Almost Perfect (7 page)

‘Okay, so I'm stating the bleeding obvious,' he sighed. ‘It's just, nobody's perfect, Georgie, but sometimes I think that's what you're holding out for.'

She looked at him. ‘You're perfect.'

‘You see, this is what I keep telling Louise, and yet strangely she remains unconvinced.'

They smiled at each other.

‘What about this guy that came into the shop?' Nick asked.

‘What about him?'

He nudged her. ‘Well, what's he like?'

Georgie saw Liam in her mind's eye. ‘He seems nice. I don't really know him.'

‘Promise me you'll at least try to get to know him?'

‘I might never see him again. Louise is blowing this way out of proportion.'

Which was something Louise never did and they both knew it. Georgie wasn't fooling anyone.

Nick sighed. ‘Okay, on the off-chance that you do see him again, will you promise me that you'll give him a chance?'

To break my heart into tiny little pieces and then stomp all over it with his big size-ten shoes?

Where did that come from?

‘Georgie, will you promise?'

She smiled faintly. ‘Okay.'

‘I guess we'd better go back down.'

‘Has the baby talk stopped yet?'

‘Yep.' Nick stood up and put his hand out to help Georgie. ‘You know, sis, I do see you with a baby of your own.'

‘You do?'

He nodded. ‘I always have. The right guy will come along one day . . .'

‘Don't tell me – it will probably be when I least expect it,' she droned.

‘I take it you've heard that before?'

‘Only several hundred times.'

‘Okay, I know when I've been wrapped on the knuckles with the cliché stick.' He turned and started down the stairs. ‘I still think it's true.'

Georgie bit her lip. ‘Nick, can I tell you something?'

He looked around at her. ‘Sure, what's up?'

‘You won't laugh at me?'

He smiled broadly. ‘Well, I can't guarantee that . . .'

She crossed her arms, frowning at him. ‘

Sorry, sorry, go ahead. I won't laugh at you,' he assured her. ‘Not out loud anyway.'

Georgie hesitated. ‘Well, the first day I met Liam–'

‘Who's Liam?'

‘The guy, from the shop.'

‘Didn't picture him as a Liam. I was seeing a Justin, maybe a Jason . . .'

‘Nick, what are you talking about?'

‘I have no idea. See what happens when you stay home all day with small children? Your mind goes off on tangents that are no use to anybody.'

‘Anyway,' Georgie continued, dragging him back from the detour he was barrelling along, ‘when I was talking to Liam, this thought came to me out of nowhere, I swear.' She paused, swallowing. ‘Well, our eyes met and without warning, the words “I'm going to spend the rest of my life with him” popped into my head.'

Nick looked like he didn't quite know what he was supposed to say. His mouth was open but nothing was coming out.

Georgie dropped her head in her hands. ‘Oh shit, I know, it sounds like something from a bad Jennifer Lopez movie . . .'

‘There are good Jennifer Lopez movies?'

Georgie looked up at him then and he took hold of her hands. ‘Come on, there may be something to it.'

She frowned at him. ‘You don't really think that.'

‘Sure, why not? Anything's possible.'

Georgie was still not convinced.

‘The thing is, you can't just leave it at that, you know,' Nick pointed out.

‘What do you mean?'

‘Well, if he is the one, then you've got to play your part. More than two dates. Promise?'

‘Promise.'

He kissed her on the forehead. ‘We'd better go down.'

They both turned and started down the stairs, arms linked.

‘So, Liam, eh?' said Nick. ‘Okay, Liam works. I could get used to Liam.'

Georgie smiled. So could she.

Anna sat in the same chair she had sat in countless times before, listening to the same spiel she had listened to countless times before. Actually she could count the times. She knew exactly the number of appointments she had had with Dr Tran. She just didn't want to dwell on that right now.

Dr Tran was reviewing the last cycle of treatment, from the initial retrieval of nine eggs (very satisfactory!), fertilisation resulting in six viable embryos (excellent!), allowing the (successful) implantation of three embryos and the freezing of the three remaining embryos of which two survived thawing (an elegant sufficiency!) to be implanted (again successfully) this time around in a natural cycle. Anna was sick to death of hearing the treatment objectively rated in terms of the success of the steps along the way. It had not been a successful cycle. She wasn't pregnant. No matter how many battles medical science had won along the way, it had not won the war. Surely they could only claim success when Anna was holding a baby in her arms?

‘How soon can I start the next treatment, Doctor?' Anna asked when he had finished.

