Almost Perfect (17 page)

‘It was a long time ago.' Georgie looked up at the sky again. ‘So, how about those stars.'

‘Georgie?'

‘Mm?'

‘Why don't you like talking about it?'

She shrugged.

‘Does it upset you?'

‘No . . . a little. It dulls over the years.'

‘Do you miss them?' he persisted.

‘I miss my mother.'

‘Oh? What about your father?'

She didn't say anything.

‘Georgie?' Liam prompted. ‘What happened?'

‘It was a car accident, I told you.'

‘But before the accident, was everything all right?'

Georgie sighed. It was about time she told him. ‘Everything was perfect. My parents had been married for twenty-five years. They seemed so happy, we were a bonafide happy family. And then one day, out of the blue, my father told my mother he was having an affair. There was no reason for it, there'd never been the slightest hint of it. He said he would end it, but it was too late. He'd already destroyed her . . .' Georgie's voice faded.

Liam was staring at her. He looked shocked.

‘It's not that big of a deal, Liam,' she assured him. ‘It happens in every second family. I just never expected it to happen in ours. I thought we were different.' She paused. ‘I wish he'd never had the stupid affair, or that he'd kept his mouth shut at least.'

Liam stirred then. ‘You'd rather he lied about it?'

‘No! Oh, I don't know,' she groaned. ‘I can't stand lies, but he'd already been lying for who knows how long. And he said he was going to end it, so why tell her? Mum might never have found out . . . and maybe they'd still be alive today.'

‘I don't understand, Georgie. What did it have to do with the accident?'

She gazed up at the sky. ‘You had to have known my mother. She was bright and bubbly, always full of life, the first to arrive at a party and the last to leave. After it all came out, she was a different person. She was depressed and short-tempered, she was so unhappy.' Georgie paused. She looked back at Liam. ‘They were at a party the night it happened. Apparently they argued and they left early. Mum was driving, probably distraught. They should never have left the party.'

‘What are you saying?'

‘Well, they wouldn't have been on the road at that exact moment.'

‘It was an accident, Georgie.' Liam was looking earnestly into her eyes. ‘You can't blame your father for that, you can't blame anyone.' He took a breath. ‘Sometimes things happen . . . and no one's to blame.'

He looked weird. ‘What is it, Liam?' she asked.

‘Nothing.' He cleared his throat. ‘It's just, well, I'm sure your father never meant to hurt anybody.'

‘But he did,' said Georgie bluntly. ‘I don't go in much for the “never meant to hurt” defence. I mean, I should hope he didn't do it to hurt us. But he knew what he was doing. And he knew it was wrong. And he should have known a lot of people would get hurt.'

Liam was listening to her, his forehead creased, apparently deep in thought. ‘I should go,' he said suddenly, climbing out of the chair. He reached his hand down to help her up and Georgie launched herself straight into his arms, pressing up against him.

‘Do you really have to go?' she murmured, nuzzling into his neck. ‘I could see if my room is free.'

‘No, Georgie,' he said pulling away.

‘Liam!' she groaned, frustrated. ‘What exactly is going on here?'

‘What do you mean?'

‘This is not normal! There's something you're not telling me,' she persisted.

He stared at her, apparently dumbstruck.

‘You're supposed to be the one who puts the hard word on me, and then I'm supposed to play a little harder to get, or not, or whatever, but this, this is all wrong.'

Now he just looked confused.

‘Why don't you want to have sex with me?' Georgie implored. ‘Is it that you're not interested, or is there something wrong with you . . . or is it me . . .?'

‘Is that what you think?' he finally managed to say, his tone incredulous. ‘You think I don't want to have sex with you?'

‘I don't know what to think,' she said lamely.

‘Oh Georgie,' he breathed out, pulling her into his arms. He held her tight, laughing with obvious relief. ‘Believe me, it's pretty much all I think about.'

‘Then what's stopping you?'

He blinked at her. ‘Well, I guess I didn't want to assume . . . I mean, I didn't know if that was one of the “paths” you wanted to take.'

Georgie pulled a face. ‘What were you waiting for, a written invitation? I thought you were a smart guy, Liam.' She looped her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly. ‘There's your invitation.'

‘Georgie, do you really want to go into your room now in the middle of all that?' he said, waving his arm towards the revellers inside. ‘Is that how you want our first time to be?'

She sighed. He was being reasonable and sensible and Georgie didn't feel like being reasonable and sensible. She felt like tearing his clothes off.

‘Well, when?'

He looked awkward now. Maybe he was nervous. Maybe whatever happened with his last girlfriend had destroyed all his confidence. And now Georgie was bullying him like some kind of sex-starved dominatrix. Or someone with unreasonable expectations, which she'd promised him she would never have.

