Page 75 of The Life-Changing Magic of Falling in Love

I shouldn’t feel relieved that Carlos and Ozzie-Baby’s latest arguments have distracted Carlos enough that he hasn’t mentioned the note again and as the subway lurches to a stop my brain is taken up with more pressing matters … like how the hell I’m going to get this plant into George’s apartment.

* * *

I’m pretty impressed with myself for getting my cleaning cart out of the amenities room and using it to wheel the plant to the service lift and then into George’s apartment.

In the lounge, I study the artificial Ficus in the window and then study the plant I’ve brought. Is it my imagination or is it super difficult to tell the difference between the two?

But who wants fake when you can have real? Other than the fake one being about a ton lighter. It’s probably some universal truth that people only ever purchase real plants just after they have been watered.

I walk over to remove fake Ficus from its cast-concrete pot. I really hadn’t thought this through because now I’m wondering what I’m going to do with it.

I suppose I could take it to Zach’s as a gift.

‘Here, I brought you this fake Ficus, now let’s have the sex.’

Not sure how that would be received.

Also, if I removed it from George’s apartment I’d technically be stealing. Although can it legitimately be called stealing if it’s a fake?

I head back over to my cart to get real Ficus. But as I stagger across the floor with it, I feel my foot go out from under me as I slip on the water that’s dripping across the floor.

I go one way. Real Ficus goes the other.

Ever start something you then wish you hadn’t?

Wet and claggy soil leaves a trail that if I don’t clean up quickly will probably stain. With a sigh I get to my feet, testing my ankles, because I’m not sure Zach would get the irony if I had to miss our date because I’d broken mine. After a few wincing steps I’m all good and get the bleach and cloth out of my cleaning cart.

I return the real Ficus to a standing position, inspecting it for damage. It looks all wonky now. Forlorn even.

Scooping up the spilled soil I squish it back down around the base of the trunk and then drag it over to the window. Poor thing. It’s been through a lot in a short space of time. It’ll need a little extra care. I hope George is up for the responsibility.

I take a step back to check out how it looks in its new home and that’s when I stand on the bottle of bleach. Safety cap, my ass, because more profanities as the top explodes off and thick detergent squirts everywhere like it’s a special effect in a horror-movie blood-bath scene.

I drop to the floor, so busy spreading cloths out to halt the liquid slurping all over the beautiful blonde oak, it takes a while to notice the bleach has soaked into the knees of my jeans, the detergent sticking to my skin when I stand up.

Great.

I can’t stay in these. For one thing, I absolutely wreak of bleach.

Why couldn’t I have made a mess at Mrs. Lundy’s? At least I could have borrowed one of her amazing kaftans. If only I was wearing my Sparkle tabard … oh … wait … I put it on, shucking out of my jeans and realise it’s going to be quicker to spot-clean the worst of the bleach off and then throw them in the dryer but it’s going to put me back at least an hour.

I’ll have to go straight to Zach’s and pray he doesn’t care I don’t look like I’ve made an effort. Maybe he’ll think I’m so eager to be with him, I rushed straight over from work?

The nerves come back so I start scrubbing the floor harder. To calm myself I think up names for Ficus. It needs to be something I could write a clue to for George to work on…

Something that starts with Ph or F, right?

‘Phineas the Ficus?’ I wonder aloud.

I blow a strand of my hair out of my eyes as I glance up at it.

Doesn’t look like a Phineas.

‘Finn? Finlay?’ Suddenly I hear George’s front door open. ‘Fu…?’

Chapter Twenty-Three

THE INCIDENT

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