Almost perfect, p.5
Almost Perfect, page 5
‘That’s a bit of a sexist assumption, isn’t it?’ Liam remarked.
‘I know these things, I’m a bookseller. He’s a man, if he reads at all it’ll be sports biographies, action, thriller, war . . .’
‘Fine, what do you suggest?’
She folded her arms, considering him. ‘I suggest you buy a cup of coffee instead. It’ll only cost a couple of dollars and you won’t have to fork out thirty bucks for a book you don’t want, when all you really wanted was an excuse to see me again.’
Liam stared at her incredulously. For a second Georgie thought she’d really put her foot in it. Why couldn’t someone have parents with birthdays on consecutive days? It wasn’t all that incredible; it would hardly get them into the Guinness Book of Records.
But then his face relaxed into a sheepish smile and Georgie breathed again.
‘So what’ll it be?’ she asked tentatively.
‘White with one.’
She smiled at him. ‘Take a seat, I’ll bring it over to you.’
He wandered across to what they referred to as the sitting room. Not that it was a room as such; it was just an area bordered by bookshelves on three sides, with comfy armchairs and sofas and a couple of coffee tables. It had been one of Georgie’s ideas after she’d seen the cafe on Friends. But everyone was doing it now.
She carried two cups over and handed one to Liam as she parked herself beside him on the sofa. She sat side on, facing him, bringing her feet up underneath her.
‘This is a pretty impressive set-up,’ he remarked.
‘Thank you.’
He turned to face her, stretching his arm across the back of the sofa. ‘So it really is your business?’
‘Half of it.’
‘That’s right, you said you were partners with your sister . . .’
‘In-law.’
‘Who’s married to your brother,’ he nodded. ‘Not the other way around.’
Georgie smiled. He remembered.
‘How long have you owned the business?’ Liam asked.
‘Going on twelve years.’
‘You must have been a child when you started?’
‘And you must have been to flattery school.’
He smiled. ‘No, come on. You couldn’t have been twenty?’
Georgie shrugged. ‘You’re getting warm.’
‘That’s a pretty big deal, starting a business so young. And to have made such a success of it.’
‘Well, blame that on Louise. She’s the brains, I just work here.’
Liam considered her. ‘I’m sure you’re being modest.’
‘I’m sure I’m not,’ Georgie insisted. ‘I don’t have a head for business. You ask Louise, she won’t even let me in the room when there are numbers about in case I manage to screw them up somehow. I have enough trouble with my own finances, never mind letting me loose on the business.’
Sad but true. Sometimes Georgie found herself adding up series of figures – electricity, insurance, a lay-by she had to pay off, money that was coming in. And then all of a sudden she was lost. There were numbers all over the page, grouped in columns, horizontal lines every so often, as though there was a pattern or some meaning to it all. But now they meant nothing, she’d lost her thread and she was unlikely to ever find it again.
‘So what are you good at?’ Liam was asking.
Georgie eyed him. ‘I’m not sure I know you well enough to answer that yet,’ she grinned. Then she noticed his face was going darker. Oh my God, he was blushing, or whatever you called it when a guy did that. She had to put him out of his misery.
‘Making coffee,’ she blurted. ‘I’m good at making coffee.’
Liam took a sip of his. ‘Yes, you are.’ He seemed to have recovered. ‘So why a bookshop, why not a cafe?’
‘Well, I did think about that, but once Louise and I decided to go into partnership, there was really only one choice.’
He was watching her expectantly.
‘Because of our surname . . . Reading,’ she added, waiting for the penny to drop.
‘Oh, that’s where you got the name for the place,’ he nodded.
‘I knew it was going to be hard getting anything past you.’
Liam smiled at her. ‘So it has nothing to do with a love of books?’
‘Oh, of course it does. That goes without saying. You have to love books, all kinds of books, if you’re going to sell them. But it can’t only be about what you like either, you have to put yourself in a child’s shoes, or a sports lover’s, or a gardener’s . . . or a man’s. What do you like to read?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t get much chance to read.’
