Almost Perfect (4 page)

Besides, something had started to creep up on Mac that he hadn't expected. It was the picture of his child. The son he was supposed to have. He'd never really thought about it before, it was part of the shadowy photograph album of his life, tucked away somewhere in his subconscious. Maybe it was not even a son, that was probably his own identity asserting itself. But it was the certainty that one day there
would exist in the world a child of his. Suddenly not so certain.

And now, seven years later, much less certain. Despite the drugs and the hormones and the injections and the endless procedures and charts and cycles, Anna remained immutably without child. He knew it was breaking her heart and breaking her spirit. It was destroying their lives. And he didn't know how to stop it.

Anna walked briskly into the kitchen at seven-thirty sharp, fully dressed, make-up flawless, hair perfect. She knew Mac would be standing there, leaning against the bench, drinking his coffee, giving the paper a cursory scan. Usually he would have left for the office by now, but not this morning. He wouldn't leave until she was up, just to make sure she did get up. There had been mornings after such nights, after such news, when she had been unable to. Now that he saw her dressed and ready for work, he'd leave shortly, and then she'd be able to relax. She wouldn't have to behave as though nothing had happened, as though she was fine; she wouldn't have to pray silently,
Don't say anything, don't ask, don't bring it up
.
Please.

Because it was no use. They had talked and talked over the years. They had explored every emotion – sadness, anger, guilt, overwhelming disappointment, blame. They had said everything that needed to be said, everything that could possibly be said. And now there was only the unspeakable left to
say. And Anna didn't want to hear it. She didn't want to discuss it. Because that meant deciding when enough was enough.

So these days she got drunk, and then sick, and then Mac would put her to bed. He'd get up once she'd fallen asleep and work most of the night, because that was how Mac coped, by burying himself in his work. And he would have showered and dressed downstairs this morning, so as not to disturb her. And then he'd wait for her to appear. Which she did, like clockwork, dressed impeccably, calm and ready for the day, as though nothing had happened. Leaving him no opening to utter the unspeakable.

‘Morning,' she said casually. She could never quite muster chirpiness, and it would only seem fake. Casual was better. She walked straight to him and kissed him on the cheek, in that perfunctory husband-and-wife way, like they were a normal husband and wife greeting each other on a normal morning.

‘How did you sleep?' he asked as she turned around to the coffee plunger, neatly avoiding eye contact.

‘Fine thanks,' she returned, pouring herself a cup. She busied herself with milk and sugar, as though these steps required an enormous amount of concentration. She heard him fold the paper, rinse his cup and then he was beside her, and his lips were pressed to the side of her head. For a brief moment she relaxed against him, closing her eyes. She felt his arm coming around her, his hand squeezing her shoulder.

‘I love you,' she heard him say.

‘Love you too,' she said, in that same perfunctory way, without moving, without looking up at him. It wasn't fair. He didn't deserve this. But she couldn't risk anything more.

He was leaving the kitchen now. ‘Bye, have a good day.'

‘Oh, I'll be late this evening,' she said, finally looking up. He was standing in the doorway and for the first time their eyes connected, and Anna could see the sadness. And worse, the resignation. She swallowed. ‘I've got supervision.'

He nodded. ‘Okay, see you later.'

And then he was gone. And he never saw the tears fill her eyes, and he never heard her sobs, or heard her say, ‘I'm sorry, Mac.'

Louise and Georgie were eating lunch in the office when Adam walked in and stuck his hand out across the desk in front of Louise.

‘Ten bucks, thank you.'

‘Why?'

‘Lover boy's back.'

Georgie nearly choked on her focaccia.

‘Woohoo,' Louise cooed suggestively, reaching for her purse. ‘He's keen.'

‘Oh, get over yourselves, you two,' said Georgie
after she'd managed to swallow. ‘Just because someone comes into the shop two days in a row doesn't mean anything. You think he's the first customer who's ever done that? Did you ever imagine he might be interested in books, seeing as this is a bookshop after all? No, this poor, unsuspecting bibliophile, who probably doesn't even remember my name, dares to walk into the shop more than once and you two catch the express train to fantasy land.'

Adam sighed loudly. ‘He came straight to the counter and asked me if Georgie was in today.'

Louise laughed out loud, passing a ten-dollar note to Adam. ‘You've got a live one, Georgie, go for it.'

She winced, glancing uncertainly out into the shop.

‘What's the problem?' asked Louise. ‘He looks all right.'

Georgie pulled a face. ‘They never are though, are they?'

‘Well, you won't know unless you give it a go. Hey, I'm a poet and I didn't even realise.'

Georgie stood up and straightened her skirt, though she never could tell what was straight for this particular skirt. She had found the solution to her wardrobe woes when she discovered the hippy/new age/peasant look. It covered a multitude of sins. Matching colours and patterns didn't matter, appropriateness of an outfit for an occasion was no longer an issue. And despite Zan claiming she looked like a reject from the set of
Moulin Rouge
, it only added to the perception that she was bohemian and eccentric, instead of seriously style-deficient.

She ran her tongue across the front of her teeth. ‘Can you see any spinach?' she asked Louise.

