Not Quite Perfect (13 page)

Rachel sighs but doesn’t want a fight tonight. ‘OK, well I guess I’ll see you later,’ says Rachel, reaching into the freezer for the fish fingers and chips.

‘OK, thanks, Rach. Give the kids a kiss from me.’ Steve presses the end call button and throws his phone onto the desk. He starts to gather up his papers and carries his dirty mug to the kitchen. A woman with short hair and pretty elfin features is already there doing some washing-up.

‘Hey, Sam, are you nearly ready to leave?’ he asks.

‘Yep, just give me two minutes to log off. Where do you want to go?’

‘Fox and Hound?’

‘Perfect. I’ll get my stuff,’ she says with a smile.

Emma opens her front door, her mind fixed solely on a hot bath and a large gin and tonic. The flat is still in darkness, which strikes her as odd, and it feels cold, which strikes her as irritating. She switches on the lights and stalks into the kitchen and is mortified to find no welcoming orange glow on the boiler controls and no flicker of life as she randomly presses all the buttons and taps at its dials.

‘Bollocks! What’s wrong with this bloody thing?’

She stomps around the kitchen swearing, her mind racing at the thought of no bath and the cost of a plumber. She is cross because Martin isn’t home and surely men are supposed to be the ones to discover and solve these things. Then she feels stupid for being helpless. She rummages through the miscellaneous items drawer containing takeaway menus, keys, a gigantic ball of red elastic bands which Martin inexplicably decided to construct one day from all those that the postman had dropped outside their front door, and instruction manuals for everything she has acquired since 1997. Eventually she pulls out a discoloured, dusty booklet that promises to hold all the secrets of their boiler. After seven minutes of scanning pages detailing installation, commissioning and routine maintenance, Emma finds the fault-finding flow chart and a further four minutes’ examination leads her to the conclusion that she needs either a degree in engineering or a plumber.

‘He-llo? Shit, it’s cold in here!’ calls Martin from the hall.

‘In here and the bloody boiler’s not working!’

‘Oh no! Hang on, I’ll come and have a look.’

Another quarter of an hour’s tinkering by Martin and he’s on the phone to Charlie for the number of a ‘bloke he knows’. Emma has hauled the old heater down from the spare bedroom and made hot water bottles for them both. Martin comes in bearing a gin and tonic for Emma and a beer for him.

‘Oh you lovely man,’ she says kissing him. They climb under the duvet and nestle alongside each other.

‘This is cosy,’ says Martin, putting an arm round her. ‘How was your day?’

‘Oh the usual, you know.’ She’s not quite sure why but she decides against mentioning Richard. It’s just work and, after all, Martin doesn’t tell her about the details of his IT world, thank God. ‘Although there’s something fishy going on with Joel.’ Martin looks blank. ‘You know, Joel, the tosser, who’s always trying to undermine me.’ Martin nods vaguely. ‘Well, I think he’s plotting to overthrow Digby.’

Martin snorts. ‘Plotting to overthrow him? You make it sound like something from one of your books.’

‘Shut up!’ says Emma hitting him. She doesn’t like the way he says ‘one of your books’ as if it’s not important. ‘It’s serious.’

‘Sorry,’ says Martin stifling a laugh.

Emma is irritated and decides to change the subject. ‘By the way, have you had a look at those photography brochures?’ Again Martin looks blank. ‘Martin! I left them out for you,’ she rummages on the coffee table. ‘Here,’ she says handing him a sheaf of leaflets. Martin looks sheepish and Emma is angry now. ‘Oh come on, Martin, you promised and we need to get on and book these things,’ she cries.

‘All right, all right, don’t get grumpy. I’ll do it now.’ He sifts through the leaflets. ‘Hmm, I’m not sure. What do you think?’ he asks looking helpless.

‘Right, fine, I’ll do it, shall I? I mean it’s not enough that I have to work, clean the house and sort the wedding. Is there any chance you could pull your weight?’

Martin looks cross now. ‘That’s not fair. I booked the venue.’

‘Without asking me.’

‘Oh not that again. I thought that was all sorted.’

‘Oh you did, did you?’

‘Yes I did. I mean you agreed with me in the end, didn’t you? And to be honest, having been given such a hard time over the venue, I’m terrified to make any other decisions without consulting you, your mother, Rachel and Lily.’

