How to Get Over Your Ex (7 page)

‘Yes, it is.’

Yes...it is
. She sighed. ‘You have
a race in the morning.’

His eyes grew serious. ‘I’m not proposing sleeping over,
Georgia, just a quick look.’

Heat flared up the back of her neck and she worked hard to keep
it from flooding around to the front. She
had
made
the immediate assumption that this was some kind of line. Zander Rush was a fit
and sexy man. And so of course it wasn’t a come-on. Not for her.

‘I just meant...it’s late.’

‘I don’t run until noon. And it’s too late for you to be taking
the tube.’

It wasn’t, but she didn’t mind the idea of a comfortable Jag
ride home. She wasn’t ready for their first night to be over.

The
first night. Not
their
first night.

‘OK, I’ll take the lift.’ And show him the inside of her flat
for a minute or two. And then he and his fascination would be gone. ‘Thank
you.’

They rinsed their dishes in the cooling water, thanked the chef
who was enjoying a drink with his team out in the now-empty restaurant, and
headed out into the dark.

‘You want to drive?’ he asked.

No. She wanted him to drive. Inexplicably. So of course, she
said, ‘Yes, please.’

He pulled his coat collar up as high as possible against the
cool April weather. ‘One of these days you’ll stop being so courteous and I’ll
know we’re finally getting somewhere.’

The drive took about twenty minutes. Conversation was light
between them but not because they had nothing to say. She just didn’t feel the
need to say anything. And besides, the scrumptious dinner was kicking in and
metabolising down into a warm goo that leached through her veins. She worked
hard to keep her focus sharp while driving Zander’s land-yacht.

‘Who else lives here?’ he murmured quietly as they crossed into
the shared entry hall of her apartment building.

She ran her fingers along the four letterboxes by the door.
‘Two students, a long-term resident...’ She traced the last box; its lettering
was cool and smooth under her touch. ‘And me.’

She led him through to the back of the entry hall where her
door was.

If Mr Lawler came out for one of his late-night cigarettes now
he’d be in for quite a surprise. Not that she’d never had a man here before, but
not like this...tiptoeing in late at night. All clandestine and exciting...

She turned her key, wiggled it, put her shoulder to the door,
and popped it quietly open. It swung inwards into the darkened apartment.
‘Acquired touch,’ she whispered.

Why was she so breathless? Was it just because she was walking
into her home with a virtual stranger? Or was it because she loved her
apartment? It was so...her. So if he judged it, he judged her.

She flicked on the light.

His eyes scanned the room, giving nothing away. ‘This
is...’

Crazy and shambolic? Nothing like the outside? She saw it how a
stranger must, the explosions of random colour, the stacks of books and
home-beautiful magazines. Trailing plants everywhere.

He touched the nearest green frond. ‘How do you get them to
look like this inside?’

She crossed to the double doors opening onto her small
courtyard and pulled back the blind. ‘I rotate them every day. One day in, three
days out.’

His eyes swung to her. ‘How many do you have?’

It was too dark to see outside, too dark for him to discover
the full extent of her guilty pleasure. ‘I’m kind of the crazy cat-lady of
trailing ferns.’

He looked around him again, then found her eyes. ‘It’s not what
I expected.’

That could mean anything, but she chose to interpret it
positively. ‘Surprise!’

His focus fell onto the stack of brightly packaged CDs stacked
up on her corner desk. He crossed to them. ‘Are you studying?’

‘Espionage through history. I’m getting ready for the spy
class.’

He flipped one of the CDs over and read the description of the
lectures. ‘You’re doing homework before the class?’

‘I like to be prepared. And I’m really looking forward to the
spy classes.’

One brow quirked. ‘As distinct from the others?’

Heat rose and consumed her in the tiny apartment. ‘I listen to
them when I’m gardening. On the bus to and from work. Or when I’m walking.’

‘You walk?’

‘Regularly.’

‘Where?’

What was this, the Inquisition? ‘Anywhere I haven’t been
before. Deep in some wood somewhere.’

His nod was distracted. He suddenly looked intensely
uncomfortable.

‘I bought these with my own money.’ In case that was what was
putting that deep frown on his face.

‘Why?’

‘Because your money is for things that interest your
listeners.’

He turned towards her. ‘You don’t have to hide things from me.
If there’s something you want to do, do it. The money is for you.’

It wasn’t him she was hiding from. She took the CDs out of his
hands. ‘It’s not... I feel like these are normal me, not new improved me.
Besides, you’ve already indicated that the things I’m interested in aren’t
that...exciting.’ She cleared her throat. ‘For your listeners.’

