Almost Perfect (13 page)

He sat back against his seat. ‘You want my mobile number?'

‘Uhuh,' she replied absently, rummaging in her bag. She drew out her mobile phone and handed it to him. ‘Could you program it in for me? And give me your phone and I'll program my number in.'

Liam hesitated, contemplating her phone. ‘You know, I'm not sure if it's such a good idea.'

Georgie's stomach lurched.

‘It's just that I always turn my phone off during meetings, and I spend a lot of time in meetings, unfortunately. And then I usually turn it off after work, when I don't want to be contacted . . .'

She looked at him squarely. ‘If you don't want me to have your number, Liam, just say so. I'm not trying to keep tabs on you, it's just for convenience.'

He sighed. ‘Of course you can have my number.' He took his phone out of his pocket and handed it to Georgie. ‘I only hope you won't be offended if I don't always get back to you right away.'

‘I'll cope,' she grinned. ‘Besides, I'll probably just text you.'

He raised an eyebrow. ‘I think I like the sound of that.'

After he had keyed in his number, they exchanged phones again and Georgie dropped hers into her bag. ‘Well, I'll let you get back to it,' she said, leaning over and planting a solid kiss on his lips. ‘Don't work too hard.'

She went to turn away but he stopped her, drawing her back into his arms and kissing her again. ‘I'll talk to you soon then,' he said.

‘Whatever,' she said lightly, smiling up at him. She climbed out of the car and began up the driveway. She hadn't heard his engine start up, so she turned around and waved. He flashed his lights, but he still didn't drive off until she had walked into the building.

Georgie felt elated as she climbed the stairs. The sound of music coming from inside her flat couldn't
even dampen her mood, though she knew what it probably meant. When she unlocked the door she saw half-a-dozen bodies draped across the lounge chairs, and a couple more on the floor. The distinctive aroma of dope hung in the air. The sound of a cat being strangled was coming from the stereo, and the TV was playing footage of surfing without any volume.

‘Hi!' Georgie said brightly.

A couple of heads turned.

‘I'm Trace's flatmate,' she continued. ‘Georgie.'

A man with white-blond hair, which looked as though it had only ever been washed in saltwater, pointed to the other end of the lounge where, Georgie presumed, it was Tracey's head buried under a pile of cushions. ‘She crashed,' he grunted.

Georgie smiled at no one in particular and stepped over a body on her way to the kitchen. She took a bottle of water from the fridge and carried it back through the living room to the hall. ‘Well, goodnight everyone,' she chirped.

A couple of arms moved and she heard a communal murmur. Georgie walked into her room and closed the door, tossing her bag on the bed just as it started to emit a ring. She picked it up again and reached inside for her mobile.

‘Georgie speaking.'

‘I thought your name was Georgie Reading?'

It was Liam. She knew his voice now. ‘Hello, miss me already?'

‘Absolutely.'

She felt like a schoolgirl. ‘So what's up? Did I leave something in the car?'

‘No, I missed you already,' he said. Georgie smiled. ‘And I forgot to thank you for tonight.'

‘I should be the one thanking you,' she insisted. ‘You invited me.'

‘Well, I'm glad you said yes.'

‘I'm glad I did too.'

There was a pause.

‘So I was thinking, I'm probably free for lunch tomorrow,' Liam said tentatively.

‘Oh?' Georgie was smiling. ‘Well, if you are, why don't you come by the shop?'

‘All right, I might just do that.'

‘Maybe I'll see you then.'

‘I think it's a distinct possibility.'

‘Okay.'

‘Bye.'

Georgie felt a lightness she had never known before. This was what people meant when they talked about walking on air. She had a delicious sense of anticipation with none of the fear. Clearly she had been doing this all wrong before now, she realised, undressing for bed. She had always set her hopes so high there was only one way for them to go – crashing down. But this, well, it felt almost indulgent. Like she'd stumbled upon some wonderful forbidden food that no matter how much she ate she would never put on weight.

She pulled on a T-shirt and climbed into bed, lying on her back, gazing up at the ceiling and grinning like a mad thing. She was insanely happy and she was going to revel in it. It occurred to her that she hadn't felt this happy for quite a while. She
couldn't complain, she was content most of the time. She had a wonderful family, her own business that she loved, her own place. She had no right to be anything but grateful for her lot in life. But was it so wrong to want a little more than contentment? Didn't she deserve to experience that intense, heightened surge of wellbeing only full-blown happiness could deliver? Georgie decided she did deserve it, and she was not going to waste a second of it, or take it for granted. And she was going to make Liam happy, delirious if she could. She was determined to be the most enjoyable thing in his life. She would not add a moment's stress, not cause him pain or angst, or become a complication in any way.

And who could say where they might end up? Or what exquisite secret paths they might find along the way.

‘You're bloody mad.'

‘Louise!' Georgie protested.

‘What are you saying? You're going to be his concubine, sitting around waiting for him to call, fulfilling his every desire . . .'

