She drives past me, that evening, no Poppy in the car.
Where are you going, Scarlett? She hasn’t mentioned anything in her messages and it’s a pretty big deal if one of us makes it out in the evening at the moment, with our young babies making 8 p.m. feel like midnight.
Out of her window blasts a song that is too familiar to me. My stomach lurches.
I only get a quick glance through the open window but Scarlett has bare shoulders; lipstick on. She doesn’t make that effort for many people. As I said, Scarlett prefers to be (very deliberately) ‘effortlessly’ casual.
I watch as her car moves further away, heading towards the station. Into town, most likely.
After-work drinks with old friends?
Or the other thing?
I stare after her, until her car disappears from sight.