Louise contemplated Georgie's sandwich. ‘You weren't eating spinach.'

‘Doesn't mean it won't show up on my teeth,' she declared, flicking her fingers through her hair. ‘Wish me luck!'

Georgie walked out across the shop floor. Liam was standing gazing at a poster of
Duck Egg Blue
as she came up behind him. ‘Have you read it?'

He swung around suddenly, apparently surprised, but his features softened when he saw it was Georgie. ‘Hi.'

‘Personally, it's not really my cup of latte,' she continued.

‘I'm sorry?'

‘Oh, I know it's being touted as the next Booker prize winner and all, but it won't win. I mean, maybe it is “an honest and disturbing account of a woman's descent into depression”, but who wants to read about that?'

Liam looked blankly at her. ‘I'm sorry, I'm not following you at all.'

Georgie indicated the poster. ‘
Duck Egg Blue.
Waste of good trees if you ask me. So, what brings you back so soon?'

Liam cleared his throat. He looked nervous, which Georgie found not a little endearing. ‘Well . . . actually, um, well . . .' He took a breath. ‘Actually, I'm after another gift. For my father this time.'

She suppressed a smile. ‘What's the occasion?'

Liam hesitated. ‘It's his birthday.'

Georgie lifted an eyebrow. ‘So your father's birthday's a day after your mother's? That's a rather huge coincidence, isn't it?'

‘I'll say.'

She frowned. ‘They're both Librans then? That's not a great combination.'

‘No, it's not,' he agreed.

Georgie smiled. ‘You didn't remember this yesterday?'

He shook his head regretfully. ‘Slipped my mind.'

‘So what does your father like to read? Thrillers, war stories?'

‘That's a bit of a sexist assumption, isn't it?' Liam remarked.

‘I know these things, I'm a bookseller. He's a man, if he reads at all it'll be sports biographies, action, thriller, war . . .'

‘Fine, what do you suggest?'

She folded her arms, considering him. ‘I suggest you buy a cup of coffee instead. It'll only cost a couple of dollars and you won't have to fork out thirty bucks for a book you don't want, when all you really wanted was an excuse to see me again.'

Liam stared at her incredulously. For a second Georgie thought she'd really put her foot in it. Why couldn't someone have parents with birthdays on consecutive days? It wasn't all that incredible; it would hardly get them into the Guinness Book of Records.

But then his face relaxed into a sheepish smile and Georgie breathed again.

‘So what'll it be?' she asked tentatively.

‘White with one.'

She smiled at him. ‘Take a seat, I'll bring it over to you.'

He wandered across to what they referred to as the sitting room. Not that it was a room as such; it was just an area bordered by bookshelves on three sides, with comfy armchairs and sofas and a couple of coffee tables. It had been one of Georgie's ideas after she'd seen the cafe on
Friends
. But everyone was doing it now.

She carried two cups over and handed one to Liam as she parked herself beside him on the sofa. She sat side on, facing him, bringing her feet up underneath her.

‘This is a pretty impressive set-up,' he remarked.

‘Thank you.'

He turned to face her, stretching his arm across the back of the sofa. ‘So it really is your business?'

‘Half of it.'

‘That's right, you said you were partners with your sister . . .'

‘In-law.'

‘Who's married to your brother,' he nodded. ‘Not the other way around.'

Georgie smiled. He remembered.

‘How long have you owned the business?' Liam asked.

‘Going on twelve years.'

‘You must have been a child when you started?'

‘And you must have been to flattery school.'

He smiled. ‘No, come on. You couldn't have been twenty?'

Georgie shrugged. ‘You're getting warm.'

‘That's a pretty big deal, starting a business so young. And to have made such a success of it.'

‘Well, blame that on Louise. She's the brains, I just work here.'

Liam considered her. ‘I'm sure you're being modest.'

‘I'm sure I'm not,' Georgie insisted. ‘I don't have a head for business. You ask Louise, she won't even let me in the room when there are numbers about in case I manage to screw them up somehow. I have enough trouble with my own finances, never mind letting me loose on the business.'

Sad but true. Sometimes Georgie found herself adding up series of figures – electricity, insurance, a lay-by she had to pay off, money that was coming in. And then all of a sudden she was lost. There were numbers all over the page, grouped in columns, horizontal lines every so often, as though there was a pattern or some meaning to it all. But now they meant nothing, she'd lost her thread and she was unlikely to ever find it again.

‘So what are you good at?' Liam was asking.

Georgie eyed him. ‘I'm not sure I know you well enough to answer that yet,' she grinned. Then she noticed his face was going darker. Oh my God, he was blushing, or whatever you called it when a guy did that. She had to put him out of his misery.

‘Making coffee,' she blurted. ‘I'm good at making coffee.'

Liam took a sip of his. ‘Yes, you are.' He seemed to have recovered. ‘So why a bookshop, why not a cafe?'

‘Well, I did think about that, but once Louise and I decided to go into partnership, there was really only one choice.'

He was watching her expectantly.

‘Because of our surname . . . Reading,' she added, waiting for the penny to drop.

‘Oh, that's where you got the name for the place,' he nodded.

