Nobody's Perfect

by Stephanie Butland

  Spencer laughs. ‘I will take that as the greatest compliment possible.’

  ‘So you should.’ She sighs. ‘It’s not so much the result, but the fact that once I’ve got it I really need to do something with my life.’

  ‘Raising an amazing child in a fantastic way aside,’ Spencer says.

  ‘That aside.’ She squeezes his arm. ‘Thank you. I just can’t imagine how I’m going to do whatever’s next – it’s all so complicated. I mean, I know I’m lucky not to have to worry too much about money, but – I just can’t imagine I’ll ever have the headspace to do anything other than look after Daisy. I talk a good game but I don’t know that I’ll ever really make it happen.’ They’ve moved away from the market square, and the wintry streets are quiet. It’s easy to say these things, in the dark.

  ‘I suppose you’ve been focused on your degree for a long time.’

  ‘Yes, exactly.’ At first she had thought that all she wanted was to do nothing for a while, but already her brain is itching and puzzling for something, then feeling defeated when it comes to making any of her ideas reality.

  ‘And having some financial independence – does that make it easier, or harder?’

  What an odd question. Kate hesitates; he seems to sense it.

  ‘Sorry. Just thinking aloud, really. Living away from London has made me realise that I won’t always be spending most of what I earn on rent. For the last few years there’s been too much month at the end of the money.’

  ‘I know I’m lucky like that,’ Kate says, ‘because I get some space to make decisions. But if I didn’t have money to fall back on I’d have fewer choices.’ She hears what she’s saying. ‘God, what an idiot. Listen to me, with my first-world problems. I’m so sorry.’

  *

  ‘So, what would you like to do next?’ Spencer asks Kate in the car on the way home. She laughs, an involuntary nervous hic, because what happens this evening is the very thing she was thinking about: how, when Richenda offered to keep Daisy overnight, it had seemed a pragmatic, can-stay-up-late-and-not-worry-about-it idea, an easy yes. But sometime over coffee, the feeling between her and Spencer – the sense of possibility, the easy, strong connection, the beginning of intimacy, and the realisation of just how lonely she has become – made her feel differently. She has an ache that asks, why not salve me now, why wait to ease me away. She could ask him in, kiss him more. She’s an adult. He’s an adult.

  ‘I hadn’t really thought about it,’ she says, although she immediately wishes she hadn’t. She should be honest.

  ‘Really?’ He flicks a glance at her, puzzled, and she realises that he isn’t asking whether, when they get back to her flat, she will be asking him to come in.

  ‘Oh!’ She laughs. ‘I thought you meant—’ And the blush does not so much bloom as erupt across her face and neck. She leans away from him so she can rest her skin against the cool of the window.

  His left hand finds her right one, briefly, and then goes back to driving; the uncertainty in his voice makes her like him more. ‘No,’ he says, ‘but don’t think I’m not thinking about that, too.’ It’s his turn to laugh, embarrassed. ‘I mean – all I mean is—’

  Kate has gathered herself enough to help him out. ‘It’s going pretty well so far?’

  ‘Exactly so.’ She doesn’t look at him, but she can hear that he’s smiling.

  ‘I’m still thinking about this MSc,’ she says, after a moment, ‘but I need to see what my final result is. And I feel as though I took my eye off the ball a bit, with Daisy. You know. I need to make sure she’s back on track.’

  They drive the last few minutes of the journey quietly. Kate, looking out of the window, realises she is counting the Christmas trees, something she used to do as a child, something she and Daisy do now. Before long, she sees the cool white light of her own tree, signalling home. She had forgotten to switch the lights of when they went out.

  Spencer pulls in a little further along from the flat and turns off the ignition. The radio, which had been burbling Bach cantatas all the way home, has switched off, too. The silence in the car is sudden and loud. ‘I had a really nice time, Kate.’

  ‘Me too.’

  He shifts round in his seat, turns to face her. ‘Can I say something?’

  ‘Of course,’ and then a group of early-evening restaurant goers passes the car, talking and laughing, and she feels, suddenly, exposed. Whatever he has to say, it’s not going to be made better for sitting in a cooling car and being interrupted every time someone walks past. ‘Do you want to come up to the flat and have a glass of wine?’

