Valentine's Day. Nicola Marsh

glowered.

      ‘I know what you meant. I’m not interested in anything beyond their company in class.’ And—just quietly—the impact it had on Zander. Getting his blood up was at least better than stony silence. ‘This isn’t about dating, remember.’

      ‘I was wondering if you did.’

      She spun and huffed in equal measures. ‘I have to talk to someone. You’re the only person I know and we’re strangers here.’ And increasingly everywhere. ‘Some of them are going to be men. It’s not dating strategy.’

      He just grunted. ‘This is my Friday night, too, you know.’

      She stared. ‘I do know.’

      ‘So it would just be useful to keep everything professional. On mission.’

      On mission? ‘I’m not allowed to have a good time, at all? Doesn’t that defeat the purpose?’

      ‘The purpose is you getting back on track. Learning new things. Reinventing.’

      A month of standoffishness took its toll. ‘I’m not sure that you appreciate how hard some of this is for me. Walking alone into a room full of people I don’t know. Striking up friendships. I would so much rather be at home curled up with a good book.’

      His eyes clouded over. Was he thinking? Or just bored? ‘How hard?’

      ‘It’s...difficult. I’m not social, like you. I like to meet people, find out about them, but I’m just not really good at it. It’s work.’ And developing those skills was part of her twelve-month plan but it was a case of chicken and egg. She needed the skills to be able to walk into any social situation, but she wasn’t going to develop the skills unless she kept walking into those situations.

      He looked truly astonished. ‘I didn’t realise. You make it look so easy.’

      Was he kidding? ‘It’s exhausting.’

      ‘Would it be easier to have a friend along?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Let’s do that, then. This isn’t supposed to be punishment. We can tweak the budget.’

      It felt like it some nights. She let out a long breath and added yet another humiliation to her very many. ‘I don’t have anyone to bring. Not every week.’ She could probably get any one of her friends away from their parenting responsibilities once, maybe twice. But weekly? Sometimes twice weekly? Not a prayer. This was the sort of thing she used to rely on Dan for.

      Her social handbag.

      The great mess that was them struck her again. Imagine if he’d said yes...

      ‘I’m here anyway,’ he said. ‘I’ll do it.’

      Her heart flipped like a fish. ‘You wanted to remain impartial.’

      ‘The situation has changed.’

      ‘You know you’ll have to speak to me. Not just interview me or record me talking to others.’

      Impatience leaked out of him. ‘I’ve been trying to keep things professional.’

      ‘What’s unprofessional about having the occasional conversation?’

      ‘If you’re talking to me then you’re not talking to everyone else.’

      It was a valid point. She was just as likely to talk to him all night given half a chance. But it didn’t make it feel any better. ‘I promise to multitask. If you promise not to scowl at me the whole time.’

      ‘I don’t scowl.’

      ‘You’re doing it now. That’s just going to scare away anyone that comes close enough to talk to.’

      ‘They’ll just assume I’m one of many dates who are there under sufferance.’

      ‘A date with a digital recorder?’ He’d started bringing them along to the second and third sessions of each activity. The first was pure reconnaissance.

      ‘That reminds me. I’m going to start recording next week. We have permission.’

      ‘Make sure you get Eric and Russell. Maybe a bit of fame will increase their chances with the ladies.’

      He grunted. ‘I don’t think anything will increase their chances.’

      ‘They’re nice men.’

      ‘They try too hard.’

      ‘Doing this is hard. For a lot of people coming to one of these things is either last resort or a kind of admission of failure. That you can’t be cultured and interesting without help.’

      His eyes narrowed. ‘Is that how you feel?’

      She studied him, wondering if she could trust him. She would have told Zander off a month ago, no problem. But corporate Zander wasn’t anywhere near as approachable. Then again, the Year of Georgia was all about taking risks.

      ‘I’m smart, I have a good job, excellent work ethic, property. I’m passable-looking. So what’s wrong with me?’

      Zander opened his mouth but she barrelled onwards. ‘Maybe he would have liked me more if I was sportier, wittier, prettier. Maybe there’s a whole range of things that other women out there can do that I can’t.’

      ‘This is about Daniel?’

      ‘No. Daniel is Everyman, he’s just a symbol. But he was a man so like me I thought we were a perfect fit, so to not even be good enough for him...’

      ‘I thought you were doing this for you. The Year of Georgia.’

      She glared at him. ‘First—as you’ve so carefully pointed out—I’m doing this for you. Because your contract says I have to. But right behind that is me. And part of me is wondering why I’m not more popular with men. Or with other women. Why I don’t have more friends. Or a family yet. Or a better job. Or why my life isn’t like other people’s.’

      He shook his head. ‘What do you imagine happens in other people’s lives that’s so special and different?’

      ‘I don’t know. Cool stuff. Busy, interesting, challenging stuff?’

      ‘That’s just dressing. Most people’s lives are exactly the same underneath. The same worries about finances, their careers, the same family dramas. Only the outer coating changes.’

      ‘What about you—rich, popular, respected, in demand, powerful? You can do whatever you want and go wherever you want whenever you want. That’s not the same as everyone else.’

      He stopped again and faced her. ‘I haven’t had a holiday in five years because the network believes the station will collapse if I walk away from it for a moment. I have a big, expensive house that someone else decorated and I can go weeks without even going into rooms that aren’t my bedroom, bathroom, and study. I have parents who live in a perpetual state of warfare. That power you covet means people either shy away from me or suck up to me. So my life is riddled with its own hassles but I don’t dwell on it and I certainly don’t voice it. I just get on with it.’

      Such a confession, after weeks of standoffish Zander, struck her deep. Was that really how he felt about his life? Maybe the trappings of success and popularity really were just that.

      ‘Are you saying I should just suck it up?’ And shut up.

      Maybe that was exactly what she needed to hear? Perhaps her self-reflection was just self-indulgence in disguise.

      ‘I’m saying all the classes in the world aren’t going to make your life better, because life isn’t something you apply like make-up. It’s something you grow and tend. Like a garden.’

      Her present life would make a pretty straggly, restricted garden. But a life filled with makeovers and clubbing and movie premieres wasn’t all that brilliant, either, unless you happened to