‘Well, good,’ Mum says in a tight whisper. ‘You’ll meet Mr Right.’
I shoot her a look, but Mum’s eyes are now shut.
Oh God. She’s about to start her pep talk. She usually saves this for Christmas Day.
‘He’s out there somewhere,’ she whispers knowingly, ‘so don’t you worry.’
‘I’m not worried,’ I assure her, desperate for this conversation to end.
‘No talking, please!’ the instructor coos from the front. ‘Now into the perching koala.’
Really?
This woman is a bloody fraud. She’s making it up as she goes along. I should know, I do it all the time.
‘Well,’ Mum starts again, ‘I’m not worried.’
‘Good.’
‘If you’re not worried, then I’m not worried.’
She’s just saying words now. She’s not even making any sense.
‘Good.’
‘But if you do ever need to talk about anything, you know I am here.’
‘Yes.’
‘Anything at all.’
‘Yes.’
‘Anything.’
‘Yes!’ I snap back, shooting daggers at the side of Mum’s face.
The three women in front angle their heads around and shoot us a disapproving glare. I shrivel back down into my perching koala and make an apologetic face. Mum hasn’t even noticed.
Right, that’s it. I’m revisiting the idea of living on the tube. Anything is better than this, even the Bakerloo Line.
*
I lean back into the sofa as Tinder spins on my screen and my finger launches into action.
Nope. Nope. No way. Nope. No. Nope. Never.
Amy looks up, sat next to the sofa in her wheelchair. Her arm is finally free of the sling. She hasn’t been back to work since her fall.
‘What are you doing?’ she asks.
‘Tinder,’ I reply groggily, my face slumped into my hands.
Amy peers over my shoulder. ‘Have you heard any more from Jack?’
I shake my head, my eyes still glued to the phone. ‘I blocked his number,’ I say, my throat swelling at the mention of his name. ‘I didn’t want him trying to contact me.’
Amy leans away from me and picks up her mug of steaming coffee.
‘Would you definitely not forgive him?’ she asks gently.
‘He’s married, Amy.’
‘Yes,’ she says, ‘but not really. You said they’d been separated for half a year.’
I look up from my phone.
‘Yes,’ I say irritably, ‘but that’s not the point. He lied to me. He’s still married. He never should have asked me out if he was married. That’s just something you should never do.’
Amy cocks her head and holds her mug up to her lips. ‘I guess.’
I blocked Jack’s number as soon as I got back from the wedding. I blocked Jack’s, and then I blocked Bianca’s. I never want either of them to find a way to reach me. After what they did to me, I never want to hear from them again.
‘I just want to forget this entire year,’ I say glumly, fixing my eyes back on the men flying off my screen. ‘It’s been horrible.’
‘Yeah,’ Amy laughs, ‘well, it hasn’t been great for me either, George.’
I look up at her.
‘I didn’t—’ I say feebly. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean—’
‘Georgia?’
I look up as Dad walks into the living room. ‘There is someone here for you.’
I sit up quickly and run my fingers through my hair.
What?
Someone here for me? I’m not expecting anyone! I’m barely dressed! I haven’t even brushed my teeth!
Dad steps back and I look up anxiously, when I see Natalie. She is carrying a battered cardboard box and has a small smile etched upon her round face.
‘Natalie!’ I cry, springing to my feet. ‘Hey!’
I stumble over and wrap my arms around her neck. She squeezes me back as best as she can, her arms full.
‘Hi!’ Natalie smiles at me. ‘Hey, Amy.’
Amy raises her free hand. ‘Hey, Natalie. How are you?’
I quickly push aside the magazines stacked on the sofa and make room for Natalie to sit. She sinks down into the space next to me and places the box down in front of her.
‘Would you like a tea, girls?’ Dad pops his head round the corner.
‘Yes, please,’ I say.
Natalie nods and Amy shakes her head.
‘I’ve still got a coffee,’ says Amy, ‘so just the two.’
Dad leaves and I look back at Natalie, suddenly feeling a wave of hot emotion creeping up the back of my throat. I haven’t seen Natalie since my last day at work.
