The List That Changed My Life

by Olivia Beirne

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Georgie’s list

  Have a vindaloo on Brick Lane.

  Take a Salsa class.

  Do a skydive.

  Go on a Tinder date.

  Cycle around Hyde Park.

  Run 10k.

  Make the perfect Victoria sponge.

  Go skinny-dipping in the sea.

  Try skateboarding at Southbank.

  Show Bianca your designs!

  ‘Why are you going to a Salsa class? My Salsa class. Why are you going to my Salsa class?’

  The words jumble out of my mouth and I glare at Jack, my face burning. I knew he’d be in the kitchen. He always makes a tea as soon as he comes in.

  Jack continues to pour the steaming water into his mug and looks up at me, frowning.

  ‘Your Salsa class?’ Jack repeats, glancing back down at his tea. ‘I didn’t know you taught Salsa. You want a tea?’

  A bolt of annoyance zaps through me.

  Oh, har har. Like I could ever teach Salsa. After Saturday I can barely walk up the stairs.

  ‘The one I go to,’ I snap. ‘You’re going too. Why? To see me?’

  I stare back at him, heat licking up my neck. To my annoyance, his face doesn’t change.

  God, he is so infuriating. Why isn’t he responding? He’s acting as if I’m asking him about the weather. He doesn’t even look like he’s listening!

  I tried to let it go. I really did. I tried to sit at my desk and get on with my work and forget all about the fact that he magically happens to be going to the same Salsa class as me. My Salsa class.

  But I’m sorry, it’s now 9.07 and my willpower cannot hold out any longer. I need answers.

  ‘To see you?’ he echoes.

  ‘Stop repeating everything I’m saying!’ I burst out. ‘Why are you going?’

  Jack drops his tea bag in the bin and smiles. ‘How do you know I’m going?’

  ‘Because I saw your name on the list,’ I say tartly. ‘So, whatever your plan is to keep seeing me, you can just stop it. I told you we aren’t dating and we’re not.’

  I turn to stalk back out of the kitchen when Jack laughs.

  ‘Hang on,’ he says, ‘you’re the one who worked out when I was going, and it’s you who has come to find me at work to ask me about it. Are you sure you don’t want to see me?’

  What?

  I gape back at him, my mouth opening and closing furiously.

  ‘I . . .’ I splutter mindlessly, ‘I don’t . . . I don’t want to see . . . no!’ I manage finally, my face flaming.

  A small grin pulls at the sides of Jack’s mouth as he finally finishes making his tea and angles his whole body towards me. To my annoyance, my eyes flick down his chest.

  ‘Okay,’ he says eventually, ‘well, good. I’m glad we got that sorted.’

  I stare back at him, my brain whirring.

  ‘I need to get back to work,’ I say tightly. ‘I’m very busy.’

  Before Jack can say another word, I turn on my heels and stagger back towards my desk.

  Urgh. Well, that did not go very well at all.

  *

  I narrow my eyes at my computer as I select a shade of buttercup yellow and swish it across the screen. With my eyes still fixed on my design, I coil my fingers around my tepid mug and take a slug of tea. Bianca has been in meetings all morning, which means for once I have been allowed to get on with designing uninterrupted. Our big pitch is for a clothes retailer, to design their summer rebranding. I have been working on a collection of designs for months. I will show them to Bianca; I just have to wait for her to be in a good mood and not be so manically stressed about the wedding. Although, it’s starting to feel like that time may never come.

  I glance up, distracted momentarily by Sally, who is scrunching her hair on top of her head like a damp sponge and rapping her pen on the desk.

  Sally is a great designer. She may actually be better than Bianca. Everything she designs is perfect, and she will not finish a piece of work until it is exactly that, which makes her an exceptional employee in a design firm, but doesn’t do her many favours amidst Bianca’s wedding planning.

  I put down my mug and peer at her as she mutters into her notebook.

  ‘Sally,’ I say quietly. ‘Sally?’

  Sally’s head jerks up and she blinks at me as if she has just been woken out of a deep trance.

  I flinch. ‘Are you okay?’ I ask.

  For a second, Sally’s shoulders sag at my question, as if she was expecting me to ask her to recite Bianca’s wedding vows in Latin.

