Does he really think Iâm interested in how they fed it a diet of fresh chicken to try and quell its chronic flatulence? Are you interested, Carrie? Huh?â
âNo.â
âPardon?â
âNo! No, Iâm not interested. Iâm not.â
âAnd I just canât believe â¦â
âWhat?â Carrie tried to keep her eyes on the road, but Sydneyâs expression â¦â
âWhat?!â
âThe two of you â¦â
âWhat?â
Sydneyâs eyes were glued to the road ahead. It was starting to rain. Carrie turned on the windscreen wipers just in time with Sydneyâs next pronouncement.
âFucking.â
Carrie said nothing. They both stared at the road. Eventually Sydney turned her eyes towards Carrie. âWell?â
Carrie said nothing. She focused on the road and the wipers and the rain and the way that the light from the streetlamps reflected in the drops of water on the windscreen before each harsh stroke brushed it away. Where do they go? She wondered. Where do those moments go? The rain falling in just such a way, the light, the wiper. Something there and then something gone.
Sydney found she was boiling. Not hot, but something inside. What else could she do? What else could she say? Carrie had closed down, shut up, like a clam. Sydney cursed herself. She was too impetuous. Too quick to judge. If only sheâd tried to be nice, to be supportive. Maybe then Carrie might have provided her with some details. Something to ponder, to mull over, fat to chew on. Damn! Sydney crossed her arms, stared at the road, boiled.
âI got your number from the book,â Heinz said.
âDidnât I give it you?â
âNo.â
âI shouldâve.â
âShe didnât like me.â
âNo. Actually, I think she really hated you.â
âSometimes I can be overwhelming. Itâs a fault of mine. I know that. But I am simply myself. When you get old â¦â
âYou tried your best.â
âBut did I? One tends to forget how it is to ⦠uh ⦠to play the game.â
âNever mind.â
âCan I see you?â
âPardon?â
âTonight?â
Carrie rubbed her eyes with her spare hand. âI only just got in. Itâs raining outside â¦â
âTomorrow?â
Sydney lay on her stomach and rested the weight of her head on her hands. What was wrong? It was just ⦠she couldnât imagine. Carrie and that fat old man. My God! She just couldnât picture it. Not properly. Not graphically. She rolled on to her back. Couldnât imagine. But my Lord, my Lord, how she longed to!
Sydney stared at Jackâs buttons. Jack pretended not to notice. Sydney sighed.
âJack,â she said, âyou havenât a hope in hell of winning me over with that old three button trick.â
Jackâs eyes blinked and then widened. âWhat do you mean, maâam?â
âNor that Courtly American Gentleman shite.â
Jack scowled. âWhatâs the axe youâve got to grind, Sydney?â he asked, not charming any longer.
âNo axe,â Sydney said. âI just thought you should know â¦â She paused. What did she want to say, exactly? Would she tell Jack about Heinz? She looked into Jackâs face and knew that the notion of an eighty-odd-year-old man sleeping with his wife was hardly going to incite him to jealousy.
âIs it Carrie?â Jack asked.
âYep.â Sydney rubbed the corner of her eyes.
âYou look washed out,â he said.
âTired. Havenât been sleeping.â
âReally?â
Sydney uncrossed her legs. âCarrieâs got someone new.â
Jack looked surprised. âAlready?â
âYeah.â
âWho?â
Sydney cleared her throat. âSomeone sheâs known for a while.â
âShe met them at the gym? Who is it? Do I know them?â
Sydney shrugged.
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