‘Life is stressful,’ I say, really losing patience now. ‘You need to get a grip.’
‘Always so empathetic, aren’t you?’
‘Look, Heather, you only have Stephen every other weekend. I’m already bearing the brunt of the expense. I don’t see what’s unreasonable about suggesting you get a job.’
‘You’re selfish, Alastair. You even went to Paris for the weekend.’
How does she know that? I didn’t even tell Stephen where I was going for my birthday treat with you, Emma. You must have put a picture on Facebook and Heather must have seen it.
‘Alastair, I need you to cough up, please.’
I shake my head. ‘I’m sorry, I just can’t afford to, Heather.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘Try. Just try and get more money out of me,’ I hiss.
8
Emma
On Tuesday evening as soon as I pull into my drive, Tomas scurries towards my front door. I park the car and step out.
He looks pale and worried. ‘Is everything all right?’ I ask.
‘I’ve got toothache. It’s killing me. I was hoping you could take a quick look.’
Not what I wanted after a long day at work, but how can I refuse to help?
‘Come in then, I’ll find my equipment.’
I open the front door. He follows me into the house, through the hallway into the kitchen. I reach for the spare dental tools I keep in the dresser, in case of an emergency. I pull out my bag, unzip it and take out my sterilised tools: a probe and a mirror stick.
‘Let’s get you comfy in the sitting room.’
He follows me through.
‘Please sit in the leather chair.’ He does as I ask. ‘Open wide,’ I instruct, leaning over him. I examine each tooth carefully and sigh inside. Poor man. His mouth is in such a mess.
‘The gum by your lower right molars is red and inflamed. It looks like a pretty painful infection. I’ll write you a private prescription for some antibiotics.’ I find my prescription pad in the drawer by the telephone and prescribe metronidazole. ‘No alcohol while you take these tablets. I’m giving you a five-day course. But if you don’t see a substantial improvement in a few days’ time, come and see me in the surgery.’
His soft brown eyes melt into mine. ‘I’m terribly grateful, thanks.’
9
Alastair
Heather’s voice grumbles down the intercom. ‘Who is it?’
‘Alastair. I need to speak to you.’
‘Come on up.’
The intercom buzzes and I push the door to open it. Up the staircase to the fourth floor. To Shelly’s flat. Shelly. My least favourite friend of Heather’s. Bridesmaid at our wedding. Shallow. Artificial. Always looking to find a rich husband, rating boyfriends’ attraction by the value of the car that they drive. Well, she hasn’t found one yet, otherwise she wouldn’t be living in this dump of a flat. Lord only knows why Heather has decided to live here with her, when I have given her half of everything I have, even though I have custody of our son.
Flat 4B. I knock on the door and Heather opens it. She is wearing a navy Juicy Couture tracksuit which clings to her heavy thighs. Her hair needs brushing.
‘I suppose you’d better come in,’ she says with a snarl.
I wince. Her breath smells acidic and I know she’s been drinking. I follow her into a small, dark sitting room, with a brown faux-leather sofa and a russet carpet. She picks up a bottle of beer and takes a swig.
‘Can I get you anything? Coke? Dope? Beer?’ she asks with a sneer.
‘No thanks.’
‘Only joking about the drugs.’
Does she really expect me to believe that, when her life is in such disarray and she has no money? We sit on the plastic sofa. She turns to me. ‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’ she asks.
‘Where’s Shelly?’
She shrugs. ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘I just want to know whether we’re alone. Whether this conversation is private.’
She pushes her hair back from her forehead. ‘Shelly’s out.’
‘Good.’ I take a deep breath. ‘I need you to stop texting me asking for money. There’s no way you’re getting any more money out of me.’
She raises her eyebrows. ‘No way? And how do you figure that?’
‘I’ve done nothing wrong – I’ve paid my dues.’
She puts her head back and laughs. ‘Do you think your precious Emma will believe that?’
I breathe calmly. In. Out. ‘Of course she’ll believe me. She knows I’ve always done everything I can to look after both you and Stephen.’
A wry smile. ‘All truth is relative.’
‘So you’re a relativist now, are you?’
‘At least I’m not a bullshitter. I bet you don’t even understand what relativism is.’
‘I didn’t come here to discuss philosophy – I came to tell you I’m not reading any more of your texts. And, I don’t have any spare cash.’
‘The collapse of our relationship has ruined my life, Alastair. You deserve to pay up more than you already have.’
I shake my head. ‘I don’t know where you’ve got that from, Heather. You’re just being irrational.’
‘Don’t you dare call me irrational after the way you’ve treated me,’ she almost spits.
‘But it was you who left me.’
Anger burning inside me, I stand up and leave. As I walk away my heart bleeds for the way she has treated me. The way she has abandoned Stephen. I need to protect him. To give him all my love. My love stretches without bounds to Emma. To Stephen. To my mother. But Heather? I shudder inside. How did I ever let her pull me in?
10
Emma
After slinging my Mercedes across my parking slot, I stop for a few minutes to admire the gardens that surround my dental practice. The perfectly manicured lawn caressed by cascading willow. Snowdrops dangling their delicate teardrop heads. First crocuses trumpeting bold colour across the grass.
However well my life is going, however much your company gives me a high over the weekend, Alastair, pulling into work on a Monday morning always fills me with a sense of peace. The surgery is the one place in the world where I have total control. I bought this practice when my relationship with Colin ended, four years ago. It gave me purpose; kept my life moving forwards after my loss.
I say good morning to my receptionist as I walk past. Andrea Smith. Auburn hair. Handpicked. Intelligent. Bursting with helpful ideas and common sense. Attractive, but not attractive enough to put me in the shadow. I smile at her. She smiles back hesitantly. Her smile for me is always hesitant. She knows if she smiles too hard I will criticise her teeth. I criticise everyone’s teeth from the Queen to Victoria Beckham. Dentists prefer looking at mouths of perfection.
I walk through the waiting room – no patients yet – stopping for a minute to admire the new leather sofas. The fish tank; neon tetra, danios, guppies and platies. The piles of perfectly arranged glossies. Into my consulting room where Tania is waiting for me, removing instruments from the steriliser, laying them neatly on a tray.