stools become fences of barbed wire. Misplaced bags become land mines. And the whole fucking place becomes a war zone. He flies out the door, ducking, dodging, skirting, anything to get the hell out of there. The door hammers behind him like an activated grenade. And he doesn’t just trip, he jettisons onto the rickety paving slab on the second to top step and he falls head over heels repeatedly until his skull breaks his fall with a resounding crack on the pavement below.
The ambulance appears within ten minutes.
FRESHMAN PARENTS' ONLINE FORUM: ST ANDREWS UNIVERSITY
Major exam stress bulletin. Seriously worried about my DD. She’s convinced she’s going to fail. Can’t seem to settle her. First one a nightmare, apparently. Anyone found any strategies that help calm them from afar?
Honestly don’t know which is worse. DS says he’s sure he’s done enough. Don’t think he’s done a jot of work for weeks. Seriously worried too!
Chapter 35
HEATHER
Gerryhadagreedtodinner 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 platejust 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 Ilikeyou.Reallylike 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?’
