Page 12 of The Late Bloomer’s Playlist

Gary Puckett & The Union Gap

YOUNG GIRL

I stretched, arms out wide, and kicked my legs out in accompaniment, thumping against something – ‘Sorry, Lucy!’ – the cat, it turned out, in the process. She jumped off the bed with a loud meow of protest, but nothing could shake the Saturday morning mood that I’d woken with. For the shop it was the busiest day of the week, which resultantly meant that it was my best. It didn’t matter how much stock I sold – though of course, that was a lovely thing, too – but the bustle of bodies and the chatter of people discovering things, falling in love with things, making ridiculous impulse purchases that they’d tell their friends about over dinner later that evening… David always said that I made myself too much a part of other people’s stories, but it brought me joy, and I’d reached a point in life where a little joy was reason enough to do anything.

I rolled to the opposite side of the bed and enjoyed the coolness of the pillowcase against my cheek, enjoyed a quiet inhale of our fabric softener, and then threw myself upright.

‘This won’t get the baby washed.’

At this time on a Saturday morning there was every chance that David was still sound asleep in his pit. He’d been out last night and I hadn’t heard him come home – pray to God he had come home – so I trod around the flat with care: opening the linen cupboard slowly, slowly, so it didn’t creak too loud; creeping to the bathroom on Scooby-Doo tiptoes, trying to miss the telltale floorboards as I went. Though every effort was ruined entirely when I eased open the bathroom door and was greeted with–

‘Oh my fuck!’

–a near naked woman.

Ah, I thought, so David did come home last night.

‘Who the hell are you?’

I instantly forgave her the blunt force of the question. She was, after all, standing in a strange man’s bathroom the morning after the night before, wearing nothing but underwear that doubled as a cheese wire. I could see how she might feel vulnerable, or standoffish.

I smiled. ‘I’m Patti, David’s wife. Who the hell are you?’

The woman’s eyes widened. ‘His wife?’

‘Mhm,’ I answered. I reached round to behind the door and took one of the guest robes from the spare hook. ‘Take this, love. Are you a tea person…?’

I drew the line at offering her my towel. I still needed to shower before work. That said, my mother raised me better than to be an unwilling host. So while the young woman – young enough to be mine and David’s daughter, I guessed, which was a thought I shook off with some difficulty on the way to the kitchen – was making herself decent, I was making batter.

‘Will pancakes do you?’ I asked when she took a tentative step in.

‘Oh, you really don’t… I mean, I should really…’ I turned in time to catch her pushing loose strands of hair behind her ears. She looked even younger in this natural light. ‘I should really go, get out of the way. You and David probably need to… I don’t know, talk?’

I laughed. ‘I’ll be long gone before he even gets up.’

‘Oh, God. Because of me?’

I realised the error in my phrasing and I flashed her a smile. ‘No, because of work.’

After I turned back to my batter, there was a long silence that stretched out in the space behind me, disturbed only by the subtle scrape of wood against tile as she pulled out a chair at the table. The kettle flicked to a boil, and the pan turned red on the hob to signal its readiness.

‘One pancake or two?’ I turned to ask. She had her arms stretched out ahead of her, playing with loose skin on her cuticles. ‘I didn’t even get your name,’ I signalled when she didn’t answer the first question. She answered without looking at me.

‘Sally-Ann.’

‘Sally-Ann.’ I pulled out my own chair. ‘David didn’t mention me?’

She shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t have, if I’d known…’

‘No, well, that’s perhaps why he didn’t mention me.’ I wanted to reach out to give her hands a squeeze – to stop her worrying at them – but I thought that would be an intimacy too far. Even if she was sitting at my breakfast table in my guest robe… ‘Where did the two of you meet, if you don’t mind me asking?’

‘I was just at a bar with some friends and he–’

‘Brought you a drink and flashed you a winning smile?’

‘Christ, this is too much, isn’t it?’ She pushed her chair back. ‘I really should go.’

‘Now, don’t be ridiculous. Look, David needs to explain all this, really. But he’s asleep and I’m making breakfast either way, and if he bought you a drink then I’d wager he bought you enough to cause a raging hangover, too. Am I right?’ I ducked into her sightline and I was relieved to see the crack of a smile. ‘In which case, sit, eat, keep me company. One or two?’