Learning curves (12 page)

14

The next day, sitting in one of his favorite restaurants, George eyed the juicy steak in front of him greedily. It was beautifully rare, just as he liked it. This was the food humans had been eating for years, not beans and bits of leaves. He was confident that the medical establishment would figure out pretty soon that all the advice they’d been handing out was just plain wrong.

“So,” he said with a smile, “got much planned over Christmas?”

His old friend Malcolm shook his head. “Nothing too eventful. Usual family gathering back in Surrey—son’s coming down with his two children, you know the sort of thing. Too much food and drink, and then back to work with an almighty hangover!”

George smiled and nodded, trying to feel happy that his own Christmas would be a rather more solitary affair.
Peace and quiet,
he said to himself
—nothing like it.

“I imagine it’ll be nice to get away from the horror headlines for a while,” George said, washing his mouthful down with a gulp of Margeaux.

Malcolm raised his eyebrows. “Too right,” he agreed. “Bloody journalists stirring everything up. Ought to be a law against it.”

George nodded sagely. “So you’re bidding for the rebuilding work, I take it?”

Malcolm poured George another glass of wine. “Oh, I should think so,” he said with the hint of a smile. “Now, have you seen the pudding menu? I think we’re going to be in for a treat.”

Jen sighed and looked at Lara nervously. It was all very well, being all friendly with her father and arranging nice cozy lunches like the one they’d had yesterday, but that wasn’t going to help her now. “I know my pen’s going to run out,” she said, shaking her head. “Lara, lend me a pen, will you?”

Lara handed Jen a biro. “It’s not the pens I’m worried about—it’s whether my brain’s going to run out,” she said dramatically. “I bloody hate exams. Don’t see why we have to do them. Particularly not the week before Christmas. I mean, that’s just sadistic.”

Jen shrugged. They had about ten minutes until their first semester exam, and nerves were running high. She told herself she didn’t care if she passed or failed, but she knew deep down inside that she did. She’d never failed anything, and she wasn’t about to start now.

“Hi, Jen, hi, Lara.” They looked up to see Alan hovering above their table.

“Hi, Alan,” Jen said brightly. “Looking forward to the exam?”

He looked thoughtful. “It is always good to have an opportunity to consolidate your learning,” he said seriously. “But I wouldn’t say I’m looking forward to it. More of a necessary evil. I have a question, though— would you say that stakeholder analysis should be part of the internal or external analysis? I mean, they’re a business’s stakeholders, so they’re internal, but they’re not in it, so they’re external. Right?”

“Oh, shut up, you bloody brainbox,” Lara said irritably. “I have no bloody idea, and if you only had a proper life, you wouldn’t either.”

Alan looked down at her with a confused look on his face. “I just wondered . . . ,” he said defensively, then sat down.

“Well, it’s time to go in, I reckon,” said Jen, gathering up her things.

“Go in where?”

Jen turned round quickly. She recognized that voice. But it couldn’t be Daniel, could it? He’d be at work, surely?

It
was
Daniel. Looking utterly gorgeous in rolled-up shirtsleeves and dark-blue wool trousers. He grinned at Jen sheepishly and as he put his hand through his hair she felt her stomach flip over several times. She stood up quickly, nearly knocking the table over.

“Daniel! Hi!” she said in a voice that was slightly too high pitched. “It’s our exam. Starts in five minutes. So, are you . . . are you teaching here today?”

Daniel grinned. “No, just picking some of the consultants’ brains,” he said lightly. “I also wanted to say good-bye—I’m off to Northumberland to spend Christmas with the folks tonight.”

Jen felt a sudden stab of disappointment, but forced herself to smile. “Oh. Right. Well, um . . .” She wanted to kiss him. Wanted to wrap her arms round him. But she could feel Lara’s and Alan’s eyes burning into her, and anyway, it wasn’t like he was her boyfriend or anything. Once again, she cursed Gavin for having turned up unannounced. If he hadn’t been there on Sunday, she’d probably be kissing Daniel right now.

“See you when I get back?” he asked quietly, forcing her to lean in toward him, so close she could smell his skin.

“God I hope so,” she breathed, then pulled a slight face. “I mean, well, that would be nice . . .”

“I rather thought so, too. Good luck with the exam!”

As he walked away, Jen sank back onto her chair.

