The Perfect 10 (15 page)

‘But look at what you got,’ I whisper, and stroke Jacob’s head.

Anna pulls herself together suddenly. ‘I know, of course, it’s true. I can’t imagine even wanting to make time for a manicure or a pedicure now – those things seem so shallow. My life didn’t have any point before. I really couldn’t care less about any of it – shopping, the gym – none of it matters, Sunny, once you’ve had a baby.’

I smile at her but say nothing, turning my attention instead back to little Jacob, who is trying desperately to support his own neck. He is quiet, looking over my shoulder, around the room.

‘Jesus, that’s the first time he’s stopped whimpering all day.’ She pauses. ‘He must fancy you, Sunny.’

Anna reaches over to the end of the sofa and retrieves a half-empty packet of chocolate Hobnobs. Through a mouthful of biscuit, she offers me the packet. ‘Want one?’ Some crumbs scatter from her lips.

‘No, thanks. I’m stuffed; I’ve just eaten,’ I say, and puff out my cheeks.

‘What, last month?’ she says, as more biscuit sprays out of her mouth. I look hurt, and she looks embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry, Sunny, you know I don’t mean it. I just don’t want you to get obsessed. You can have a biscuit, for Christ’s sake. One Hobnob won’t kill you.’

‘I just don’t fancy one,’ I say, and pull my head back to
check on little Jacob as his head rests on my shoulder. His eyes are closed.

‘I think he’s asleep,’ I whisper, and Anna heaves herself up from the sofa, taking the baby from me with expertise, and laying him gently in his cot.

We both move over to the sofa so as not to wake him.

‘So, any men on the go?’ she asks, picking out another Hobnob.

‘Kind of.’ I nod and shrug.

‘Good for you,’ Anna says as she notices a stain on her trouser leg that looks like tomato and starts to scratch it off. ‘You look great, Sunny, you really do, but don’t lose any more.’ She stops scratching and looks up at me.

‘Not much more,’ I say with a smile, trying to sidestep it.

‘You’re not meant to be skinny. Hell, I barely even recognise you now!’

‘That doesn’t mean it’s not me. It just means I used to eat differently. I just want to be healthy, that’s all.’

‘Well, obsessed isn’t healthy. Don’t just be all about the diet. It will get really boring really quickly, and men hate it when women talk about food all the time.’

Maybe she means to be kind, but she is tired, and her words tumble out clumsily. Or maybe Anna is having trouble not being the most attractive woman in the room right now. Maybe being gorgeous is what has always defined her, in the same way that I let being fat define me. Maybe now we are both scrambling, a little desperately, for some other definition of ourselves, because we aren’t sure who we are if we don’t look a certain way. Maybe now we have to dig a little deeper.

‘How about the park next week? We could walk down to the common if the weather’s nice?’ I say, as I pick up my handbag and move into the corridor.

‘Lovely,’ she says, and I think I see tears in her eyes again, as she tugs open the front door, just as Martin pulls up in his company Audi.

He waves, I wave, Anna looks away.

‘Wow, Sunny! You look great! Still going to the gym, I see. Look at your arms, fantastic tone!’

‘Thanks, Martin. Nice to see you,’ I say as I kiss an embarrassed hello. ‘Jacob is looking wonderful, so handsome!’ I speak before he can, I don’t want him to say anything else.

‘I know! Just like his father!’ Martin says with a smile and a wink.

‘Whoever he is,’ Anna says evenly, with a sarcastic smile in Martin’s direction. But he ignores it.

‘I know, isn’t he great, so big and strong. Between them they are eating me out of house and home!’ He gestures towards Anna and laughs, and I don’t say anything. ‘Seriously, Sunny, can’t you drag my wife along to a few of your classes, give her some of what you’re having?’ He laughs heartily again, but then the baby starts to cry, and he waves a quick goodbye before moving past Anna and darting inside to see his son and heir.

‘He doesn’t mean it,’ I say as I give Anna a hug goodbye.

‘Of course he bloody does,’ she says quietly in my ear.

I don’t want to be a tool for Martin to hit Anna with. I don’t want to be the thing that makes somebody else feel bad. I just want to be slim, for me. I would never wish the way I used to feel about myself on to somebody else.