‘Now you’re being ridiculous.’

‘Oh I’m being ridiculous?’

Emma leaps to her feet, grabbing the duvet from him and struggling towards the door. ‘Well, I am going to bed!’ she declares. ‘Goodnight!’ She leaves him sitting on the sofa without a backward glance. Once in bed she pulls the duvet over her head in an attempt to get warm. She is still fuming and can hear her heart beating in her ears. She listens to the muffled rise and fall of voices on the television and is cross that Martin’s not coming to try and resolve the argument. ‘Never let the sun set on your anger,’ her father would say. She finds this impossible. She and Martin are far too stubborn to apologise when they’re angry. Besides, it was Martin who didn’t do what he was asked and it isn’t fair to expect her to do everything. She wonders at what married life must be like if the wedding preparations are this stressful. She rolls over in bed. She is hot and uncomfortable but doesn’t want to move. She hears the television go off and the sound of Martin climbing the stairs. He opens the bedroom door and she can tell he is peering over at her but she pretends to be asleep.

‘Em? Are you awake?’ he whispers. She snuffles in a fake snore and she hears him undress and get into bed beside her. She lies awake, still angry and it is long after Martin starts to breathe in a steady sleeping rhythm that she falls into an uneasy and restless sleep.

Rachel wakes as she hears Steve’s key in the door and looks over at the television, where a weatherman is forecasting rain for the morning. She glances at the empty wine glass and almost empty bottle next to it. Her head feels fuzzy and she dearly wishes she’d gone to bed an hour ago.

‘Hey gorgeous,’ says Steve, sticking his head round the living room door. ‘Sorry I’m late.’

He embraces her and she feels his cold, bristly face against hers and smells mint on his breath. She wants them to stay like this for a while in the quiet warm of their home.

‘Hey you. You’re a bit later than I thought. Have you eaten?’

Steve nods, plonking himself down on the sofa and putting an arm round Rachel. ‘We ordered in pizza.’

Rachel looks at her husband’s weary face. She hasn’t got the energy for a discussion about the move now and she can see he’s tired too. She rests against his shoulder. ‘Tough day?’

‘Oh you know, the usual. But I do have some news. How would you like a trip to Scotland this weekend?’

‘Really? So soon?’ says Rachel panicking inwardly. She’d thought she’d have a bit more time to get used to the idea and maybe even get Steve to see what they’d be leaving behind. She’d been feeling flat ever since seeing Sue and realising how much she’ll miss her friend if they go.

‘Well, there’s no time like the present. So I’ve booked flights and a swanky hotel near to the Royal Mile. Oh and I’ve also booked us in with a couple of estate agents just to get the feel for the place.’

‘Oh. Right.’

‘Rach? You don’t sound that happy. I thought you’d be pleased?’

‘I am, of course, it sound great,’ lies Rachel.

‘Great,’ smiles Steve. He leans over to kiss her and behind the taste of mint, Rachel can detect something alcoholic.

‘Have you been drinking?’ she asks.

‘Oh we just had a beer with the pizzas at the office,’ says Steve. ‘Why? Don’t you trust me?’

I always thought I did
, thinks Rachel. ‘Of course. I’m going to bed,’ she says, pecking him on the cheek.

‘OK, love. Just going to check the football scores and then I’ll be up. Love you, Rach.’

‘Love you too,’ says Rachel. She plods up the stairs feeling exhausted and unable to shake off a growing sense of unease.

Emma wakes from a disturbing dream involving Miranda and Digby dressed as chickens and trapped in a cage with Joel and Jacqui as their captors. She opens her eyes wide, feeling the reality of her bedroom return to her.

‘Go to sleep, bloody brain!’ she mutters.

Her mobile starts to ring. She flicks the button. Rosie doesn’t even wait for a greeting.

‘Emma darling. Guess what Auntie Rosie’s got planned for you today?’

‘Good morning, Rosie. I’ve no idea.’

‘A fitting with Stella. At eleven. I know!’

‘Today? But I’ve got to go to work.’

‘Not today, my dear. It’s all squared with Mimms. I’ll pick you up in the car at ten. Wear something glamorous but understated, OK?’