“Well, Alan,” Lara said in a deadpan voice. “Would your stakeholder analysis of that little interaction consider Daniel Peterson an internal or external influence?”

Alan stood up. “Since I don’t have a proper life, as you so kindly put it, I couldn’t possibly say.”

Lara shrugged. “Ready, Jen?”

Jen was still smiling inanely. “What? Oh. Yes. Yes, absolutely.” And, walking on air, she followed Lara and Alan into the exam room.

“I forgot all about Ansoff.”

Jen frowned as Alan put his head in his hands and leaned down onto the table in front of him. She quickly moved an ashtray out of the way.

“Come on, Alan, it’s over. There’s no point going over it now.” She smiled halfheartedly as she spoke, knowing that she hadn’t just forgotten Ansoff’s matrix, but had also forgotten all the other models and theories she was meant to have used in the exam—her head had been too full of Daniel to focus on an exam question about a vineyard in California that was losing money.

“Isn’t there?” Alan asked, slowly pulling himself up straight. “I thought that was the point of going to the pub—going over the exam and working out where we went wrong. Prepare ourselves for failure. Mind you, I’m already prepared. Been preparing all my life.”

Jen rolled her eyes. “Alan, don’t be ridiculous. You got a first in your degree, for God’s sake—I wouldn’t call that failure. You’re just suffering from post-exam stress disorder. Lara will be here with the drinks soon and you’ll be fine.”

Alan regarded her dolefully. “I won’t be fine. Lara was right about me—I don’t have a life. All I’ve got is passing exams and if I do badly, well, there’ll be nothing left.”

“Alan, don’t be stupid—there’s loads more to your life than exams.”

“Like what?”

Jen frowned, searching her mind for something positive to say. She liked Alan, she really did, but they’d only ever really spoken about the course.

“Like your personality, Alan. You’re a nice bloke.”

He shook his head balefully. “I’m a boring bloke. That’s why I haven’t got a girlfriend.”

Jen grinned. So that’s what this was all about. “You want a girlfriend? Is that the problem? Alan, there are probably girls tripping over themselves to go out with someone like you.”

“I don’t exactly see them queuing up.”

“Well, they wouldn’t, would they? I mean, you do have to talk to people a bit before they’ll declare their undying love for you.” Jen looked over to the bar to see what was holding Lara up and saw her emerging from the Ladies. Oh God, she realized, she hadn’t even gone to get the drinks yet.

Alan shook his head. “I can’t do that whole talking thing. I don’t know how.”

“’Course you do. You talk to me and Lara, don’t you?”

Alan looked at her shiftily. “Only about work stuff. When you two start talking about shoes or the weather or holidays I just switch off.”

Jen frowned. He was right—she’d had plenty of conversations with him about the balanced scorecard, and plenty more arguments with him about the nature of business, but she’d never talked to him about anything else.

“Okay, so try it now. Tell me about your family. Are you seeing them for Christmas?”

Alan shrugged. “Yes.”

“That isn’t exactly telling me about it.”

Alan sighed. “Yes, I am. I have a normal family. They live in a house. And we’ll be having turkey for dinner. That’s it.”

“Where do they live?”

“Chester.”

“Is it nice?”

Alan looked at Jen, then scratched the back of his neck. “Not really. Look, I’m sorry, I’ve just had a bad morning, that’s all. Just forget all that crap I’ve been spouting.”

Jen smiled, slightly relieved. Then she frowned and leaned over. “Alan, when was the last time you went out on a date?”

He looked uncomfortable. “I dunno. A while back, probably.”

“Be more specific.”

Alan looked around and started to go red. “I dunno,” he said, more defensively. Then he shrugged. “Never, okay? I’ve never been on a date. I had a girlfriend from school, went out with her for ten years, and then she dumped me a year ago for some bloke she met at work. End of story. And it doesn’t matter anyway . . .”

Jen nodded, trying not to look as shocked as she felt, watching Alan struggle to maintain his composure. She thought for a moment.

“Would you like me to help you?” she asked eventually. “Alan, you’re a great guy. You should be going on dates. You just need to . . . relax a bit. Learn the art of conversation.”

“Fat chance,” he said quickly, but he looked as if his ears had pricked up a bit.

“Come on,” Jen urged. “Just give it a go. What have you got to lose?”

Alan pushed his glasses back up his nose. “You’d really help?” he asked, his voice suddenly smaller somehow.

