The Perfect Fit

by Mary Jayne Baker

  ‘Problem? What is it?’

  ‘Well… you’d better come and see. Brace yourself.’

  I followed him upstairs to my bedroom. Inside, I discovered my white duvet suspended from a couple of chairs to make a den. Only it wasn’t white any more – oh no, it was all the colours of the rainbow. Little handprints in red, yellow and blue were all over it, not to mention the walls, the carpet… and in the middle of the carnage was Pip, covered in paint and sleeping like an angel.

  ‘She found some of Cole’s paints in the cupboard,’ Tom whispered. ‘Becks, I’m so sorry. We’ll pay for the damage.’

  I stared for a moment, struggling to take it in. Then the bossy big sister in me kicked in.

  ‘Never mind that now,’ I said. ‘You’d better wake her up and get her straight into the bath. That stuff won’t be child-safe, it probably isn’t good for it to be in contact with her skin.’

  ‘Right.’ Cam went to set the taps running, then came back in.

  ‘Oh my… God!’ Cole had appeared at the door. ‘What the hell happened?’

  Pip chose that moment to wake up. She was about to rub her fists in her eyes when Tom dived forwards to stop her.

  ‘Don’t, sweetie. It’ll hurt if you get paint in your eyes.’

  She grinned sleepily at me. ‘Hello, Aunty Becky. Look, I made us a princess castle to play in.’

  ‘It’s very pretty, my love,’ I said. ‘But you need to get in the bath now. Go with Daddy and Papa.’

  Cole was staring at her, anger and horror in his eyes.

  ‘But look at the mess she’s made!’ he said to me.

  ‘She’s a child, Cole.’

  ‘You know those oils cost £20 a pot?’

  ‘Cole, mate, I’m so sorry,’ Cam said. ‘We will pay for everything.’

  Cole shrugged off the conciliatory hand Cam rested on his shoulder. ‘I do wonder, Cameron, why you can’t supervise your daughter adequately if you will insist on bringing her.’

  Cam, taken aback, withdrew his hand.

  Tom frowned. ‘There was no need for that.’

  ‘Don’t have a go at them. It was me,’ I said to Cole. ‘I told her she could play with anything in the room. I didn’t know you had paints in the cupboard.’

  ‘Am I in trouble, Aunty Becky?’ Pip whispered, still half asleep.

  ‘No, sweetheart. You’re not in trouble.’

  ‘Can I still have pudding?’

  ‘Course you can.’ I summoned a smile. ‘Go on, have your bath. Then pudding after.’

  ‘Why the hell did you have paints in here anyway?’ I hissed at Cole when Pip’s dads had taken her into the bathroom to scrub off all the paint. ‘Why aren’t they in the attic?’

  ‘You’re really going to make this my fault? I didn’t know there’d be an unsupervised child running around the place.’ He shook his head. ‘Who the hell brings a child to a dinner party? What was your brother thinking?’

  ‘He couldn’t get a babysitter.’

  ‘Then one would think he’d send polite apologies rather than letting the girl run riot.’ He took another sweep of the room. ‘It’ll take an eternity to get this cleared up.’

  ‘She might’ve made a mess, but she’s a damn sight better-mannered than your bloody awful friends,’ I snapped.

  He frowned. ‘What?’

  ‘Ryder and fucking Ali. They’ve been nothing but snotty all night – about the food, my family, even my weight. And borderline homophobic into the bargain. Actually, no, scrub the borderline.’

  ‘Ryder went to an all-boys boarding school, Becky. Trust me, he’s far from homophobic.’

  ‘He’s downright rude, whatever else he might be. And Ali’s even worse. You don’t ask strangers about how they conceived their kid over dinner. You don’t remark on what an amazing thing it is that the north’s now so advanced, it even has its own homosexuals. Nice people, polite people, don’t say those things.’

  ‘He doesn’t mean to be rude,’ Cole said, looking ashamed now. ‘He’s just led a rather sheltered life.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. Because my parents run a chip shop and his dad’s the Duke of bloody Pembrokeshire or whatever.’

  ‘Cultural attaché.’

