Not Quite Perfect (25 page)

He leans down to kiss her. ‘Of course not, my darling. I know I’m on washing-up duty for the rest of my days.’ he says.

Despite the beeping and whirring of the machines surrounding them, Diana feels a happy calm descend over her. Edward is warm by her side, his breathing steady. She feels sleep wash over her and as she falls, she hears herself say ‘I love you’ and she has never meant anything more in her life.

When she wakes she is confused by the thin, piercing sound, more urgent than an alarm clock. She sits up, suddenly aware of the situation and of people rushing into the room.

‘Mrs Darcy, we must ask you to step aside,’ says a nurse, taking her by the shoulders.

‘No,’ says Diana vehemently. ‘I can’t leave him.’

‘Mum? Mum! What’s going on?’ cries Rachel, bursting into the room closely followed by Emma and Steve. Both girls stop and clutch their hands to the mouths.

‘No!’ cries Emma. ‘No! This can’t happen. He’s OK, he’s going to be OK! Rachel?!’ She implores her sister to make it all right.

‘I’m very sorry, but you must leave now,’ repeats the nurse.

Diana still refuses to come. ‘I must stay with him. He needs me,’ she cries. Rachel helps Steve pull her mother out of the room.

‘Come on, Mum, you have to let them do their job.’

They watch helplessly as various medical staff rush in and out of Edward’s room. Rachel and Emma stand, their arms around each other. Diana looks through the window, her eyes never leaving Edward for a second. No one speaks. All they can hear is the sound of panic with that constant beeping screaming in their ears.

Please let him live
, thinks Rachel,
I’ll be a better person, I won’t shout at the kids and I’ll sort everything with Steve. I’m so sorry
.

At the same time, Emma is seeing herself properly for the first time. She doesn’t like what she sees and wants to make everything better.

Suddenly the panic is over, the beeping has stopped and the family rush towards the room. The doctor meets them at the door, his face impossible to read.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘We did everything we could.’

Just seven words and three worlds collapse.

Emma pads down the stairs as quietly as she can so as not to wake her mother. She walks into the kitchen and, unfamiliar with the switches, turns on the hall light as well.

‘Emma? Is that you?’ says a voice from the living room.

‘Mum?’ says Emma peering around the doorway, squinting through the darkness. ‘What are you doing sitting in the dark?’ she adds, flicking on the light. Her mother is sitting in Edward’s favourite chair and Emma notices that she has wrapped his coat around her. ‘Oh Mum.’ She goes to her mother’s side and puts her arms awkwardly around her, leaning over Diana in a strange, standing embrace.

Tears come easily to Emma but Diana does not cry. She does realise that some kind of maternal reaction is required and pats her daughter’s head with a hesitant hand. She has never dealt well with crying. Edward was always the one who comforted the girls when they banged their knees or fell over. When Diana was alone with them, she would try to rouse them out of their wailing with a ‘There, there, don’t cry. Be a brave girl for Mummy now.’ Diana knew this wouldn’t be appropriate now but she still wished Emma would stop. ‘Shall I make us some tea?’ she says at last.

Emma looks up surprised at her mother’s composure, her face red and streaming. ‘OK.’

Diana stands up and carries Edward’s coat to the hall, placing it on a coat-peg and running her hand down the material as if reaching for the man who had once worn it. Emma follows her into the kitchen and they busy themselves with the menial tasks of filling the kettle and retrieving cups and milk. When it is ready, they sit at the kitchen table in silence. Diana looks ahead of her and Emma stares out of the window at the breaking dawn. The sky is glowing with the promise of a sunny autumn day. It would have been a day to lift one’s spirits had circumstances been different. Emma looks at her mother, unsure of what to say. Diana clears her throat and Emma feels nervous at the prospect of a heart to heart.

‘I’ll give Pat a call in the morning. She lost her husband last year and they had a marvellous funeral director. He was very sensitive and very –’ Her voice breaks off. ‘Your father liked him.’

Emma hears her mother’s voice waver with emotion and is surprised by the novelty. She takes Diana’s hand. ‘Oh Mum,’ is all she can think to say.

‘What am I going to do without him?’ cries Diana, uttering a universal sentiment. Emma wonders if she is finally going to cry but Diana looks at her and it is as if something has clicked off in her mind. ‘Anyway, we’d better try and get some sleep. There is a lot to do tomorrow,’ she says finishing her tea.

‘Yes, OK,’ says Emma feeling a strange mix of disappointment and relief.

‘I’ll see you for breakfast,’ says Diana in a matter of fact way. As she walks past her daughter, she reaches out a hand and squeezes her shoulder. Emma smiles at her mother, appreciating the gesture.

‘Night, Mum.’

Diana makes her way up the stairs feeling suddenly exhausted. She walks into her bedroom and shuts the door behind her. Carefully she tiptoes round to Edward’s side of the bed and climbs in. She lies down, inhaling deeply into his pillow, noting his cufflinks and alarm clock on the bedside table. She closes her eyes and weeps.

Rachel opens her eyes to silence. She finds this strange as she knows her family is still in the house. Downstairs she can hear Steve’s deep, soft tones talking to the children and she picks out the odd word: ‘ … kind to Mummy … very sad. We all loved Grandpa very much.’

