‘Well, it wasn’t good.’ Flora admitted this as if it were a great wrench to her loyalty. ‘It wasn’t just one Mr Wrong. It was Mr Bad, Mr Worse and Mr You-Must-Be-Fucking-Joking. Before she went to Chicago, she was getting dumped more often than nuclear waste.’
‘That’s so sad,’ he commented, concealing the opinion that he was enjoying a lucky escape. ‘She’s really a wonderful person.’
‘And she was strange about the man I was with. Maybe she was jealous of me and wanted some rationale for coming on to him. It was all getting much too weird. I had to get out of it, I was going crazy.’
‘And where does that leave you?’
‘Me? Me and Dillon, you mean. Oh, we were over anyway. It was a mistake, we both knew that. I think maybe this was something we had to go through to find that out, you know?’
‘That’s how I feel about Georgina. She’s changed since we’ve been back in London.’
‘She’ll never change,’ Flora assured him. ‘But I have hopes of Dillon. He’s dealing with his own stuff now. I must have been put in his life to show him that he needed to do that. We’ll always be friends, I know we will. I think that’s important, don’t you?’
‘Not always,’ said Felix sagely. The baggage issue was an important one on his negotiating agenda for a new relationship. ‘Sometimes you need to move on. It’s not healthy to hold on to something that doesn’t nourish you any more.’
Doesn’t like baggage, Flora noted, therefore jealous of old boyfriends. Plenty of them around, thank goodness.
Felix decided that the whole affair was rather piquant. It recalled Les Liaisons Dangereuses. It made him think of whispers by candlelight, stockings rolled over the knee and breasts swelling over the rim of a tight satin corset. Flora would be one of those delicious little maids. There was definitely something below-stairs about her kind of appeal. He needed to be back at the clinic by half past two. It was time to move the discussion on to the next item on the agenda.
Felix captured one of Flora’s hands and applied it to the part of his body that required her attention.
It had stopped raining by the time Flora got home. Drops sparkled on the wild flowers in the front garden – they were not really weeds and she saw no reason to pull up living things that wanted to share her life. The moss that crusted the drainpipes was a lovely fresh green. Her body had all kinds of souvenirs of Felix, exciting tastes, spots of fresh tenderness, places that felt deliciously stretched or crushed or excited. As she tripped up to the front door she was conscious of the wonderful, optimistic energy in all her movements. It was a time of renewal, of rebirth, of awakening.
‘Hello,’ said Georgie.
‘Hello,’ Flora answered in surprise. Her friend seemed to be anxious, guilty and elated all at the same time. If Flora had been able to read auras, there would have been a halo of electric mauve all around Georgie’s head. ‘What’s up?’ she asked, opening the door.
‘I’ve been with Dillon half the day.’ Georgie followed her into the familiar hallway, remembering the choking weekend she had spent sanding the floorboards and the logistical nightmare of getting the essential six coats of varnish applied while Flora complained about the smell and her boyfriend of the moment climbed in and out of the front window getting their shopping. The boards looked as if they had been neglected ever since. She stumbled over Des’s trainers.
‘Oh,’ said Flora, a touch of acid in her voice. ‘Why’s that, exactly?’
‘He turned up at work.’ Georgie noticed that Flora did not seem to be deeply concerned. Her inward smile was almost radiant. When she moved there was a languorous elasticity about it and when she was still she seemed wrapped in cat-like self-satisfaction. Georgie knew the signs, she had seen them many times. Flora had a new man. An unworthy feeling of annoyance presented itself in Georgie’s mind. She had been scourging herself with guilt for hours, and all for nothing.
‘Whatever for?’ Flora demanded, reaching into the fridge and pouring herself a tall glass of elderflower cooler. ‘D’you want some of this?’
‘No thanks. It tastes of cat’s piss. He was looking for me.’
‘Go, Georgie!’ Flora raised her glass with an ironic gesture. ‘She moves, she shoots, she scores. Congratulations.’
‘You don’t care, do you?’ Georgie leaned against the worktop, contemplating this friend who was so familiar and yet so distant.
‘Donna fired him, you know that? He hasn’t got a job any more.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘You mean he told you?’