  ‘Exactly. That’s so posh, I don’t even know what the hell it is. But it sounds like the family should be able to afford a few manners.’ I nodded to Pip’s den. ‘Whereas this is Pip’s idea of making something pretty for us, in her little six-year-old head. Can’t you get that?’

  ‘It’s just… such a waste.’

  ‘You can’t expect her to think like you do, Cole. She’s a baby.’ I shook my head. ‘How are you going to cope when it’s our kid? Because I can tell you now, there will be stuff like this.’

  ‘I wish you’d stop with that, Becky.’

  I frowned. ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘It feels like you’re eternally pushing me to start a family at a pace I’m simply not comfortable with. Who knows where we’ll be in a year’s time?’

  ‘Are you saying… you can’t mean you don’t want to? We’ve been talking about it for years!’

  ‘I’m not saying that. I just don’t want to be rushed. I’ve got my career – you know I’ve always dreamed of being able to paint full-time. I think we should play it by ear, that’s all.’

  ‘Right.’ I marched out of the room, Cole following like a naughty puppy.

  ‘Are we ok, Becky?’

  ‘Never mind that now. We’ve got a bloody dinner party to get through. And as dreadful as Ryder and Ali have been all night, I don’t want to be rude to Patrick and Gala.’ I knocked on the door of the bathroom, where I could hear Pip giggling and splashing. ‘I’ll bring your food up, lads. Sorry for an awful evening.’

  ***

  Mine and Cole’s bedroom was declared off-limits until it could be de-Pipped the next day. When our guests had left, I curled up in the spare room with a book and a glass of red (the Morrison’s stuff, not Ryder’s Chateau de Thingy). But the words swam before my eyes. Exhausted by the world’s most horrific dinner party, miserable because Cole and I weren’t speaking and with a rumbling stomach because I’d missed out on my main course and pudding, I felt close to bursting into tears. I couldn’t even offload on Lana, who was still ill.

  I was just toying with the idea of ringing Marcus for a nice, cathartic rant when Cole poked his head round the door, looking penitent.

  ‘What do you want?’ I said.

  He came in, bearing aloft a plate with a generous wedge of chocolate tart on it.

  ‘You didn’t have dessert.’

  ‘I wasn’t hungry.’

  He sat down beside me and pushed the tart tantalisingly into my eyeline. I was angry with him, but I was also starving. Unable to resist the prodding of my stomach, I grabbed the spoon and tucked in.

  ‘But don’t think this means I forgive you,’ I said through a mouthful of chocolate.

  He smiled. ‘Here,’ he said, wiping a smudge of chocolate from my mouth. ‘I can see which aunty young Pippa learnt her messiness from.’

  ‘So is this an apology?’

  ‘Yes.’ He took my free hand. ‘I was wrong and you were right. As usual.’

  ‘Good start. Go on.’

  ‘I shouldn’t have been so angry at Pippa. Pip. I know children do these things.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And I shouldn’t have snapped at your brother. I’ll call him tomorrow to apologise. That was £100’s worth of oils, that’s all.’

  ‘Pip didn’t know that. To a kid, paints are for painting with.’

  ‘No, I know. I just… I saw red. I’m the adult and I should know better. Sorry.’

  I relented slightly. ‘Well, then I guess I’m sorry I was rude to Ryder and Ali.’ I paused. ‘Actually, no I’m not, they had it coming. But I’m sorry
it upset you.’

  ‘No, you’re right. They were out of order to talk to Cameron and Tom that way. I’ll have a word, see if I can make Ryder understand.’

  ‘What’s to understand?’ I muttered. Then I remembered we were building bridges and gave his hand a squeeze. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I know you wonder why I’m friends with him. We go back a long way, Becky.’

  ‘But he’s such a… you know. Knobhead.’

  ‘Put it this way. If Cameron was a… you know, would you still want a relationship with him?’

  ‘Well, yeah. He’s my brother.’ I smiled. ‘Ok, I see. Point taken.’

  ‘Becky, the other thing…’

  I winced. I’d been wondering when he’d get to that.

  ‘You do still want to, don’t you?’

  ‘I want to if you want to. I want you to be happy, darling.’

  ‘But not just because of that, right? I mean, you want to be a dad?’

