Nobody's Perfect

by Stephanie Butland

  ‘Do you mind if I get a glass of water?’ Spencer asks.

  ‘Of course not.’ He stands, and walks over to the kitchen: Kate looks at his long tall body, the stoop of his shoulders; even though he has his back to her, she can visualise his face, in exact detail, as though she’s had to learn him for a test. He turns on the tap, fills the glass, and sits down opposite her again.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Kate. I should have told you, at the start.’

  ‘Why didn’t you?’ Say something good, Kate thinks, say something that will make this awful taste in my mouth go away. Because right now, all I can think is that you’re saying whatever you need to say to put this right. And it’s more complicated than that.

  He shakes his head. ‘At the start, I thought if I told you, you would put two and two together and make five. I’m not stupid. I know it sounds creepy. And we were in your bed and you talked about Mike and I almost told you about Amanda. But then I thought, if I was you, what would I think of me, if I told you. So I thought if I waited, until you’d got to know me better, then you would understand better.’

  ‘It’s not a question of understanding,’ Kate says, and she can hear how chill her voice is, but it’s not surprising because her heart is growing colder. ‘I think you underestimate me if you think I’m not capable of understanding what happened—’

  ‘I didn’t mean—’ Spencer says, but Kate holds up a hand that would stop traffic.

  ‘I think you underestimate me if you think I’m not capable of understanding what happened,’ Kate repeats, ‘and I can see why it would be a hard conversation to have, especially at the beginning. But we’ve spent such a lot of time together. I know it’s only been four months, but we’ve been together such a lot of that time.’ There’s a pleading in her tone: go back in time, tell me, fix this. She thinks of the quiet hospital evenings, Spencer, a fixture from 4 p.m. until 9 p.m., or later if the nurse on duty was a romantic. Weekends where they’ve barely been parted. Spencer, lying in her bed, stroking her hair, asking questions about her parents, Throckton, the plans she’d had before Daisy: ‘tell me more, Kate,’ he’d said, and she’d laughed, and said, ‘I don’t think there’s anything else to tell you. You’ve wrung me dry.’

  ‘I know,’ Spencer says. ‘I just didn’t want to screw this up. I thought I would tell you about it on our weekend away. Then Daisy was ill. When Daisy was in hospital, I didn’t want to worry you, and when she was out you looked so tired, and I didn’t want to spoil things—’

  ‘What did you think would happen?’ Kate can feel herself getting angry now, the numbness that’s filled her fading, and the heat setting in. ‘Did you think I would never find out?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Spencer shakes his head.

  ‘And all this with Bridget Piper,’ Kate says, her voice getting louder and then, with a glance at Daisy’s bedroom door, deliberately softer. ‘Wouldn’t that have been a good time to tell me? When you were being accused of an inappropriate relationship with the mother of a pupil with special educational needs? Did that not’ – she pauses, takes a breath, measures out the next words – ‘jog your memory?’

  ‘I wanted to tell you,’ Spencer says.

  ‘Oh, well, that’s all right then.’ Kate gets up, not because she needs anything, just because she can’t stay sitting. She walks to the sink, runs water into a glass, takes a mouthful, pours it away.

  ‘I almost did,’ Spencer says. He gets up, walks over to her. ‘I’m sorry, Kate.’

  ‘Why didn’t you?’ Kate asks. ‘You’re not a child, Spencer. You didn’t need permission. I was here. All you had to do was open your bloody mouth.’

  ‘I know’ – he says – ‘but – well – it’s complicated.’

  ‘Really? it seems very simple to me.’

  Spencer shakes his head. ‘I mean, with school. If I’d told you when – when I told you about what Bridget had said—’

  ‘Which would have been a good time to tell me, all of those other opportunities having been missed—’

  ‘If I’d told you when I told you what Bridget had said—’ Spencer repeats. Here’s where the argument is bigger than the two of them, unstoppable. Right here. Kate’s gaze, which has been fixed on her toes, or maybe her tightly crossed arms, flicks up to his face, down again. ‘If I’d told you then, it might have made things worse.’

  ‘Unlike now?’ Kate says.

