“Not really.”
“I only ever asked you to doonething for me. Just one. I wanted you to go on the pill.”
I blink in shock at this strange twist in the conversation.
“I told you I hate using condoms,” he says as justification.
“I hate being on the pill,” I counter. “I told you this. I’ve never found one that didn’t make me ravenous and fat, that didn’t reduce my libido to dust. I’ve got an appointment booked to get the coil and—”
“How long did that take to get sorted, though? I’ve mentioned it a few times. But still you made me use condoms. We’ve been together nearly a year. How long did you wait before you even phoned the GP?”
I wasn’t about to go on the pill for someone I didn’t even love,I want to shout at him, but I don’t. It was only at the doctor’s office that the nurse sat me down and politely informed me the world had moved on since I last tried long-term contraception, and she helped me decide on the coil.
I stand. I need to think. I need to work out what to do next. I leave my coffee on the table as I move toward the fridge for thelittle carton of milk, but it’s behind a bottle of wine and I pull that out of the way.
“Haven’t you drunk enough?” George says, clocking the wine. “For fuck’s sake, you and your boring friends drank the open bar dry.”
I stare at him. “We didn’t. Miranda only drank a few, because she’s dieting already for her wedding next year, and I only saw Paul with—”
“I’m going to go,” George snaps.
I don’t even think about stopping him. We’ve been so unfair to each other that it’s only just dawning on me. I knew we weren’t right together, but I kept thinking: This will get better. This will get better.
“Are you going to say anything?” he asks.
Shamefully I don’t. I’m too busy thinking. This is the push I need, the push I didn’t know I was waiting for. I don’t think George and I should do this to each other anymore. This isn’t how relationships are supposed to be. We want entirely different things, we’re completely different people. It was good in the early days, but it’s apparent we’re not right for each other, not anymore. I let myself drift into this relationship and I ignored it when it turned sour. When I look back on this moment I know I’m not going to regret this decision, but I am going to regret any hurt I cause him. I get ready to speak, but he’s there first.
“Hannah—I’m going to take my stuff. This is…it’s not working for me anymore.”
I inhale quickly. A mixture of emotions hits me. George and I, for once, are actually on the same page. It still stings, but only for a moment. After that, I’m grateful he got there before me.
“I don’t think you’ve been into this for a while, actually,” he says. “I think you’ve been going through the motions. Maybe we both have.”
I can’t argue with that. George never let me into his life. Alwaysan excuse. Always a reason. But maybe I didn’t let him fully into mine, either. He’d never said he loved me and I’d never said it, either. And the reason for that is blindingly obvious.
George gathers his things, moving around the flat quietly. I wait in the kitchen because I’m not going to trail him around. I shouldn’t be shocked. I really shouldn’t. But I sort of am. Do relationships always end so much more quickly than they start? After a few minutes he stands by the door. A part of him seems reluctant to leave. A part of me feels the same.
“I have a Christmas present for you,” I say.
He laughs bitterly. “Keep it.”
“No, I want you to have it.” I move past him in the doorway and fetch his box from under the tree. “I put a lot of effort into it.”
“Shame you didn’t put more effort into our relationship.”
I close my eyes, take a deep breath, don’t respond. He wants the last word. I get that.
“Thanks,” he mumbles as I hand it to him. “I haven’t gotten you anything yet.”
Christmas is merely days away. How long was he going to leave it before buying me something?Washe going to buy me something?
“It started so well,” he says. “Us, I mean. Thailand was a blast, but we should probably have left it there, no?”
I agree with a smile that he half returns. Though I’m tempted to, I don’t remind him that this was what I actually said at the time, and it was he who encouraged us onward. But I shouldn’t have carried on. I could see him changing so rapidly. Ten months. We lasted ten months. We should only really have been together for those ten days. I’d put money on this all being my fault. Maybe I never really let George in mentally, only physically; never really gave him the chance he deserved. I can’t tell now.
Paul was right: I am obviously easily led. I let Davey end things and I didn’t fight it. I knew George and I shouldn’t have gottentogether, but I let it happen. I even quit my job and went for a new one because I was told to by Cindy. Thank God that worked out. If she’d known that’s what I was like, would she have hired me? But this—this I know needs to happen, even though I didn’t need to be the one who said it first. Point-scoring is not my style.
George surprises me by putting his Christmas box on the kitchen counter, stepping forward, and hugging me. “Ah well, Gallagher, we gave it our best shot.”