But I see that we need a shared definition of ‘desirable’ that isn’t based on looks, for me and Anna – and Martin, for that matter. Couldn’t it be that a ten out of ten for effort is the new Perfect Ten that we all aspire to? Being perfect shouldn’t have to be a dress size. What size was Mother Teresa? Although that’s a bad example because she was tiny.
What about the Virgin Mary? Supposing that she was a size ten before she had Jesus, what are the chances that she didn’t put on some baby weight around her stomach during pregnancy, and that she wasn’t carrying a few extra pounds when the Three Wise Men turned up?

And isn’t it interesting that a clothing size ten only relates to women’s sizes, and not men’s. Can a man ever be a Perfect Ten? Or are the deciding criteria just different?

Women at the least need an image of the Perfect Ten, for the soul. We need something to aspire to that, in striving to achieve it, and possibly even succeeding, benefits us all, and not just plastic surgeons, Giorgio Armani and Calvin Klein.

Cagney stares at a photo of a twenty-year-old Grace Kelly lookalike, perched on the side of a boat in the Caribbean. The breeze plays with her hair, as she shields the sun from her eyes. The beach sits behind her in the distance, deserted and remote. He is hypnotised. It’s the beach and the boat that he longs for, the isolation, and the peace, not the woman. NOT the woman. But his eyes are drawn to her slim freckled legs, and the shirt she has knotted at her midriff. Her feet point elegantly towards the cameraman, which reminds him why he holds the photo in his hand, and he tosses it away as if it’s burnt his fingers.

A punter stands in front of him. His name is Sheldon Young. The Grace Kelly type is Sophia Young, his wife. His much younger wife. Sheldon is a fool – Cagney knew it by his weak-as-water handshake and apologetic grin. Cagney sits in his chair while Sheldon looks around for a second seat that isn’t there, finally positioning himself uncomfortably in front of Cagney’s desk like a rookie private who doesn’t know how to salute a captain, and relates his life story to Cagney, without being asked. They always feel the need to explain.

‘Sophia and I were married two years ago, Mr James, on her eighteenth birthday. I was forty-five.’

Sheldon is in reasonable shape, but with thinning hair and small hands. Cagney pitied him on sight, for believing himself capable of keeping any woman happy.

‘I was in investment banking, and I’d made my millions, but I’d never found a reason to stop working, Mr James, until she walked in. As luck would have it, my assistant, Margaret, had just broken both her legs in a horrific skiing accident, and the temping agency … well, they sent me an angel.’

Sheldon beams at the recollection. Cagney shudders.

‘I believe we fell in love at first sight, Mr James. Sophia had only been out of college for three months, she was unsure what to do with her life, thinking about travelling, but of course she was too young and too innocent to have any idea of where to go. I took her to lunch that very first day. She was from poor stock – her parents were both simple, working class, but somehow they made this beautiful fragile fawn. Our engagement was announced in
The Times
four weeks later.’

‘It’s good not to rush into these things.’ Cagney nods his head at Sheldon, who smiles back in agreement. ‘Do go on, Mr Young. It’s edge-of-the-seat stuff.’

‘I know it sounds like a fairy tale, Mr James, but any man who’s been in love will know what I mean when I say that I had never felt true happiness until I saw her face.’

‘It sounds dreamy.’

‘It was like a dream, Mr James, a beautiful intoxicating dream. We made plans straight away, and we had every intention of spending the rest of our lives bobbing about on unfamiliar oceans, sipping champagne, and tasting paradise. But now that paradise is lost.’

‘Good God.’

The smile that plays on Sheldon’s face falls, but he is too self-involved to clock the horror on Cagney’s face.

‘She thinks she’s in love with somebody else, Mr James. She wants children, you see, and I don’t, I never have. Too selfish, I suppose, to surrender my freedom, and to share her with somebody else. But in the last six months she’s grown restless. She is a beautiful person, Mr James, as beautiful on the inside as out, like a tender lamb. But we want different things. Recently she’s been distant, she doesn’t like to be touched, and yet in her eyes I can see that it hurts her to be hurting me, and I believe it’s killing her. She’s just such a warm and loving girl, like a wide-eyed young rabbit.’

Cagney can’t take any more. Apparently this girl is the whole farm!