‘Hey,' she said softly, ‘it's okay, I didn't mean to harass you.'

He sighed, gazing down at her. ‘Don't think I'm not flattered,' he said, his voice low, his arms drawing her close. ‘You want to know what I fantasise about?'

‘Hmm, are you sure you should be telling me this?'

He smiled, pressing his forehead against hers. ‘I picture you and me, no worries, no work, no flat-mates, no one else to think about except ourselves, like we're the only two people in the world and we can do whatever we want, for as long as we want. That's my fantasy.'

‘So I told Tracey she had two weeks to move out. End of discussion.'

‘Wow, you really did it,' said Louise. ‘After all this time.'

‘Sexual frustration is a powerful motivator,' Georgie said wryly. ‘I want my life back, now that I've got a life.' She picked up a carton of books and heaved it onto a trolley.

‘Here,' said Louise, coming over, ‘don't try to lift those on your own.'

They crouched either side of the next box and, on Georgie's count, lifted it easily onto the trolley.

‘That party was the final straw,' Georgie continued, straightening up. ‘You know, after Liam left I battled my way through the crowd to my room and that's when I finally found Tracey, having sex on my bed, on my perfumed sheets!'

‘Perfumed sheets?'

‘Oh never mind,' Georgie grumbled. ‘She claimed she couldn't get into her room because I had put all her stuff back in there. That was her excuse for not seeing the note I left. She'd been at the pub and just decided to ask anyone in cooee back to the flat. Which left Liam and me huddled out on the balcony like a couple of vagrants.'

‘Why didn't you go to his place?' Louise asked. ‘Or doesn't he have a home, does he actually live at the office?'

‘He does almost live at the office, poor thing,' lamented Georgie.

‘So,' Louise was waiting, ‘why didn't you go back to his place?'

‘Oh, he's got this crazy housemate,' she said offhand, scanning the labels on the remaining boxes.

‘Crazy how?'

‘She doesn't cope with strangers and–'

‘He lives with a woman?'

Georgie nodded absently. ‘He's known her since uni, they have a bit of a history together apparently.'

‘What? They used to go out or something?'

‘I don't know,' she shrugged, ‘he didn't go into details. This one's next,' she added, crouching beside a large carton.

‘It doesn't make you uncomfortable?'

‘What?'

‘That Liam is living with a woman he may have been involved with in the past?'

Georgie gave her a blank look. ‘Why should it make me uncomfortable?'

Louise frowned. ‘I don't know if this is old gullible Georgie or new savvy Georgie.'

‘Well, would you mind helping one of us lift this box at least?' Georgie suggested. Louise crouched down and they barely managed to heave the largest carton onto the trolley, almost upsetting the whole thing.

‘I hate it when Adam's away,' Georgie groaned. ‘We really shouldn't let him take his holidays when Bryce Courtenay has a new release. Or JK Rowling. Or Matthew Reilly. In fact, we should make a list.'

‘That doesn't sound very fair,' said Louise dubiously. ‘Besides, I think there's probably legislation somewhere that wouldn't allow it.'

‘Hmm,' Georgie frowned, manoeuvring the trolley around. ‘There was a time when holidays were only for rich people and we could have made Adam work eighteen hours a day, seven days a week. This is what happens when you educate the masses.'

‘No, this is where your argument comes unstuck. We wouldn't sell any books if the masses weren't educated.'

‘Bugger, damned if you do . . .'

Louise supported the faltering boxes as Georgie attempted to negotiate the trolley into the main part of the shop. ‘So why doesn't Liam get his own place?' Louise asked. ‘Surely he can afford it.'

‘It is his place,' Georgie said simply.

Louise frowned. ‘Then how come this woman gets to dictate who he can have over?'

‘Isn't it “whom”?'

‘What?'

‘Shouldn't you have said “
whom
he can have over”, as in “for whom the bell tolls”?'

Louise rolled her eyes. ‘No, I'm wondering why the woman gets to dictate
who
he can invite to his own house, as in “who is the bell tolling for”!'

‘Keep your shirt on,' Georgie muttered. ‘Like I said, she's a little unstable. Apparently she's on medication and the whole bit.'

‘What's he doing sharing his house with her? Why would he do that? Unless . . .' she paused, thinking, ‘unless he was married to her once.'

‘What?'

‘Maybe that's the “history”,' Louise exclaimed triumphantly, as though she'd solved a mystery. ‘He was married to her, in fact maybe he still is, but she went round the twist and he keeps her locked up in the attic–'

‘And his last name's Rochester!' Georgie cried, interrupting her monologue.

Louise blinked at her.

‘That comes straight out of
Jane Eyre
, Louise!'

‘So it does,' she said thoughtfully.