  She nods slightly and I lean forward.

  ‘Do you need any help?’ I say. ‘I’m just working on some ideas for designs, if you want an extra pair of hands with the wedding planning.’

  Sally’s eyes swell and for an awful moment I fear she may burst into tears.

  ‘Could you?’ she says. ‘I am trying to work out who has confirmed attendance. If I read them out, could you write them down?’

  ‘Sure!’ I say brightly, picking up my notepad and pen.

  A smile dashes across Sally’s taut face. ‘Okay,’ she says, ‘these are the people who are coming.’

  ‘Great.’

  ‘Flementine Darlington.’

  I pause, my pen poised.

  What? Surely that isn’t someone’s actual name.

  ‘And her husband, Felix.’

  I look up, waiting for Sally to crack into a smile, when I remember she doesn’t have a sense of humour.

  Flementine and Felix?

  I madly scribble the names down, guessing how to spell ‘Flementine’. What do they call her for short? Flemy?

  ‘Mr and Mrs Boikskin-Chester.’

  I force my face to stay composed as a laugh creeps up my throat. Who are these people?

  ‘Granny Porpington.’

  At this, a laugh bursts out of me. I clasp my hand over my mouth and look up at Sally, who is blinking back at me, baffled.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say, trying to compose myself as another chain of giggles shoots out of me, ‘sorry. But, Granny Porpington? That sounds like a character from Paddington Bear.’

  Sally’s face twitches as her eyes dart above my head. I frown at her.

  ‘Our Grandma actually loves Paddington,’ Jack says cheerfully, ‘so I think she’d be quite pleased with that.’

  I jerk round to see Jack standing at the door carrying a stack of paper. Sally snaps back into attention mode and consults her list manically.

  ‘We were just amending the guest list,’ she yelps.

  I glance back at Jack and then pull open the design file on my computer, trying to control my flushing face.

  ‘Sally,’ Jack says, looking over my shoulder, ‘can I borrow Georgie for a minute?’

  Sally opens her mouth to reply but I get there first.

  ‘No!’ I cry, before I can stop myself.

  Sally blinks at me.

  ‘I mean,’ I say quickly, trying to compose myself, ‘we are very busy here, Jack. Sorry. Maybe later.’

  Sally’s fixes me with a stern look. ‘Georgia,’ she says firmly, ‘you can help Mr Lemon. I will be fine.’

  Urgh. Mr Lemon.

  ‘Oh, and . . .’ Sally stands up, ‘I bought this for Amy, it’s about yoga.’ She hands me a book and smiles unnaturally. ‘I thought it might help her.’

  I flounder as I gape at Sally. She bought Amy a present? To help her?

  ‘Thank you,’ I manage, as I put the book down on my desk. ‘Thank you so much, Sally. She will really appreciate it.’

  Sally smiles stiffly and drops back into her seat. ‘Not at all.’

  I glance back down at the book as I feel hot emotion pull at my throat. I think that’s the nicest thing Sally has ever done for me. She cares about Amy and she’s never even met her.

  I pick up my bag and follow Jack out of the office. As soon as we’re alone, the familiar spark of irritation flares in the pit of my stomach.

  ‘What do you wan
t?’ I say coldly.

  Jack turns to me, bemused. ‘I need help finding the order form for the bridesmaid shoes,’ he says. ‘Bianca said you would know where it is.’

  I look back at him, embarrassed at the realisation that he has a genuine need to speak to me.

  ‘Oh,’ I say, lifting my chin, ‘okay. It’s this way.’

  I begin to walk down the corridor and Jack follows, his papers tucked under his arm. We march in silence until we reach the filing room. I push the door open and pull out a cabinet drawer, which pings open in front of us.

  ‘It will be in here,’ I say crisply, ‘probably near the back.’

  Jack looks at me for a second, and then moves towards the open cabinet. He drops his papers to the floor and starts searching. I roll my eyes and grimace at the back of his head, when my phone vibrates. I pull it out of my pocket. I don’t care if Jack sees me texting at work. My eyes land on a text from Amy and my body turns cold.