‘You know by now that we recommend at least one month's rest. You've also been through . . .' he checked his notes ‘. . . two stimulated cycles and three frozen cycles almost back to back. It may be time for a slightly longer break.'

‘But there isn't time.'

‘I beg your pardon?'

‘I'll be thirty-eight next year, you know how the statistics plummet after that.'

‘Anna, it doesn't happen overnight. Yes, your eggs are ageing, fertility diminishes over the years. But a few months is not going to make a significant difference either way.'

Easy for him to say, with photos of two cute little boys sitting on his desk.

‘Where is Mac today?' he asked.

Anna looked away. ‘He's working, he couldn't make it.'

‘You realise it is vital for your physical and emotional health,' Dr Tran continued, ‘that your partner remains involved and fully supportive of the treatment?'

‘Mac is fully supportive,' Anna declared. ‘He's just incredibly busy at work at the moment. In fact, he had a few questions of his own. He wanted me to ask you if it's worth trying ICSI after all?'

Of course Mac had not asked any such question, he wasn't even aware of her appointment today. Anna hadn't mentioned it. She wanted to come alone this time, find out exactly where she stood, arm herself. She didn't need Mac here, coming up with his own questions, his own objections, hearing first-hand what the doctor had to say, drawing his own conclusions.

‘As you know ICSI is the injection of the sperm directly into the egg. It is really only indicated when extreme male infertility is a factor.'

And they both knew male infertility was not one of their ‘factors'. The blame lay squarely with Anna.

‘What about blastocyst transfer?' she asked. ‘It seems to be getting higher pregnancy rates.'

Dr Tran leaned back in his chair. ‘The blastocyst stage occurs about five days after fertilisation,' he explained. ‘The wisdom behind transferring at this stage is that the blastocyst is a more developed embryo, sturdier if you like, and thereby has a greater chance of survival. The impressive pregnancy rate
being reported is, however, from a select group of patients. In this clinic we will not consider proceeding past day two with fewer than ten fertilised eggs.'

Which Anna knew ruled her out, had always ruled her out. ‘But why is it so strict,' she asked, frustrated. ‘Why can't we try with fewer fertilised eggs?'

‘Not as many embryos make it to the blastocyst stage in culture, so there is the risk that no embryos will survive to be transferred, and a much reduced chance of having any excess embryos frozen. That would amount to a complete drug cycle for nothing.'

‘Which is the story of my life,' Anna said flatly. ‘If I'm prepared to go through it, isn't it worth trying everything?'

‘Anna,' he said calmly, though Anna sensed a hint of condescension, she was sure, ‘I believe with your particular set of factors, blastocyst transfer is not the solution.'

Her ‘set of factors'. Not problems, abnormalities, flaws. Anna and Mac had laughed in the past about the medical profession's penchant for euphemisms. She wasn't laughing now.

‘What about assisted hatching?' she persisted, clutching wildly at her last straw.

Dr Tran removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. ‘You've been doing some reading. Assisted hatching is still experimental at best, and once again I don't see any applicability in your case.' He sighed, replacing his glasses and leaning forward across the desk. ‘You are one of the most thoroughly informed patients I have treated. Perhaps I shouldn't
say that. I'm constantly amazed by the amount of knowledge my patients learn and absorb – they become honorary professors of infertility, all of them. But Anna, you're an intelligent woman, you know we have taken into consideration every available treatment, your history and all relevant factors. We'll continue to monitor your outcomes very closely and finetune where appropriate. But we're confident we have developed what we believe is the most suitable protocol for Anna MacMullen.'

Which was doctor-speak for,
We're doing the best we can, so back off
. But the best was clearly not good enough. Anna had arrived at this point twice before and had changed clinics both times. This was arguably the best private facility in the country, charging many times the scheduled fee. But apparently even they couldn't perform miracles.

Anna left the office more despondent than when she had arrived. She had not been told she couldn't try again straight away. Dr Tran had recommended a break, but ultimately it was up to her. It had always been up to her. She could keep on the treatment as long as she wanted, pretty much. There was nothing to stop her, except menopause, she supposed. Or pregnancy. Or Mac. Whichever came first.

She suddenly felt an urgency to see him. She didn't know why she'd been shutting him out. He was the only person who could fully share this with her. If she talked to him now and poured out all her fears and hopes, he'd understand. He always did. He
couldn't stand to see her upset. He always said he could never refuse her anything.

Anna sat in the car in the parking area outside the clinic and phoned Mac on her mobile. It was only eleven-thirty. Plenty of time for him to schedule in a break for lunch.