  ‘I mean—’ Spencer says, his voice now with a deliberately controlled edge to it, as though he is in the right, and she is being unreasonable. Her heart tightens a little more; something in her sours. ‘If I’d told you then, you might have said something to someone – Wendy or Jo – and if you had—’

  ‘If I’d told the truth,’ Kate says into the pause, ‘because you had put me and Daisy before you and your job, yes?’

  ‘Well, if the Head had got wind of it, she would have had to investigate. It would have looked like – predatory behaviour. Jane probably would have called it as a child safeguarding concern, which would have been how it looked. She would have had no choice.’

  Just for a moment, Kate is on his side. She is looking straight into his eyes, and she understands. Her look says that he might be a liar, a terrible boyfriend, that she could retell the tale of their relationship as one in which she was manipulated by someone with a thing for vulnerable women, but that as far as Daisy is concerned, his behaviour is impeccable, unquestionable.

  ‘I wouldn’t have said anything, Spencer,’ and she hears how his name has two soft S sounds when she says it, ‘or thought – what you think I thought.’

  ‘I know.’ He stands, takes a step towards her. She takes a half step back. It’s almost progress. ‘But headteachers can’t be too careful. And I would have been suspended, and God knows how long the investigation would have taken. By the time I was cleared, Throckton would be full of people saying that there’s no smoke without fire and it would go on my permanent record. That wouldn’t have been the end of my career, but it probably would have been the end of my job here – even if I could have come back to work it would have been awful. You can imagine. I couldn’t risk telling you in case you said something.’

  She can imagine. Kate looks away, down. ‘So you risked me – us – instead of risking the career that you’ve told me you’re having doubts about? The career that you think you might give up to work in a cinema.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s fair.’ Spencer looks empty, exhausted.

  ‘Fair?’ Kate says, and this time her voice is loud and she’s making no attempt to be quiet. ‘I don’t think that’s a word you should be using. Do you think you’ve been fair? Coming round here and being all—’ She wants to cry, but she bites her tears away. ‘You’ve been so – perfect – with all your support and understanding and how lovely you are and how funny and how you’ve made my life easier, and made me feel as though – as though’ – the tears won’t stay back, they are running down her face now – ‘as though a different life is possible. And now—’

  ‘I’m sorry, Kate. I’m so sorry.’ She looks into his face. He is crying too. Well, let him. ‘Kate, you have to see. I might be a fool, I might have made a wrong call. But I love you.’

  ‘You could have told me and asked me not to say anything,’ she says. She’s not accusing him, anymore.

  ‘I know. But I didn’t think that was right. I know how honest you are.’

  ‘Then you know how much I value honesty.’

  ‘Yes, I know that.’ His voice is quiet and even.

  And then they are calm. It’s all said: or rather, the appetite for going over it, arguing about it, has gone, from Kate; and Spencer looks as though he has no energy for anything. She looks at him, wiping her eyes; if he can see how hurt, how disappointed she is, so much the better. He has turned out to be too good to be true, right here in front of her eyes.

  Cautious, he holds out his arms to her, as though wordlessness might work where words have failed. She walks towards him, puts her head ag
ainst his chest. His arms go round her, gently, and although she leaves her hands by her sides, not embracing him, the weight of her body cleaves to his.

  But only for a moment.

  Kate pulls away.

  ‘I’m sorry, Spencer. I can’t.’ She wishes she could. But there’s a hurt here, too deep to be healed by touch, by apology, by the hope that tomorrow will be better. She looks into his face, a sad, tired mirror of her own. ‘I want you to go.’

  ‘Go for tonight or go forever?’

  ‘I think – forever.’ Kate’s voice is quiet. She hears that it has no tone: no disappointment, no malice. There’s no point, now. He’ll go, and she’ll get into bed, switch off the light, lying unmoving with her eyes open, trying to make it feel as though she can bear it. She almost convinces herself that she has borne worse.

  Chapter 21

  Mid-April, the following Saturday

  K

  ATE DRAGS HERSELF THROUGH the rest of the week. It feels long. She lies awake at night and dozes during the day, when Daisy is at school. She finds one of Spencer’s ties on the floor by the bed and sleeps with it under her pillow. She tells Melissa about the break up, and Melissa kisses her fingertips, holds them out to her phone screen, and says, ‘Babe, I wish I could make this better for you.’