She looked at him as though he’d said he didn’t get much chance to wash. ‘Why not?’ she demanded.
‘I don’t have time.’
‘Then you should make time.’
‘You think it’s that important?’
‘Yes!’ she insisted, clearly astonished. ‘It’s essential. Reading is food for the mind and the soul and . . . well, when you read you’re taken away to other places, other times, inside other people’s heads. The characters become your friends, you live in their world. You can’t get that watching a movie, because that’s the director’s vision and you can only be an observer. But when you read, you participate in the story. There’s a relationship between you and the writer – he provides the words and you make the pictures in your head. There’s no other experience like it.’
‘You should have been my English teacher,’ he said ruefully. ‘I never really developed a love of reading. I was force-fed Jane Eyre and Pride and Prejudice at school and I don’t think I ever got over it.’
Georgie shook her head, exasperated. ‘Why do they do that? I mean, they’re great books, but teenage boys shouldn’t be reading Bronte and Austen. It’s no wonder they never pick up another book.’ She paused. ‘Okay, you leave this with me, I’ll find you something that’ll turn you around.’
Was he reddening again, just a little? His mobile phone started to ring and Georgie was glad for the interruption, for his sake. Liam lifted it out of his breast pocket, frowning as he looked down at the screen. Then he turned it off before letting it drop back into his pocket. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said.
‘It’s okay,’ she said. ‘Work?’
He rubbed his forehead. ‘You’d think I’d be able to get away for half an hour without being hounded.’
‘So what do you do?’
‘I’m a lawyer.’ He smiled, watching her reaction. ‘You don’t have to look quite so repulsed.’
‘I’m not repulsed.’
‘There was a face.’
‘There was no face,’ she denied. ‘So what kind of lawyer are you? Are you like Bobby off The Practice, or Will off Will and Grace, except for the being gay part, because we already cleared that up yesterday.’
He looked at her, mystified. ‘Tell me, am I supposed to actually follow what you say all the time, or should I just let some of it wash over me?’
‘If you kept up with your popular culture you’d have no trouble following me,’ Georgie said airily. ‘I was wondering what kind of law you practise. For example, you might be a criminal lawyer, that is not to say a criminal lawyer, like you’re the criminal. Though you had me going for a while there yesterday . . .’
Liam put his hand up to stop her before he got any more bamboozled. ‘I specialise in taxation law.’
‘Oh, they’ve never made a TV show about that,’ Georgie remarked.
‘And it’s a safe bet they never will.’
‘Hmm, you’re probably right,’ she agreed. ‘So what does a tax lawyer do?’
‘Well, in a nutshell, I advise large corporations, multinationals, on how to best minimise or offset their tax liability, particularly when they’re involved in mergers, that kind of thing.’
Georgie was listening intently. ‘Wow, so how do you sleep at night?’
Liam was just taking a sip of his coffee and he nearly coughed it up. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Doing a job like that – I mean, I know it’s bona fide and someone has to do it, yada yada,’ she waved her hand dismissively. ‘But, you know, helping the rich get richer, get out of paying their fair share, that must involve a huge internal moral conflict. Though I guess you could be, what do they call it, amoral? That’d certainly make it easier,’ she mused.
Liam was gobsmacked. ‘Are you always so . . .’
Georgie watched him searching for words.
‘. . . honest?’ was what he eventually came up with.
‘I’m afraid so,’ she nodded. ‘You have a problem with honesty? Oh, I suppose you would, being a lawyer.’
‘Being a lawyer in fact makes me acutely aware of the truth.’
‘Mm. You mean like how to bend it so you’re not actually lying but you’re not so much telling the truth either?’
He blinked and opened his mouth to speak, but Georgie jumped up before he could get anything out. ‘Oh, will you excuse me for a tick?’
She hurried over to the door of the shop as an elderly gentleman was pushing against it. Georgie grabbed the door and held it open for him.
‘Hi Mr Petrovsky,’ she said in a loud voice. ‘How are you this afternoon?’