‘Hi Mac, it's me,' she said brightly when he answered the phone.

‘Hello, how are you?'

Was it her imagination or did he sound guarded?

‘I'm okay.' She hesitated. What she said next would break the embargo and open the discussion, not right now, over the phone, but it would be the green light. Anna took a deep breath. ‘I've just come from Dr Tran's office.'

There was a significant pause. ‘I didn't know you had an appointment today.'

‘No, I thought I'd handle it myself this time, not bother you.'

Mac didn't say anything.

‘Anyhow, I'm feeling a little overwhelmed. I thought we could have lunch–'

‘I can't get away right now, Anna, I'm flat out.'

His tone was curt. Final.

‘Mac, this is important.'

‘Well, if it was so important you should have told me about the appointment and I would have scheduled around it and gone with you.'

‘You know there's always a follow-up appointment,' she defended herself.

‘Oh, don't do that, Anna. Don't turn this around onto me.'

He was being unusually belligerent, it wasn't like him. Maybe this wasn't the best time.

‘Mac, don't be cross. I know I've been shutting you out lately. But I'm ready to talk now. We should talk.'

‘We've got the whole weekend to talk, Anna, and I've got a lot of work to get through today.'

Anna sighed inwardly. ‘Okay, I'll see you tonight.'

‘Um, yeah,' he said vaguely, ‘but I'll probably be late. You shouldn't wait up.'

‘Hello, The Reading Rooms, how can I help you today?'

‘I was wondering if I could speak to Georgie, please?'

‘Well, wonder no more. You're speaking to her as we speak, so to speak,' Georgie laughed. She was amusing herself at least.

‘Oh, hi. It's um, well, it's Liam here.'

Georgie swallowed. ‘Hello.'

Uncomfortable Pause. One of them needed to speak before it became an Awkward Silence, which was much worse.

‘How are you?' Liam asked, just in time.

‘I'm fine, you know . . . fine.'

Somebody should write this sparkling banter
down. Why was she having so much trouble finding something to say? It wasn't normally a struggle, but right now she felt tongue-tied. She'd promised Nick she'd give Liam a chance if he came in again. But he was only phoning. Did that count? Maybe, in fact, he was avoiding her. Well, that was stupid, why would he ring at all if he was trying to avoid her? Georgie's brain had a habit of chucking a U-turn at frequent points along the road to reason.

‘So, whose birthday is it today?' she asked him.

She heard a slight, nervous laugh. And then she pictured the man-blush. She had to stop doing that.

‘No, no one's birthday today,' he assured her. ‘I was uh, well I was wondering if you'd like to do lunch?'

Cringe. ‘Well, I'm up for
eating
lunch. Or even
having
lunch. Don't know what
doing
lunch is, it's always seemed an odd expression to me.'

That's the way, Georgie, make fun of the guy!

But he was asking her to lunch and that made it a date and she'd made a promise to Nick and sarcasm was the only protection she had.

‘Okay, do you have any plans for lunch today?' he persisted.

‘Well, I was going to take something down to the beach actually.' Her head was still fuzzy from the night before and she wanted to blast out the cobwebs with a good salty nor'easter.

‘Do you mind if I join you?' Liam asked.

‘Really?'

‘Yeah really. You sound surprised.'

‘You just don't seem the beachy type.'

‘Don't worry about me, I'll manage. Now, where and when?'

Liam climbed out of a sleek silver car as Georgie strolled up to the parking strip at Dee Why Beach. She considered him sceptically across the roof.

‘You're going to walk along the beach wearing that suit?'

‘We don't actually have to go right onto the beach, do we?' he said. ‘There's all that paved area, seats and tables . . .'

‘Okay then, I'll wave to you from down on the sand.'

He looked momentarily taken aback, but Georgie could see a smile in his eyes. ‘I'll tell you something about this suit. You see, the jacket's fully detachable,' he said, taking it off and tossing it back inside the car. ‘So's the tie.' He loosened it and undid the top button of his shirt. ‘Also, you'll find the shoes are easily removed,' he said, disappearing from view. ‘As well as the socks,' he called out.

Georgie walked around to the other side of the car. Liam was perched on the edge of the driver's seat, rolling up the legs of his trousers. ‘And look, even the pants are adjustable.'

‘My, my, I never realised how versatile a business suit was,' Georgie remarked. ‘You could almost live in it.'

‘Sometimes I feel like I do,' he muttered, standing up and swinging the car door shut.

‘Oh, poor overworked corporate lawyer,'
Georgie returned, heading for the stairs. ‘Sounds suspiciously like yuppie angst to me.'