  Kate hasn’t told anyone about Amanda. She’s not sure she ever will. It’s too humiliating, to have imagined that she and Spencer had something special when, really, she was no more than his usual – you might say target – woman. SEN child, single, money in the bank. All she says to Melissa is that he isn’t as perfect as he seemed.

  On Saturday, Wendy, Jilly, Kate and Daisy go bridesmaid-dress shopping. The wedding party arrives in Marsham in time for coffee, Wendy having gamely played I Spy with Daisy all the way in the car and on the short walk to the café that’s their first port of call. When they get to ‘something beginning with Buh Cuh’ (Big Cake) Kate calls a halt. They sit at the table in the window, and while they wait for their coffee and pains au chocolat, Wendy brings an iPad out of her bag and shows Kate and Daisy pictures of the bridal couple’s outfits. Wendy will be in a soft, sea-green, silky dress, while Jilly will wear something long, sleek and navy. Kate smiles and does her best to join in with the chatter, to match the excitement, though Wendy’s frequent worried glances her way show that she isn’t doing a very good job.

  Daisy is still looking at the brides’ dresses, the smallest of puckers in her smooth little forehead. Time for Kate to intervene.

  ‘Aren’t they lovely?’ Kate prompts.

  ‘Yes.’ Daisy still looks doubtful, though, and Kate can see that she’s wondering what the implications of such a non-traditional approach is for her bridesmaid’s dress. She wonders how her daughter has such clear ideas, already, of what a bride should be. It’s depressing. She pins her smile on tighter.

  ‘We think any colour will go with green and blue,’ Wendy says, ‘so you can choose whatever you like, Daisy. We’re going to a very special shop next, and we’ll see what they have.’

  All of the pink dresses in the bridal shop are tasteful shades of shell and rose, and perhaps that’s what leads Daisy to fix on a bolder turquoise. Whatever her reason, the dress looks beautiful, making her eyes shine and her skin glow. It has what Daisy calls a ‘stick-out skirt’, her main prerequisite for a bridesmaid’s dress, and the neckline, waist and hem have lines of tiny, sequinned flowers. They are halfway through putting it on when Daisy has a coughing fit; Kate rubs her back until it passes, and cannot help but put her hand on her daughter’s forehead, just in case. ‘I’m not hot, Mummy,’ Daisy says, with a slightly panicked expression, ‘we don’t need to go home early.’

  ‘It’s OK, darling,’ Kate says. ‘I’m just checking.’

  ‘Is there anything you need?’ the sales assistant calls through the curtain. She sounds anxious, but to Kate’s experienced ear it sounds more like worry for the dress than for the bridesmaid herself.

  ‘We’re fine.’ Kate pulls back the curtain and Daisy twirls in front of Wendy and Jilly, who make appreciative noises.

  ‘The – equipment – might catch’ – the sales assistant looks at Daisy’s arm, nervous – ‘and would you want something with sleeves to go over it?’

  ‘Oh, the line is coming out next week,’ Kate says, and then adds, looking the saleswoman straight in the eye, ‘though I don’t think it should be a barrier to Daisy wearing what she wants. And anyone who thinks a PICC line has to be hidden in case it spoils a wedding should be ashamed of themselves.’

  The PICC-line removal won’t come a moment too soon. It’s not so much that the line is bothering Daisy: Kate is more concerned that it isn’t, and she’s become so used to it that she never gives it a second thought. Kate has noticed that she holds her arm at an angle to stop the line from getting in the way without realising she’s doing it, and puts out her arm for Kate to put on the plastic protector as though it’s a normal part of anyone’s bath time routine.

  ‘Well, that’s good,’ Wendy says, then adds, ‘Not for the wedding, I mean, for Daisy.’