  ‘That would be great, actually,’ he says, and his smile tells her that he’s not about to say that this has been a nice afternoon, but. And neither is she. She would say, this has been wonderful, and.

  *

  Kate opens one of the bottles of Malbec from the Christmas-wine case her father sent, and pours two glasses of wine. ‘Make mine a small one, please,’ Spencer says. ‘I still need to drive up the hill.’

  ‘Of course.’ Kate sits next to him on the sofa, and offers the glass. ‘Cheers. I bet you’re glad it’s not coffee.’

  He laughs. ‘Too right. You can definitely have too much of a good thing. When it comes to coffee.’

  And all of a sudden, Kate isn’t thinking about Spencer, or the film, or the wine, or the tightness in her throat when Spencer looks directly into her face. She’s thinking of Daisy, the way she watches the same films over and over, the fact that when they get to the end of a book she’s enjoyed the first thing she will say is, ‘Read it again, Mummy.’ Kate half wishes that the same thing, time and again, would make her as satisfied. Would drinking coffee with Spencer every day stop being thrilling? Well, yes. But it might become something else. Something better.

  ‘Kate? Are you OK?’

  She takes a breath, comes back from wondering what Daisy is doing now, whether Richenda will get her to bed at a decent time, if she’s run around enough to keep her lungs clear today, eaten enough to give her a chance of gaining weight. Thinks about saying as much, but instead she smiles. ‘I’m fine. What did you want to say? In the car?’

  ‘Ah’ – Spencer laughs – ‘before you so rudely interrupted me with wine and warmth?’ But then his face turns serious, and he looks down into his glass, then back up at her. ‘I thought I should – explain some things.’ Kate nods, puts down her glass, holds her own hands. She will have to do her own explaining, at some point, if this is going to go anywhere.

  ‘That day I saw you in the café,’ he says, ‘I wanted to ask you out, there and then. You watched me leave, and when I looked back through the window I could see you there. I almost went back in. I stood there and I thought, I’ll just say, I’ve really enjoyed this, and I know it sounds ridiculous, but would you like to do it again sometime.’

  He goes quiet. Kate smiles encouragement, and the pit of her stomach shivers. ‘But you didn’t.’

  ‘I didn’t. I thought, you have to be so careful, when you’re a male teacher, and when you’re in a new place. I thought, I can wait. I’ll wait until Daisy isn’t in my class, at least. Then it won’t be – controversial.’

  Kate has wondered about this. ‘It’s not against the rules though, is it? Seeing someone who’s a parent.’

  ‘It’s not against the rules. There are guidelines, but they’re all a bit woolly, and as far as I’m concerned, we’re both adults, and what happens between us doesn’t affect the rest of the class, or my ability to do my job. But people can be—’

  ‘I know,’ Kate says. ‘Judgemental, petty, unkind.’

  Spencer touches the back of her hand. ‘Yes. So I thought I’d wait. There are people who would have a field day about something like this. Staffrooms can be worse than classrooms for bullying. Sometimes I saw you in the playground and I almost came out to speak to you. I wanted to say, “please wait for this year to be over, and then we can be together.” But I knew it would sound strange, because all we’d done
was have coffee at the same table; and then I pissed you off when I said no to Daisy’s party.’

  Hearing Spencer swear, oddly, makes her all the more aware that he’s a teacher, and that here, now, they are off duty. ‘I just felt stupid, for asking you.’ He’s waiting for her to say more. ‘You changed your mind, though. About waiting.’

  He smiles, touches her face, and she puts her hand over his, and their fingers slide and curl together. ‘I did, but I wanted to make sure you knew that me being here – us seeing each other – people might be unkind.’

  Kate feels a great rush of sympathy for him. She kisses his palm and sees that her mouth on his skin has exactly the same effect as his mouth on hers. ‘I’ve been gossiped about before. I know it’s horrible. But the thing is, it doesn’t change the facts. And if the facts are – if there’s nothing wrong with this—’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with this. But people will talk. And it’s really important to me that you know that, and that you’re OK with that.’