Rachel feels guilt and gratitude in equal measure and closes her eyes again. Her mind races back to the last time she saw her Dad.
This time yesterday
, she thinks,
this time yesterday, he was still with us, still breathing. How can he be gone? What will we do?
Hot tears roll down her cheeks. She clutches her pillow to her body and rolls over onto one side, facing the window. The sky is glowing with sunshine and Rachel thinks how today would have been a day for her father to do some work in the garden and this bring on a fresh round of tears. She hears the door open behind her and assumes it will be Alfie, creeping in to snuggle up with his mum. She doesn’t look round and is surprised to see Will appear by the bed, his face fixed in a frown of concern.

‘I brought you this, Mum,’ he says, holding up a slightly nibbled and melted chocolate biscuit. ‘It was the last one.’ Rachel can see that he is shocked by her appearance and does her best not to start crying again.

‘Thank you darling,’ she croaks, taking the biscuit and wiping her eyes. ‘I must look pretty scary today. Like something out of
Scooby Doo
,’ she adds attempting a smile.

‘Yeah, but it’s OK, Mum,’ says Will. ‘I know you’re very sad about Grandpa. I am too.’

‘Come and give your old mum a hug,’ she says offering her arms to him. Unusually for Will, he accepts and folds himself into her like a baby. They sit for a while, Rachel enjoying the warmth of the boy who was once her first and only baby. She feels his shoulders shaking a little and looks down to see that he’s crying. Rachel cries too, unable to bear the pain her child feels.

‘I know my darling, I know,’ she whispers.

After a while, they sit up and smile at each other through their tears.

‘The thing you need to do,’ says Rachel finally, ‘is to remember all the happy times you had with Grandpa. That’s what he would want. He’s probably looking down at us now saying, “What are you lot moping about?”’ Rachel laughs at the thought and wonders at herself – a middle-class atheist who still employs the heaven imagery as the only way she knows of making it all seem better.

‘The day I went to the football with Grandpa and Dad, and Deon Burton scored a hat trick. It was the best day of my life ever,’ says Will plainly.

Rachel looks at her son and feels untold admiration for him. Her father’s words to her and Emma from yesterday echo in her head.

‘I’m sad about Grandpa,’ says Alfie from the doorway. Rachel looks over at his small, forlorn face. ‘Can I have that biscuit?’ he asks, forgetting his grief in a way that makes Rachel smile.

‘Come in with Will and me, darling.’ Alfie scrambles onto the bed and snuggles under his mother’s other arm, munching happily on the biscuit. Rachel kisses the top of his head and pulls him in close. ‘Oh my lovely boys,’ she sighs.

‘Where is Grandpa now?’ asks Alfie.

‘Well,’ starts Rachel, feeling her voice wobble.

‘He’s up in heaven,’ says Will with certainty.

‘Oh, where’s that?’ asks Alfie, keen to know more.

‘Up there,’ says Will pointing towards the ceiling.

‘Oh, up there,’ says Alfie, eyes wide with wonder, looking upwards.

‘Everyone all right in here?’ says Steve, climbing the stairs. ‘How are you feeling, Rach?’ he add. Rachel shrugs, her face a picture of despair. Steve has been kind and supportive over the last few days but his hugs and comfort have been more like that of a friend than a husband. Rachel can’t really blame him and she doesn’t have the emotional energy to face it at the moment.

‘Daddy, daddy! Guess what?’ shouts Alfie, full of excitement.

‘What is it, little man?’ asks Steve.

‘Grandpa is in the loft!’ he cries, pointing up at the ceiling.

‘No he’s not you dum-dum,’ declares Lily wandering in. ‘He’s in heaven, which is way, way up in the sky, even further than the moon.’

‘Oh,’ says Alfie sounding disappointed. ‘When can I see him again?’

Rachel looks at Steve.

‘Come on,’ says Steve. ‘Let’s leave Mummy in peace. We can go downstairs and talk about it.’

‘No, it’s OK,’ says Rachel. ‘Stay. Please. Let’s talk about it now.’

‘OK, if you’re sure,’ says Steve.

Minutes later, all five of them are tucked up in bed, talking, laughing and crying about Edward. Rachel feels warm and loved and sad.
You were right, Dad. You were so right
, she thinks. She pulls her family to her and doesn’t want to let go.

Diana wheels the trolley down the biscuit aisle and prays that she doesn’t bump into anyone else she knows. She’s already seen Brian from the golf club and Beryl who used to work in the school office. She held herself together when she told them that Edward had died but actually ended up feeling guilty at the distress it caused them. Their smiling faces dissolved into shock and despair, their brains desperately casting round for something to say. They couldn’t believe that he’d only died yesterday and yet here she was, doing her shopping as if nothing had happened.
How many of the people you pass in the street
, thinks Diana,
are carrying round the tragic events of their lives, like little, hidden boxes of pain
. She knows it’s absurd to be doing this today, but she had to get out of the house. Everything in it reminds her of Edward and Emma is doing her best, but it’s like having her own Greek tragedy chorus wailing in the corner. Diana scans the shelves looking for the Crinkle Creams. She notes that they are on offer.