  ‘I know.’ Kate smiles. Daisy is standing on a plinth in front of a triple mirror, admiring herself from all sides, while the assistant tries to measure her; the dress is a little too short and pulls under the arms, so it will certainly be too small in seven weeks’ time. They will collect a made-to-measure version the week before the wedding. By then, Kate thinks, she might feel better about Spencer. But a part of her – the part that knew, always, that Mike didn’t love her, the part that was telling her Daisy was ill even as she and Spencer drove away for their weekend together – doubts it.

  Still, she is here with three happy, excited people, and she tries to be carried along with their mood. Off-duty Wendy is funny and playful, trying on veils when the shop assistant’s back is turned and making Daisy laugh. Jilly is quieter, and her gaze follows Wendy everywhere she goes. She tells Kate that she and Wendy have been together for almost two decades, and that they have been campaigning for equal marriage for as long as there has been a campaign. But they have waited for their own wedding until Jilly’s father died.

  ‘I know we’re hypocrites,’ she says. Kate shakes her head.

  ‘Things just aren’t that easy,’ she replies.

  All in all, it’s a successful day for the bridesmaid-to-be. By the end of it, Daisy has white patent shoes, tights with a sparkle, and the promise of a crown of flowers for her hair on the big day. And she still has energy left for more I Spy in the car on the way home.

  ‘I spy with my little eye, something beginning with Buh,’ Wendy says, and Daisy tries Bus and Blue Car before guessing Bridesmaid with a gurgle of laughter. Kate, in the passenger seat, watches the rain on the windscreen and tries not to cry.

  Wendy gets out of the car to say goodbye to Kate and Daisy. She hugs Kate, tight, and says, ‘If it’s any comfort, he’s in as much of a state as you are.’ Kate doesn’t know whether it helps or not. She takes Daisy by the hand and turns away.

  Chapter 22

  Late April to Early June

  I

  T’S THE THURSDAY OF the following week, and Kate and Daisy are heading to Richenda and Blake’s house for dinner. Kate has told her mother, quietly, that everything is over with Spencer. She hasn’t said why, and she hasn’t said how. She has had no energy left, after getting through the day. And she hasn’t said anything to Daisy, telling herself over and over that the time isn’t right. The irony of this is not lost on her. But Daisy is a child who deserves protection. Whereas Kate is an adult and she deserved an honesty from Spencer that she did not get.

  ‘Will Spencer be there?’ Daisy asks as they round the corner onto her mother’s road.

  ‘No,’ Kate says, ‘Spencer won’t be there. He has lots of things to do on school nights.’

  ‘He used to come on school nights, before the Easter holidays,’ Daisy says. Kate recognises her own mild tone, used when she needs to help her daughter understand something.
>
  Now is probably as good a time as any. She can get it over with, and then her mother and Blake will be a distraction. ‘Daisy, things have changed a little bit. Spencer isn’t going to be coming round, anymore.’

  ‘Because he’s busy?’ Daisy asks.

  It’s tempting to say yes, but the thought of the untruth spikes at her. ‘No. Because he and I have – decided – that he isn’t going to be my boyfriend anymore.’ Don’t cry, she tells herself, the way she tells herself most days. Although it’s not so much ‘don’t cry’ as ‘cry later, when Daisy’s in bed’.

  Daisy has stopped in the street, and is looking up at Kate. ‘But you said we were going to be a family, with Spencer,’ she says.

  ‘We were, but—’ Kate says. She wishes she had stuck with Spencer being busy, at least for now.

  ‘A family,’ Daisy says, stubbornness as well as patience in her voice now, ‘is a family. You can’t undo a family.’

  ‘No,’ Kate says, ‘but sometimes things change. And you said you liked it when it was just us, remember?’ Kate thinks of the time before she met Spencer, the nights she and Daisy would fall asleep together in her bed.

  ‘Sometimes I did,’ Daisy says, darkly, opening the gate to her grandmother’s house, ‘but you say people are allowed to have a bad mood. I miss Spencer.’

  ‘You see him every day at school.’

  Daisy sighs, and looks at Kate as though she is a particularly trying doll. ‘That’s not what I mean, Mummy. And anyway, he’s Mr Swanson at school. It’s not the same.’

  Kate can’t help herself. ‘Why is it different?’

  ‘Because at school he’s like a grown-up, and when he’s at home he’s like one of us. I liked that better.’