  There’s an expression in his eyes that seems way out of proportion to the difficulty of being the talk of Throckton for a couple of weeks.

  ‘I’m OK with that if you are,’ Kate says. And she is. But the thought of being talked about – the sudden silences when she walks into a shop, the looks that follow, the pretend-innocence of questions designed to needle – Kate remembers all of these things from when she was pregnant with Daisy. She remembers how the hurt of it twisted under her skin. She doesn’t relish going through it again. But she and Spencer are both single; no one has died. This won’t be as bad as last time.

  She gets up for the wine, brings the bottle over to where they are sitting. She goes to top up Spencer’s glass, but he holds out a hand to stop her. ‘I’d better not. I need to drive home.’ He looks as though he is holding his breath. She can feel that she is holding hers.

  Kate knows what he’s asking. She likes that he isn’t taking anything for granted. Even though, after the conversation they’ve just had, him spending the night here might have been seen as a given. She puts down the bottle, touches his face with her fingertips. He tilts the weight of his head towards them.

  ‘I’d like you to stay.’ She holds his gaze, so he knows that she knows what she’s asking. He holds up the wine glass, and she pours then sits down next to him. He puts his glass on the table and takes her hand. He’s slow, careful, and she realises that he’s waiting for her – for permission, perhaps, or just to be sure. Her heart opens a little more. She puts her glass down next to his and turns to kiss him.

  *

  ‘Does this come off?’ she asks, a little later, her fingers at his shirt collar, and when he nods she unbuttons his shirt. Then she bends to unbuckle her boots, shucks her feet free, tucks them beneath her. He’s waiting to kiss her again.

  But then he hesitates, and she pulls back, looking at him: the redness of his mouth, the darkness of his eyes. ‘What is it?’

  Another hesitation, the smallest shake of his head, and then he says, ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Kate doesn’t need him to declare undying love, but if he’s having doubts at this point, she should probably cut her losses. ‘Spencer? Is there something I should know?’

  He shakes his head, puts his hand on her shoulder, runs his palm up her neck and cradles the side of her head. She feels herself lean against the weight of it. It feels perfect. They feel perfect. Kate is the one who asks if they should go to bed. She goes downstairs and locks the door, switches off the hallway light. She leaves the Christmas-tree lights on; and that and the light from the streetlights coming through the thin curtains make their skin glow. This is it. She never thought she would have a relationship again, but here she is on the brink of something more real-feeling than anything else in her world. I should check my phone, she thinks, in case there’s a message from my mother; but nothing could happen to Daisy that Richenda couldn’t cope with, and there’s always the landline if there is an emergency. So, instead she walks towards Spencer – he’s standing, and the profile of his face against the light makes her take a quick, thrilled breath – reaches for his hand, and leads him to the bedroom.

  And that’s where it almost goes wrong. Because Kate realises – feels her body go from pliant to unyielding in the second it takes to put her hand on the doorknob – that she has never had sex in a bed. Never done this most normal of things. How can she hope to have any sort of a normal life? Between Daisy’s needs and her own terrible start, she must have been insane to even imagine she could have this chance. Gossip is the least of her worries. Coldness fills her, the hard earth hurtles up to meet her. She thinks of making an excuse – a missed text from her mother, a forgotten errand, a sudden backache. But after the way Spencer has confided his worries, she knows he deserves better.

  When she turns to face him, he’s looking braced, a pre-emptive hurt in his eyes. ‘It’s OK,’ he says, ‘if it’s too soon. Or too complicated. I understand.’

  She puts her hand to his face, reaching for him the way he reached for her not an hour before. ‘It’s not that,’ she says. ‘It’s – this is a big deal. There’s been no one since Daisy’s father.’ She laughs, because it’s so ridiculous to say what she’s about to say. ‘And I’ve never had sex in a bed.’

  Spencer pulls her close, against his chest, and she hears his words through her body. ‘This is a big deal for me, too,’ he says. Then, a breath later, a little more quietly, ‘You can trust me, Kate. I promise, you can trust me.’ She links her arms behind his waist, pulls herself even closer, feels his breath in her hair as he drops his mouth to the crown of her head. The spinning of her panic subsides, but she isn’t sure herself what she is going to do until she does it. She takes his hand. The tattoo on his upper arm calls out to her to be kissed, and so she kisses it, afterwards letting her finger trace its spiked edges. It’s hard to make it out in the half light. ‘What is it?’ she asks.

