Page 30 of The Book Swap

I call over the waiter, not ready to answer. Dinner’s going to be on Georgia and I intend to make the most of it.

“Can we get a bottle of your finest champagne, please?”

“No, thanks,” Georgia says, as I knew she would. I just wanted to wind her up. “I’ll have a sparkling water.”

“And your largest glass of dry rosé for me then, please.” I hand him back the wine menu.

“What happened to ordering Deliveroo at your place?”

Flinching, I shake my jacket off. “More fun to abuse your bank account at a fancy restaurant,” I reply as she stares at me. Her mouth falls open as I watch her slowly trying to piece together why we’re not meeting at my place, and that the reason might have to do with Callum.

“Do not tell me—”

“Philippa thinks I have deep-rooted abandonment issues,” I blurt out. If there’s a chance she’s guessed about Callum, I need to get her off the scent, and the only way to do that is to get her onto her favorite subject. People’s psyches, especially mine. “And I made her laugh, which I’m pretty sure is basically illegal.”

“We’re allowed to laugh. We’re not robots.”

“If you say so.”

I reach up for my wine from the waiter, and bring it directly to my mouth.

“And what did you learn about this abandonment?”

“That it started with Mum, the day she walked out of our house and left us,” I say, lifting my chin. “And continued into adult life, and now I just expect people to leave.” I think about how panicked I got that Mystery Man might not leave me another book. It didn’t feel healthy at the time. Perhaps that’s all part of it.

“And did she say what impact that might have?”

“Clearly you already know the answer.”

Georgia shakes her head. “Not necessarily. There’s no one right answer, just someone’s point of view.”

“She said maybe I struggle to let people in now, in case they hurt me. Which is so textbook,” I reply, downing some more wine.

I don’t add that it did feel good, to have a label for my behavior. To understand a little bit more about why I might behave the way I do.

“I’m proud of you. For doing it,” Georgia says. “I guess just...” She stops. Shakes her head.

“What?”

“I promised myself I would not get involved with your therapy.” She holds her hands up, leaning back. “I’m just glad you’re talking to someone. That’s all I’ve wanted.”

“But...?”

She tries not to say it, but she can’t resist. She’s never been able to stop herself from giving her opinion. It’s a reason to either love her or hate her, depending what the opinion is.

“But just try to look at your own behavior as well as other people’s. It’s sometimes more helpful to think about how you can improve, than to focus on what other people have done wrong. You can’t change them, but you can change you.”

“Great!” I throw down my napkin. “So I’m even failing therapy.”

She stares up to the ceiling.

“You’re doing brilliantly. That’s all I’m going to say. I’ll leave it there. Let’s order.”

She calls the waiter over, going straight for the steak tartare and then, stumbling, she switches to the fish pie. I order a chicken escalope, eyes on Georgia.

“What’s going on with you? A fish pie?”

She’s never been able to order anything but steak tartare when it’s on the menu. I wait for her to make some joke, or say something offensive as she usually would, but instead she throws her head forward and bursts into tears.

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