Page 35 of Statistically Speaking
“I’m sorry too,” she says, reaching out and holding what I see is my trembling hand. “I’m sorry you were ever in this position. I can only imagine how much it hurts.”
She strides away, and Bill lets out a resigned whimper as she disappears into the distance.
I know exactly how he feels.
Chapter 14
One Box Ticked, One Escape Plan Hatched
“Do you want your beetroot juice?” Margie asks as I trudge toward her gate.
“Only if it’s actually whisky,” I reply.
“Oh. That bad?”
I let myself in, and Bill heads inside to lap noisily at his water bowl. Margie gestures toward one of her chairs, but I am not in the mood for comfort.
“I don’t know,” I say simply, shrugging. “Obviously it’s a bit of a strange thing to explain to someone, isn’t it? She was a bit... unsettled?”
“’Course she was—you’ve been mulling it over for ages, but it was all a shock to her, wasn’t it? She’s lovely, though, isn’t she? Erin, I mean.”
“Yeah, she’s really nice. We clicked as soon as we met. I liked her before I knew about Katie, and I still do. But maybe I’ve screwed that up now—I could totally get it if she never wanted to see me again. I’ll have to stop going to yoga. And the takeaways near hers. And—”
“Did she say that, love, that she didn’t ever want to see you again?”
“Well, no. She said she was going to talk to Katie in confidence and let it all brew.”
“That seems reasonable, don’t you think?”
I nod, because it is impossible to disagree. Of course it is reasonable.
“Then you’re just getting ahead of yourself now, aren’t you? Worrying about scenarios that haven’t even happened?”
I narrow my eyes at her and reply, “That’s what I do, Margie! It’s kind of my specialist subject!”
“I thought that was knowing something weird that happened on every single day of the year, and being able to quantify exactly how many tea bags you’ll need for a month.”
“Well, they’re also specialist subjects. God, I really am crap, aren’t I?”
“Sit down,” she says firmly, pushing me physically into one of her chairs. “You’re in a proper tizz, and I’ve never seen you like this before. Normally you’re Little Miss Calm, Cool, and Collected. Now take a chill pill, will you?”
“Take a chill pill?” I echo, the phrase so incongruous coming from her lips that it almost makes me smile.
“Yeah. You need to do some of your fancy breathing, or count some spoons or something. I can practically see steam coming out of your ears. Everything will be all right, hon. Have a bit of faith.”
“Ha! Faith... that’s definitely not one of my specialist subjects, but okay. I will indeed try to chill. I think this is my blind spot, Margie—anything to do with my baby, real or imagined, just seems to override all my usual factory settings.”
She leans forward, pats my hand briefly, then winces. She is in pain, and she is ignoring it to comfort me. That small fact, that small sacrifice on her part, works better than any techniqueI could have devised deliberately. It immediately diverts my attention away from the obstacle course that is my brain.
“Are you all right?” I ask. “Shall I get us a coffee?”
“I’m okay, Gem. Just need to go back to the doc, I think. Might ask him about acupuncture or something. I already take so many tablets that I rattle when I walk. Anyhow, that’s for another time. So, I think you need to give Erin a bit of space, and you need to give yourself a bit of a break. And I think you need to give me all the filthy details of what you got up to last night, madam! We heard you, Bill and me, getting home past nine o’clock, a man’s footsteps on your stairs, a mysterious Nissan still outside this morning...”
She is grinning like a demon on drugs, cackling and pointing at me as she sees my embarrassed expression.
“You’re a dirty old woman, Margie, did you know that?” I ask, finding it impossible not to grin back.
“I do. That’s one ofmyspecialist subjects... so. Spill the beans!”