‘And you reckon I have a dodgy grip on reality.'

Louise looked chastened. ‘Sorry, you must be rubbing off on me.'

‘Look, the woman living in his house is an old friend who's going through a hard time,' Georgie explained. ‘He can't turf her out the minute he'd like the place to himself. What kind of person would do that? I think it's sweet he feels responsible for her.'

Louise sighed. ‘Sounds like you two are as bad as
each other. Did he bring home strays as well when he was a kid?'

Georgie smiled. ‘Anyway, it doesn't matter, we'll have privacy at my place now.'

‘Two weeks, eh?' said Louise as she began to clear a space on the main display stand to make room for the new books. ‘Are you going to get a council permit?'

Georgie was cutting open one of the cartons with a Stanley knife. ‘What are you talking about?'

‘You need permission before you set off fireworks in a built-up area, you know.'

She rolled her eyes. ‘Oh my God, Louise, you should have got permission before you told that joke.'

‘Give me a break. I'm only jealous.'

‘Of who, Liam?'

‘Don't you mean “whom”?' Louise asked, raising an eyebrow.

‘No, I mean Liam,' Georgie quipped.

‘Well, I'm not jealous of Liam,' Louise assured her. ‘I'm jealous of red-hot, can't keep your hands off each other kind of sex. I've forgotten what it's like.'

Georgie had the blank look she always got when Louise said anything that could even vaguely be construed as some kind of criticism of Nick, no matter how tenuous the link. Louise loved Nick, she adored him, she was happier in her marriage than she sometimes thought she had a right to be. But a girl had to be able to whinge about her husband to her best friend. It was a time-honoured tradition, a right, nay, an obligation. But not for her and Georgie. It was
about the only drawback to being married to her best friend's brother.

‘You know,' Louise tried to explain, ‘sex is not the same after you've been together for a long time.'

‘I thought it'd only get better.'

‘Dream on,' Louise scoffed.

Now Georgie looked perplexed. She wanted to be a proper best friend, but what was she supposed to do? She could hardly start giving saucy tips for spicing up Louise's sex life – she was married to her brother, for crying out loud!

‘So anyway,' Georgie said, changing the subject because that was the safest thing to do. ‘Why don't we get ourselves a big hunky male casual?'

‘Why?'

‘For whenever Adam's not here.'

Louise put her hand on her hip, considering Georgie. ‘So are we going to put that in the ad?'

‘What?'

‘ “Big hunky male wanted on casual basis to lug heavy stuff around bookshop.”?'

‘Mm,' Georgie was thoughtful. ‘I don't think we'd be allowed to. Now that the masses are educated, apparently they get offended by that kind of thing.'

‘It's funny, I'd always thought my parents had pined for a baby their whole lives,' Anna mused. ‘It was a bit of a shock to learn that they had quite happily come to terms with being childless.'

Doug gave one of his customary pauses. ‘Does that make you feel less loved, less wanted in some way?' he asked after a while.

Anna shrugged, sipping her coffee. She suspected these supervision meetings were becoming therapy sessions. And whereas supervision used to occur only once every few weeks, she was meeting with Doug weekly now. It didn't seem to bother Doug, and there was certainly no reason for Anna to rush home. It was only early and she had no more clients for the rest of the afternoon, while Doug had to wait around regardless, with evening appointments scheduled.

‘Imagine being worried about whether my parents wanted me, at my age.' Anna shook her head. ‘It's a little egocentric, isn't it?'

‘Is it?'

‘I mean, it's not as though people often planned their pregnancies in that era anyway.'

‘So is that what makes a child wanted or valued – whether they were planned?'

Anna inclined her head to one side. ‘I suppose I just think that way because of my experience. I feel resentful sometimes when I hear about people who fall pregnant accidentally, especially when they're ambivalent about it. It doesn't seem fair.'

Doug sat quietly. Which usually meant he was waiting for Anna to work out something for herself.

‘It's ridiculous, I know,' she sighed. ‘As if the vast majority of the population would even be here if they had to be planned. We're all a lot more insignificant than we think. That's enlightenment, isn't it, Doug? Realising your insignificance in the world?'

Doug smiled. ‘I don't know that I'd put it quite like that. Don't forget, you and I only have jobs because we live in a society that allows us the luxury of struggling with our significance.'

‘Wouldn't we be happier if we were peasants in China struggling to feed our families?'

‘Would we?'

‘Maybe . . . I'd have a child at least.'

‘But only one.'

Anna sighed. ‘One would be enough.'

‘It isn't for many Chinese.'

‘So human nature is the same everywhere then? We're never satisfied.'

‘You suggested your parents were satisfied before they had you.'

‘Apparently so,' said Anna. ‘They were happy just the two of them, together. I think I envy them that.'