His eyes fell on her heavily. Searching and conflicted.

‘Coffee?’ she asked just to break the silence.

He broke free of her gaze, bustling towards the door as though
this were all the most terrible inconvenience. ‘No. I should get going.’

And suddenly she was feeling self-conscious for agreeing to
his
request. She followed him back out into the
hall. ‘Thanks for the lift.’

‘No problem.’

He had to stop at the door to the street to negotiate the
intricate series of locks. If not for that, she wondered if he might have just
flown down the stairs and path and been gone. She opened it for him and stood
below the arch.

‘And for the restaurant. It was fantastic to see.’

‘We’ll find you new cooking classes. You don’t have to go back
to the French guy.’

‘The not-French guy...’

‘Right.’ He practically squirmed on her doorstep. Confusion
milled around them both. This
had
been his idea? Or
had she just misunderstood?

‘Well, see you next time, then,’ she said quietly.

‘OK. ’Night, Georgia.’

And then he was gone. Not quite running as she’d imagined, but
certainly making good time on those long, marathon legs. Into his car and away.
Expensive tail lights glowing until they turned onto the high street in the
distance.

And still she stood there.

OK. That was just weird. Their whole night had been genial
enough, the silence in the ride over here mutual and comfortable. Or so she’d
thought. She’d only offered him coffee, not exactly controversial.

Modest, plain but well kept
. Was
that what he’d been expecting her place to be like? She resecured the front door
and turned off the porch light, then crossed back to her gaping apartment door,
assessing the inside critically. Shambolic but not unclean. She had nothing to
be particularly embarrassed about.

Maybe he had a plant phobia.

She sighed. Maybe this was a Year of Georgia test. See how she
was going with the judgement of others. Not well, apparently.

She cared what people thought. She didn’t run her life by it,
but criticism did impact on her. Especially someone like Zander Rush. Rich,
powerful men might not particularly matter to her professional life, but this
one mattered to her personal life. She had a year ahead of her with Zander, they
were going to be in each other’s faces a reasonable amount. She’d really rather
not have that time be tense and awkward.

And below that, somewhere deeper that she only peeled a corner
back on, lay her secret fear: that the same
lack
that made Daniel not interested in marrying her might have occurred to Zander as
he stood here in her little apartment. Some undefined deficiency. Was she too
geeky? Too dull? Was she so left-of-normal that even a man whose connection to
her was only professional felt the need to run for the hills? If so, he was in
for a disappointing year.

There was only so much that reinvention was going to fix.

* * *

Zander
tossed his keys and wallet into the
shallow dish by his bed and then took himself off for a shower. As hot as he
could stand it. Desperate to scald himself clean of the sudden tingle of
awareness he’d experienced standing in Georgia’s apartment just half an hour
before. He’d learned to live with the perpetual hum of sensual responsiveness
that resonated whenever she was around, but this was different, this was...

Interest.

The prickle of intrigue and the glow of connection. So much
more than just sexual. Unexpected, unwanted, and unacceptable. And the slither
of empathy, that his words made her doubt herself, made her so defensive.

He stood under the hot, thumping water and let it stream over
his head.

The crazy cat-lady of trailing
ferns
.

Of all the things to suddenly bring this
burbling
inside him to the surface...that little touch of
self-deprecation, her modesty about her lived-in, loved-in apartment, her raw
defence of a place that was clearly special to her. That was clearly
her
. She defended her property and herself with a
gentle kind of resignation. As though she knew full well that she didn’t fit the
conventional moulds and was reconciled with that.

And he was there telling her that her mould wasn’t interesting
enough for his listeners.

Then showering himself raw just half an hour later because of
how interesting it
was
to him.

Hypocrite.

His life was so laden with false, socially aggressive people,
all hungry to climb ladders that they had to jostle for. So full of noise and
gloss and professional veneer. He did his best to limit his exposure to it to
his working hours, running from it—literally—on weekends, but when you worked as
much as he did it had a way of just dominating your consciousness.

Until you stood in the middle of someone’s small, packed
greenhouse of an apartment and felt as if you’d just walked into some kind of
emotional resort. Far from everything and everyone.

Until you breathed in for the first time in fifteen years.

Zander shut off the water, towelled off, and stepped out into
his bedroom. Carefully styled by the owner before him, all beige and tones of
brown and harmless neutrals he’d never bothered to change. Then he walked out of
the hall, into every room one by one, growing increasingly incredulous.

Not one single plant, anywhere? Seriously?