  Hey, been sent home from work. Going to bed. Tamal at work. Bring your keys later x

  I hover over my phone, my eyes stinging dangerously. This is the first time Amy has been sent home from work. She has always refused to take any days off sick. She must be feeling really terrible.

  I run my hand over my forehead as anxiety claws at my throat. I need to help her, but I don’t know how. I don’t feel like I’m helping her at all.

  ‘Is this it?’

  I look up at Jack, and to my horror the sudden movement of my eyes causes tears to spill down my face.

  Jack jumps back, alarmed. ‘Are you okay?’ he says.

  I quickly slip my phone back into my pocket and dab my face with the back of my hand, furious at myself for crying in front of him.

  ‘Yes,’ I say quickly, ‘fine. Yes, that is the file, now shall we go?’

  I turn to leave the room, but Jack doesn’t move.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ he says.

  ‘Nothing,’ I say firmly, taking a deep breath, ‘nothing at all. I’m just tired.’

  Jack shuts the filing cabinet and raises his eyebrows questioningly. ‘Is it something to do with Amy? Is she okay?’

  My eyes burn at the sound of Amy’s name. How does he know about her?

  ‘That,’ I say tersely, ‘is none of your business.’ I pick up my bag, desperate to leave before I burst into tears. ‘I have a lot of work to do. See you later.’

  I push my way out of the door as my face crumples.

  I need to help her. I need to do more. I just don’t know how.

  *

  I watch dubiously as the nifty skateboarders, all crouched low over their boards, swoop and flip over the Southbank ramps. I glance down at my own skateboard, and feel an involuntary stab of fear.

  Nothing feels more unnatural than the idea of standing on a flimsy board with wheels and rolling towards any of these ramps. Especially that big one over there, which looks like the Grand Canyon’s less reliable sister. My eyes scan the ramps and I screw up my face determinedly.

  Come on, Georgie. If you do this one thing, you can tick another item off this list and be done with it. Amy didn’t stipulate how long you had to skateboard for, you could just roll across the ramp once and call it a day. You could even . . .

  I pause as my eyes lock on a character, jumping over the ramps with ease. I feel my eyelids twitch.

  Is that Jack?

  I take a step forward and narrow my eyes as if I have an internal zoom option.

  Oh my God, it is! What is he doing here? I watch in surprise as he flips over another ramp.

  Wow, he’s actually pretty good. How does he know how to skateboard?

  I squeeze my eBay-bought skateboard, tucked under my arm, and turn my attention to a small, inoffensive ramp sat in the corner. It looks like the child’s ramp. It must be for beginners. Okay, I shall just roll over a gentle slope and leave before Jack sees me. I can do this.

  I inhale a great mouthful of air and puff out my chest. I stride towards the ramp, trying to ignore the sound of my boots snapping on the tarmac and reverberating around the skate park. Some of the skateboarders eye me, as if I’m the grown-up who is about to lecture them all on why a good education is more important than flipping off a ramp, and I flash them an unnerving smile.

  I reach the ramp and drop the skateboard to the ground. My stomach twinges.

  Wow. Now I’m here it does actually look a lot higher than I first thought. It’s actually pretty steep. I peer down the ramp slowly. Is it too steep?

  I’m sure you’re not supposed to skateboard with a handbag tucked under your arm, but I am not leaving it lying around in a skate park.

  I can’t believe I’m about to do this. Why did Amy put this on the list? What’s the point?

  I hold my handbag under my arm and step on to the skateboard slowly.

  Nobody else here has bags, how do they do it? I guess they all use their pockets, which is actually pretty—

  WHOOSH!

  Without warning, the skateboard lurches forward and shoots off. I hurtle down the ramp madly and crash to the floor, my legs twisting underneath my body.

  Arghhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

  My heart jitters in panic as I lie crumpled on the floor. Hot pain seeps through my body and I wince.

  What happened? How did that happen?

  I try to lift myself up, but my head rattles with pain.

  I don’t know if I can stand.

  ‘Georgie?’ I hear a voice. ‘Georgie, are you okay?’

  *

  I lean back into my seat and eye my ankle as an agonising throb ripples up my leg. I shut my eyes and try to fight the tears stinging behind my eyelids. I pull one eye open as Jack reappears, holding two polystyrene cups. He hands one to me.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say quietly.

