Not Quite Perfect (27 page)

‘Well, like I told you, I’m not very good at the family stuff,’ he shrugs.

‘“The family stuff”?’ says Emma, her anger rising. ‘Sorry, but I thought you were in love with me and I hate to tell you this but I come with a family in tow!’

‘I know, I know, Emma, and I’m sorry about your dad, truly I am. It’s just that I never really had a proper family per se, so I struggle a little with it, you know?’ He looks off into the distance. ‘I guess you losing your dad bring back the pain of family life for me. I should have called.’ He holds out his hands, palms upwards in a conciliatory gesture.

Emma looks at him and recalls a time when this kind of talk would have made her feel compassion. Now, all she feels is anger.

‘How dare you?’

‘Sorry?’

‘I mean it! How dare you come round here and pretend you’re sorry. It’s all an act with you, isn’t it? You weren’t falling in love with me. You liked the idea of me, like a character in a novel. In fact, you’re a character in a novel. You don’t have a genuine feeling in your body.’

Richard looks hurt. ‘Emma, that’s a terrible thing to say.’

But Emma is in her stride now. ‘And you do this hurt act so well, don’t you? God, I have been such an idiot, such a fool. I let some lame attempt at a Byronic hero turn my head with his flattery. But I can see through you now. It’s all an act. Go on, admit it.’

Richard is watching Emma carefully. ‘All right, there were times when it was a bit like a game but then life’s a game isn’t it?’

‘Not for me,’ says Emma.

‘But as time went on, I did start to fall for you. You’re so different.’

‘Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m so different. So different, you saw fit to turn my world upside down and destroy my life with Martin. Thanks a bunch. You must really love me.’

‘I’m sorry, Emma. I’m sorry you feel like this. I thought we had a connection. I thought you felt the same,’ says Richard quietly.

‘I did for a while, until I realised what a fool I’d been.’

‘I do love you, you know. That’s the truth,’ says Richard.

Emma throws up her hands. ‘And so the lies continue. What am I? A Cathy to your Heathcliff? How romantic. No Richard, it’s over. You no more love me than you love Stella!’

Richard looks at her sharply. ‘Who told you about that?’ he says.

‘About what?’

‘About Stella and me.’

Emma stares blankly at him and then the penny drops. Richard similarly realises the mistake he has made.

‘Oh you mean Stella from
The Red Orchid
,’ he says, his voice small like a little boy whose misdemeanours have just been uncovered.

‘Well I did,’ says Emma, ‘but I think we both know what we’re talking about now, don’t we? Why don’t you run back to the real Stella? You deserve one another.’

Richard gives her a pained look but Emma has had enough. ‘Get out!’

Even Richard sees when he’s defeated. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says.

‘So am I,’ says Emma ushering him to the door and closing it firmly behind him.

‘All quiet on the western front?’ asks Steve, as Rachel plods into the kitchen.

‘Yep. Were Alfie and Lily OK?’

‘A bit tired and teary but fine. It’s been a long and emotional day for all of us.’

Rachel nods and goes to the fridge to retrieve a beer. ‘Want one?’

‘Please.’

She hands it to him, sitting at the kitchen table and gesturing for him to do the same. He looks a little reluctant but plonks himself down opposite his wife.

Rachel takes a large gulp of beer. ‘So,’ she begins.

‘So.’

‘Steve, I want us to start again.’

‘Rachel, I’m leaving.’

‘What?’ Rachel looks as if she’s been shot.

Steve fiddles with the label on his beer, avoiding her gaze. ‘I didn’t want to talk about this on the day we buried Edward but as you’re insisting, I think it best you know.’

‘What are you saying?’ says Rachel panicked.

‘I’m going to go and stay with Mum for a while, give us both some space so we can work out what we want.’

‘But I know what I want!’ cries Rachel, the tears springing readily into her eyes.

Steve looks at her, his blue eyes full of sorrow. ‘But I don’t, Rach. I don’t know what I want any more,’ he says. ‘You and I were such a great team, us against the world but now –’ His words trail off as if he doesn’t want to finish the sentence.

‘And now?’

Steve shakes his head. ‘I just keep thinking what would have happened if Tom hadn’t called a halt to things.’

Rachel looks at the floor ashamed at the memory. ‘It was just a moment, Steve. I thought you were having an affair!’ she cries in desperation.

‘How could you think that, Rach? How could you think that of me.’