  ‘That? I’ve no idea. I got it for a dare on a night out when I was at uni. I don’t even remember choosing the design.’ He turns, just a little, as though he’s not sure what to do, and she leads him through her bedroom door.

  It’s a small, neat space, with little room between wardrobe, bookcase, and the single bedside table. Spencer sits on the edge of the bed and undoes his shoelaces, and she’s glad this isn’t going to be a furtive, half-dressed scramble, but something more considered, more calm. Kate pulls her dress over her head, then her top, and stands in her mismatched bra and knickers. Spencer is down to his boxer shorts. ‘Well,’ he says, holding out a hand, ‘shall we give it a go?’

  They keep their eyes closed, mostly, taking the occasional peek at each other; it’s the opposite of blinking. Afterwards, Spencer goes to dispose of the condom, and Kate climbs under the duvet, remembering the aftermath of sex with Mike: the bundling back into clothes, looking around, scurrying home. She stretches, fingertips to headboard and toes touching the footboard. Turning her head sideways, she looks at Spencer, standing in the doorway, smiling in the way she imagines she is. She pulls back the duvet and he climbs in beside her.

  ‘You’re beautiful,’ he says.

  ‘You’re handsome,’ she replies.

  ‘Seriously,’ he says, rolling onto his side to face her, eyes soft with sleep and happiness, ‘I thought I was falling for you, before. Now I know I am.’

  And suddenly Kate is crying, because it cannot be this simple, can it, surely? To meet someone, to feel a connection, to think about it – to understand the landscape – to decide, to reach, to touch. To fit. Is this what it is, to be part of a couple? Kate cannot believe how good it feels to be seen like this, not just her body but all of her. She’s not sure why she’s crying, apart from the sheer overwhelm of not being lonely, which brings with it the realisation of all the loneliness she has been engulfed in for the last six years. Longer. Maybe her whole life, one way and another.

  Spencer rolls onto his back, and she curls into his chest and cries while he
lies quietly, his hand warm at the base of her spine. Already it feels like the most natural thing in the world. He makes a noise, not a shushing exactly, because it’s not as though he wants her to be quiet. More of a sibilant hum, to let her know he’s hearing her, she’s not alone with whatever it is that she is feeling.

  ‘I didn’t think it was that bad,’ he says, when she’s become quiet, and she laughs against the damp hair of his chest, rolls onto her back.

  ‘I quite like the bed thing,’ she says.

  ‘You wouldn’t have had a place of your own, before you had Daisy,’ he says. ‘You were – what, nineteen? Once you have your own space, you forget what it was like when you lived with your parents.’

  ‘True. Though this is actually my dad’s flat; I only have it for a year. I’ll probably be home again this time next year.’ One of her hands is against his stomach and her little finger is tapping, gently. She stills it. ‘I’ve had two relationships. The first one wasn’t long and it was – well, you know. Sofas, rugs. But the second. Daisy’s father. I was still at home with my parents and he was – married, so it was mostly outdoors.’

  A pause. Perhaps a full stop. She doesn’t know how much to say. Spencer doesn’t need to know this, does he? Melissa had jokingly offered her a tutorial on going on a date. Kate wishes she’d taken her up on it.

  ‘Go on,’ he says, ‘if you want to.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she says. They lie quietly; she wonders if she will sleep, and then, when she realises that she won’t, not yet, she wonders if he is sleeping. She turns on her side to face him.

  ‘I’m not much of an outdoorsman, myself,’ he says.

  Kate laughs, and finds she has more to say after all: ‘I used to get home and find bits of moss and leaf in my underwear. I had scratches from twigs, and—’ She stops, remembering the too-hasty fingernails, the fear of being caught. It’s hard to imagine that she ever thought it was love. He strokes her back, the small of it. ‘I was going to say it was necessity, but of course it wasn’t,’ she says. ‘It just felt as though it was. It was very – passionate. Sort of – sort of furious.’