He kept looking, kept not finding one. Until he did. A small
cactus in a pot that Casey had given him before she’d twigged to the fact that
gifts between them weren’t going to do anything but make their relationship more
awkward. He’d plonked it on his kitchen window sill and never given it another
thought. It survived only on the steam issued by his coffee maker. And maybe the
dishwasher.

But it survived.

The similarity to his thorny, parched heart was ironic.

He flicked a switch and lit up the entire length of his
rambling back garden. Did it even count if you paid someone to tend it for you?
If the most you did was cut roses to take to your aging mother and the only time
you walked through it was on a shortcut back from the local coffee house?

The fun Georgia would have if let loose in there...

He killed the lights, plunging the whole garden and that train
of thought back to darkness.

There would be no letting loose. There’d be no more curious
visits to her apartment. He’d only gone to assure himself that her home would
have been as lacking in personality on the inside as the exterior. As some kind
of ward against finding her interesting.

Well, that had bitten him well and truly in the arse.

He couldn’t blame his complicated mess of interest and
appreciation and affection on her botched proposal any longer. Georgia Stone
might have started out as the embodiment of every professional and ethical
compromise he’d made on his meteoric corporate trajectory—and he still felt the
cuts every time someone praised him for the sensational PR surrounding her
proposal—but she was rapidly morphing into something else.

A living, breathing,
haunting
reminder of the man he used to be. Before the heartbreak of being jilted by
Lara. Before the humiliation that drove him headlong into his intense
professional life, and the professional life that drove him headlong into his
insane training regime just to balance out all the noise. Before all of those
things left no room for an actual life. He missed life. And moments like tonight
didn’t help him to keep that longing safely tucked away where it couldn’t gnaw
at him.

But work did. And running did. And he had plenty of both to be
getting on with this weekend.

Neither of which were served by flashes of the sheer
contentedness in Georgia’s face as she stood in the midst of her meagre worldly
possessions, richer than he could possibly conceive.

FIVE

May

Wednesday
night
salsa dancing was an education—a great way to discover she had three left feet
and not just two. Georgia danced with a raft of partners of various
coordination—some more patient than others—but never Zander. He was always
careful to share the love around with strangers, favouring the much older or
much younger and discouraging the interest of anyone in the middle.

Her, most especially.

She’d only made the mistake of asking him once.

We’re here to work
, he’d said.

Right.

This was the side of him his staff saw. Officious. Distant.
Work-centric. That other side of him that she’d glimpsed only lasted as long as
it took him to tire of the novelty of following her to endless courses and
classes and experiences. The more they did together, the less civil he
became.

So maybe she’d been demoted to minion in his mind?

The only blessing was that the segments he was producing from
their time together in class didn’t reflect any of his impatience and ennui.
She’d moved past her instinctive cringe at hearing herself as others heard her
and let herself enjoy reliving the classes through Zander’s eyes. His ears. His
art. Because while they were commercial by necessity, they were also pretty
good. Floating out across the airwaves once a month.

And she’d busied herself finding things to do in class that
didn’t amplify this awkward...blech...between them.

Thursday night was Michelin-starred restaurants night and she’d
become adept at pretending she didn’t know the handsome man at the next table.
And at eating alone. There was a certain loveliness that London’s service staff
reserved for a woman taking a meal by herself. At first she worried that it was
pity, but then she realised they just wanted to make her solo experience as nice
as possible. She got twice the smiles and extra free bread that Zander did. That
pleased her to an unnaturally high degree.

Friday night wine appreciation was at least a blessing because
it meant their minds and mouths were both fully occupied and so conversation
between herself and Zander really wasn’t an option, anyway. But at least the
wine class provided quality alternatives in the shape of other men to talk to.
And women—but they never got much of a rise from Zander. It was the men that
really got up his nose, presumably because it was impacting on the quality of
their Year of Georgia project.

She wasn’t supposed to be on the hunt. She was supposed to be
discovering who she was. And it was working; it turned out she was a woman who
liked to goad surly, silent executive types.

She turned to Eric on her left and laughed loudly at something
he said. Even he looked surprised to have been that amusing. He developed
software apps for a living and he and his techie-mate Russell, on her right, had
decided their circle of friends really needed to include someone other than the
pair of them. And preferably with the X chromosome.

Hence the wine appreciation.

The three of them developed a healthy symbiosis—they honed
their flirting skills on her and she let them. It felt good being appreciated by
someone and not just tolerated by Zander. Buoyed by their company, she sniffed
and she sipped and she spat and she was careful never to quaff in front of
Zander. And, it turned out, she had a pretty good nose and palate for
identifying wine types. Unlike cooking, which she’d still not really mastered at
all. Though, she wasn’t above quietly taking the mickey.

