Now, Cherry nursed a coffee at the window as she watched soft summer waves roll gently towards the Kinshore sands partly shielded by the mounds of grassy dunes. Sunlight danced on the expanse of stiller waters, glimmering all the way to the horizon. Her old life was outthere somewhere. The shuffling of cards replaced by the rush of the ocean, the artificial casino lights swapped for Scottish sunshine,and a poker player in transit now ina very small Scottish village.
Don’t get used to it. You’re not staying.
Where was she going, though? The touring circuit was unappealing, but would settling in her old home of Edinburgh be any better? All her friends there were on the mummy circuit. What circuit was Cherry on?
The one for childless female poker players the wrong side of thirty-fivethat no one else is on.Cherry’s female poker contemporaries were either disappearing to start families or young enough not to have to think about it. It was a lonely place to be. A friend to whom she could relate would be so welcome.
She emailed the CEO of a charity poker tournament company with a list of potential players for the tournament. Sean’s brother, Jamie, was happy for the distillery to host the event, so that took care of a venue.
Like dust before a tornado, a name swirled in her mind, and her finger circled over his number in her phone. It was a gift having an ex-boyfriend as famous as this one, but Campbell Duff, Scot and Hollywood movie star, was not someone Cherry needed to reunite with. Then again, his attendance would be such a draw for the tournament. For charity. For Sean.
She could message and ask him right now.
But if she saw Campbell, she wouldn’t be able to resist asking him questions about the past that, given her current predicament, bore too much weight. She and Campbell had only been together for eighteen months ten years ago, but they hadn’t been without their ups and downs.
Maybe tomorrow.
There was one other thing Cherry didn’t want to do. But she knew she had to.
Annul the marriage.
Start loading the caravans to take the Cherry circus out of town.
Turning her attention to the page she’d skimmed over the previous day, she learned that there was no such thing as a marriage annulment in Scotland, only the voiding of said union. The grounds for this were not applicable to her and Sean; they were both of legal age, both had consented to the marriage and, as far as she knew, there were no hidden diseases or gender transitions. And she definitely wasn’t pregnant by someone else. There was only one criterion on which they could ask a court to declare their marriage void. That they had not yet consummated it.
Thank God they’d managed somehow not to sleep together. The struggle of restraint might have saved them a bunch of time, and the hassle and expense of divorce.
Although, how would anyone know if they’d slept together or not?
Because you stand in a room with the man and it’s like the place is on fire. Any judge would see the electrical surge between you both and assume you’ve done the deed.
Would it be better to actually sleep together and get rid of some of that sexual tension?
Cherry laughed out loud at her own idea. The stupidest she’d ever had. Sex with Sean would not be like a coffee shop loyalty card – do it five times, get it out of your system and claim your gift of a voided marriage. Sex with Sean would lead to a serious addiction far worse than caffeine. One she would not be able to walk away from, in either the short or long term. With the chemistry between them and the goods his Butler DNA granted him, there was a fairchance she’d be unable to stand up for quite a few days afterwards, let alone walk away.
She downloaded and printed off the annulment form, dread drifting in like sea fret as she leafed through the sheets. How did people do this after ten, twenty years of marriage? She’d been married a few days, and reading these pages threw up a mess of regret, fear and sadness.
Nonetheless, she found a pen and filled in all the fields. Checked the fees. Ugh! But she could afford it. She left the forms by the printer in the far corner of the lounge for Sean to check over.
After a brisk walk along the beachfront, Cherry was warm enough to tie her cardigan around her waist. Now in skinny jeans and a low-cut vest top, accessorised with a baseball cap and sunglasses, she possibly suited the poker table more than a wee Scottish village.
Kinshore was a criss-cross of quaint thoroughfares and smaller cobbled laneways. The main street was lined with the usual Scottish village fare of grocer, baker, butcher, coffee shop, charity shops and a smattering of independents, but there was something different about this place. A tangible character. A warmth from more than the sunshine. People smiled and said hello as if they’d known her all their life.
As if she belonged here.
Imagine.
Sean had said he’d be home at five-ish – plenty time to get some groceries in and make something basic. Her cooking was nothing to write home about, but she could throw together some ingredients into the resemblance of a meal. If it was truly awful, she’d buy him a takeaway.
Cherry found the small grocery store Sean had mentioned. She would grab stuff for a simple pasta dish – within her limited cooking range.
Tinny pop music filtered through the shop’s speakers. Behind the counter, two middle-aged ladies were masquerading as hard-working employees whilst swapping gossip. These must be the ‘wifies’ Sean had mentioned. The first win was that they appeared not to notice as Cherry strolled in.
Up the first aisle of the store she moved, stopping to examine the pasta sauce. Tomato and basil or tomato and garlic – how to choose? Maybe some olives would brighten things up.
As she was picking up a jar of sauce to see if there were any more exotic ingredients hidden within, conversation floated over the shelves, nearly causing the jar to slip from her hand.
‘Aye, so I hear Sean Butler got married after five minutes, to some woman he met at Callum’s wedding in New York. He’s clearly taken Jimmy’s death worse than any of us thought.’