‘I know, I’m sorry but you weren’t being upfront about that thing with Sam. I just jumped to the wrong conclusion.’

‘Yes. but I can’t live like that with you not trusting me and then practically jumping into bed with someone else at the slightest doubt. That’s not a marriage.’

‘Don’t say that.’

‘I’m just telling you how I feel. Look, we’re not going to resolve this tonight. I’m going to go to Mum’s tomorrow and then we’ll see.’

‘But you’re not giving up on me?’ says Rachel half-joking, half-panicking.

‘No more talking tonight,’ says Steve. He picks up his beer bottle and goes into the living room. Rachel wants to follow him but she can’t seem to haul herself into a standing position. She feels so tired. Her head is swimming and her body is heavy as if she’s being dragged down by life. She hears fat drops of rain beating against the window behind her and stares out into the darkness feeling utterly alone.

Emma stares at the manuscript next to her. It is decorated with only a scattering of red-pen strikes. She sighs and looks back to her laptop, allowing the internet to claim her once again. She has been grateful to Miranda for allowing her this time away from the office, but is starting to wonder if it’s such a good thing. The trouble with the internet is that there is always something more exciting happening somewhere else and it is your job as the browser to find it. She checks her e-mails. There are several from Ella and Miranda, a couple from Rosie and one from Joel. She clicks on it: ‘
I am sorry for your loss. Joel
.’

Irritated by his cursory attempt at compassion, she turns back to the manuscript. Emma rereads the lines, casting her pen over every word. Somehow the characters no longer exude the life and passion of before. They all feel slightly one-dimensional and the only emotion she can conjure up for Stella is abject loathing.

‘Consider killing off Stella?’ she writes on a note pad next to her.
That would show the bitch
, she thinks, and then laughs at how ridiculous it is to want to punish a character in a novel. She hears a noise downstairs and freezes. She listens, willing her brain to be wrong, and is alarmed to hear someone climbing the stairs. She rummages in the cupboard for a suitable weapon, approaches the door and leaps out when she hears the intruder reach the landing.

‘Haaaaaaaaaaaa!’ she cries, and is mortified to notice that she is holding a broom, but relieved to see that the intruder is Martin.

‘What’s this then?’ he asks with a wry smile. ‘Death by sweeping?’

‘Shit, Martin! What are you doing creeping around like that?’

‘Sorry, I just came back to get a few things. I didn’t think you’d be here,’ he says.

‘Oh, right, of course,’ says Emma feeling chastened. ‘Well, don’t mind me. Help yourself.’

‘Thanks,’ he says disappearing into the bedroom. Emma loiters on the landing, unsure of what to do next. ‘Do you want a coffee, Mart?’ she says in a matter of fact way.

‘What was that?’ he asks, poking his head round the door.

‘Coffee? I’m just going to make one,’ she says.

It might be the look of desperation on her face that causes him to answer. ‘Oh all right, just a quick one though.’

‘Yeah. And a coffee, eh?’ says Emma in a lame attempt at humour. Martin looks at her with mild amusement, shaking his head. ‘Sorry,’ she says, disappearing downstairs.

When he appears in the kitchen ten minutes later, he is carrying a large bin-bag and Emma notices he’s holding a framed photo of their first Valentine’s trip to Brighton.

‘Are you taking that?’ she asks, trying to sound disinterested.

‘I thought I would, if it’s OK with you?’

‘Sure. Let’s have a look.’ They stand side-by-side, smiling at the memory; a snapshot in time. They both look so young and hopeful. Emma feels a pang of sadness.

‘Of course, we may have to go to court.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Over who gets custody of Robert,’ says Martin pointing at the gigantic boggle-eyed frog nestling between them in the picture. ‘I did win him after all.’

Emma smacks him on the arm. ‘You so did not! It was me who knocked down those cans, love, and you know it.’

‘Whatever.’ They laugh and Emma is momentarily transported back to how things used to be. She moves to the table with their coffee mugs.

‘Biscuit?’

‘Thanks,’ he says standing in the middle of the kitchen looking awkward.

‘Don’t make the place look untidy – sit!’ cries Emma. She knows she’s trying too hard but somehow she wants to keep Martin here for as long as possible.

He perches on the edge of the chair and sips his coffee. ‘How’s your mum?’ he asks after a pause.

‘She’s struggling a bit, I think. She doesn’t say much.’