She agitated the wine in her hand until it made large circles
in the balloon glass and its aroma climbed. She waved the whole lot under her
nose.

‘Truculent. With undertones of—’ she looked around for
inspiration and her eyes fell on the earrings of the woman across from her
‘—amber and—’ she searched again and her eyes fell on Zander ‘—oak moss.’

Because that was what he always smelled like to her. One of her
forests.

Russell’s eyes narrowed. ‘Really?’

Eric just laughed. ‘She’s lying.’

She leaned closer to both of them. ‘Truly, it just smells like
good red wine.’ She tossed her sample back. ‘Yep. Good.’

All three of them laughed and she turned to place her empty
glass onto the cleaning tray, but as she did so she lifted her eyes and
encountered Zander’s, intense and assessing.

As usual.

Class wound up not long after and she farewelled her friends
happily. They always asked her out with them after class. She always
declined.

‘You can go,’ Zander said, suddenly close behind her as Eric
and Russell left. ‘You’re off the clock.’

She bit down her retort. How typical that about the only thing
he’d said to her all evening was boorish. ‘If I wanted to go I would go. I
wasn’t waiting for permission.’

‘It’s Friday night.’

‘And this class is my Friday night activity.’ Poor effort
though it was. She slid her coat more firmly on and headed onto the street.

He stuck to her heels. ‘They’re going to go off you if you
don’t give them something.’

She turned and glared. ‘Something? A bit of leg? A flash of
cleavage?’

‘Not what I meant.’ He glowered.

‘I know what you meant. I’m not interested in anything beyond
their company in class.’ And—just quietly—the impact it had on Zander.
Getting his blood up was at least better than stony silence. ‘This isn’t about
dating, remember.’

‘I was wondering if you did.’

She spun and huffed in equal measures. ‘I have to talk to
someone. You’re the only person I know and we’re strangers here.’ And
increasingly everywhere. ‘Some of them are going to be men. It’s not dating
strategy.’

He just grunted. ‘This is my Friday night, too, you know.’

She stared. ‘I do know.’

‘So it would just be useful to keep everything professional. On
mission.’

On mission?
‘I’m not allowed to
have a good time, at all? Doesn’t that defeat the purpose?’

‘The purpose is you getting back on track. Learning new things.
Reinventing.’

A month of standoffishness took its toll. ‘I’m not sure that
you appreciate how hard some of this is for me. Walking alone into a room full
of people I don’t know. Striking up friendships. I would so much rather be at
home curled up with a good book.’

His eyes clouded over. Was he thinking? Or just bored? ‘How
hard?’

‘It’s...difficult. I’m not social, like you. I like to meet
people, find out about them, but I’m just not really good at it. It’s work.’ And
developing those skills was part of her twelve-month plan but it was a case of
chicken and egg. She needed the skills to be able to walk into any social
situation, but she wasn’t going to develop the skills unless she kept walking
into those situations.

He looked truly astonished. ‘I didn’t realise. You make it look
so easy.’

Was he kidding? ‘It’s exhausting.’

‘Would it be easier to have a friend along?’

‘Yes.’

‘Let’s do that, then. This isn’t supposed to be punishment. We
can tweak the budget.’

It felt like it some nights. She let out a long breath and
added yet another humiliation to her very many. ‘I don’t have anyone to bring.
Not every week.’ She could probably get any one of her friends away from their
parenting responsibilities once, maybe twice. But weekly? Sometimes twice
weekly? Not a prayer. This was the sort of thing she used to rely on Dan
for.

Her social handbag.

The great mess that was them struck her again.
Imagine if he’d said yes...

‘I’m here anyway,’ he said. ‘I’ll do it.’

Her heart flipped like a fish. ‘You wanted to remain
impartial.’

‘The situation has changed.’

‘You know you’ll have to speak to me. Not just interview me or
record me talking to others.’

Impatience leaked out of him. ‘I’ve been trying to keep things
professional.’

‘What’s unprofessional about having the occasional
conversation?’

‘If you’re talking to me then you’re not talking to everyone
else.’

It was a valid point. She was just as likely to talk to him all
night given half a chance. But it didn’t make it feel any better. ‘I promise to
multitask. If you promise not to scowl at me the whole time.’

‘I don’t scowl.’

‘You’re doing it now. That’s just going to scare away anyone
that comes close enough to talk to.’

‘They’ll just assume I’m one of many dates who are there under
sufferance.’

‘A date with a digital recorder?’ He’d started bringing them
along to the second and third sessions of each activity. The first was pure
reconnaissance.

