Despite our non-starter date, I found that I was noticing George more and more at school. I realised I spent so much of my non-teaching time watching him move around the Science office that I never had time to think about whether I might ever want to be non-friends with him. He was great looking, definitely. And he was fun to be around, sure. But, but, but …
Maybe I should investigate Liz’s theory for myself: forget about George and find my own Henry, have some deliciously disastrous dates and discover how bad it could really be, so that I would appreciate the good all the more when it came along. Maybe George was too good for me. Or maybe I was still too close to the last too-good-for-me man.
Maybe.
In the absence of anything good to distract me, one of my most dreaded days had finally arrived, with nothing I could do to stop it.
My birthday.
For every year I’d been with Jack, he’d booked cinema tickets, concert tickets, indoor-ski-slope lessons, less as birthday celebrations and more as diversions from the annual day I loathed. But today I’d be alone, fending off well-wishers and Fun Plans single-handedly.
I woke with a groan, hiding my head under my pillow. The day had fallen during half term, thank god, and I had plans to stay inside, watching TV and otherwise doing nothing remarkable at all. I wanted something to take me out of my head today, to keep me from dwelling on another passing year, another day in my collapsing life, but I’d have to settle for repeats and whatever sugar hits they had in stock at the corner shop.
Crawling out of bed at ten o’clock, I turned my phone on and put it straight onto mute without checking my messages, before showering and dressing in joggers and a sweater – what Jack always called my outdoor pyjamas. Craving some junk food, I went to see what was in our cupboards before I ventured outside, and found a tray set up in the kitchen. On it was a teapot, just waiting for some hot water, alongside a mug, milk, bowl of muesli, quartered orange, and with a cinnamon roll on the side. Then, in Jack’s handwriting, an envelope. For later, it said. Divorce papers? An annulment? General hate mail?
Either way, ‘later’ was probably now, by now, wasn’t it? I opened it up, chewing half of the sugary roll I’d somehow bitten off already. Inside was one ticket, to the BFI, for a marathon screening of the BBC version of Pride and Prejudice this afternoon. It ran from 1 p.m. until 7 p.m.
If I went to this, pretty much my whole day would be written off.
I smiled, and ate the other half of the cinnamon roll.
After a lunch of Pringles and tinned crab from the corner shop, I caught the Tube to Waterloo, smiling to myself all the way. This was an absolutely perfect thirtieth birthday. Utter anonymity away from all the confetti and bells everyone else would want for me. And only one person in the whole world knew where I was right now.
The next day, when it was deemed safe to talk about the topic, Liz took me for breakfast and wished me happy birthday in a stage whisper.
‘And did you have the terrible, unremarkable day you always dreamed of?’ she asked, sliding a small gift across the table to me, looking both ways as if she didn’t want to get caught doing it.
I laughed. ‘Thank you! It wasn’t too bad, actually. I didn’t get breakfast in bed, but I did find it in the kitchen, on a tray.’ I opened the wrapping, and the box inside, to find a gold name necklace, Zoe in cursive script.
‘Who’d done that?’ Liz said, surprised.
‘This is gorgeous! Thank you.’ I put it on, and looked at her, bemused. ‘Jack, of course.’
‘He’s still giving you birthday breakfasts?’
I sipped my coffee, straightened the name against my collarbone. ‘I don’t know. I guess so.’
‘And are you … ok with that?’
‘Yeah. Yeah. It’s fine. Shouldn’t I be?’
‘Well. At least he didn’t give you a present. That would have made things super weird.’
I put my coffee down with immense concentration.
‘Oh my god, he gave you a present as well?’
‘It was just a ticket.’
‘To what? His bed?’
‘No! Liz! It was just a Pride and Prejudice marathon at the BFI. You know. So I could hide out there for the day. On my own! It wasn’t a big deal. It’s not a diamond necklace or something. It’s not that weird between us – we’re finally getting along, just about, and I’m not about to throw anything back in his face when he’s just trying to be nice. We’ve still got months to go until it’s all done. We might as well keep the peace.’
She held her hands up. ‘Ok, ok, it’s no big deal. It just seems all very amicable …’ She sighed. ‘I don’t know. Seems like kind of a waste.’
We sipped our coffee in silence.
At home a few days later, Jack was making noodles on the hob when I came in. He peered over his shoulder, saying, ‘Oh, hey, I’ve made way too much by mistake, there’s loads more here than I expected – you can help yourself, if you’re hungry.’ He looked at me. ‘You alright?’
I dumped my bag on the worktop. ‘Yeah. I’ve been meaning to say, thanks for the birthday stuff. We just keep …’ I mimed a kind of ships-passing-in-the-night motion with my hands.
He waved his hand in dismissal. ‘Don’t worry about it. It’s fine. I had the ticket already.’
‘Oh. Ok.’ Liz’s words had been playing on my mind, but maybe it really wasn’t a big deal after all. I blew out a deep breath and ran the tap to fill two glasses of water for us. ‘Just so you know, things with that guy aren’t going any further.’
‘Oh. Right. You alright about that?’
‘Still yes.’ He paused, bringing two bowls down from the cupboard. ‘Sorry, yes. Fine. It was just awkward with him, something which barely compares to the awkwardness of this. Here, why don’t I tell my husband about the progress with my new boyfriend?’
‘Boyfriend? I thought you guys were just seeing how things went.’
‘Well, I guess now we know.’
Jack put the bowls on the counter, tonged in the noodles and veg, and stuck chopsticks in each bowl. ‘Ginger?’
I knew as well as he did how much he hated grating fresh ginger, ever since he lost the tips of two fingers while distracted with a mandolin, but this was the best he could do to show me he truly was trying to be nice. I took my bowl, and wondered whether the extra noodles really were a mistake. ‘No, you’re ok. Soy sauce’ll be fine.’
We crunched and slurped the food in front of the TV, and every time I looked at him, he was smiling a little.