‘Why do you envy them? You can't see yourself happy with Mac?'

Anna frowned. The idea had been plaguing her ever since their visit to her parents. ‘I used to. I thought we had a very strong relationship. He's my best friend, we've been through so much together.'

‘But you were reluctant to consider postponing
treatment,' Doug reminded her. ‘You feared the emptiness.'

‘It's just that we'd been on this journey so long, it was hard to imagine giving up,' Anna tried to explain. ‘And now . . . well, Mac wanted the break, but he's become so withdrawn, I don't know what's going on with him. I always hear these amazing stories about couples who are so close, going through IVF has drawn them together. It seems to have torn us apart.'

‘Different stressors have different effects on different people in different circumstances. That's what makes psychology such an inexact science,' Doug proposed. ‘Some marriages are strengthened by tragedy and hardship, others fall apart because of it.'

‘Are you saying we didn't have a good marriage to begin with?'

‘No, I'm saying everybody's different. Perhaps the ones who stick together have dependency issues, who's to say? As for the others, there could be many contributing factors. IVF may have provided a distraction from some fundamental problems in your relationship, or it may have unearthed them.'

Anna's eyes widened. ‘Is that what you think?'

‘I have no idea, Anna. Only you can answer that.'

She nodded thoughtfully.

‘IVF has been the focus around which you've related for a large part of your marriage. It's the same for couples with children who find it difficult to maintain intimacy, make time for each other, when they're so busy juggling work and family. Then when the kids are around less and they have their lives
back, they've forgotten how to relate. How many couples have you counselled in that situation?'

‘I take your point,' said Anna.

‘In the end, I would suggest it's quite normal for you and Mac to be going through a period of adjustment. It's what you do about that, how you handle it from here, that will make the difference.'

Anna drove home deep in thought. She realised she hadn't taken this whole ‘break' concept to heart, if she was being completely honest with herself. She'd paid lip-service so that they could get back onto the treatment as soon as possible, which wasn't exactly in the right spirit. She hadn't made a genuine effort to reconnect with Mac. Little wonder he had withdrawn, burying himself in his work where he felt control and order, where solutions were possible, where there were black and white answers. He wasn't able to solve their problems, or he surely would have a long time ago. He would have given her a baby if he could have, Anna knew that. He would have gone along with anything she wanted. And all he'd asked for was some time out. Why did she find that so difficult? She didn't really like to think about it. It was exactly the kind of question she asked clients all the time. The confronting question. The clincher. The one that made them face their own part in their problems.

So, what would she tell herself if she were her own client?

Don't look at what you're getting out of the
relationship but at what you can put in. Work at it. It's not going to improve all on its own.

Anna stopped the car at a red light. They had to start spending more time together. It was the only way. That meant Mac had to start coming home earlier. And she had to make it so that he wanted to come home earlier. Anna tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. She could call him right now, from the car, suggest dinner together tonight. But she wouldn't get sullen or demanding if he couldn't make it. It was coming out of the blue, so he wouldn't be prepared. The lights turned green and she pulled into the next side street and took out her phone, speed-dialling his direct number. The ring tone sounded odd. She must have pressed the button for his mobile. No matter, unless he was in a meeting.

‘MacMullen,' he answered briskly.

‘Hi,' she returned, her voice uncharacteristically chirpy.

‘Hi to you too. I was just about to phone you.'

‘You were?' Anna was surprised. He actually sounded pleased to hear her voice. ‘What were you going to call me about?'

He didn't answer. Anna wondered if one of them had dropped out. Damned mobile networks. ‘Are you still there, Mac?'

‘Yeah, sorry, um, I was only ringing to say I'd be late tonight.'

Anna's heart dropped into her stomach. No demands. ‘Oh, that's a shame,' she said as lightly as she could manage. ‘I was hoping I could talk you into coming home a little earlier.'

‘Oh, sorry. Is everything okay?'

‘Everything's great,' Anna assured him. ‘I just thought you might be able to get away, I was going to pick up something nice to cook for dinner. But it's okay, never mind.' She tried to keep her tone positive.

He sighed. ‘I'll see what I can do.'

‘It's okay, Mac,' she insisted. ‘Really, I don't want to interrupt your work, I know how busy you are. We can do it another night.'

There was a moment of silence.

‘Look,' he said, ‘I might be able to make it by about eight-thirty.'

‘Are you sure, Mac? Because, honestly, it doesn't matter.'

‘As long as nothing comes up between now and then, it should be okay. I'll call you if I'm going to be late.'

‘Well, great!' she said brightly. ‘I best go and do some shopping.'

‘Don't go to any trouble–'

‘It's no trouble, you know how I love to cook. I'll see you around eight-thirty if I don't hear from you before.'