‘We told each other pretty much everything. He was pissed at Donna.’
‘He doesn’t like her. Never has. Dillon resented all my friends.’
‘Especially me,’ said Georgie morosely. ‘He hated the job, anyway.’
‘Bollocks.’ Flora slammed the fridge so hard it rocked. ‘He was doing great until he had to screw up.’
‘What do you mean, had to screw up?’
‘Donna only fired him to turn up the heat. So he’d lose it, break up with me and start running after you.’
‘She what?’ Georgie felt outraged, whether on Dillon’s behalf or her own she was not sure.
‘If he’d come on to you in the first place, she wouldn’t have had to do anything. She was gutted, believe me. He was her golden boy.’
‘That’s just sick,’ said Georgie, feeling her skin turn cold as if the temperature had suddenly dropped. ‘You’ve betrayed him. You’ve betrayed me. You could have ruined his life.’
‘Oh come on,’ Flora exhorted her. ‘Don’t you start with that crap. He can get a job anywhere. You and Felix would have broken up anyway. I was trapped. He wouldn’t give me any space, he was all over me all the time. What else could I do? You didn‘t really expect me to marry him, did you?’
‘Flora!’
‘What?’
‘Are you telling me you started the whole Heartswap thing just because you wanted to break up with. Dillon?’
‘Well, not exactly. But it was fun, you’ve got to admit. Much more fun than sitting around in some poxy flat doing all the it-isn’t-you-it’s-me routine. I do despise that, you know. It totally sucks.’
‘But he trusted you. He believed in you. He really loved you. And now he hates both of us.’ Georgie was too distraught to register the slam of the front door.
‘You had to tell him this “pretty much” everything, didn’t you? You might as well have gone for the whole nine yards. You’re such a pair of idiots, you deserve each other.’
‘He’s chucked it all in. Cancelled all his interviews. He wants to get out of London. Travel or something. Go to Australia. As soon as he’s sold his flat.’
‘Not long to wait then,’ predicted Des, coming into the kitchen in bare feet, carrying his trainers in one hand and his boots in the other.
‘Ugh!’ Flora held her nose and opened the kitchen window with a violent shove which splintered the frame. ‘Now look what you’ve made me do.’
‘What do you mean?’ Georgie demanded.
‘I mean I got three offers on that rat-hole today. All cash, all keen, all looking to move in as soon as they can. We’re going to sealed bids tomorrow. He could go Waltzing Matilda by Friday if he really wants. My feet are in agony.’
‘Oh,’ said Georgie.
‘Way to go,’ Flora commented. ‘If you don’t get those filthy boots out of here I’ll kill you.’
‘Unless they kill me first. I need a vodka-cranberry before I take one more step,’ insisted Des.
Georgie’s attention suddenly switched to herself, a new and unaccustomed focus. ‘And what do you mean, Felix and I were going to break up anyway?’ she challenged Flora.
‘I thought so,’ Flora defended herself. ‘Didn’t you think so?’ Georgie shook her head. ‘Des?’
Des was now at the sink assaulting an ice tray. ‘He had his feet well under the table there,’ he paused to gesture at Georgie. ‘What would he want to spoil that for?’
Georgie thought
about the clean sheets, the New York Review of Books and the dog-eared edition of the Neurological Digest. ‘You’re having an affair with Felix,’ she told Flora.
Flora shrugged her shoulders and walked out of the room.
Georgie followed her. ‘Answer me,’ she asked in a calm voice. ‘You owe me that.’
‘You see everything in terms of money,’ Flora said. ‘I don’t owe you anything. I am not responsible for your choices. Or Felix’s choices. Or for your anger.’
‘I don’t seem to be angry,’ Georgie pointed out, surprised herself. ‘I’m quite relieved, I think. I might even be pleased.’
‘Answer the question, wickedness.’ Des followed them, pulling ghoulish faces at Flora, who was sorting through the vials of aromatherapy oil which she kept in a Thai basket on the bookcase. ‘Have you been shagging him?’
‘Let’s just say Donna’s bought the tickets and we’re all going to Bali, shall we?’