‘I had some leave to take,’ Natalie says, ‘so I thought I’d come and check up on you. Sally mentioned that she thought you’d gone back to stay with your family for a bit.’
I look back at her.
‘Yeah,’ I say, ‘Amy came and rescued me. After, you know. Everything.’
Natalie folds one leg underneath her on the sofa.
‘What?’ she says. ‘What do you mean? Nobody really knows what happened. One minute you were there, and then suddenly you’d gone. Sally said you left crying, and some people thought you’d been fired.’
I blink at her, my heart thudding.
‘Here you are . . .’ Dad bustles in, carrying two mugs.
I take mine gratefully and cradle it between my hands.
‘Bianca fired me,’ I say, looking down at my steaming mug of tea. ‘Jack put my designs in the pitch meeting and she lost it . . . and she also told me that Jack’s married.’ I look up, my face burning in humiliation at having to relive it.
Natalie’s face barely moves.
‘Does Bianca know about you and Jack?’ she asks.
I shrug. ‘I don’t know,’ I say, ‘and I don’t care. That company was horrible anyway – you are the only person there who cared about me. I’m glad to have gone.’
Natalie’s eyebrows creep up her face.
‘I wouldn’t be so sure,’ she says quietly. ‘I’ve brought your things from the office.’ She gestures down to the box. ‘Look at this.’
Natalie digs around and pulls out the sign-up sheet that had been pinned on the office wall. My eyes widen as I see that it is covered in black and blue biro. All donation signatures. I gape at it, and I feel Amy’s hand rest upon my shoulder.
‘They’re all coming to the event,’ Natalie says, leaning over so she can read the list of names and amounts herself, ‘and they’ve all pledged this much online too. Sally made sure of it.’
My eyes flick up. ‘Sally?’
Natalie nods, pushing her glasses back up her nose. ‘Oh yeah,’ she says, ‘she’s been rallying the troops like we’re going into battle. She keeps trying to make me run but I said I’d stick to making a donation.’
‘I can’t believe people have been so generous,’ I breathe.
‘Well,’ Natalie shrugs playfully, ‘I think you had more of an impact on people than you realise.’
*
I stretch a large piece of paper out on the kitchen table and look up at Amy and Tamal, sat on the opposite side. I pull out a Sharpie pen and snap off the lid with my teeth.
Amy winces. ‘I hate it when you do that.’
‘I know.’
‘You’ll crack your teeth one day.’
I look down at the paper and begin to scribble.
‘So,’ I say, ‘the run is starting at the school. The runners will need to arrive and register—’
‘Where Mum and her gardening club will give them their numbers and badges,’ Amy interjects.
‘Right,’ I say, glancing up at Amy, ‘then we will all get together and do a group warm-up.’
‘Led by Laura,’ says Amy, ‘my old Zumba instructor.’
‘Then for the run,’ I say, looking back down at my paper. ‘We’re running through the school field, on to the common, round the parade of shop
s, and then back again.’
Tamal frowns. ‘Is that 10k?’ he asks.
Me and Amy nod in unison.
‘We checked,’ says Amy.
‘While people are running,’ I continue, ‘Hamish will be in charge of the bake sale, and Marianna will be selling hot drinks. She runs our local coffee shop,’ I add for Tamal’s benefit, seeing him shoot Amy a confused look.
‘So,’ Tamal says, ‘how many people do you think we’ll have at this event?’
I move my hand towards my laptop and refresh the fund-raising page.
We’ve raised almost £20,000.
‘I think about forty,’ I say. ‘We’ve had thirty runners sign up.’
Tamal gapes at me. ‘Didn’t they all have to raise one hundred pounds each?’
I nod sheepishly. Thanks to all the work donations, I’ve raced past my own target. I’ve raised almost £1,000.
‘Wow,’ Tamal says.
‘Well,’ I say, grinning, ‘you’ve got eight people from your work running, Tamal.’
He cocks his head and smiles. ‘That’s true.’
‘Georgia!’
