At first I thought that this “modern Georgian house” was pretty dull. Of course the drab paintwork and the tall presses on the ground floor were in keeping with the Georgian ideal, but you could find this kind of decoration anywhere on a new housing estate.
It was not until you wandered upstairs that you discovered the magnificence of the house. Beyond a cluttered family area on the landing filled with books (including The cookery year from Reader’s Digest) was a vast ballroom. This then opened on to a huge conservatory the size of the palm house at the Royal Botanic Garden, Edinburgh.
But what was SL doing here? And why was she running around in a pink nightie?
Everyone loved miniature party girl NP. Tonight our tiny friend was wearing an elegant cream satin dress studded with sparkling sequins. One of the men carried her on his shoulders so everyone could see how beautiful she looked.
I called up to NP that her outfit would make a fabulous bridal gown. She replied with a knowing wink.
A, C, S and N proposed a commune holiday on the Isle of Harris later in the year. Since TPR and I were already there, the others tasked us with checking out the various self-catering cottages that A had identified for the trip.
The first “cottage” was a red-roofed rotting wooden shed stuck in the middle of the moorland. I assured TPR that if this was the kind of accommodation that they wanted to book, we would flee to A and B’s bed and breakfast in Northton.
We drove along the coast to the next candidate cottage. I watched the seals bobbing about in the water, wondering if we might also see a whale or two. Instead I was rewarded with the most astonishing sight: a giant baby kangaroo with ears the size of an African elephant was paddling in the shallow water of Luskentyre Bay.
TPR was mobile again now that he had been kitted out with the same type of blades favoured by Olympic athlete Oscar Pistorius. He wore them in public for the first time at ED’s party in West Lothian.
The party was notable for another reason. N and SY were there.
“I had no idea that you knew N and S”, I commented to ED.
“I know everyone”, she replied. “I think that N is amazing. Who would have thought that you could hold down a successful career as an American university professor and bring up four kids?”
This was yet another surprise. I had always been under the impression that N worked in the UK hospitality industry.
I had housed GP as an act of charity. In truth I didn’t know much about him other than he and I attended the same school for a short while in the 1970s.
I learnt that my generosity was a huge mistake the day that the police arrived to close down what they described as my “Edinburgh basement cocaine factory”. I pleaded that it wasn’t mine, but the work of my miscreant lodger GP.
When we passed on Bonnington Road I was sure I saw a flicker of recognition flash across his face. Was this acknowledgement of our shared history? Of course I was far too shy to stop and ask so would never know whether or not he had recognised me. I carried on walking towards town as he continued in the direction of his (new) house.
Then something made me look back. He was staring at me from behind a telegraph pole. I smiled broadly, as did he. We rushed back to the point where we had passed and we fell into one another’s arms.
I needed a back-up plan since my husband appeared to be no longer interested in me. R would do. He fitted the bill well as a tall, skinny engineer.
There were, however, a few of drawbacks of my pursuit of R. First, he was French. Second, he was also a redhead, so we could never have children together. More importantly, perhaps, was that he had no interest in me at all (or at least initially). It took much effort on my part to persuade him of my charms.
When R eventually succumbed we went for a long walk in the hills. All was going well until we encountered a swarm of bees that chased us all the way back down to town.
As we ran along the street to R’s hall of residence bedroom I could hear my mother-in-law on the phone to TPR.
“I have no idea where she is”, she said. “Don’t you usually monitor her movements her using Find My iPhone?”
This was a good point. It was all very well for me to start an affair with R, but I really should have first considered how I would cover my tracks.
A steady stream of teenage boys in bottle green aertex shirts passed me in the narrow corridor. I could tell that they were pupils of Wellington College from the words stitched in yellow embroidery just below their left collars. One boy stopped in his tracks to deliver a message to me.
“S’s brother Daniel is with us” he whispered. “Come to the canteen later to meet him.”
This was very strange. Since when was was S’s brother called Daniel, and how could he possibly be a pupil of Wellington College?
Dreamaticus 