‘If she’s such a saint, Mr Young, why is the bunny screwing somebody else?’

Sheldon visibly flinches at the word. ‘She wants to be a mother, and I won’t give her that. It’s my fault! I should have told her before we were married. She deserves to have children, and to share her love with them. I just can’t be the man to give them to her.’

Cagney is confused. ‘I’m sorry but I don’t understand. If you love your wife that much, if you believe she deserves this supposed happiness that you can’t give her, why are you here? Just tell her you want a divorce, and let her get on with it.’

Sheldon looks embarrassed, looks down, around, anywhere but at Cagney when he answers, quietly, ‘I can’t let her have the money. There’s no pre-nuptial agreement, you see, and I’m afraid the man she’s picked is not a wise choice. It’s our handyman … you understand? And I believe she thinks she’s in love with him. But he’s a rogue, through
and through. She doesn’t want me any more, and I won’t stand in her way, but I can’t let him squander my money, Mr James. I worked hard for it, it’s the key to my life, it lets me do what I want to do.’

‘But, Mr Young, by the looks of it you have enough money to share. You could still take all the boat trips you want, and pay her hairdresser’s bills.’

‘Mr James, I resent the implication that Sophia is a drain. She has cost me barely a penny since the day we were married. She is not a gold digger. But this rogue is. And besides, I’ve made some bad investments. There’s not as much as there was. There isn’t enough left to support us both, separately.’

Sheldon looks down at his feet, embarrassed. That’s not strictly true, is it? Cagney thinks, clocking the Rolex, and the cufflinks, and the manicure.

‘Let’s cut to the chase, Sheldon. You love your wife, but she doesn’t get the cash without getting you as well.’

Sheldon coughs nervously. ‘Mr James, I just need some evidence. It’ll be easy enough to get. I’ve nearly caught them myself a couple of times – she’s too lovely to be discreet. Just a few photos and then this whole sorry matter can come to an end. I want her to be happy. I just can’t afford to pay for it.’

‘Well, Sheldon, I’d love to help but my business is not catching people who are already having affairs. The lovely Mrs Young and Bob-a-job might actually be in love, and who am I to sully that?’ Cagney always marvels at the fact that he is able to say that part with a straight face. But it’s an excuse they swallow like a scoop of vanilla. ‘My agency acts only in cases where there is suspicion of promiscuity, and I use trusted members of staff to initiate meetings, and secure any evidence we need. I am not a private investigator and it sounds like that’s what you want. They are
more expensive, but I can give you some numbers if you like.’

Sheldon interrupts Cagney as he reaches for the number of Richard Hill, a private investigator with the proper licence. Over the years they have batted work to each other, and although Cagney knows that Mr Hill makes more out of their unofficial deal than he does, it isn’t enough to worry him.

‘No, Mr James, you misunderstand me. I don’t want you to catch her with him. I want you, or a member of your staff to initiate a “honey trap”, which I believe
is
your business. And then, you see, Sophia will realise that this lout isn’t for her, and that there are plenty of other men who can give her what she wants. She’ll come to her senses, break it off with this nasty piece of work, but I’ll still get my divorce. Finances … intact, so to speak.’

‘Sheldon, you must really love your wife to do this for her.’

‘I do.’

‘OK, here’s what I need to know: where she goes during the day, whom she meets, her hobbies, what she likes, where she drinks her coffee, where she has her hair done, things like that. It can take as little as a week; the longest it’s ever taken is three months. Depending on the time and the man hours the cost will vary, but you are looking at a minimum of one hundred pounds, and a maximum of ten thousand.’

‘Money’s no object.’

Tell that to your wife!

‘When will you start?’

‘You leave me the details, we’ll start straight away.’

When Sheldon finally leaves, having disclosed all the necessary information, Cagney sits back in his chair, cracks a nut in one hand, and holds Sophia Young’s photo in the
other. She certainly is a looker, but he’s seen better. There is something about her, though, an unusual innocence around the eyes. But what difference does it make? She’s screwing around on her old man and, by the sound of it, she’d planned to take him for everything he was worth and hook up with some younger model from the start. Hell, her and the handyman were probably sweethearts since school, cooking up this scam together. Poor stupid Sheldon, he’d walked right into it. He’s come to his senses late, but just in time.