  ‘No worries,’ he replies.

  Jack took me to hospital and we have been sat in A&E for what feels like hours.

  I couldn’t even stand – he had to carry me to the taxi. I bury my face in my cup as embarrassment courses through me. I didn’t want him to carry me, obviously, but I was in no position to argue. If he hadn’t have been there, I don’t know what I would have done.

  ‘You don’t have to stay,’ I mumble. ‘I’m sure they will have my results soon.’

  Jack puts his coffee on the floor and shakes his head. ‘It’s fine,’ he says.

  He’s mad. Of course he is. I have been nothing but rude to him since I realised who he was. He has only been nice to me: he didn’t tell Bianca who I was, and he helped me today. But then, he did read my diary.

  I look back up at him. ‘Why were you at the skate park?’ I ask.

  Jack settles back in his seat. ‘I was skateboarding,’ he says plainly.

  Hmm.

  He must have known I was going to be there.

  I nod, taking a sip of my tea, and recoil as the liquid lava singes my tongue.

  ‘Shit!’ I cry, pulling the cup away from my mouth.

  Jack’s eyes flit over to me, then he pulls out his phone.

  ‘It’s hot,’ I say quietly, holding my mouth with my hand. ‘Be careful.’

  His lips curl slightly. ‘Thanks,’ he says.

  ‘Georgia Miller?’

  I jolt upwards as a nurse appears, holding a clipboard.

  ‘Hi,’ I manage, ‘that’s me.’

  Her eyes scan the room and smile as they land on me. She walks over.

  She sits next to me and my stomach spasms.

  Please don’t say my foot’s broken. Please. It can’t be broken. It can’t.

  ‘So,’ she says, consulting the chart, ‘it’s just a sprain. You will need to wear a support. You can pick one up from most supermarkets, and just take it easy. Okay?’

  Her kind smile stretches over her face, and to my alarm my eyes start to prick.

  ‘Thank you,’ I gush, failing to control the tears seeping from the corners of my eyes. ‘Sorry,’ I gabble, dabbing the side of my face with the back of my sleeve, ‘I’ve just . .
. I’ve got this 10k, and I need to be able to run. It’s important. I just—’ I break off, finally pulling myself together. ‘Thank you.’

  The nurse smiles and stands back up.

  ‘Glad you’re okay, but I’d recommend staying away from running for a week or two,’ she says kindly. ‘And you need someone to drive you back home,’ she adds, ‘okay?’

  I nod, lifting my leg off the chair as she leaves my side. I glance up at Jack and notice he is staring at me.

  ‘Thank you,’ I manage, ‘thank you for taking me, and helping.’

  Jack doesn’t say anything, his green eyes round with concern.

  ‘Are you doing the run for Amy?’ he asks.

  I look back at him. My former rage at him for knowing about Amy is replaced with a wave of relief.

  I nod. ‘Yeah,’ I say, ‘she isn’t well.’

  He sinks deeper into the chair. ‘I know,’ he says.

  ‘Yeah,’ I laugh lightly, ‘you read it in my diary, right?’

  Jack sighs. ‘I told you,’ he says, ‘I didn’t read your diary.’

  ‘Well then, how do you—?’

  ‘You told me on our date,’ he says. ‘You told me about the MS.’

  I pause, my stomach lurching queasily. I look away, my face prickling with embarrassment.

  Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.

  ‘How is she?’ Jack asks.

  I hold his gaze, the truth itching at the back of my throat.

  I lock my moist fingers together. ‘Not great,’ I manage, ‘it makes her really tired. I don’t know what to do. She’s losing herself. It’s eating her up.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  We both turn as a lady with auburn ringlets and a broad chest appears, jingling a bucket. ‘We’re raising money for the Red Cross. Do you have any spare change?’

  I stick my hand in my pocket and fish out some coins, and watch as Jack slots in a note. The woman nods her head appreciatively and edges around the room.

  ‘She used to be so motivated,’ I say, watching the woman approach another set of people. ‘I don’t know how to instil that in her again. That’s what she has always done for me.’

  ‘Well,’ Jack says, looking down at the Red Cross leaflet, ‘maybe we need to find something to motivate her.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Georgie’s list