“Course.”
“Right. Good. Well, good night.”
“Night, Merlin. And thank you again. Not just for the evening, but for coming today.”
“It’s fine. See you on Monday.”
“Yeah, Monday.”
This wasn’t easy. It so wasn’t easy.
They were rehearsing until really late on Monday; Georgia was depressed, felt she’d done badly.
“It’s so hard, doing comedy,” she said to Merlin. “So different. I feel I’m right back to square one.”
“You’re doing great. Come on; let’s grab something to eat.”
They went to a Pizza Express; she picked at her lasagna rather halfheartedly.
“Come on,” he said, “cheer up. You’re doing absolutely fine. Honestly.”
“You really think so?”
“I really think so. I’ll tell you who isn’t-Milly”
“Oh, really?” Milly Buchanan was playing the other girl.
“Yeah. She’s our problem; she’s what’s making you feel you’re crap.”
“Oh. Well… maybe. I do find her quite… quite over-the-top.”
“Exactly. She’s playing it like it’s Romeo and Juliet. Very, very difficult to deal with. But I think Bryn’s onto her. I saw him talking to her rather intently as we left.”
“Mmm. Maybe. Suddenly I feel hungrier.”
“Good. Big brother at work again.” He raised his glass to her. “To… to stardom. You’ll get there.”
Georgia looked at him. He was wearing a white T-shirt and blue jeans; his face was tanned still from a family skiing holiday. He looked… well, he looked amazing.
“Yeah,” she said with great difficulty. “Yeah, you’re a really great brother.”
Merlin put down his glass and looked at her in silence for a moment. His eyes moved over her face. She sat there, trying to appear cool.
“I have to tell you something,” he said. “You can tell me to get lost if you like.”
“Yes?”
“I don’t exactly see you the same way,” he said, “not really as a sister at all.”
“No?”
“No. Not in the least. Actually, I think you’re utterly gorgeous. Sorry.”
Georgia stared at him; then she stood up, went round the table, and put her arms round his neck.
“Oh, Merlin,” she said, kissing him repeatedly, first on his cheek, then on his forehead, then finally and rather recklessly on the mouth, “oh, Merlin, don’t get lost. Don’t say sorry. I…”
“Let’s get out of here,” he said.
They went to her room. She said she’d rather, although he did offer her his place: “I’m self-contained, and anyway, they won’t mind; it’s part of their religion…”
“No, no, I wouldn’t feel… happy.”
“I want you to feel happy,” he said. “Come on.”
She was nervous again, going back. He was probably incredibly experienced-which she wasn’t. He’d find her dull, disappointing, and she hadn’t made the bed properly that morning; he’d think she was a slut, and she was wearing some really grotty old pants; he must be used to the likes of Ticky in Agent Provocateur…
None of it mattered. He clearly didn’t find her dull; in fact, he was surprisingly… well, straightforward, which was a relief, and there certainly wasn’t time to notice the unmade bed; they were on it in seconds after shutting the door behind them, and as for her knickers, well, he just yanked them off completely unceremoniously; anything better would have been a complete waste.
In fact, it was all wonderful; it was as if they had been ready and waiting for each other, perfectly matched, perfectly tuned… “That was totally amazing,” he said afterwards, lying with his face buried in her hair. “We saw, we conquered, we came.”
She hoped he didn’t say that to all the girls.
That was the only thing that worried her: how could he be so suddenly and so totally taken with her, Merlin Gerard, so gorgeous, so sexy, so… so sophisticated. Merlin, who was used to girls like Ticky, as gorgeous and sexy and sophisticated as he was; how could he want to be involved with her?
After a few days, a few nights, when she was beginning to feel more confident, she managed to ask him that; he smiled and kissed her and sat up on the pillows.
“I find you totally gorgeous and sexy, Georgia. I always did. You’re so special. So unique. So not like anyone else. The first moment I saw you, I felt a catch in my heart…”
“Merlin!” That really did sound a bit rehearsed.
“No, I did. But…”
“Well, but you had Ticky then.”
“Yes, of course. And now I’ve got you. My own beautiful brown bird. Would you like to sing for me once more? Before we go to sleep?”
Crushing the distaste for this, telling herself he was just… wonderfully poetic, that was all… she smiled at him ecstatically and climbed onto him, her legs straddling him.
“I love your energy,” he said. “It’s so amazing.” They fell asleep with his head on her breast.
In the morning they met Jazz on his early rounds, as he put it: checking the terminally leaking taps, the blocked lavatories in the house.
“Ah,” he said, “very nice. Thought that might be how it was, Merlin, you old bugger. How come you get to pull all the best ones? Georgia, my lovely, any trouble with him, you come straight to me, OK?”
She laughed and said OK; she loved Jazz.
And now, nearly three weeks later, she could hardly imagine life being any different. It was totally, totally wonderful; she was the luckiest, happiest girl in the world.
Emma hadn’t got the job in Glasgow; she went to see Alex, almost in tears.
“That’s the second. I’m beginning to feel victimised.”
“My dear Emma, you wait till you’re trying to get a consultancy. That really does feel like victimisation. Nine jobs I went for before I got this one; it was ghastly. You get there and you see the same old faces each time, with a few variations, and it’s always the bloke you least like who gets it, gets called into the boardroom while you all sit waiting like a load of cretins, and then you all shake hands and say you never really wanted it anyway, and crawl back to your hospital with your tail between your legs. I had a special interview shirt; it got quite threadbare towards the end.”
“Yes, well, thanks for all that. I can’t wait,” said Emma. “Meanwhile, it’s tail-between-the-legs time for me. Can I stay, Alex?”
“Of course you can. Nothing could please me more. Sorry… not what you want to hear.”
“It sort of is. Thank you. There are lots more jobs I can apply for in the pipeline, but…”
“Emma, the thing about obstetrics is that it’s a very popular discipline. There’s always going to be lots of jobs, but also lots of people applying for them. You’ll get one in the end, promise. Meanwhile, you’re a fantastic member of the team here. You can stay as long as you like.”
At least she still had a job… even if she didn’t have anything else.
“Barney! Hi, darling! How are you?”
“Fine. Yes. Thanks. And you?”
“Oh, pretty good. I called to invite you to my leaving do.”
“Your leaving do! That’s a bit sudden, isn’t it?”
“Not really. It’s just that it’s so long since we talked. I’ve done my time. Start at Darwood’s in a fortnight. At the French desk there. Taking a bit of a break first.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. We-Micky and I-are off to Barbados for ten days…”
“Micky?”
“Yes, I’m engaged. Again. To Micky Burne Proctor. Getting married in the summer. Slightly déjà vu, but at least I’ll be in a different dress. I thought that really would be unlucky, wearing the same. Or could be. But… otherwise, same venue, same church, same time of day even. I think. Mummy and I are working on that one. Anyway, Friday evening, sixish, Terminus. Hope you can come.”