Heather wonders if she’s hidden herself in her en-suite again. Claire reserves the en-suite for the juiciest, not-to-be-shared-with-the-husband phone calls.
‘Exactly.’
There’s a microscopic pause.
‘And this isn’t Gerry, but is the guy that you absolutely, totally abhor?’
‘Yep.’ Heather’s voice is getting weaker now as her mind continues to ruminate. Whatdidhappen last night?
‘So, this is the guy with the great abs, amazing eyes, but rubbished you on social media—’
‘Well, the parents' forum—’
Claire is on a roll and not prepared for interruption.
‘That forum is social media. Then rubbished your manifestation project—'
‘Well—’
In truth, Heather can’t remember exactly what Scott said about her first attempts at a manifestation map. She just remembers feeling somehow less when he commented on it in the St Andrews hotel.
‘Then jetted off to Africa as soon as he dropped his daughter at university.’
‘Yes.’ This one point, at least, Heather can be sure of.
‘And now he’s popping into the student flat and mending dripping taps and getting everyone pissed and maybe …just maybe … making a pass at you when you’re completely off your face. Didn’t you tell me he offered you a one-night stand on that first night as well?’
Heather screws up her face, trying in vain to access her memories. ‘Well—'
‘Hmm.’ Claire’s voice is more muted now. She might love the fantasy of spontaneous, romantic interludes – particularly if she’s finding her own relationship a little stale – but she always,always has Heather’s best interests at heart. ‘I hate to say it, but is he not exactly the type of guy you’ve been working to avoid these past few years? Is there a chance he’s not good news, lovely?’
Heather feels a little surge of frustration. Claire might well be right. Hearing her own words repeated back to herself, though …. well that’s a different matter altogether. And it’s not right that her frustration comes out at her best friend. But ….
‘Oh come on, Claire. I don’t evenknowif I kissed him and it was definitely nothing more. It’s not like I’m sleeping around with lots of different guys or anything.’
‘Okay. Okay. I’m sorry. You’re right. I should be more supportive-'
Heather’s phone vibrates in her hand, showing another call is waiting.Number unknown.
‘Claire. I have to go. There’s another call.’
‘Okay. But listen, Heather, honey. I’ll be up next week to do some work on the flat so we’ll catch up then, but in the meantime, get a distraction from Scott-Bloody-Reynolds. He’s clearly no good for you. Plenty of other fish in the sea. Love you.’
Heather’s not so certain about the vast quantities of eligible, non-fuck-up, fifty-year-old bachelors swimming in the Atlantic these days, but she understands her friend’s sentiment.
‘I hear you. Love you too. Bye.’ She fumbles with her phone interface and accepts the incoming call.
‘Hello?’ A rush of uncertainty consumes her. What if this is him? Or, worse, another random stranger she gave her details to last night?
‘Heather?’ an unfamiliar male voice says.
Heather’s heart plummets. She’s brought all this on herself.
‘Yes?’ Hesitancy leaks from her voice.
‘It’s Mick from the garage. That’s your carburettor all changed. You can pick her up this morning.’
Mick from the garage! Hallelujah!