He pointed the remote at the car to lock it. ‘Thanks for the vote of sympathy.'

She shrugged. ‘I'd feel sympathetic if you were a struggling factory worker with six kids at home to feed. But it's not as if you don't have a choice about how much you work.'

‘I don't, not really.'

‘Why not?'

‘Well, in my position there are certain expectations, obligations.'

‘Are you on a contract?'

‘No.'

‘Are you being held against your will?'

‘What?'

‘Well, are you some kind of a prisoner? Are they blackmailing you? Are you working off embezzled funds?' Georgie stopped at the foot of the stairs. ‘Or maybe you're like that character in the Grisham novel, Tom Cruise played him in the movie, where he's a lawyer and he's working for the mob, only he didn't realise when he took the job, and then he finds out he can never leave–'

‘Okay, okay,' Liam surrendered, ‘I get your point. I am a free man.'

‘So pull your head in, downsize,' said Georgie as they started along the promenade.

‘Not possible.'

‘Anything's possible, my friend.'

‘But I have commitments.'

She felt a twinge. ‘You do?'

He nodded. ‘A mortgage, a lease on the car.'

‘So get a smaller place, a cheaper car. I bet that one you're driving's worth a bomb,' she said, turning down the last flight of stairs to the sand.

‘You get what you pay for, Georgie. It is a Saab, after all.'

She raised an eyebrow, looking back at him. ‘Am I supposed to be impressed?'

‘I wasn't trying–'

‘Because you could say it was an ocelot and I wouldn't know the difference. I'm way out of the car loop. I don't even drive.'

‘You don't even drive?'

Georgie shook her head, smiling at his incredulous expression.

‘Why not?' he demanded.

‘I never learned how.'

‘You never learned how?'

‘Are you aware of this habit you have of repeating what someone just said?'

Liam ignored her. ‘I've never met an adult who can't drive.'

‘This must be a big day for you then.'

‘Why haven't you ever learned?'

She shrugged. ‘Never really needed to. There're these things called buses, and the drivers are very accommodating. They pick me up in the same spot every day, at roughly the same time, and deposit me a mere few steps from the shop. And then they're back to pick me up again in the evening. You should try it some time. You may find you don't need the Zorba and there's one “commitment” you're rid of.'

He smiled ruefully. ‘It's not that simple.'

‘Of course it is.' They arrived at the water's edge and followed the shoreline north. ‘People behave as though they're trapped like a little mouse on a wheel, but if you have more brains than a mouse, you know that all you have to do is stop and get off.'

Georgie loped ahead, kicking the froth of the waves as they splashed onto the sand.

‘Okay, Ms Business Owner,' Liam called after her, ‘I don't see you taking your own advice.'

She twirled around to face him. ‘I don't need to.'

‘Oh, I see,' he said. ‘It applies to everyone but you, does it?'

‘I wasn't the one complaining. I love my job.' She skipped off ahead as he watched her. He hadn't met anyone like her before. Her honesty was almost brutal yet it was delivered so ingenuously, without a scrap of hubris, that he found it compelling. He found her compelling. And he wasn't sure what to do about that.

She stopped a little further up the curve of the beach. ‘Shall we sit?'

‘Sure.'

Georgie plonked down on the sand cross-legged. She opened the drawstring on her backpack, glancing across quizzically at Liam. ‘Where's your lunch?'

‘I already ate,' he explained. ‘I got hungry, I missed breakfast this morning.'

‘Well, that's no good for you! Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,' she parroted. ‘Didn't your mother ever tell you that?'

‘You're sounding just like her now.'

‘She must be very wise.'

He smiled. ‘So what did you have for breakfast this morning?'

‘A bacon and egg roll with cheese and onions and barbecue sauce,' she said matter-of-factly.

‘You're kidding?' Liam grimaced. ‘Doesn't sound very healthy.'

‘It's my hangover breakfast.'

‘Big night last night?'

She nodded. ‘My birthday.'

‘Was it?'

‘Uhuh, same day as your mum's. How weird is that?' she remarked. ‘Did you do anything with your family?'

He was looking blankly at her. ‘Hmm?'

‘You know, for your mum's birthday?' she prompted.

He stirred. ‘Ah, no, she doesn't live in Sydney.'

Georgie nodded absently as she retrieved a McDonald's bag from her backpack.

‘Where'd you get that from?'

‘Adam had to go up to Warringah Mall and I asked him to bring me back a treat. He knows how to get on my good side,' she added.