  ‘Of course. When the time’s right. I just don’t want to feel it’s a race against the clock, that’s all.’

  ‘That’s… fair enough. I never meant you to feel I was putting pressure on you.’

  He took my empty pudding plate away and pulled me into his arms. ‘Friends again?’

  ‘Friends again.’ I planted a chocolatey kiss on his lips. ‘Let’s get some sleep. It’s been a long night.’

  Chapter 21

  ‘I thought you’d be at rehearsal by now,’ Cole said one evening when he descended from his studio to find me opening that morning’s post on the sofa.

  ‘Marc and Gerry are going through their slapstick routine first so they don’t need me yet.’

  ‘Do you want a glass of wine?’

  ‘Dunno, has it been chambrered?’

  He smiled. ‘Will you ever stop teasing me about that?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘So do you?’

  ‘No, I’d better get going. Just checking if the catalogue I sent for from a panto costume specialist is in this lot. If it is, we can have a look through in the pub after.’

  Cole went into the kitchen. ‘Are rehearsals going well?’ he called.

  ‘Pretty well. There’s still the Maisie problem, and Gerry’s blocking’s not improving as quickly as we’d like, but –’ I broke off, staring at the letter I’d just opened.

  Cole poked his head through the door. ‘What’s the matter, darling?’

  ‘This,’ I whispered.

  ‘Is it your catalogue?’

  ‘No, it’s… oh God. I have to get to the Temp.’

  ‘Becky, what is it? Becky!’

  But I was already out of the door.

  I could’ve rivalled Usain Bolt racing to the hall, the letter gripped in my fist.

  ‘Oh good, you’re here,’ Deano said when I burst in. ‘You and Maisie are up next. The Tomorrow scene.’

  ‘No we’re not,’ I panted, clutching my stomach. ‘Panto’s off.’

  ***

  It was a subdued group of amdrammers who stared into their beers in the pub function room.

  ‘Bloody hell, what’s up with you lot?’ asked Billy, who’d come in to collect our empties. ‘Someone died?’

  ‘Just our theatrical hopes and dreams,’ Deano said.

  I took a glum gulp of my wine. ‘And the Temp. That’s looking a bit moribund.’

  ‘What’s moribund mean?’ Marcus said.

  ‘Fucked.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Billy cast a concerned glance at Yolanda. From the look on her face you’d think someone really had died.

  ‘You ok, love?’ he said gently.

  She choked back a sob. ‘It’s the panto,’ she whispered. ‘Becky got a letter.’

  I handed it to Billy. ‘From the management of the Hyperion.’

  ‘That theatre in town?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘“Dear madam,”’ he read. ‘“It has come to our attention that your amateur dramatics group is planning to stage a version of Jack and the Beanstalk that will be in direct competition with our version of the same pantomime. If you do not wish to face legal action, we politely request you immediately desist.”’

  ‘Pathetic,’ Gerry spat. ‘Since when have the big-budget pantos given a shit what village halls do? I bet there’s plenty doing Jack and the Beanstalk.’

  I cast a look at Harper, who smiled sadly.

  ‘She’s right. It’s me,’ he said. ‘Sorry, everyone.’

  ‘It’s not your fault. And we’re glad to have you, darling.’ Yolanda sighed. ‘But that is the reason, isn’t it? That’s why they think we’re competition.’

  ‘This is bollocks though!’ Billy said. ‘Threatening to sue. They’d never have a case.’

  Yolanda squeezed his hand gratefully.

  ‘They’re just trying to scare us, I think,’ I said.

  Lana pulled the letter towards her. ‘Mmm. It does read a bit “nice little panto you’ve got there, shame if anything happened to it”.’

  ‘So what can we do?’ Marcus asked.

  ‘I’ll drop out if you want,’ Harper said.

  Yolanda shook her head. ‘Oh, we couldn’t let you do that, darling. You’re our big selling point.’

  ‘Too late anyway,’ I said. ‘Publicity’s gone out so the damage has been done. No, I think the only solution is either to brazen it out and hope they’re bluffing, switch pantos or… well, give up.’

  ‘I don’t think we’re in a position to call their bluff, are we?’ Stew said. ‘Let’s face it, we’re the underdog here. And underdogs only come out on top in films.’