‘But –’

‘No need thank me, darling. It was my pleasure. See you later!’

Emma shakes her head and throws her phone to one side. Martin appears at the door looking nervous. ‘Morning. Friends?’ he asks sheepishly.

Emma looks at his pleading face and doesn’t have the energy to be cross any more. ‘Look Mart, I’m sorry for storming off last night, but can you promise me something?’

‘Anything.’

‘We sort the wedding out together as a couple. If we’re falling out before we’re even married, it doesn’t exactly bode well, does it?’

Martin wraps her in his arms. ‘Agreed and I’ve left the brochure for the photographer I like downstairs on the table. Sorry for being a bit crap – I hate it when we argue. Look, I’ve got to dash. Aren’t you going to be late?’

‘No, Rosie is in charge today.’ Martin looks blank. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll call you later. Have a good day,’ she says kissing him.

When he’s left, she flicks through the contacts on her mobile and finds her sister’s number.

‘Morning Auntie Emma,’ says Rachel.

‘Hello, big sister. Listen I was just wondering if –’

‘I’d had the morning call from Rosie? Oh yes and I’ve also had the explosive “that bloody woman” call from Mum too. Deep joy. We’re going to meet you there. I’ve got to drop Lily and Alfie off with Dad first.’

‘Okey dokey. That’s good. I just wanted to check you were going to be there.’

‘Never fear. Rosie’s got some gall, but I don’t think even she would leave Mum and me out. Anyway, baby sister, I wouldn’t miss the sight of you in your pants next to a woman with some very sharp pins for the world.’

‘Yeah well, don’t forget you’re the matron of honour so the pin lady’s coming for you too.’

Emma looks around the room and feels her skin prickle with anxiety. She wishes Rachel was here to let rip with a few expletives just to pollute the very pure cool air. She also wishes that her mother was here just because your mother is supposed to be with you for these sorts of things, rather than your overbearing godmother. She looks at her watch, which tells her that her female relatives are over an hour late. She has already met Stella, who was friendly, but clearly very busy. Despite Rosie’s embarrassing protestations, she was polite as she handed them over to Dietrich, ‘my right-hand man who will create you something wonderful’. Dietrich had then gently cajoled Emma into admitting that she hates frills, but loves beads and dashed off a couple of designs which would make most women weep with joy. She and Rosie are now waiting for him to return with copies for her to take away. Rosie is glued to her iPhone, while Emma is trying to look elegant in her best Zara and H&M combo.

‘Lovely to meet you,’ says Stella on her way past. ‘Gorgeous blouse by the way.’

‘Oh, thanks,’ stammers Emma, ‘it’s –’

‘Gucci, isn’t it, darling?’ booms Rosie. ‘Thanks again, Stella. Give my love to your dad.
Ciao
,
ciao
!’

Stella is on her way out of the door as Rachel and Diana bustle in. They both stop and stare, as is often the way when you come across a famous person, and for some reason, Diana bobs into a curtsey. Stella smiles graciously. ‘Good luck with the wedding, Emma,’ she says with a smile.

‘Mum! Rachel! Where have you been, and, Mother, did you really just curtsey to Stella McCartney?’

Emma’s mother blushes. ‘Don’t be silly, dear! I was just letting her through. Sorry we’re late. Alfie didn’t want Rachel to go so we missed the first train and the second one was cancelled. Are we too late?’

‘Much too late,’ says Rosie with a thin smile. ‘You can’t keep people like Stella waiting, but don’t worry, Diana, I’ve got everything under control.’

Diana strains with civility. ‘Well it’s very kind of you, Rosie.’

‘Not at all. What are fairy godmothers for? And to be honest, if we’d left it to you, Diana, it would have been some ghastly off the peg from Berketex Brides, eh?’

Diana looks murderous and Rosie nudges her. ‘That was a joke, Diana. Oh come on, lighten up. Let’s go for lunch somewhere hideously expensive. My treat!’

She looks unsure until Rachel whispers. ‘Come on, Mum. Might as well fleece the old trout.’

Diana squeezes her eldest daughter’s hand. ‘Thank you, Rosie. That would be lovely.’

‘Excellent! Emma darling, bring those copy designs, will you? Rachel, you’re going to love what Dietrich is planning for the matron of honour and he’s going to do a darling little version for Lily. This is going to be the wedding of the year!’