Liam shuddered. ‘You actually eat that stuff?'

She looked at him. ‘What? Macca's? What's the problem?'

‘It tastes like plastic.'

‘I've never eaten plastic so I'll have to take your word for it.'

He sighed. ‘I mean, it all tastes the same.'

‘So do bananas but that doesn't seem to bother anyone,' she said squarely. ‘You're a snob is what it is.'

‘I don't think an aversion to McDonald's exactly makes one a snob.'

‘But referring to oneself in the third person'll do it,' Georgie grinned. ‘Have you ever actually tried it?' she asked, thrusting a bag of fries at him.

He held up his hand to decline. ‘Sure, when I was a teenager.'

‘Oh, I get it, and so now one is all growed up and one's palate is too sophisticated?' Georgie said in a snooty voice, before taking a bite of her hamburger.

He laughed. ‘You don't let anything by, do you?'

She shook her head, swallowing. ‘It's a bit of a personal flaw actually.'

‘Your brutal honesty?'

‘So,' she sighed, ‘you've noticed?'

‘Noticed? I think I'm being gradually beaten into submission by it.'

Georgie looked contrite. ‘I didn't think I'd see you again.'

‘Oh, why's that?'

‘I thought I'd offended you yesterday. I do that sometimes, and I don't mean to. Like I didn't mean to imply that you were dishonest, or amoral or immoral, I don't even know you. I was only musing. Forgive me for doing it out loud.'

He smiled at her. ‘You don't have to apologise, I find your honesty . . . refreshing. Confronting, but refreshing.'

‘Not used to it, eh? Honesty? In your profession?'
she chuckled, before clearing her throat. ‘That really was just a joke.'

A wave broke in front of them, lapping up onto the dry sand close to where they sat. ‘Tide's coming in,' said Georgie. ‘We'd better be careful we don't get washed away.'

Liam leaned back on one elbow, watching her while she ate. ‘You surprise me, you know.'

‘Good,' she declared. ‘Why?'

‘I would have thought someone like you . . .'

Georgie raised an eyebrow, waiting.

‘. . . well, I'm surprised you're even eating meat, much less meat from a multinational conglomerate like McDonald's.'

She started to laugh, shaking her head. ‘You took one look at me, the clothes, the hair, and labelled me “tree-hugging vegetarian”, didn't you?'

He looked embarrassed, yet again. Georgie had to let him off the hook.

‘Actually, I thought about becoming a vegetarian once,' she confided. ‘But then I noticed how ridiculously happy butchers are. I mean really, have you ever met a grumpy butcher in your life? They're always so jolly, it has to be something in the meat.'

Liam laughed, shaking his head. ‘I've never thought about it like that before.'

‘Well maybe you should try to do that more often.'

‘Sorry?'

‘If you thought about things from a different perspective, maybe you wouldn't be so quick to label people.' Georgie put her burger down on its wrapper
and wiped her hands. ‘Do something for me,' she said, smoothing a patch of sand between them. ‘Draw a house.'

‘I can't draw.'

‘It won't be judged on artistic merit,' she assured him. ‘Just draw me a house.'

He regarded her suspiciously. ‘What, so you can make fun of me again?'

‘No, no, so I can make a point.'

He sighed. ‘Very well.' He drew a series of simple lines in the sand, a square box with a triangle for the roof, a rectangle within the box, presumably the door, and two square windows either side.

‘Aha! You played right into my hands!' Georgie exclaimed, scooping her lunch off her lap and scuttling around to lie next to him on the sand. ‘Shove over,' she said.

They both lay on their stomachs examining Liam's picture.

‘Do you live in a house like that?' Georgie asked.

‘No,' he said.

‘Have you ever lived in a house like that?' she persisted.

‘Well, no.'

‘Neither have I. Neither have most people, yet that's what they come up with if they're asked to draw a house.'

‘It's only a symbol, Georgie.'

‘But isn't a symbol supposed to actually represent something? That drawing of a house bears no resemblance to what the majority of people live in, yet that's what they all draw.'

‘So what's your point?' Liam turned to look at her.

Georgie turned her head. Their shoulders were pressed against each other, their faces close. She was getting that weird feeling again.

‘I did have a point, didn't I?' she murmured.

‘So you said.'

‘Well, it's just that people have a tendency to oversimplify things. We make judgements based on outside appearances that have little to do with reality.'

‘You're talking about stereotypes.'

‘Yeah. You looked at my hair and my clothes and decided a whole lot of things about me that may or may not be true.'

‘You did the same with me,' he pointed out.