‘Oh look, that’s good. We’ll have a couple of those, shall we?’ she says, turning expecting to see Edward and then realising how it will be from now on. She breathes in sharply, feeling her hand go to her mouth. She wills herself to go on breathing and her chest heaves with short breaths that become deep sobs. She holds the trolley to steady herself.

‘Mrs Darcy? Are you all right?’

Diana blinks at the concerned voice, seeing the face of a woman around Rachel’s age staring back at her.

‘I’m sorry –’ she begins.

‘It’s all right,’ says the woman. ‘I’m Sue. Rachel’s friend. We met at the twins’ birthday party. I’m so sorry to hear about Edward.’

‘Oh Sue, yes of course,’ says Diana, immediately warming to this sunny woman. ‘I was just having a little moment.’

‘Of course,’ says Sue. ‘When my dad lost my mum, it used to hit him at the strangest times. He once got invited to join a group of mothers for coffee when he got upset in his local library. He meets them every week now. Listen, I’ve nearly finished my shopping and my son’s at pre-school. Would you like to go for a coffee?’

Diana looks at Sue and is experiencing that life-enhancing feeling you get from the kindness of strangers. ‘That would be lovely,’ she says with gratitude.

Emma hears her mobile ring from the bathroom and dashes downstairs. Her first thought is that it might be Richard and her second thought is that she’s a fool who has learnt nothing. She checks the caller ID and answers.

‘Ella? Hello. How are you?’

‘I’m fine. Miranda told me about your dad. I’m so sorry, Em.’

‘Thank you. It’s all such a shock,’ sniffs Emma.

‘Of course it is. I can’t imagine how you must be feeling. Listen, if there’s anything I can do, you know just to call, don’t you?’

‘Yes, thanks Ella,’ says Emma feeling suddenly weary.

‘And don’t worry about work, OK?’

‘No, OK.’

‘All right, I’ll let you go because I expect you’re really busy but take care and call me if you need me. Anytime. OK?’

‘OK. Thank you,’ says Emma, ending the call and sinking into a chair. She hears the front door open and Rachel’s voice.

‘Hello?’

Emma drags herself from the chair and wanders into the hallway.

‘Hey, Em. Are you OK?’

‘No, not really,’ says Emma, starting to cry again.

‘No, sorry. Stupid question,’ says Rachel hugging her. ‘Did Sue bring Mum back?’

‘Yes, she’s upstairs resting. She didn’t say much. Do you know what happened?’

‘She had a bit of moment in the biscuit aisle apparently.’

‘Well, I told her not to go, but she wouldn’t listen. You know how she can be.’

‘Yes, well, I can understand why she wanted to get out of the house,’ says Rachel, glancing at Edward’s coats hanging in the hallway.

‘Do you think we should move them?’ asks Emma.

‘No, I think we should let Mum decide when the time’s right.’

‘Mmm OK. Do you want a cup of tea?’ asks Emma.

‘I’m a bit tea-ed out to be honest. That seems to be what you do when tragedy hits. Drink tea.’

‘‘Tis the British way,’ says Emma half-smiling.

‘I could do with something stronger to be honest,’ says Rachel walking into the dining room and opening up the drinks cabinet.

‘Cherry brandy?’ giggles Emma, feeling like a disobedient child raiding their parents’ booze supplies.

‘No. This,’ says Rachel pulling out a very acceptable thirty-year-old single malt.

‘That was Dad’s favourite,’ says Emma, feeling unsure.

‘And that is why I am going to toast him with it. Want one?’

‘All right then. With ice please.’

Rachel looks at her sister as if she’s just asked for a dog turd. ‘You always were a bit weird.’

They make their way to the living room with their drinks. The sun is shining brightly through the window, illuminating the pictures on the mantelpiece. Emma picks up the photograph of her parents on their wedding day.

‘They were a handsome couple,’ she says, her voice breaking slightly.

Rachel smiles and takes the picture. She raises her glass. ‘To Edward Darcy,’ she declares.

‘To Edward Darcy,’ says Emma, clinking her glass against her sister’s. She flops down into a chair.

‘So,’ says Rachel. ‘Tell me the truth about Martin. What’s going on?’

‘Only if you tell me about Steve.’

‘All right. You first.’

‘Well –’ says Emma, unsure of where to begin. ‘You know my new author? Richard Bennett?’

‘The dishy one you mentioned in the pub?’

Emma thinks back to that night and feels as if that was a different life, as if she were a completely different person. ‘Yes, him.’

‘Well? What happened? Did you sleep with him?’

‘Rachel!’

‘What? You didn’t sleep with him?’

Emma rubs her temples. ‘No, but I wanted to.’

‘Well, that’s hardly a crime,’ says Rachel, pondering her own misdemeanour.

Emma looks at her sister. ‘I fell for him in a big way. He flattered me, paid me attention. We liked the same books, films. That kind of thing. We just clicked somehow.’

‘More than with Martin?’ says Rachel nodding, understanding.

‘Different.’

‘So how come you and Martin have split then?’