‘All the better for seeing you, Georgiana,’ he replied in a thick accent, smiling up at her. Mr Petrovsky was only a short man.
‘Guess what arrived this morning?’ Georgie said, her eyes wide.
‘It did?’ he exclaimed, clutching her hand.
She turned around. ‘Adam, can you bring Mr Petrovsky’s special order please? It’s on Louise’s desk.’
He waved, already heading for the office.
‘You sit yourself down,’ she said, pulling out a chair from a table in front of the window, ‘and I’ll bring your espresso and your bran muffin.’
‘Thank you, Georgiana.’
When Georgie turned around Liam was waiting at the counter. Her heart sank a little. Bugger, she’d frightened him off. Surely he hadn’t taken what she’d said to heart? She was just . . . being herself, unfortunately.
‘I’ll let you get back to your work,’ he said as she approached.
‘Sure,’ she nodded, walking around behind the counter.
‘What do I owe you for the coffee?’
Georgie shook her head. ‘It’s on the house.’
He went to protest but she held up her hand. ‘It’s a cup of coffee, Liam, it’s hardly going to send us broke.’
Adam crossed the room holding up a small hardcover book. ‘Here it is, Mr Petrovsky.’
‘I discovered you can order Russian language editions of a lot of books,’ Georgie explained to Liam. ‘It gives Mr Petrovsky such a thrill to read Dostoyevsky and Solzhenitsyn in his native language.’
Liam listened thoughtfully. ‘Do you treat all your regular customers so well?’
‘Come again and you’ll find out.’
There it was again, the man-blush. Was he shy, or was she being too forward? Buggered if she knew.
Georgie looked past him to where Mr Petrovsky was poring over his book. ‘How is it, Mr Petrovsky?’ she shouted.
His face was beaming as he held one hand to his heart.
‘Georgie,’ Liam said in a low voice, crooking his finger and leaning forward across the counter. She felt her heart beating hard as she leaned in close to him, so close she could smell his aftershave. Very intoxicating, probably expensive. But she didn’t think that was what was turning her stomach to jelly.
‘You know,’ he said, ‘people from non-English speaking backgrounds can hear just fine. It doesn’t help to shout at them.’
Georgie smiled slowly. ‘It helps Mr Petrovsky.’
‘Oh?’
‘His English is excellent. He is, however, partially deaf.’
Now Liam looked outright embarrassed. Oh bugger, she’d done it again. He straightened, turning to leave. Little wonder.
‘Well, thanks for the coffee.’
‘Don’t mention it.’
Georgie watched him walk out the door, then began loading the espresso machine to make Mr Petrovsky’s coffee. She put his muffin on a plate and took it over to him.
‘Who was the young man?’ he asked. ‘Not a new boyfriend?’
‘I doubt it, Mr Petrovsky,’ she sighed. ‘I doubt it very much.’
North Side Counselling and Psychotherapy Clinic
Anna accepted that she was perhaps not in the best state of mind to deal with clients, but Magda was the last person she felt like seeing today. Then again, she was the last person Anna would be seeing today, so at least there was an upside.
‘Duck Egg Blue has spoken to me like nothing else ever has before,’ Magda confided, leaning forward in her chair. ‘You just have to read it, it will change your life.’
Anna sighed inwardly. She had feared this was exactly what would happen when Magda had announced she was joining a book club. They had been through this before when she was still obsessed with films. She found great meaning and relevance in anything she saw on the big screen, or the small screen for that matter, and consequently had little time to find great meaning or relevance in the real world, which Anna had constantly to remind her she was a living, breathing part of. American Beauty had changed her life. Life is Beautiful had changed her life. Moulin Rouge had changed her life. At that point Anna had started to become a little concerned. But when she claimed that Miss Congeniality had changed her life, Anna had to insist they didn’t discuss movies any more. Then Magda had begun to obsess about a very complicated and at times rather far-fetched relationship between two people called Ross and Rachel, and it had taken Anna ages to work out that Ross and Rachel were apparently characters in an American sitcom.