‘I knew it was going to be hard getting anything past you.'

Liam smiled at her. ‘So it has nothing to do with a love of books?'

‘Oh, of course it does. That goes without saying. You have to love books, all kinds of books, if you're going to sell them. But it can't only be about what you like either, you have to put yourself in a child's shoes, or a sports lover's, or a gardener's . . . or a man's. What do you like to read?'

‘I'm afraid I don't get much chance to read.'

She looked at him as though he'd said he didn't get much chance to wash. ‘Why not?' she demanded.

‘I don't have time.'

‘Then you should make time.'

‘You think it's that important?'

‘Yes!' she insisted, clearly astonished. ‘It's essential. Reading is food for the mind and the soul and . . . well, when you read you're taken away to other places, other times, inside other people's heads. The characters become your friends, you live in their world. You can't get that watching a movie, because that's the director's vision and you can only be an observer. But when you read, you participate in the
story. There's a relationship between you and the writer – he provides the words and you make the pictures in your head. There's no other experience like it.'

‘You should have been my English teacher,' he said ruefully. ‘I never really developed a love of reading. I was force-fed
Jane Eyre
and
Pride and Prejudice
at school and I don't think I ever got over it.'

Georgie shook her head, exasperated. ‘Why do they do that? I mean, they're great books, but teenage boys shouldn't be reading Bronte and Austen. It's no wonder they never pick up another book.' She paused. ‘Okay, you leave this with me, I'll find you something that'll turn you around.'

Was he reddening again, just a little? His mobile phone started to ring and Georgie was glad for the interruption, for his sake. Liam lifted it out of his breast pocket, frowning as he looked down at the screen. Then he turned it off before letting it drop back into his pocket. ‘Sorry about that,' he said.

‘It's okay,' she said. ‘Work?'

He rubbed his forehead. ‘You'd think I'd be able to get away for half an hour without being hounded.'

‘So what do you do?'

‘I'm a lawyer.' He smiled, watching her reaction. ‘You don't have to look quite so repulsed.'

‘I'm not repulsed.'

‘There was a face.'

‘There was no face,' she denied. ‘So what kind of lawyer are you? Are you like Bobby off
The Practice
, or Will off
Will and Grace
, except for the being gay part, because we already cleared that up yesterday.'

He looked at her, mystified. ‘Tell me, am I supposed to actually follow what you say all the time, or should I just let some of it wash over me?'

‘If you kept up with your popular culture you'd have no trouble following me,' Georgie said airily. ‘I was wondering what kind of law you practise. For example, you might be a criminal lawyer, that is not to say a
criminal
lawyer, like
you're
the criminal. Though you had me going for a while there yesterday . . .'

Liam put his hand up to stop her before he got any more bamboozled. ‘I specialise in taxation law.'

‘Oh, they've never made a TV show about that,' Georgie remarked.

‘And it's a safe bet they never will.'

‘Hmm, you're probably right,' she agreed. ‘So what does a tax lawyer do?'

‘Well, in a nutshell, I advise large corporations, multinationals, on how to best minimise or offset their tax liability, particularly when they're involved in mergers, that kind of thing.'

Georgie was listening intently. ‘Wow, so how do you sleep at night?'

Liam was just taking a sip of his coffee and he nearly coughed it up. ‘I beg your pardon?'

‘Doing a job like that – I mean, I know it's bona fide and someone has to do it, yada yada,' she waved her hand dismissively. ‘But, you know, helping the rich get richer, get out of paying their fair share, that must involve a huge internal moral conflict. Though I guess you could be, what do they call it, amoral? That'd certainly make it easier,' she mused.

Liam was gobsmacked. ‘Are you always so . . .'

Georgie watched him searching for words.

‘. . . honest?' was what he eventually came up with.

‘I'm afraid so,' she nodded. ‘You have a problem with honesty? Oh, I suppose you would, being a lawyer.'

‘Being a lawyer in fact makes me acutely aware of the truth.'

‘Mm. You mean like how to bend it so you're not actually lying but you're not so much telling the truth either?'

He blinked and opened his mouth to speak, but Georgie jumped up before he could get anything out. ‘Oh, will you excuse me for a tick?'

She hurried over to the door of the shop as an elderly gentleman was pushing against it. Georgie grabbed the door and held it open for him.

‘Hi Mr Petrovsky,' she said in a loud voice. ‘How are you this afternoon?'

‘All the better for seeing you, Georgiana,' he replied in a thick accent, smiling up at her. Mr Petrovsky was only a short man.

‘Guess what arrived this morning?' Georgie said, her eyes wide.

‘It did?' he exclaimed, clutching her hand.

She turned around. ‘Adam, can you bring Mr Petrovsky's special order please? It's on Louise's desk.'

He waved, already heading for the office.

‘You sit yourself down,' she said, pulling out a chair from a table in front of the window, ‘and I'll bring your espresso and your bran muffin.'

‘Thank you, Georgiana.'

When Georgie turned around Liam was waiting at the counter. Her heart sank a little. Bugger, she'd frightened him off. Surely he hadn't taken what she'd said to heart? She was just . . . being herself, unfortunately.