“Help at what?” Lara had returned from the bar and was depositing drinks on the table.

“Ansoff,” Jen said quickly, winking at Alan who smiled gratefully. “I’m going to help Alan to understand Ansoff’s matrix better.”

Lara rolled her eyes. “You’d better help me too, then,” she said. “I can’t even remember who Ansoff is.”

“So, your exam yesterday. I hope you did well?”

Jen looked at her father nervously, but was relieved to see that his eyes were twinkling. He’d been obsessed with exam results when she was growing up, and she’d half expected him to berate her for not working hard enough. Although, since she was having lunch with him every other day, she figured it was partly his fault if she didn’t do well. “I think that anyone who thinks that exams this close to Christmas are a good thing is deranged, ” she said matter-of-factly, sitting down carefully as a waiter fluttered over her, placing a napkin on her lap and pouring her some water.

“But doesn’t it feel more like Christmas now that the exam is over?”

“I suppose,” Jen conceded. “But that’s like saying that you should starve yourself before a meal just so that you enjoy it more.”

George laughed. “You always were argumentative. Just like your mother.”

Jen raised her eyebrows.

“Okay, and a bit like me,” George said immediately. “So, tell me, how are you?”

Jen grinned. “Well, not much has changed since I saw you on Monday. And since we spoke on the phone yesterday.”

George nodded. “Tease me if you like,” he said, pouring Jen a glass of wine, “but it won’t dampen my enthusiasm. It’s just so good to have you back. To be . . . part of your life.”

Jen noticed a little tentative look on George’s face as he spoke, which almost immediately disappeared, replaced by his usual, confident smile.

“So,” he continued quickly, “what are you going to have? I thought I might go for turkey.”

Jen shook her head and looked at the menu. “Turkey? You must be joking. Aren’t you going to be having enough of that on Christmas Day?”

George flinched slightly, then he smiled broadly. “Can’t ever have enough turkey in my book,” he said. “But if you’re too much of a wimp to take it, I suggest the steak. It’s really rather wonderful.”

Jen frowned. “Dad, what are you doing for Christmas? You do have plans, don’t you?”

George looked at her incredulously. “Plans? Of course I’ve got plans. Too many invitations, truth be told. Can’t decide which ones to turn down.”

Jen smiled, relieved. If he’d said he was going to be on his own, she’d have had to spend Christmas with him. Which would be fine as far as she was concerned, but breaking the news to Harriet . . . well, it didn’t bear thinking about.

“You’re going to your mother’s, I presume?” George continued as if reading her mind. She nodded.

“You could appear more enthusiastic. She is your mother, you know.”

Jen looked at her father curiously. Harriet was never this charitable about him.

“I am looking forward to it,” she said cautiously. “But you know what Christmas is like. Lots of people, lots of drinking, the inevitable arguments . . .”

George shook his head. “Nonsense. Christmas is a wonderful thing. Didn’t you used to enjoy our Christmases? I remember every one.”

He looked at her wistfully, and Jen suddenly felt a huge urge to hug him, to sit on his knee like she did when she was five and feel utterly and completely protected and contented. Mothers were wonderful, she thought to herself, but they just didn’t have broad enough shoulders sometimes.

“Me too,” she said quietly. “Especially the one when you got me a bike.” They’d spent the whole day together that Christmas, George encouraging her to ride without her training wheels, and her screaming with delight when she finally mastered riding solo.

George laughed. “Well, I’m afraid I don’t have a bike for you this year, but I hope you’ll like it all the same.”

He pulled out an envelope and passed it to Jen. She opened it and found a Christmas card—“with all my love, from your father,” and a certificate with her name on it and a picture of a funny-looking planet. She wrinkled her nose, trying to remember if she’d ever told her father she was interested in outer space, and drew a blank.

“It’s a star,” George said softly. “I always promised you the moon, and I failed abysmally, but you’ve got a star now, in your name. I . . . I hope you like it.”

Jen stared at him and felt little tears start to prick at her eyes. “It’s beautiful,” she said, digging her nails into her palms to try and maintain a bit of composure—she was in a smart restaurant, after all. “Thank you, Dad. I . . . I didn’t get you anything.”

George frowned. “You’re here, Jen. Believe me, for an old fool like me, that’s Christmas present enough.”