She’s got that right, he did do that, didn’t he?
He’d looked dumbfounded when she’d slammed the door on him last night. Surely, he knows it’s not reasonable to proposition someone in her state. And those assumptions he made about her life and parenting! Heather dismisses theuncomfortable fact that some of his points may be true, they’re still an affront coming from a stranger. And what makes him the parenting expert of the year? Heather hates herself for wondering if there are any foibles in Scott’s past which have caused Brianna distress throughout her life. She’d just like to know what they are so she could remind him of them, just as he had to her. That would put a different look on his handsome, arrogant face!
The only positive left is her plan for an intimate farewell brunch with Georgia. This will be the last time the two of them are together for several weeks. She wants to make the most of it. And she will not cry. Instead, she will ask about last night, the new friends Georgia has made, what she expects to eat for the rest of the week and – most importantly of all – how she plans to stay safe when drinking in bars with virtual strangers. Because she can’t yet know which people will stick with her in a crisis. That’s the thing with new friendships that haven’t had a chance to bed in. The flaky ones haven’t yet shown their true colours, and the steadfast friends of the future might not yet have materialised. Heather has already thought of a few hints and tips which would undoubtedly help Georgia navigate these first few days. She might also ask Georgia to check under her bed for cockroaches, just to be sure.
A text comes in: ‘Here!’
Heather looks away from the window, and her eyes widen as she checks her watch. Ten thirty on the dot. It’s unusual for Georgia to be so punctual. More typically, she’d sleep until midday and arrive just as the breakfast menu ends. Heather’s forehead relaxes, and her stomach unknots. The omelettes here are legendary. She pulls on her jeans and a jade green shirt.
‘Five mins,’ she replies by text, ‘get a table.’
Georgia replies with a thumbs-up emoji.
Heather pulls a comb through her hair, adds a streak of lip gloss and shoves an extra tissue into her pocket. Just in case.
***
‘Surprise!’
Georgia sits at a large table for four, in the middle of the opulent dining room, doing jazz hands in the air. ‘We discovered last night we both had plans to come here for breakfast, so Bee woke me this morning and I’ve persuaded them to join us. Isn’t that cool!’
Heather’s stomach hardens. He’s there, sitting at her table, his hair still messy from sleep, looking almost as mortified as she feels. Her face will betray her – it always does – and she can only hope the girls are too hungover to notice her annoyance.
‘How lovely,’ she says, smoothing her napkin over her lap. ‘Great to see you again.’ She smiles across the table at Brianna’s beaming face and turns to her right. ‘Scott.’
Scott’s eyes, like hers, are hooded today. ‘Heather. Morning.’
She reaches across the table and pours herself a coffee from the silver pot nearby, hoping it’s extra strong. Might a shot of caffeine help her navigate this?
Oblivious to the tension between their parents, the girls launch into a blow-by-blow account of the bars visited last night and the number of units of alcohol consumed.
‘One guy, Trey, from the States, hasn’t been to a bar before, because, well, like it’s twenty-one over there. And he got totally … I mean, the puke was just … everywhere!’ Georgia extends her hand over the table to show the magnitude of the poor boy’s sickness.
A stab of empathy for the lad – wakening in a strange university room, in an unfamiliar country, and trying to nursea terrible hangover – sweeps over Heather. Does his mother realise how unwell he’s been?
‘Poor lad,’ she says. ‘Have you heard from him this morning?’
‘He’ll be, like, face down until lunchtime, I reckon.’ Brianna giggles.
‘So,’ says Scott, ‘food.’
The servers bring plates of eggs, bacon, sausage and haggis to accompany their drinks, and the conversation moves on from the night before. Neither girl asks her parent about their evening, thank goodness, and although she’s missed out on her intimate brunch with Georgia, Heather enjoys the banter around the table. True to the reviews, her omelette is exemplary. She savours her first bite, then her second, before she notices Brianna isn’t eating.
‘You okay?’ she asks.
Brianna tilts her head towards her father, who’s folded the linen tablecloth under his plate and pulled an extra chair towards the table, which now houses his laptop. He’s typing away whilst shoving forkfuls of egg into his mouth. So the laptop still works, thankfully, but the rudeness! Heather can hardly believe it.
Brianna puts her own fork on the side of her plate.
‘Dad?’ The plea in her voice is audible.
Scott looks up; his blue eyes scan the luxurious dining room, then focus on Brianna, wide and blinking.
‘Sorry. Sorry. Got a quote to finish.’ He pulls the sleeve of his pale grey sweater above his wrist to expose his watch. ‘And I’ve got to catch my plane in, I don’t know, six hours?’
‘You’re goingaway?’ The question is out before Heather can stop herself.
Scott’s gaze shifts from her eyes to the tablecloth, now marked with bean sauce, and then back to her.
