She’s imagining a holiday cottage on the Devon coast when she hears a ping come from under Scott’s pillow. The jangling bringsher out of the daydream, but she quickly re-engages with the fantasy. Perhaps they should get a dog? A beagle of some sort? They could marvel at its ingenuity and intelligence over their morning coffee and croissants on the patio whilst listening to the sound of the waves on the shore.
The phone is ringing now. Persistent. Jarring. She reaches under the pillow in an almost reflexive action. Brianna might need him. But the name on the screen isn’t Brianna’s.
Lorraine.
Again.
Lorraine, whoever she is, rings off whilst the phone is still in Heather’s hand, and the home screen displays the first few words of a previously sent text, also from Lorraine. “Stop ignoring….”
Her heart contracts and she scrunches her eyes closed for a moment.Don’t tell me he’s just like the rest of them.She’s frozen in position: his phone in her hand, eyes on the screen, brain in overdrive, when Scott re-enters the room with a tray. His eyes flit to the phone.
‘It was ringing,’ she says, throwing it onto the duvet by her feet. ‘Lorraine, apparently.’ She stops short of saying the word “again”. ‘I wasn’t prying. I thought it might be …’
Scott places the tray at the foot of the bed wordlessly, locates his phone, and presses the button to power it off. Then, he hands her a cup. Heather sits up, accepts it and places it on the coaster on the bedside table. She wills him to say something … anything. But silence. Something instinctive makes her reach to the floor, pick up the pink dress she was wearing last night and pull it across her chest before settling onto the pillows and taking her first sip. Eventually, he speaks.
‘So, what do you think?’
Heather looks over the rim of the cup. Scott’s eyes are searching her face. She doesn’t want to seem dense, but what can he possibly mean? The last few minutes have sent her spinning.
‘About?’
Scott nods to the cup in her hands.
‘The coffee.’
The coffee? The bloody coffee? He wants to talk about coffee?
‘Ah … yes. That. The coffee.. Yes. Nice …Great. Thanks.’
She takes another sip. It scalds her tongue. She's not lying, the coffee is deeply aromatic with a wonderful smokiness. But Scott surely knows her attention has moved to other things. He nods and drinks in silence.
‘I’m sorry about earlier,’ he says when she returns from the shower, cleaned and fully dressed. Her train is in two hours, and she can’t afford to miss it. The remaining ‘trains’ today are all bus replacement services involving eight hours’ travel to Edinburgh.
He’s pulled a fresh pair of chinos over his boxer shorts and a light blue polo shirt over his head in her absence.
‘I wasn’t trying to pry, you know,’ she says, risking a glance directly into his eyes. The first proper eye contact since seeing his phone.
He steps towards her and kisses the top of her head.
‘I know that. And Heather, I promise you, it’s not what you think. Things are just a bit ...’
She pulls away from him gently. She’d thought it through whilst she was showering, got her thoughts in a more ordered format in her head. Her gut instinct tells her this man is different, somehow. And she owes it to herself to go with it for the short term, at least.
‘Complicated. I get it.’
He winces at the word. One he’s perhaps heard linked to as many disastrous relationships as she has over the years.
‘But it’s not a sign you want to play the field or aren’t that into me?’ she finds herself asking, almost needily. It's just important to know.
He shakes his head, the sinews in his neck going into overdrive.
‘No. Never, ever that.’
She already knows he isn’t a talker. So, she allows him to pull her into his arms. She snuggles into the place she’s already begun to associate with comfort and belonging.
‘This thing between us,’ he says into her hair.
‘I know.’