‘You and Donna can go to Bali,’ Georgie told her. ‘I’m out of the deal. You’re too much for me; I can’t compete at your level. I’m just a mushy little bunny looking for someone to love me and I’ll get run over on the Road less Travelled. Roadkill in the gutter, that’s my destiny in your world. And don’t start in with a load of junk about how I’m just withdrawing and stuffing my energies.’
Flora shut her mouth on that precise observation. She took a deep breath to keep her own chakras aligned and clear out the negativity. ‘Whatever,’ she allowed, graciously, and began mixing a new euphoric blend for the Environmental Aroma Harmoniser. Ylang-Ylang, Lemongrass and Red Cedar seemed right for Felix.
‘We were friends. I trusted you.’
‘Trust is a delusion,’ Flora instructed her. ‘If you learned to live in balance with your energies you wouldn’t need to manipulate people that way in order to feel secure. You should relax, Georgie. Learn to let go. Stop resisting change. Be more accepting.’
‘I feel sick.’ Georgie’s mood suddenly flipped into sadness. She had lost it, the warm, nourishing closeness of a woman friend. The shelter of their intimacy, which they had cooperated to build carefully, year after year, had collapsed. She was alone on a cold mountain top and night was falling.
‘You see,’ Flora argued. ‘Even your body is stuck in rejection.’
‘My body is right. You’re always telling me I should listen to my instincts more. How come, now my instincts are telling me all this is vomit-making, you’ve changed your opinion?’
‘Can’t you see? This is all your pattern of resistance, Georgie.’
‘You’re welcome to Felix. He’s a control freak. A closet Nazi. You really suit each other.’
‘Don’t try to fix your pain, Georgie. Just be still and experience it. Be with it. Pain teaches us what we need to learn.’
‘I think I need to learn to get out of here.’ Georgie lunged for the door, her stomach heaving.
‘Stop!’ Des implored her. ‘This is such a bummer. You can’t do this, you’re friends. You love each other.’
Georgie paused in the doorway and turned back. Flora looked up from her oils. They spoke as one woman. ‘Love? What the fuck does that mean?’
The door slammed and Georgie was gone. Des pulled it open and ran after her. ‘And as for you,’ she said, stepping out into the street, ‘let this be a lesson to you too, Bright Eyes. Wise up. Don’t freeze in the headlights. Run like hell.’
19. May 12–13
‘Can I store my stuff in the garage?’ Dillon asked his mother. ‘I’ve taken an offer on the flat. They’re desperate. They want to move in as soon as they can. It’s a seller’s market at the moment.’
‘So I’ve heard,’ said his mother drily. ‘If it’s a seller’s market, you can tell them to wait. And where are you proposing to live?’
‘I’m not going to live anywhere. Anywhere I know about. I need to sort my head out. I want to pack everything up, stick it in the garage and take off for the summer. Doesn’t matter where. I thought I’d take the ferry to Spain and keep driving until I found a reason to stop.’
‘Oh,’ she said, making a superhuman effort to be tactful.
‘You mean, “Oh dear,”‘ he told her. In a woman, his tone would have been called feisty.
‘Do I? As bad as that? Is it that job?’
‘Sort of,’ he conceded.
‘You weren’t happy,’ she told him.
‘How did you know?’
‘It was obvious. You looked like a dying dog whenever you talked about it And you never talked about it unless I asked you. And then all you did was tell me how much your next bonus was going to be.’
‘I thought you liked me making money,’ he said in an aggrieved tone.
‘I didn’t know it was going to make you miserable,’ she explained.
‘Anyway, the money was stupid. The more I earned the worse I felt about it. I felt pathetic getting paid so much for inventing things nobody needed.’
‘Money isn’t everything.’ She tried hard not to sound knowing. He did so hate it when she was right about things. ‘So it isn’t the job. Is it that girl?’
‘It’s all girls,’ he confided, against his better judgement. It was usually a major mistake, confiding in La Mère.
‘Worse than that, then? Worse than “Oh, dear” is serious. Is the engagement off?’
‘You needn’t sound so pleased about it.’
‘Darling, I am pleased, what can I do? Everything you told me about her sounded ghastly. We’d have fought like cats. I’m glad I never met her.’
‘I wish you had met her. You could have scared her off and saved me from being miserable.’