I jump at the sound of Mum’s pinched voice. All three of us whip our heads around as Mum scurries in, her scarf flapping behind her and her face pink and excited.
‘Hi, Mum,’ I say cautiously. ‘Are you okay?’
Mum pulls up the spare seat and drops into it. ‘I have got great news!’ she cries.
I blink back at her. Mum’s idea of great news can vary from Alexandra Burke being in the Strictly final to Laura Ashley having a surprise sale.
She leans forward and wraps her hands around mine.
‘Now,’ she says, ‘do you remember Pamela?’
I look back at her blankly. I really hope she isn’t about to try and set me up with someone. That would not be welcome.
‘You know!’ she cries, slapping my knee. ‘Pamela. She’s married to Duncan, who teaches cricket at the boys’ school, at St Margaret’s.’
I blink back at her.
‘I know who you mean,’ Amy chips in. ‘What’s happened to Pamela?’
Mum looks at Amy gratefully and turns back to me.
‘Well,’ Mum continues, ‘Pamela’s husband Duncan plays golf with Nigel Dunst, who works at Mix FM. You know,’ she looks at Tamal, ‘the radio station?’
I nod, completely baffled as to where she is going with this.
‘Anyway,’ Mum presses on, ‘I was telling Pamela about all the great work you’ve been doing,’ she squeezes my hands, ‘for Amy, and all the charity work, and she just thought it was a wonderful idea.’
I nod, my cheeks reddening.
‘And she spoke to Duncan, who spoke to Nigel, and you’re in!’
Mum throws her arms up into the air excitedly and I blink back at her.
What?
‘I’m in?’ I repeat in bewilderment.
I’m in what? Their golf game?
Mum turns back to me. ‘They want you to come in,’ she says, ‘and talk about the run on the radio! They thought it was marvellous and they love talking about the local community.’
My stomach plummets.
They want me to . . . what?
‘They want me to talk on the radio?’ I manage.
Amy squeals.
I can’t do that! I can barely talk to strangers.
‘Yes!’ Mum cries. ‘Isn’t is great? They’ve slotted you in for Wednesday morning. The breakfast show – Pamela says it’s the best time.’
Amy claps her hands together. ‘Georgie, this is so exciting!’ she says. ‘You’re going to be famous!’
I puff at her, and Tamal grins.
‘But,’ I gape back at them both, ‘what will I talk about? I can’t do this. I don’t have anything to say.’
Amy grins at me, her eyes glittering.
‘You just need to talk about all the amazing things you’ve been doing.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
1 WEEK UNTIL RUN
Running schedule:
04/08 1k (August is not the time to start running. Sweat patches are uncontrollable)
10/09 2k (Actually isn’t that far at all. Who knew?)
05/10 3k (Am doing v. well. Kudos to me. I am superior to all. Bow to me, Usain)
19/10 4k (Finishes right by Burger King! Coincidence?!?!)
13/11 5k (Christ)
16/11 6k (Life flashed before eyes. Can’t go on much longer. Go on without me, Mo.)
23/11 7k (How does anyone do this for pleasure?)
‘Are you sure about this?’
‘Yes.’
‘Because I’m not, okay? I’m really not sure. If anything, I am unsure. I am very unsure.’
I blink, looking around desperately. Oh God, what am I doing here?
Natalie throws me a look out of the corner of her eye. ‘Stop gabbling,’ she says, ‘just play it cool. It will be fun.’
I shoot her a look, doubt itching at the back of my brain.
Fun? How is this anyone’s idea of fun? I can’t believe this is Natalie’s idea of fun, but she hijacked me last week and forced me to attend, claiming that she knew ‘I wouldn’t have anything else planned’. Which I found slightly insulting.
‘Hi.’
Why is there a deck chair in the corner? What is that doing there? It’s almost Christmas, for goodness’ sake.
I nod weakly at the girl sitting at the reception desk in front of us, a loose smile fixed in place. Her arms are decorated with a smattering of ink that snakes up her pointed elbows and under the arms of her bright, tight T-shirt. Her purple hair is wound into three buns that sit on her head like doorknobs, and her beady eyes are rimmed with a thick layer of kohl.