  ‘We change pantos then,’ Deano said. ‘Buggered if I’m giving up on this after all my hard work.’ He glanced round the table. ‘Er, our hard work.’

  ‘Change pantos?’ Maisie said. ‘But I’ve spent ages learning my lines!’

  ‘Plus there’s only four months,’ Marcus said. ‘That’s not long to write and rehearse a whole new script.’

  ‘And then there’s the props the children have been making, and Rita’s choreography,’ Yolanda said. ‘We’d have to start everything again from scratch.’

  I shook my head. ‘Yo-yo’s right, it’s too late to start all over again. Let’s face it. Unless someone comes up with some miraculous brainwave, we’re screwed.’

  Billy looked thoughtful.

  ‘Oh God, please say that’s your miraculous brainwave face,’ Marcus said to him.

  ‘Here. You lot know Jimmy James?’ Billy said.

  Lana frowned. ‘What, the milkman?’

  I cocked an eyebrow. ‘Jimmy James? Seriously?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Billy said. ‘One in a long line. His dad was a James James, and his dad before him. Someone’s idea of a family joke.’

  ‘But what’s this milkman with the daft name got to do with us?’ Marcus asked.

  ‘Because he’s not a milkman,’ Billy said. ‘Not by trade. He went a bit funny ten years ago and bought himself a round, reckoned he wanted to live the quiet life out here in the sticks. But before that he was a hotshot lawyer over in Leeds. Competition law was his specialty.’

  ‘And you think he’d help us?’ Stew said.

  ‘I can ask him to take a look at this letter, see if he thinks it’s above board,’ Billy said. ‘Jim’s one of my regulars, I bet he’d do it for a free Boltmaker. If they’re bluffing and we call them on it, maybe the underdog actually can come out on top for once.’

  Chapter 22

  ‘So? Any news?’ I asked Billy when I dropped into the Fox on my way home from work the following week for an update. Jimmy James the Milkman had been on his holidays, so he hadn’t been in for his regular evening pint for a bit. Everyone was on tenterhooks waiting to see if there was anything he could do for us.

  Billy shook his head, a
nd I knew in an instant that there was news, and it wasn’t the good kind.

  ‘Sorry, love. Jimmy wanted to help, and he took a look, but…’

  ‘You can’t mean it’s legal? They couldn’t actually sue us, surely?’

  ‘It seems they could make a case if they were minded, yeah.’

  ‘No, come on. Not a big theatre like that and a little village panto.’

  ‘That’s what Jimmy thought at first. Said they wouldn’t have a leg to stand on if they tried it. Then I mentioned Brady and suddenly he seemed to think it was a problem. You’ve got a bigger star than them at a third of the ticket price.’

  ‘He’s not the star though, he’s a cameo. Maisie’s the star.’

  ‘Yeah. Jimmy seemed to think she might be a problem too. Two celebrities for the price of one.’

  ‘So… is he saying there’s really nothing we can do?’

  Billy shrugged. ‘Jimmy offered to talk to them, see if they’d see reason. But you’d probably have to ditch Brady and his missus to have a chance of getting them off your backs.’

  I hesitated.

  ‘No,’ I said at last. ‘No, there must be another way. We don’t want to lose Harper.’

  ‘Another way such as what?’

  ‘God, I wish I knew. I was really hoping Jimmy might be able to make it all go away for us.’ I sighed. ‘So that’s it then. Unless one of us thinks up a miracle, it looks like when it comes to underdogs there’s a clue in the name.’

  ***

  And bloody hell, I only did. Think up a miracle, that is – or at least, a workable compromise. It was pitch dark when I woke three days later with a sudden epiphany.

  ‘Becky?’ Cole mumbled. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing, love. I just have to make an urgent call. You go back to sleep.’

  I grabbed my mobile, tiptoed out of the bedroom and pulled up Marcus’s number.

  ‘Y’m?’ he answered groggily.

  ‘I’ve got it, Marc!’

  ‘Becks, it’s midnight.’ There was a pause. ‘Wait, are you saying you know what to do about the panto?’

  ‘Yeah, it just came to me. Listen, can I come over?’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Come on, you might as well now you’re up.’