‘You really don’t like him, do you?’ Heather asks in a teasing voice.
‘Not dislike, exactly. I mean, I’ve never met the man. But honestly, is he the kind of guy you want to get yourself involved with? After Dougie? After Paul? What was it you said to me after Paul left?’
Heather doesn’t even need to think. It’s been her mantra for nearly six years.
‘Men abandon you. They ditch you when you’re down and leave you in the lurch.’
‘And while that’s not always true, it’s definitely the pattern you’ve experienced.’
Heather does a quick internal audit of the men in her adult life since she completed her teacher training. There was Gerry, of course. Safe, dependable, Gerry. But since him. Well, Dougie left her with a tiny colicky baby when the going got tough; her father disowned her for insisting Georgia’s dietary needs were properly met.(“If we’re not good enough for you, then don’t think about crossing our threshold again”had been his last words to her); and finally, there was Paul. Paul chose the height of the Coronavirus pandemic to show Heather that she and Georgia were not his priority. Heather’s analysis validates her one abiding, still to be disproven, conclusion. For her, at least, men are great big, unreliable, abandoning losers. So why should Scott-Bloody-Reynolds (who she doesn’t even like, incidentally) be any different?
By the second coat of paint their conversation has moved onto social lives: Claire’s – non-existent, Heather’s – pitiful, save for the invite to a Hallowe’en party with Gerry.
Claire is instantly invigorated by the idea of dressing up and playing the part of someone else for the night.
‘What are you wearing?’ she asks from her kneeling position applying gloss paint to the skirting board.
Heather, who is painting around the cornicing, grabs onto the ladder handrail, extracts her phone from the back pocket of her skinny jeans, finds the appropriate tab and squats on the step to pass the phone to Claire. Claire’s eyes bulge as she looks.
‘Wow. Gerry’s a lucky guy.’
‘What do you mean?’ Heather clambers down the steps and grabs the phone back from her friend, giving her a gentle swat on the arm as she goes. ‘You’re making me nervous. It’s notthatrevealing. Is it?’
She magnifies the image with a pincer movement.
‘If anyone can pull it off, Heather, you can,’ Claire replies.
They’re both exhausted by the end of the day. They order take-out and open a bottle of red wine as they wait for the pizza to arrive.
‘I just have one final thing to ask,’ Claire says, raising her glass towards the corniced ceiling. They’re both drinking on empty stomachs, so the wine has very much gone to their heads.
‘Anything. Ask anything,’ Heather says in the manner of someone so comfortable in a person’s company she feels no need to censor herself.
‘Well, this guy, Scott?’
‘Scott-Bloody-Reynolds?’
‘Yup. So. He’s single, right?’
Heather tilts her head. The wine in her glass sloshes in the same direction.
‘Ithinkso….. I mean, Iassumeso,’ she says, knowing the moment she says the word aloud that assumptions are very risky indeed when it comes to men and matters of the heart.
‘So what’s his story, then?’
Heather ponders.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Probably textbook ditches his wife when another younger model comes along?’ Claire predicts. ‘You know the type, has an affair or leaves when the going gets tough.’
It would pretty much match with every relationship Heather has ever had and would further evidence why she’s better to stay away from the man.
‘Perhaps. But I’m really not sure,’ she says.
The doorbell chimes and Claire returns three minutes later with two steaming pizza boxes. It gives Heather just enough time to act.
‘I asked Brianna,’ Heather says on her return.
