This one takes place in between chapters 14 (Marshmallows) and 15 (the Christmas party - patience, that one's coming next week). In the meantime I invite you, as I do every week, to give A Bee in her Bonnet a try because it's a jolly good read too.

Have a great weekend!

Mel

'How are you, then, Georgie? Where are you?'

'Today? Let's see: I'm pretty sure I'm in Copenhagen again. It's raining but I like Copenhagen. And the piano they've got here is great. Well the piano's OK, but the piano tech's ace.'

'Right,' Will said, 'Did it go well last night then?'

'Bah, Mozart went fine, you know – crowd pleaser, blah. But we had some modern choir pieces in the second half and the conductor went and missed the last da-capo and they all had to catch up with each other, so that was fun.'

'How did that not go horribly wrong?'

'Bah, you know, they all stared at each other for a bit and then met at the last bar. That's what you do.'

No that's what you, do, Will thought. Georgie would have made such a great trader if only she'd not been so damn talented. Under that cute blonde-curled exterior of hers, she had nerves of steel.

'And they almost lost my concert suit in the dry cleaning when I arrived, but then they found it again, thank god.'

'Aha,'

'Oh, and I got to hang out with my friend Denny last night. Remember Denny?'

'Is that the double bass guy you went to St Martin's with? Huge black guy?'

'Yes! Can you believe he's moved here? He got first seat for double bass and,' Georgie had that way of saying and like it was a drumroll: 'he has a cat!'

'Denny has a cat,' Will repeated, smiling to himself on the other end of the phone line.

It was far too long since he'd heard Georgie say and like this, and it felt good. Better than good. They'd always kept in touch, but ever since Georgie's debacle with that Sara woman, Will made sure he talked to his sister several times a week. To start with, all they'd cover was how often Georgie had thought of Sara that day. What places, dishes, smells, songs and faces had reminded her of that two-timing cow, and why.

And then from, let's see, September onwards, it had been how often Georgie had thought of Sara, and how much he hated the pet quant. Then it'd been how often she'd thought of Sara and whether he still did hate the quant.

Nowadays it was just how often she'd thought of Sara, and how often he'd thought of the quant. But if Georgie managed to get a hold of the FT, sometimes, they also tried the cryptic crossword together. It passed the time.

'I'd love to have a cat,' Georgie was saying, 'You'd have loved Denny's cat. Tortoiseshell. She sat there, next to me while we were having a beer and chatting, and then I realised I'd spent like, probably forty-five minutes or an hour, and not thought of Sara at all.'

'That's great.'

'It's a shame I can't have a cat.'

'True,'

'Or is it really naff to have a cat? Is it really sad? Denny's not that sad. I mean, he's single and everything, but he's got a cat and a good job and he didn't seem unhappy to me at all.'

'Aha,'

There were people in life you talked to, like Dean, and people like Georgie, who mostly talked to you. Will knew he needed both in his life. Because while it's good to be listened to, sometimes listening to your little sister going on about double basses and lost concert suits and tortoiseshell cats really was the best way not to think about quants.

'Perhaps we could share a cat?' Georgie said.

'What.'

Will hadn't meant it to sound quite this dry but: a cat, him?

'Well I can't have a cat, obviously,' his sister was saying, 'Not with all the travelling I do, but if you looked after it when I was away it could work, right? We could share a cat.'

'You want me to look after a cat?'

'Well yes: they don't need that much looking after anyway. After they're trained. According to Denny they're very independent.'

'Yeah, Georgie, I'm really not sure…'

'You just think it's naff, don't you? You think that only sad old spinsters like me have cats.'

'Not at all, it's just...'

'What, too much of a commitment for you?'

'No…'

'Oh my God, Fitzwilliam: you think a cat's too much of a commitment! No, wait, you think that half a cat - actually, probably more like a third of a cat, in the long run - you think even that's too much of a commitment. And you want to adopt a whole human quant?'

'Adoption is not what I had in mind with the quant, Georgie, as you well know.'

'Still,'

'Plus it's not commitment issues on my part. Objectively, I just don't know if I'm great at caring for living creatures, that's all.'

'Right, but you do look after a whole trading desk, don't you?'

'Traders, cats: you're right it's almost the same…'

'Rubbish, Will, you're great at looking after people. You could definitely look after a cat – or a quant. You've always been great at looking after me, anyway.'

'Thanks, but it feels more like you're looking after me right now. Don't you want to tell me about when you thought about Sara?'

Georgie left a pause – probably catching her breath, then said:

'No I don't, you know. I'd rather think about when you and I share a cat.'

