‘Will you make sure my mum gets the bus alright?’ she asks him. ‘After all, it is your fault she’s so pissed.’
Scott looks at the wobbly representation of Heather standing beside him. She’s leaning against the wall as though she’s deboned.
‘Course I will,’ he says in what he hopes is a capable, authoritative voice when, in truth, he’s pretty plastered himself. Heather’s not the only mid-lifer who can no longer hold their drink.
‘Great!’
Within seconds, the teenagers have left them in a squeal of drunkenness.
‘Thank you for my party games,’ Georgia yells as they disappear into the inky blackness of the East Sands Beach.
***
If the circumstances were different it might be wildly romantic walking along the sea front with a beautiful woman on his arm and a full moon emerging on the horizon. But in truth, it’s slow progress when the woman in question is as drunk as Heather. Every five steps forward are accompanied by a sidestep and a little stagger backwards. Scott tells himself he has no choice other than to wrap his arm around Heather’s waist and pull her body closer to his for support. He tries not to notice the delicate curve of her waist as he does this. Or the fact that her hair smells of coconuts. The caw of seagulls, the biting October wind and the sound of the sea lapping on the shore a few metres away helps to keep him focussed on his quest. Safe deposition of a middle-aged mother onto a town bus. Nothing more.
‘Genealogy. What about that, then?’ she asks through a hiccup.
Scott’s feelings entirely.
‘Yeah, well. I guess they’re adults now,’ he says. Although he’s not sure he believes the sentiment in its entirety. Adults have a better understanding of consequences.
There’s a pause of several minutes as they navigate their way across the Sailing Club slipway that allows boats access to the water. Heather comes to a stop beside the children’s play park close to the water’s edge.
‘I saw you swimming,’ she says drunkenly, veering towards one of the swings. ‘On drop-off day. I’d love to do that. But I’m not brave enough.’
‘Sure, you are,’ he replies, hoiking her floppy body more upright and attempting another few steps forward, away from all possible hazards. ‘All you need to do is take your clothes off, walk into the water, and swim.’
‘That easy? Really?’ Heather stops abruptly, throwing them both off balance. The iron chains of the swing squeal eerily in the night air.
Scott fights to regain his footing. ‘Really,’ he says, once he knows they’re both safely upright.
Heather wobbles slightly, points out to sea and begins tugging at the zipper of her winter coat.
‘Let’s do it. Let’s do it now! We can get in here.’ She points to the slipway leading into the water. Her voice is an octave higher than previously.
‘I’m not sure drunk and at dusk is quite the right time,’ he says, diplomatically.
Heather slaps her palm across his chest.
‘Wise. Wise. Let’s not take undue risks. Got to assess the probability of harm.’
She stumbles over the consonants in “probability”.
Scott tries to get them moving forwards once more, but something on his torso seems to have piqued Heather’s attention.
‘How comes there’s—’
She shifts her scarf to the side and pulls Scott’s white vest top upwards until his chest is exposed.
‘Ooh. Look! There’s a little crevice.’ Scott has long taken pride in his defined pectoral muscles, but never have they evoked such an intense reaction.
Her fingers skim from his left nipple, across his chest, until they slip into the dip at his sternum. Scott feels the muscles in his abdomen tense. The contact isexquisite.Heather touches the dip in the skin, transfixed. She places the heel of her hand against his sternum, and it slides into the shallow hollow.
‘Look. It's a perfect fit,’ she gasps.
A bolt of tenderness – and something else – electricity? shoots through Scott’s body. It’s not as if he’s been celibate since Lucy, but nobody has touched him with such tenderness in years, maybe forever. A waft of longing fills his head and causes his throat to seize.
‘Come on now,’ he says gruffly, ‘we need to keep moving, otherwise you’ll never get your bus!’