‘I’m not surprised. She and your dad were made for each other.’

Emma takes a sip of her coffee unsure if this is a dig. ‘And how are you?’ she asks.

He nods. ‘I’m OK. Work’s busy. Charlie’s sofa’s getting a bit uncomfortable. I need to find a flat soon.’ He says this in such a matter of fact way that Emma feels irrationally hurt. ‘Actually, sorry to bring this up but we probably need to talk about what to do with this place at some stage.’

‘Oh right. Well, if that’s what you want?’

‘There’s no point in prolonging things, is there?’

The question hangs there like a judgement on their relationship.
Yes there is!
Emma wants to cry.
We could try again
–
things would be different this time! I would be different this time!
But she sees Martin’s face and can tell that he’s shut himself off to her. She knows she’s hurt him and she doesn’t know if he will ever forgive her. ‘I guess not,’ is all she can say.

‘Well look, I should go. Thanks for the coffee,’ he says, rising to his feet and picking up the bin-bag. Emma looks up at him and feels utterly crushed. She longs to put her arms around him and tell him how sorry she is but it’s as if she can’t get near him any more. She follows him down the hall. He doesn’t kiss her goodbye. He just gets into his car and starts the engine, but before he drives off, he glances at her and gives her a small, resigned wave goodbye. She watches him until he has driven off and his car is a tiny speck in the distance.

‘Explain it to me again,’ demands Lily.

Rachel takes a deep breath.

‘Mum and Dad don’t like each other and they are going to live apart so that when they see each other again, they can decide if they do like each other any more. It’s called a trial separation. If they don’t like each other any more, they will get a divorce,’ says Will plainly.

Alfie looks alarmed and grabs his mother’s sleeve. ‘Noooo, Mummy,’ he says, eyes wide and brimming with tears.

‘Alfie, it’s OK. Will, it’s not like that. Where do you get these things from?’ asks Rachel.

‘School mostly. Ethan’s parents are divorced and Dee’s and Jessie’s and Mason’s. Lauren’s are separated and Ella’s dad has run off with the au pair,’ says Will with grave authority. ‘It’s OK Mum. It happens all the time.’

‘Well, it’s not happening to us,’ says Rachel, hoping that this isn’t a lie. ‘Life is complicated when you’re a grown-up and Daddy and I just need a little time apart to think about everything and sort stuff out.’

‘Well, I think it’s crap!’ says Lily suddenly.

‘OK, well, you shouldn’t use that word but you are right, of course,’ says Rachel.

‘And it’s your fault,’ continues Lily, pointing a finger at her mother.

‘That’s rude, Lily,’ says Will.

‘No, it’s OK, Will. Let her speak. Go on, Lily, what have I done wrong?’

‘Well, you’re always nagging us and Daddy. It’s like you don’t even really want to be here. I mean why don’t you go and get a job in Tesco like Shamil’s mum? She’s always really smiley and happy and Shamil says she hardly ever shouts, whereas you shout all the time.’

‘Is that what you really think?’ asks Rachel quietly.

‘Yes!’ says Lily firmly. ‘And the boys agree with me, don’t you boys?’ Will and Alfie look at the floor and murmur something approaching the affirmative.

‘Right, well, OK then. Thank you for telling me,’ says Rachel feeling as if she’s been punched. ‘The important thing is that I don’t want you to worry. You’ll still see Daddy as much as possible and we are not getting divorced.’
Yet
, says her brain.

The boys nod sadly but Lily is still in fighting mood. ‘Yeah, whatever. Why do grown-ups always says things are complicated when what they really mean is “we’re not going to tell you what’s really going on”?’

‘OK, detective Lily, you are very clever but there are some things that just grown-ups have to know about, OK?’ says Rachel.

‘Well, I still think it’s crap,’ says Lily defiantly.

Rachel looks at her daughter and cannot disagree. She decides to change tack. ‘I think we all deserve a treat. Who’s for ice cream?’

‘Me!’ chorus Will and Alfie.

‘Lily?’

Lily looks at her mother as if she were a piece of raw sewage. ‘I don’t want anything from you!’ she says, rushing up the stairs and slamming her bedroom door.