'OK…' Will said, meaning that it was great that Georgie seemed to be getting over Sara, but a cat, really?

'Also I want to hear how it went the other night with your quant.'

'She's not my…'

'Did you take her out in the end?'

'In my dreams, Georgie. I did not take her out. The quant did come along to that broker thing yes, but so did the rest of the desk.'

'And…?'

Will sighed. And what? And she rocked up on heels in some ultra-tight stripy shirt that made it extremely difficult to keep your eyes on her hands? And the guys made her carry a giant mountain of marshmallows through a drunken mob to the chocolate fountain, and I didn't stop them? And she took the joke like one of the guys, except way better looking?

And it turns out she smokes cigars?

That's right: cigars. Did she have any idea what that did to him?

'She and Dean got on like a house on fire,' Will said in the end, 'Dean's her best friend already. In fact should Tom go ahead and die out in Estonia, I expect she'll probably be asking me for his phone number next.'

'Hey, hey, aren't you… extrapolating a little here?'

'Yeah I'm jealous, if that's what you mean. Oh, and apparently she's convinced she's not my type. Dean thinks it's hilarious.'

'Well it kind of is, isn't it?' Georgia said, laughing. Actually laughing, which would have felt great, except:

'Not from where I'm sitting. Anyway, Dean told her about the charity shave, which was nice of him. '

'What, you still hadn't told her? You idiot!'

'Well no, I mean if someone's not asked about something like that in the first week you're not going to bring it up, are you?'

'Will, tell me again how did someone as stupid as you are got so rich?'

Right.

Then, by way of further encouragement Georgie added:

'But at least now she knows you're not a complete bastard.'

Unfortunately the quant knew nothing of the sort, Will thought, because of those damn marshmallows.

'Then Lily went and blew Dean off,' he said, 'and Lizzie saw he was all sad and she was really nice with him. Bantered and made fun of my French to cheer him up.'

'She sounds really good like that.'

'Do you mean good at making fun of me, or good at being sweet?'

'Both, I guess.'

'Yeah well, really sweet - except to me,'

'Only because you went out of your way to piss her off, and that's your bad.'

'Yeah thanks, I know.'

'So how's your coffee campaign going then?'

'It's going. I deliver it, she thanks me very politely, and then I get to watch her drink it while she writes to that idiot in Estonia. So yeah, I'm doing a lot of running at the moment.'

'Oh,'

'Never mind.'

'And how's Anne?'

'Who?'

'dB?'

'Oh yeah, good, all good,' Will lied.

'Say hi for me when you see her.'

'Sure,' Will said, and since he was almost as ashamed of his treatment of dB as he was of the marshmallow mountain, he moved swiftly on to:

'Did you get to try yesterday's cryptic?'

'Oh yes, wait,' Georgie said, and they each started rustling papers: 'What did you have for 3 down?'

'What? You didn't get that?'

'Yeah yeah… what is it?'

'An-arch-y. The worst of an enemy is seen before the end. Anarchy.'

'Clever. I'd never have got that, I had a D for the first letter.'

'D for dummy?'

'No, D for don't fuck with me, man: though I be little I be fierce!'

'That you are,' Will smiled, 'What did you get for the last one then?'

'What? You didn't get that?'

Probably something to do with her musical ear, but Georgie had always been an excellent mimic.

'Duh, no,' Will said, delighted to take the joke, now that Georgie was finally making jokes again.

'Easy: pump-kin – when interrogating your family leaves you with a hollow smile. Pumpkin, like a Jack o' lantern.'

'And here I was thinking they were just describing our little chats.'

'That too.'

'Well I never would have got it. Thought it had to start with B - for bastard obviously.'

His sister, he noticed, did not contradict him. And fair enough. As she'd pointed out, the only reason he gave off the impression of being a bastard was because he behaved like one.

'Anyway,' she said, 'haven't you got work in the morning? And a coffee run?'

'I sure do. Are you going to be OK?'

'I will. I'm going to be thinking up names for our cat. Should we call her Lizzie?'

'I don't think so, no.'

'Great! So you agree we should have a cat, we can agree a name later.'

'You should so have been a trader.'

'So glad I'm not, I get to lie in tomorrow. Goodnight, Fitzwilliam. Thanks for calling.'

'Goodnight.'

x

Will hung up, but he didn't put the phone down. He stared at it for a bit, had a flashback of the quant smoking her cigar outside, another of her smiling and talking proper French at him over the wine.

All for Dean's benefit, of course.

He sighed, and then he did something he knew he'd put off for far too long. He did the decent thing and dialled dB.