Richard stares at the screen of his laptop, inwardly cursing rewrites.

‘But I’ve already bloody done it!’ he whinged to Emma at their Kew meeting. ‘And I liked it that way, otherwise I wouldn’t have written it.’

Emma had been unsympathetic and almost schoolmarmish in her response. Richard had found her forthright, gently bossy nature rather alluring. In fact, she was part of the reason he couldn’t buckle down today. There was something about this woman, something he couldn’t shake from his brain. In the past, he’d slept his way through whole editorial departments without even having to buy them a drink, but this one was different. He hated that phrase and hated admitting it, but she was. It wasn’t that he wanted to sleep with her, although of course that would be nice. This one was tricky.

He smacks his forehead and stretches back his shoulders, glancing at the now cold mug of tea, grateful for a legitimate distraction. Filling the kettle, he looks at the concrete view from his kitchen window. He shivers and flicks on the boiler, finding the biscuit tin. He tries a custard cream and spits it out, disappointed at its staleness. All the time, his brain is musing about Emma Darcy. Maybe that’s it – maybe she would become his muse. She certainly understood his writing and there weren’t many people he trusted with that.

Richard carries his tea back to the desk, his heart heavy with the burden of work. He glances at his phone and is delighted to see that someone has left him a message. Playing it back, he screws his face against the cheery, trying-too-hard tone.

‘Hey Richard, it’s just Sophie. I was wondering what you thought about that flat I showed you and also wondering if you would like me to show you any more, if you know what I mean? Ha ha ha. Well, give me a call. Anytime!’

Richard casts the phone aside disappointed. He doesn’t want anything else to do with this woman, but he did like the flat. He starts to reread his last paragraph and realises that he’s used the word ‘passionate’ five times in twenty-five lines. He sits back, despondent and takes a sip of tea. His mind racing, he grabs his phone and finds Emma’s number. Her voice sounds distant and there is the noise of restaurant chatter in the background.

‘Hello?’

‘Emma? It’s Richard.’

‘Oh Richard, hi. How are you?’

‘Fine, fine. Well actually, I’m bloody awful. It’s this sodding rewrite.’

‘Yep, OK, understood. Listen, the only problem is I’m not working today.’

‘Oh. Oh, OK. Well, not to worry.’

‘No listen, we can meet tomorrow. Why don’t you come to the offices around ten?’

Richard smiles. ‘That would be fantastic. What would I do without you, Emma Darcy?’

He ends the call feeling like a man with what his mother calls ‘a pencil full of lead’. He scrolls through his missed calls and dials again. The voice that answers is breathy and intense.

‘Oh Richard, hi! I thought you were avoiding me!’

‘Now Sophie, why would I do that?’ purrs Richard. ‘I’ve just been stupidly busy, but it turns out that I have a free afternoon to play with and I was very keen to take you up on your offer.’

Sophie laughs flirtatiously. ‘Well, that sounds fine. I have some very beautiful Mayfair apartments I could show you. Very desirable with many outstanding features.’

‘Sounds wonderful, I can’t wait to see the bedrooms and then maybe the bathroom, kitchen and living room, if you have the stamina. You certainly did last time.’

‘I’ll do my best, Mr Bennett.’

‘That’s wonderful. And Sophie?’

‘Yes, Mr Bennett?’

‘I hope you’re wearing those stockings again.’

Emma returns to the table to find her mother in tight-lipped silence and Rosie regaling them with another showbiz story. Rachel is looking desperate and hisses, ‘Where have you been? It’s like Rumble in the bleedin’ Jungle with these two!’

‘Sorry, sorry. I just had to take a call from that new author, you know.’

‘Oh, you mean the one you fancy?’

‘What do you mean? I do not!’ snaps Emma adopting the tone of her teenage self.

Rachel laughs. ‘Methinks my little sister doth protest too much!’

‘Oh bog off.’

‘All right small-fry, lighten up. You are allowed to flirt with other men, you know.’

Emma is keen to change the subject, but unfortunately Rosie has now picked up the thread.

‘Ah! Are we discussing this scrumptious new author of yours, Emma?’

Rachel raises her eyebrows at Emma.