‘That reminds me. I’m going to start recording next week. We
have permission.’

‘Make sure you get Eric and Russell. Maybe a bit of fame will
increase their chances with the ladies.’

He grunted. ‘I don’t think anything will increase their
chances.’

‘They’re nice men.’

‘They try too hard.’

‘Doing this
is
hard. For a lot of
people coming to one of these things is either last resort or a kind of
admission of failure. That you can’t be cultured and interesting without
help.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Is that how you feel?’

She studied him, wondering if she could trust him. She would
have told Zander off a month ago, no problem. But corporate Zander wasn’t
anywhere near as approachable. Then again, the Year of Georgia was all about
taking risks.

‘I’m smart, I have a good job, excellent work ethic, property.
I’m passable-looking. So what’s wrong with me?’

Zander opened his mouth but she barrelled onwards. ‘Maybe he
would have liked me more if I was sportier, wittier, prettier. Maybe there’s a
whole range of things that other women out there can do that I can’t.’

‘This is about Daniel?’

‘No. Daniel is Everyman, he’s just a symbol. But he was a man
so like me I thought we were a perfect fit, so to not even be good enough for
him...’

‘I thought you were doing this for you. The Year of
Georgia.’

She glared at him. ‘First—as you’ve so carefully pointed
out—I’m doing this for you. Because your contract says I have to. But right
behind that
is
me. And part of me is wondering why
I’m not more popular with men. Or with other women. Why I don’t have more
friends. Or a family yet. Or a better job. Or why my life isn’t like other
people’s.’

He shook his head. ‘What do you imagine happens in other
people’s lives that’s so special and different?’

‘I don’t know. Cool stuff. Busy, interesting, challenging
stuff?’

‘That’s just dressing. Most people’s lives are exactly the same
underneath. The same worries about finances, their careers, the same family
dramas. Only the outer coating changes.’

‘What about you—rich, popular, respected, in demand, powerful?
You can do whatever you want and go wherever you want whenever you want. That’s
not the same as everyone else.’

He stopped again and faced her. ‘I haven’t had a holiday in
five years because the network believes the station will collapse if I walk away
from it for a moment. I have a big, expensive house that someone else decorated
and I can go weeks without even going into rooms that aren’t my bedroom,
bathroom, and study. I have parents who live in a perpetual state of warfare.
That power you covet means people either shy away from me or suck up to me. So
my life is riddled with its own hassles but I don’t dwell on it and I certainly
don’t voice it. I just get on with it.’

Such a confession, after weeks of standoffish Zander, struck
her deep. Was that really how he felt about his life? Maybe the trappings of
success and popularity really were just that.

‘Are you saying I should just suck it up?’ And shut up.

Maybe that was exactly what she needed to hear? Perhaps her
self-reflection was just self-indulgence in disguise.

‘I’m saying all the classes in the world aren’t going to make
your life better, because life isn’t something you apply like make-up. It’s
something you grow and tend. Like a garden.’

Her present life would make a pretty straggly, restricted
garden. But a life filled with makeovers and clubbing and movie premieres wasn’t
all that brilliant, either, unless you happened to discover a new passion. They
were just flashy statues amongst the weeds.

She blinked. Thought. Smiled. ‘That’s kind of profound. We
should have recorded that.’

‘I have my moments.’

‘So am I wasting my time?’ Because she certainly hadn’t
discovered a hidden passion for anything they’d done so far.

‘Not if they’re things you’ve always wanted to do.’

They weren’t, really. They were things she thought she
should
do. Things EROS’ listeners might like. Things
that she felt Zander might have expected her to do.

‘How locked in is the schedule?’

He squinted one eye. ‘Some of them are all booked and paid,
some transferable. Why?’

‘I think I need to tweak them. To be more...me.’

He smiled. ‘OK. Just talk to Casey.’

Just like that? How strange that she felt so uncomfortable
asking for what she wanted. When it was so straightforward.

They walked on.

‘So, how come you don’t fix your life, then?’ Her words came
out as mist on the cool air. ‘Make changes? If you believe so much in the garden
of life.’

He shrugged. ‘Not everyone wants a garden. Or the hassle of
tending it. Sometimes a single focus is just easier.’

His work. Of course. ‘But you love running. Your weekends are
always full. That’s at least a small garden
bed
,
surely.’

‘I don’t do it because I’m passionate about it.’

‘Why then?’

‘For the silence.’

Hours and hours of silence as his machine of a body put foot in
front of foot. ‘Just you and the voices in your head, huh?’