'Hey,' she said, with that way she had of sounding like she was in the middle of something, even if something was just staring at her nails, which she did with consummate elegance anyway.

'Hey,'

'It's been a while.'

'I'm so sorry, dB, it's been…'

'The groin sprain, right?' she cut in very helpfully, 'is that not getting better then?'

If Will had been the quant, or even if he'd only had the beginnings of a moral conscience, he'd have blushed to his ears. But he was a trader so he cleared his throat and carried on lying to dB, as indeed he had been for three weeks already.

'Not really, sorry, no,'

'Don't apologise Fitzwilliam, it's hardly your fault,' she said just as if she'd meant it. 'What does the physio say?'

'To rest it,' Will lied on, wondering whether Dean had gone and blabbed again. He was under strict instructions not to, but you never knew. People with moral consciences were apt to do very silly things.

'Oh OK,' dB said. Airily, as was her wont, but also very conveniently.

Will's mother and Anne's had thrown them together as newborns. As toddlers, according to family lore, they'd had plenty of fights over their toys. But he couldn't remember a single fight with dB since the age of about twelve, because when someone knows you that well there's just no point arguing with them. Even the fights become utterly predictable, whereas there is so much comfort to be derived from familiarity. So much ease, from talking in quick elegant ellipses, rather than having to spell things out.

'But hey, look,' he said, 'there's nothing wrong with the rest of me if you want me to come over and…'

'Oh no no, that's fine.'

Oh?

'OK,'

'I sort of got a crook in my neck, actually,' she said, which was ever so tactful of her.

'I'm very sorry to hear that.'

He wasn't. If he'd thought she actually did have a crook in her neck he would indeed have been very sorry, but she didn't so he wasn't. Not sorry at all, but he was grateful, because dB was being incredibly polite and tactful about turning him down, even though that suited him to a T in the first place because let's face it, he wasn't exactly desperate to come and scratch her itch. He'd still have done it, of course. For her sake, and for old time's, and because he owed it to her. To both them.

The long and the short of it was that here they were, both lying, but for each other's sake. What would the quant make of it, Will wondered, who often did wonder about the quant.

'It's not a big deal,' dB said, drawing him back to her entirely metaphorical neck-crook.

'I guess you picked that up at yoga, then?'

'Aha, yes,' she said.

'And you've been doing quite a lot of yoga?' Will asked, making sure not to mention who with.

'Fair bit, yes.'

'Still enjoying it?'

'Yes, very much so.'

'That's great. Your teacher really should be watching out for injuries, though, right?'

Will didn't mean physical injuries, and nor did dB when she said:

'Quite, I've been kind of worried about that. I don't think I've never done that much… stretching before.'

Well, Will thought, it was jolly nice of Oli to look after dB while he himself was for now unwilling and therefore unable. But if that vegan wanker went and messed with her...

'Anyway, about your sprain,' she started again, 'I've been wondering whether it might be something to do with the way you sit every day at the office?'

Wasn't it nice of her to stick with the sports injury metaphor? Having to refer to the quant by name, or even just as "the quant" in front of her would have felt wrong. Indelicate. Unfair, perhaps. Yes, unfair, that was it. Because though Will would readily have admitted by now that he was madly and stupidly in love with the quant, he would always have far too much respect for dB to rub it in her face.

'You're almost certainly right,' he said, 'Not much I can do about that though, right?'

'Shame,' she said, and Will felt the full thirty year's worth of her easy sympathy wash over him just as if she'd been in the room, rather than 8 miles of phone cabling away.

'Bah, don't worry about me,' he said, 'I'll be OK, and if it doesn't get better I can always quit, right? Go and sit somewhere more comfortable…'

This wasn't the first time he'd thought about it.

'Wait til bonus time though, right? When is that?' dB asked.

'Feb.'

'Will you be OK until then?'

'Of course I will. Don't worry about me, dB, you've got better things to do, right?'

She paused:

'But you do know that I care about you, right?'

'I do, of course I do,' Will said, and knew that she knew that he cared about her too. 'Look, don't worry about me, I'll be fine. I'm trying to be good, you know, do the right stuff for it, but the outcome isn't up to just me so… look, all that matters is I wanted to make sure you were OK too. Are you OK? Apart from the neck strain, that is, are you good?'

'Apart from the neck strain I'm fine, yes.'

'Great, I'm glad. Better go now though: keep well, dB.'

'You too, Fitzwilliam. Good night.'

On the Market is Copyright Mel Liffragh 2021, all rights reserved