‘No, it's not like that. I'm not going to sit around and wait for him to call. That's the whole point.'

Louise eyed her dubiously, picking up another
pile of books from the open carton at her feet and stacking them onto the shelf in front of her.

‘Look,' said Georgie, ‘you were the one saying I had wildly romantic ideas. I'm just trying to put it into perspective and enjoy it for what it is. Get to know him slowly, no over-the-top expectations.'

‘Yeah, but you have a right to have
some
expectations if you're actually having a relationship with the guy.'

‘We're not using the “R” word. We're two people who like each other, who want to spend some time together, but who have no claim over each other.'

‘Oh right, and he suggested this?'

‘No, I did,' Georgie retorted. ‘I've begun to understand this thing that I do – measuring up a guy for his wedding suit three minutes after we've met. And then by the next date I can't stand the idea of being with him for the rest of my life, so I stop seeing him. Well, I'm not going to do that with Liam. I'm going to take it one date at a time, without an end in mind. Like travelling with no set destination, just seeing where the road takes you.' She wouldn't elaborate on the metaphor this time, Louise would just think she was weird.

Louise sighed heavily, shoving a row of books along to make more room. ‘I can't help feeling that this arrangement is better for him than it is for you.'

‘But why shouldn't it be good for me?' Georgie persisted. ‘You're bogged down in the idea that a woman is only out to get married and a man is only out to get laid. What about just getting to know each other? Having fun, enjoying ourselves. If something
develops, it does. We're not trying to avoid that, but we're not pre-empting it either.'

‘Look, it all sounds great in theory, very mature and postmodern,' said Louise. ‘What if he doesn't turn up one day? And that's the last you ever see of him? There are no expectations, so he doesn't owe you an explanation. Do you think it will hurt any less because you're not calling it a relationship?'

Georgie blinked. Liam would never do that. She couldn't explain it to Louise, but deep down, in that place between her stomach and her heart, where she felt things most intensely, lay her unwavering belief that they would be together always. She was keeping it to herself for now. She didn't need to talk about it. She knew it was true.

‘Of course, anything could happen,' Georgie calmly answered her. ‘That's the whole idea.'

Anna checked her watch. He couldn't be much longer, surely. She couldn't remember the last time she'd waited up for Mac, but she had assumed he'd be home by midnight. It was twelve-thirty now and still no sign of him. Of course he wasn't to know she'd still be awake. Anna was not in the habit of staying up late, and besides, Mac had called at six to say he wouldn't be home for dinner, he couldn't say
when he'd be home. Which was what he said every time; she wondered why he bothered. It had been weeks since they'd sat down to a meal together. Weeks since she'd made that stupid remark. Weeks since Mac had been able to look her in the eye.

Anna wished she could take it back, but she knew that was impossible. It was out there, on the record, and she couldn't pretend she hadn't said it. Worse than that, she couldn't pretend there wasn't an element of truth in it. Not that she only saw Mac as a sperm donor, that was patently ludicrous. She loved him. Of course she loved him. She had loved him for so long she couldn't imagine her life without him. But the fact was, she couldn't imagine her life without a child either. Why couldn't Mac understand that all of a sudden? It was hardly a new idea. Did he think she'd gone through everything she had over the past few years just to fill in time? But now he seemed to be taking it personally, as though her longing for a baby meant he was inadequate somehow, that their relationship was deficient.

When he walked out that night Anna had asked herself if she really could be happy with Mac but without a baby. And she'd decided yes, she could, of course she could. But why did she have to? One didn't preclude the other. She wanted to be pregnant and give birth and mother a child . . . their child. No matter how much Mac loved her or she loved him, no matter how much fulfilment they could find in a life without children, there would always be something missing.

It wasn't as though Anna was the only woman to
feel this way. And surely other men didn't think their partners' desire to have a child was because they didn't love them enough? That was clearly absurd. The problem with infertility, apart from the obvious, was that it turned a natural phenomenon into an overwrought, convoluted process, involving previously unconsidered matters of ethics and morality and an unhealthy amount of soul-searching and just plain navel-gazing. Every aspect was turned inside out, debated, evaluated, deliberated upon, obsessed over. Anna wondered what it must feel like to wake up one day and find yourself pregnant. By accident even. The idea was almost unimaginable to her, yet it happened to women around the world every day. Every minute.

She heard the key in the front door. Mac was home finally. When he'd called earlier, Anna had served his dinner onto a plate and covered it carefully with plastic wrap. As she sat eating her meal alone for the umpteenth time, she had come to the decision that she was not going to do this any more. One of them had to end the cold war, pull down the Berlin wall as it were. Mac had said that he wanted a break, that he wanted to see what they had together apart from IVF. Well, if the last couple of weeks was any indication, they had very little. But Anna didn't want to believe that. It was just a bad patch. They simply had to make an effort if they were going to reconnect.