Natalie steps forward, flicking her long hair over her shoulder.
‘Hi,’ she says coolly, ‘I’m Natalie and this is Georgie. We’re here for the speed dating.’
Hearing the words spoken aloud make me want to protest loudly in denial and hide under the table.
Urgh. Here for the speed dating. What have I become?
I blink at the girl and try to force my taut, disapproving face to slacken. She flicks open a notepad, pops off the lid of a gold Sharpie and writes our names on two large stickers.
I glare at the stickers in horror as she peels them off and hands them to us.
A name badge? We have to wear name badges?
I take mine limply and let it hang off my index finger.
Great. Where am I going to put it? I can’t put it anywhere near my boobs (obviously), but then, where else? My stomach? People might think I’m crazy and that Georgie is the name of my unborn child. Or I could stick it on my forehead as a joke, which nobody will find funny, and I’ll have to constantly justify it all night until nobody wants to talk to me.
Although, that might be a good thing.
‘Right,’ the girl instructs us, ‘so we’re going to start in five. The boys sit and the girls move round, so just choose where you want to start. There will be a bell once your six minutes are up, and then you will have to move on. You will need to fill out these—’ she hands us two cards, and Natalie takes them. ‘To say who you liked. Okay?’
Natalie nods as she links her arm in mine and steers me into the hall. I clomp alongside her like a reluctant horse.
After much thought and (vastly unhelpful) input from Amy, I decided to wear jeans, heeled boots and my low-cut Christmas top that makes my boobs look about two sizes bigger than they actually are.
Har har. Merry Christmas.
I smear my name badge on to my chest, just below my right collarbone. Even with my super bra on, my breasts are obviously nowhere near my collarbone. So I should be fine.
My eyes scan the room manically, and I try to take everyone in.
Bearded man, bearded man, humungous man, twelve-year-old.
My grip on Natalie’s arm tightens.
‘I still don’t feel right about this,’ I mutter into her ear.
Natalie said that I needed to ‘ge
t out there’; she’s convinced I’m heartbroken over Jack. Which, you know, I’m not. I mean, yes, I’m still furious at him and never want to see his face again. And yes, I’m mortified that he was married the whole time we were together. But heartbroken? As if. No, sir. No way. Absolutely—
My chest lurches as my eyes land on a man with dark stubble, curly hair, green eyes and . . .
A nose ring. Jack would never have a nose ring. He once told me that he’s never understood facial piercings, which led to an hour-long discussion on what people with nose rings do when they sneeze.
Stop that. No more thinking about Jack. He’s gone. He was married, and now he’s gone.
My eyes continue to sweep over the room and I feel my body relax as Natalie scoops up two glasses of wine from the bar.
Maybe tonight will be really fun. Maybe I’ll actually meet the love of my life and we’ll end up having a six-minute wedding as a big joke and everybody will call us charming and original. But no deck chairs. I still don’t understand who puts deck chairs in a bar.
‘Okay!’ the girl from reception calls, as she saunters into the bar, hips first. ‘So we’re going to start. Ladies, choose your starting man.’
My body shrivels in embarrassment.
Choose your man? I need to be much more drunk to handle this.
I take a generous gulp of wine and look around as the men drop into chairs dotted around the room. Natalie walks forward and I scurry after her, until we are face-to-face with two men. I look at the guy sat in the chair and my stomach twinges.
He has minimal hair on his head and an enormous beard sprouting from his chin. He looks like an upside-down parsnip.
‘I was sat there!’
I jump as a girl with large earrings claps over and barges me out of the way.
‘Sorry,’ I mumble, staggering backwards.
I glance down at Natalie, who has already sunk into her chair, and then turn to face the room. Pretty much all the chairs are now filled with excited girls, all sat upright and ready to go.
Oh, great. Have I not got a chair? What am I supposed to do? Stand in the middle and boycott people’s dates? Or cheer everyone on from afar whilst shouting weird innuendos like Paddy McGuinness?
The List That Changed My Life Page 22