Now, clearly, it was going to be books.
‘The yoghurt metaphor was what really got me,’ Magda continued. ‘I mean, this is one clever writer, this woman. How did she come up with the idea that life is like a fridge full of tubs of yoghurt?’
The mind boggled.
‘You see, we think we have choices, but it’s all so bland, so much the same, just like the fridge full of yoghurt. And yoghurt itself, well, it’s a little sour, or tart or whatever, especially plain yoghurt. It’s good for us, but not very tasty really, eh? We usually add something to it, or buy the flavoured kind. But of course in the book, it’s all plain yoghurt. Different brands though, which is a statement about the market-driven society.’ Magda threw her arms out. ‘Brilliant!’
Anna took a deep breath and cleared her throat. ‘It’s wonderful to find something that speaks to you in such a profound way, and we should be open and alert to all the signs life sends us,’ she said on automatic pilot. ‘So how do you think this relates to your own life at present?’
‘And what was her response?’ Doug asked, clearly amused by another instalment of the whimsical Magda chronicles.
‘Oh that just sent her off into a lengthy spiel about the pervading themes in the book. I’m sure she was repeating verbatim what was said at her book club – a few of the ideas were way beyond her intellect.’
‘Have you read Duck Egg Blue?’
Anna shook her head, taking a sip of her coffee.
‘I wouldn’t bother,’ Doug advised. ‘It’s a piece of pretentious twaddle. All the reviewers are breathlessly trying to outdo each other heaping praise on it, but I tend to think it’s a case of the emperor’s new book jacket.’ He shifted in his chair, clearly signalling a shift in the conversation as well. Anna had learned to read Doug’s body language over the years. He was the reason she had never considered leaving the practice, and the reason she had decided to join it when they came to Sydney in the first place. He and Carl had started the clinic, but Carl had always divided his time between clients and teaching. Doug was the soul of the place, and Anna aspired to his particular style of quiet but insightful compassion.
‘So, how are you?’ he asked eventually. People said those three words all the time, often many times a day, and mostly they couldn’t care less about the response, they were probably not even listening. When Doug said them, he was listening, and he cared, and he expected nothing less than a meaningful answer in return.
‘Okay.’ Why did she even bother?
‘Let’s try that again,’ he persisted gently.
Anna sighed. ‘Not so good.’
‘Do you want to talk about what happened yesterday?’
She put her cup on the coffee table between them and brought her feet up underneath her. Supervision provided the opportunity to debrief with a more senior practitioner. Therapy was monitored, approaches discussed and treatment assessed. But it was also in itself a kind of counselling session.
‘Well, I’m sure you’ve worked out that I failed again.’
‘Are you saying it was another failed cycle?’
Anna looked up at the ceiling. ‘Okay, I know what you’re getting at. It’s not my failure.’
‘You don’t believe that though, do you?’
She met his gaze directly. ‘Of course not.’
Doug sat back in his chair, regarding her thoughtfully. ‘And anything Mac says, or the doctors say, or even that I could say, is not going to convince you otherwise, is it?’
She shook her head. ‘The evidence is stacked against me, Doug. Despite a husband with an impressive sperm count, a truckload of drugs, I can’t remember how many laparoscopies, six intra-uterine inseminations, seven drug cycles, nine frozen ones, and a partridge in a pear tree, I’m still not pregnant. Clearly, I’m not meant to have a baby.’
Doug paused. ‘So what are you going to do?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m wondering what your next step will be, now you’ve come to the conclusion that you’re not meant to have a baby. I assume you’ll be ceasing treatment?’
Anna frowned. ‘I haven’t decided that for sure.’
‘Then you’re not sure you’re not meant to have a baby?’
‘Oh, I’m sure about that.’
‘So why continue with the treatment?’
She sighed loudly. ‘Doug, don’t.’
‘Don’t what?’
‘Double-talk me like that!’ Anna said, exasperated. ‘I’m not one of your clients.’