So she waited for him. She didn't have a drink, she wanted to stay calm and rational and that was next to impossible when alcohol was involved.
Instead she made herself a pot of tea and had a cup, and then another, and then one more. When there was still no sign of him at ten-thirty she turned on the TV for
Lateline
. She didn't know if she was distracted, but she couldn't follow it. Of course it didn't help that it was about the Middle East conflict and who could follow that at the best of times? For the last half-hour she'd been watching
Rage
, which was something of a revelation. It had been a long time since Anna had seen any kind of music video program and things had changed. Apparently if you were a female singer, it was best to wear next to nothing so no one noticed the music, which was incessantly trite. And white boys were singing rap now. They seemed an angry lot, Anna wondered what had caused them to be so pissed off with the world.

She switched off the TV when she heard Mac at the door and was carrying her cup and saucer into the kitchen as he walked in from the hall.

‘Hi,' she said.

He had a frown on his face; obviously he had not been expecting her. ‘What are you doing up? Is something wrong?'

That was a loaded question. But she just shrugged. ‘Thought I'd wait up for you.'

‘I told you not to bother,' he said a little awkwardly.

‘It was no bother.' Anna opened the fridge and took out the plate of food she had served up. ‘Have you eaten? Do you want me to heat this up for you?'

‘I'll do that,' he chided, though not unkindly, taking the plate from her. ‘You should go to bed,
Anna, it's late for you.' He peeled back the plastic wrap a little and put the plate in the microwave.

‘I hardly see you any more,' she said tentatively, watching him program the oven.

He pressed
Start
and turned around to face her. ‘What are you implying? You know it's been hell at work.'

‘I'm not implying anything.' She didn't want to put him on the defensive. ‘I just thought we could talk,' she said. ‘We haven't talked for a while.'

Mac opened the fridge door, looking inside rather than at her. ‘It's not exactly the best time to talk, Anna. I'm exhausted.' He picked up a bottle of beer. ‘Do you want anything?' he asked her.

She shook her head. ‘No thanks.'

He twisted the top off the bottle and swallowed down a few mouthfuls. The oven beeped and Anna turned towards it.

‘I'll get it,' Mac insisted, passing her. She opened a drawer and took out a knife and a fork, then a napkin from the next drawer. She followed him over to the breakfast table and handed him the cutlery.

‘Thanks,' he said, taking it from her as he sat down.

She slid onto the chair opposite and sat watching him as he began to eat. ‘How is it?'

‘Fine, thanks.'

‘Because sometimes steak reheated in the microwave–'

‘It's great. Thank you.'

Anna rested her hands on the table, clasping them together. ‘Mum rang today.'

Mac nodded, chewing, his mouth full.

‘She was asking when we think we'll get down there next.'

He swallowed, then took a swig of his beer. ‘I don't know. I told you, it's crazy at work.'

Anna sighed. ‘Maybe you need to get away. You were saying you needed a holiday.'

‘A weekend with your parents was not exactly what I had in mind,' he muttered.

‘You've never minded visiting my parents before.'

‘You know I like spending time with your parents. I love your parents, don't make this about them.'

‘Then what is this about, Mac?'

He breathed out heavily. ‘You know what it's about.'

‘So how long are you going to keep punishing me?'

Mac stared down at his plate, moving food around with his fork. ‘I'm not punishing you,' he said without looking up.

‘Then why won't you talk to me?'

‘Because we've talked enough, Anna. There's nothing more to say.' He paused. ‘I want to talk about something else, anything else.'

‘Fine,' Anna said calmly. ‘But at the moment we don't seem to be talking at all.'

Mac dropped his fork on the plate and pushed it away. ‘You pick your times, don't you?' he said, consulting his watch. ‘Nearly one o'clock on a Friday night, or should I say, Saturday morning. What kind of sense are we going to make now, Anna?'

He picked up his plate and walked over to the kitchen bin, scraping off the remainder of his dinner.
He opened the dishwasher and stacked the plate, dropping his cutlery into the basket.

Anna sat staring at her hands. They were the first part of the body to show the signs of ageing, someone had once told her. Her hands looked all right, she supposed, though the skin was starting to feel a little crepey. This was one of her tricks, focus on something trivial to detract from the pain. Like biting on a knuckle when you'd kicked a toe.

What was happening to them? Mac seemed so annoyed with her, he could barely look at her. How had it all turned around so fast? He must have been bottling this up for ages. Resentment was like that, like rust. By the time it made its way to the surface where you could see it, it had already destroyed everything underneath. And by then it was almost impossible to do anything about it.

Mac was still in the kitchen, finishing his beer. Anna cleared her throat. ‘What shall I tell Mum?' she said. ‘It's just that it's Dad's birthday in a couple of weeks. She was hoping we'd make it down.'

She looked across at him then. He was staring down at the floor, apparently deep in thought. Finally he sighed. ‘Email me a couple of dates at work so I can check them against my schedule.'

Anna swallowed. She stared at her hands again. She should treat herself to a manicure, she hadn't had one in quite a while.

‘I'm going to bed,' she heard Mac say as he left the room.