‘Would you like lunch?’
‘Haven’t you got a hairdresser?’
‘I can cancel him. He’s not the most important man in my life.’ And what was a blow-dry when her boy was growing up?
‘All right then,’ Dillon agreed. His wounds were beyond the help of TCP and Elastoplast now, but at least someone cared that he was bleeding. Flora, for all she was so proud of her intuition, had never even noticed when he was hurt.
Georgie walked to the tube station and began to battle through the rush-hour crowd towards the platform marked Westbound. It was solidly packed with people. The atmosphere was a miasma of dirt and the stink of sweat.
A train hurtled in, the doors opened and more people burst out of the crammed carriages into the crowd. People fought past each other with shoulders and elbows, dragging bags of work and small children behind them. Georgie found herself backing away from the train until she was flattened against the wall. The stampede of feet trampled her toes.
She waited until the train had moved on, then made a break for the stairs. While I’m in rejection mode, I reject this, she decided. I will not be a zombie; I will not shuffle through my life as if I were already dead. I want a life, and I want to be awake to enjoy it.
Diving out of the populous main street, she stepped into a derelict doorway in an alley. In this sanctuary she pulled out her mobile, ignored her messages and called her bank, patiently keying in the numbers to activate the automatic information system. Her reserve was healthy. Her savings were handsome. She could afford to take some risks. She went through to an operator and withdrew from the joint account, leaving it in Felix’s name alone.
Next she called the office. ‘Where the fuck are you?’ Great Lats hissed in her ear.
‘Doesn’t matter,’ she told him. ‘Can I see you tomorrow?’
‘Uh …’
‘It’s business and it will be to your advantage,’ she prompted him. Sex was such perverse stuff. Months of lusting after him and he’d never noticed; now she didn’t care he was quivering with the fear that she was planning to make a move.
‘I have plans,’ he asserted nervously.
‘It’s like this,’ she explained. ‘I’m going to leave. I can fix it so you can have my job, or I can just bugger off and leave you to scrap for it with everyone else who thinks they can stand the pace. No
w, can you get to the J Bar tomorrow at six or can’t you?’
‘I’ll be there,’ he agreed, with proper humility.
Georgie turned off her phone. Back on the street, she gulped down some filthy air and decided to find a coffee shop and wait until the rush was over. Her stomach actually rumbled. Gastric juices were churning around looking for trouble. She had eaten nothing all day.
The nearest coffee place was To Bean Or Not To Bean, just off Hoxton Square. She awarded herself a large filter with biscotti and wondered what she had been in such a hurry to get home for anyway. Responding with its usual efficiency, her mind put up menu of tasks. Dump Felix. Change the locks. Fix your nails. Get back the keys to Flat Eric. Throw out Felix’s stuff.
She re-prioritised the list. Get back the keys to Flat Eric became number one. No change with change the locks, still in second place. Dump Felix at third, fixing her nails was at four because it took hours to strip off a power manicure, which left throwing out his stuff trailing the leaders at number five. She started to daydream pleasantly about life without Felix.
‘Good evening,’ said Smiley-and-Beefy, looming over her with a double-almond-mocha and a chocolate muffin. ‘May I join you?’
‘You certainly may,’ she told him. This was a good omen.
‘Weather’s picking up,’ he suggested as he squeezed on to the chair. It was a neo-Starck chair, the kind of thing Felix would have loved. No more of that rubbish, Georgie promised herself. I fancy something with silly gilded legs. Four legs, one at each corner, no cheating. After Fragonard, that’s me.
‘Is it?’ she replied in an absent voice.
He bit off a hunk of muffin. ‘Pity about Flora and that chap of hers. Whatsisname.’
‘Dillon. No it isn’t She didn’t deserve him.’
‘No, she didn’t. Bloody good bloke. Knew his art. He was going to commission something from one of my artists, you know. Wedding present for her. Hell of a lot of money. Artist wouldn’t do it, so it’s all one in the end.’
‘You know I know about that,’ she said, merrily slurping the last of her coffee. An idea had come to her. A scenario was taking shape. Certain material facts were becoming clear. If money was power, she might as well enjoy it.
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