I swallow my coffee. “No, thanks, I don’t fancy that.” I’d planned to do that with Davey, and I’m annoyed with myself that I don’t want to do it with anyonebutDavey. Although that is never going to happen now. I gulp at that. I should change my mind, say yes to George.
“OK…” he says, looking down. “What’s easy to get to from here? The Tower of London?”
I look at him. He’s just naming things that Davey and I were going to do together, and I swear if he suggests the National Portrait Gallery next, I’m going to scream.
“Is there anything new on?” I ask. “Some kind of exhibition maybe.”
“Yes, there’s a James Bond—”
“Sounds great. Let’s do that.”
“You’ve not even heard what I was going to say,” he says with a laugh. “It’s cars. You OK with cars?”
“I’m fine with cars,” I say. I hate cars. “I’m sure it will be fascinating.” But this is better than doing any of the other absurd things I had planned to do with Davey. I can’t do them absurdly with George. Not so soon. I tell myself I just need a few more months and then I’ll be fine. And as I say this to myself, I realize that means I’m probablynotfine now. But I will be. And that’s the main thing.
We say goodbye to Joan and I know I’m going to miss her over the next month as she weaves her way across the seas, eating pancakes, ice-skating, and discovering new things with Geoff.
That’s what relationships are, in part: discovering new things about each other, with each other; discovering the world around you…together.
George closes the kitchen door behind us and laughs. “That was hilarious,” he says. “She’s a one-off.”
“What?” I say, stunned.
“Cuckoo, totally bonkers,” he clarifies.
“Yeah, I know what you mean, but she’s not,” I say, my hackles rising.
“ ’Course she is. All that five-out-of-five nonsense. For coffee? And she does this every week to you? That’s ridiculous. And pretending you were heartbroken.”
I’m quiet.
“I know you weren’t going to come away to Thailand,” he says, moving the subject on. “But you weren’t…heartbroken, were you?”
Now that I think about it, it’s kind of strange that George knew I was sad about Davey, knew that I didn’t want to go on holiday, and then came knocking at my door, convincing me to go anyway.And then, throughout all of Thailand, we never spoke about Davey, we just got on with our holiday; and we got on so well together, we simply kind of…happened. Discussions never extended to Davey, and I was happy with that. A subject I didn’t want to discuss, for so many reasons.
But now it’s probably unavoidable.
“You guys were just video-dating or…whatever, no?”
And this is why it’s hard to discuss.
“Yep.” I nod. “No. Not heartbroken. Yes, just video-dating.”
“OK, phew,” he says. “Because if I’m expected to match up to someone who broke your heart, who you’d never even fucking met, then…I am screwed.”
“No,” I say, moving toward him. I am determined. “You’re not screwed. You’re great.”
—
At the James Bond car exhibition I am bored rigid and trying not to be. I read a few posters covering the age of the car and how many times they pretended to blow it up in such-and-such film. I think ahead to the gift shop and hope it’s not made up entirely of James Bond artifice.
My mind wanders toward work, which is a tragic thing to think about at a weekend, especially when I’m supposed to be enjoying myself with George. But I can’t help thinking that the more I carry on drifting through my job, the less happy I am and the more stagnant I’m becoming. I think I’ve been so distracted recently with Davey that I’ve only just started to realize I’m drifting, purposeless. I’ve been given more responsibility, but I sense that’s because my boss Craig wants his workload down even further and shoved it onto my desk, rather than actually wanting me to develop. But I do want to develop—I do. I stare at another vehicle. Until Craig shuffles off to pastures new, I’m merely waiting to move up the ranks. But to what end, I’m not sure.
George is in his element, and I watch him as he reads everysingle plaque, takes in every single detail of every single vehicle, and after a while his hand detaches from mine and he wanders off to look at a scale prototype of a helicopter used inGoldenEye.I feign interest because that is what couples do, isn’t it? Support their other half in their interests, go to exhibitions they’re not interested in, just so they can spend time together. This is what normal women do. And so that’s what I’ll do.
“Oh, Hannah,” he says, and his hand finds mine again. “A Eurocopter…” And I nod, smile, ask something about the engine size, to which I receive an incomprehensible answer and we move on to the next vehicle. George is happy and that makes me happy, although I am now quite eager to get to the end and have a nose around in the gift shop.
Out of the corner of my eye I see a movement next to me, and I turn to see the back of a tall blond man adjusting his rucksack. I stare at him and, for the briefest of heart-stopping seconds, I think it’s Davey. I inhale, too loudly, and the man turns, looks at me, sees me staring, and gives me a smile before turning away.