‘So we are. Well, there’s no harm in having fun before you have to start wearing the old ball and chain, eh?’ says Rosie, waggling her ring finger at them all.

‘Well frankly, I don’t think that’s appropriate,’ says Diana, the colour rising around her throat.

Rosie feigns a yawn.

‘Am I boring you, Rosie?’ says Diana.

‘Only moderately. Oh come on Diana, you’ve never exactly been one to live a little, have you? I bet Teddy was the first man you slept with,’ says Rosie, her voice loud enough for a few diners to look their way.

Diana looks uncomfortable. ‘That is none of your bloody business!’

Rosie is merciless. ‘Ha! So it is true. Well, I’ve got to hand it to you. If you’ve got to pick a man to give your cherry to, there are few better than darling Teddy.’

Emma and Rachel are mortified, as if they’ve actually walked in on their parents having sex. Rachel spots the maitre d’ talking to some diners on an adjacent table. It is moments before he appears and suggests to Rosie that perhaps it would be a good time to adjourn for coffee. Rosie staggers to her feet.

‘No one,’ she snarls, ‘ever tells me what to do! We are leaving.’ She totters towards the door but loses her footing after three paces. Waiters rush forward to help her and she turns on them. ‘Don’t you touch me!’ she roars. ‘I know AA Gill! This place is finished!’

Rachel, Emma and her mother watch as she stalks onto the street and hails a cab. The maitre d’ appears and Diana composes herself.

‘I think we’ll take our coffee now. Thank you.’ He gives a little bow and ushers them into the lounge, which is filled with stiff leather armchairs and old men dozing over tumblers of brandy. They sip their coffee and Rachel suddenly looks alarmed.

‘Oh shit. She’s flounced off without paying!’

Diana looks a little smug and pats her daughter’s arm. ‘I think she gave them her card when she came in.’

Rachel looks relieved and then a wicked smile spreads over her face.

‘Oh no Rachel – don’t,’ warns Emma.

Rachel ignores her and catches the waiter’s eye. ‘Excuse me, do you have any Dom Pérignon, please? 1974 or earlier would be wonderful.’

The waiter nods. Emma is still staring at Rachel, who slumps back into her armchair and grins at her sister.

‘What? You’re getting married. It’s a celebration! Let the witch pay.’

Edward’s relief is palpable as the doorbell rings. He adores his grandchildren but he does sometimes feel that he’s lacking a vital negotiation skills qualification in order to deal with their needs.

When Will was dropped off after school by one of Rachel’s friends, he informed Edward that he always had biscuits and crisps for a snack: ‘Sometimes two packets.’ Lily had backed him up. ‘Mummy always gives Alfie and me the same too. Otherwise it isn’t fair, Grandpa.’ Edward had looked to Alfie for help but a sharp elbow from his sister and he took the cowardly route. He had looked at his grandfather with his big, cow-eyes and nodded in fearful agreement. Edward had decided that he was allowed to indulge them, indeed it was probably his job. Snack-time had gone well but adhering Rachel’s rule of ‘no TV before 5 p.m.’ was proving trickier. Edward had decided to organise a spot of Lego building, but Lily had declared this to be ‘boring boy’s stuff’ and skipped off to find Chairman, Diana and Edward’s bad-tempered ginger tom with Alfie trailing after her. Will and Edward has spent a happy half hour building a storm trooper fort, but Will did ask a lot of questions and many of them Edward simply did not have answers to.

‘Grandpa?’

‘Yes, Will?’

‘Why do people wear pants during the day but not at night?’

‘Erm.’

‘Jon-Joe Minto says it’s because you don’t poo at night.’

‘Well, I’m not sure.’

‘I don’t think that sounds quite right.’

‘No, perhaps not.’

‘Because it’s not as if you use your pants to catch the poo, is it?’

‘Er, no.’

‘Grandpa?’

‘Yes, Will?’

‘You know Father Christmas?’

‘I do.’

‘How does he see you all the time? I mean ALL the time?’

‘Well, he has a whole army of elves and they go out into the world and keep an eye on all the children.’

‘Elves?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Where are they?’

‘Everywhere. They look like normal people but actually they are Santa’s elves.’ Edward is getting into his stride now.

‘So they stand around, watching the children?’

‘They do.’