Rachel feels miserable as she goes into the kitchen, filling the boy’s bowls with too much ice cream and a multitude of toppings as if she can soothe away the pain with sugar. A heavy mood has descended upon the house. The boys are happy with their ice cream and then slope off to watch cartoons, but Rachel is disturbed by the eerie quiet. Feeling exhausted by life, she considers a nap on the sofa with her TV-watching sons but this plan is interrupted by the sound of someone knocking at the door. Expecting an unwanted visitor, she is relieved to find the smiling forms of Sue and Christa bearing two large slab bars of Dairy Milk, a jumbo bag of Doritos and carrier bags making happy, clinking sounds.

‘We thought you could do with some company,’ says Sue, stepping over the threshold and wrapping her friend in the tightest hug.

Christa kisses her on both cheeks and pulls two bottles of champagne out of her bag. ‘Right,
mein Schatz
, Susan und I will put the
Kinder
to
Bett
,
Ja
? You go and pour a large glass of this and we’ll see you in half an hour, OK?’

‘OK,’ says Rachel, feeling her eyes brim with tears again.

‘
Nein
,
nein
. We are not doing the
weinen
and the weeping this evening. This is very good Kristal. We are going to drink to your papa and to your future, with or without Steve, yes?’ Sue is standing behind Christa grinning all the while.

‘OK,’ says Rachel, ‘but if you’re not quick, I will eat all the Dairy Milk.’

‘Ahh, you’re welcome. Just don’t drink all the booze!’ says Christa.

An hour later, Rachel is laughing hard, but can’t remember why. Christa has just told them a story involving Paris Hilton and a pig, which made Sue snort Kristal through her nose. Christa had become quite serious and chided her for wasting it. Rachel is enjoying the easy banter and can’t remember the last time she laughed so much.

‘So, Rachel, what are you going to do?’ says Christa suddenly.

Rachel is still giggling but tries to answer her. ‘Oh I don’t know. I’ve really fucked things up, haven’t I? I mean fancy trying to cop off with your neighbour?’

‘What is this “cop”?’ asks Christa looking confused, ‘is it
etwas
to do with policemen?’

Rachel and Sue dissolve into hysterical fits of giggles before Rachel calms down enough to say. ‘No, I mean I tried to seduce him.’

‘
Ach ja
. You mean Dom or Tom or whatever?’

‘Tom.’

‘
Ja. Sehr gut
. Well, I don’t blame you, but your Steve is a very handsome man too. Are you just a bored
Hausfrau
perhaps?’

‘I dunno. Maybe. All I know is that I need to do something before I fall into some sort of life of depravity.’

‘
Ja
, this happened to my
schwester
-in-law,’ says Christa slowly. Rachel and Sue exchange glances.

‘Oh really,’ says Sue, her voice tight with laughter. ‘What happened?’

‘Well, she was living with my brother, Bruno, in a beautiful house in suburbs of Berne. Had everything, you know; the house, the husband, the kids, the money.’

‘And?’ says Sue waiting for the punchline.

‘
Ach
, she got bored. The kids were at
Schule
, she did not need to work and so she became a, how-you-say, madam?’

‘You mean a prostitute?’ says Rachel.

Christa throws back her head and shrieks with laughter. ‘
Nein
,
mein Schatz
, she wouldn’t sell her pussy for money, she is very in love with my brother.
Nein
, she runs an escort agency, you know, very high class, for businessmen. It is a very successful business. She is one of the richest women in Switzerland,’ says Christa proudly.

‘Well,’ says Sue, her face serious for a moment. ‘There’s a career path you hadn’t previously considered, Rach.’ She looks at her friend, poker-faced and they erupt into another fit of laughter.

Christa looks at them smiling and uncertain but happy to go along with the joke. ‘More Kristal, girls?’ she says.

‘Don’t mind if I do,’ says Sue topping up their glasses. ‘And I would like to propose a toast.’ The three friends sit up in readiness. Sue lifts her glass. ‘To Rachel and her future, wherever it may lead her. She is a better mum than she realises and a truly beautiful friend.’

‘And she has great tits,’ adds Christa with a wink.

‘Christa!’ says Rachel. ‘I never knew you cared.’

‘Sweetie,’ says Christa. ‘I am a very flexible and open lady. So if you ever get lonely, you just give me a call. Now, where is the loo?’

Rachel points her towards the stairs and then collapses with helpless laughter again.

‘Well,’ says Sue laughing. ‘I’ll give her one thing, she certainly knows how to take a girl’s mind off things. Now top up my glass, will you? We’re not nearly drunk enough yet!’