The Perfect Present

by Karen Swan

  ‘What?’ Laura asked, toppling backwards off her feet and landing on her bottom with a thump, splattering yet more paint on the floor. ‘That’s—’ She stopped herself only just in time from saying ‘great’. ‘That’s a shame. You seemed keen.’

  Fee shrugged awkwardly.

  ‘Was it the incessant Korean?’ Laura asked, trying to raise a smile. But for once it didn’t work and this time it was Fee who turned away. ‘Well, I met a guy in Verbier who’d be perfect for you. His name’s Mark, he’s a ski instructor, and he’s totally drop-dead gorgeous,’ Laura said, doing her best impression of the teenage speak that Fee still used.

  ‘Oh right,’ Fee said, tapping her foot. ‘Well, I’ll just get the next flight out, then, book a lesson and we can get on with choosing names for our babies.’

  Laura rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t be like that. Even Kitty thinks he’s gorgeous, and she’s very circumspect.’

  Fee’s eyebrow jogged at the mention of Kitty’s name. ‘Well, if Kitty thinks so . . .’ she said, employing Laura’s trademark sarcasm.

  ‘Fee! I’m just trying to cheer you up.’

  ‘’Course you are. Because now you’ve got your new flash friends to run your life for you, we’d better all bow down to them. They know best, right?’

  Laura bit her lip in the face of her friend’s jealousy. Suddenly, she didn’t know how she was going to bring up the topic of Cat’s launch party.

  ‘I care about you and want something more for you, Fee, that’s all. You could live such an interesting life. I don’t want you to just settle like – ’ She stopped.

  ‘What? Like you, you mean?’

  ‘I wasn’t going to say that.’

  ‘Yes you were.’

  ‘No! You and I both know that Jack’s Mr Perfect. You’re the one always telling me how lucky I am, and I am. I know I am.’

  Fee narrowed her eyes. ‘Oh yeah? Then why’s your voice gone all funny?’

  ‘I’m tired, Fee!’ Laura cried, throwing her hands up in the air. ‘I was up at dawn today.’

  ‘You weren’t supposed to be. You were supposed to be coming back this evening,’ Fee said calmly, watching her closely.

  ‘Yes, and I realized I had far too much work to do to lose half a working day to packing and drinking freshly squeezed papaya juice in Switzerland.’ She swallowed hard, wondering what they had all said when they came down to her note on the kitchen table this morning:

  Family emergency, so sorry, have to catch first flight. Thank you for a lovely weekend. I’ll never forget it, Laura.

  If she was lucky, only Rob would know the real reason she had fled and no one would think any more about it.

  ‘You’re crying,’ Fee whispered.

  ‘I’m just tired,’ Laura half said, half sobbed, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes. ‘I slept badly again last night.’ After two nights of deep, dreamless sleep, she had been punished for it with her usual nightmare, only with three times more menace than usual – a shadow covering her till she was blind and breathless, crushing her until her bones snapped, reasserting itself as the black shroud she must wear at all times. What had seemed so bright, so possible in the sunlight in Verbier had slipped out of reach again: passion, adventure, accomplishment, friendships . . . plain bloody fun – they were never supposed to have been hers. She belonged to the fringes, the shadows.

  Fee stared at her strangely ‘Well, this hut’s not going to paint itself,’ she murmured. ‘Come on, let’s put on some music to get us going,’ she said, pulling out her iPod and scrolling through to some Tinie Tempah. She placed it on the windowsill, turned it up so loud that the panes vibrated, and the two of them immersed themselves in the job in hand, both grateful not to have to talk any more. For the first time in their friendship, a problem shared was a problem doubled.

  They let themselves into the studio four hours later, speckled with paint like mistle thrushes, arms aching.

  ‘Aahhh!’ Laura sighed as Fee flopped dramatically on the sofa. ‘That was harder than it looked. I can’t believe we still haven’t finished it.’

  She stopped in the middle of the room as she clocked the miles of warm-white fairy lights Fee had stapled around the vast windows over the weekend. The studio twinkled like a fairy’s grotto and Laura clapped her hands delightedly. ‘Wow! This looks great, Fee! Very festive. Maybe we should have Christmas in here.’ She noticed a tiny potted Christmas tree on the small table near the wood-burning stove. ‘Fee?’

  Fee had been unusually quiet all afternoon. Once they’d got going, Laura had done most of the talking, but they were significantly down on their usual quota of words per minute and she sensed Fee was taking the break-up with Paul harder than she would admit – or at least admit to Laura.

  ‘Huh? What?’

  ‘Tea?’ Laura asked, walking straight over to her bench.

  ‘Love one,’ Fee replied quietly.

  ‘I meant, would you make one, you daft nana,’ Laura chuckled, trying to josh her along. ‘I’ve got work to get on with. I’ve chosen the charms from the interviews this weekend. Just got to . . . oh, make them now. Seven charms in ten days, and I’ve still got two interviews remaining.’ She shook her head. ‘Honestly, I must have been mad taking all this on.’

  ‘Well, think of it this way – you’re giving Jack his dream for Christmas, and you got a free holiday out of it,’ Fee replied flatly.

  Laura kept her eyes down and her back turned as she arranged her tools in descending size on the bench. She couldn’t help but feel she had lost more than she had gained on that holiday. Yes, she had given herself a ‘lost weekend’ – fifty hours out of her own life to indulge in her every desire (and how!) – but it had come at too high a price. She’d been naïve to think she could take it. From the moment she’d stolen away at dawn this morning, she’d felt like she was rolling in glass, every achingly familiar step through her own life today making her heart contract sharply. She’d been robbed of the peace of mind that had made her life here bearable before.

  She pressed the answerphone button, irritated by the flashing red light.

  ‘Hello . . . this is a message for – muffled cough – Laura Cunningham. This is Olive Tremayne speaking . . . I . . . I would like to invite you to the house for the interview on Wednesday, one o’clock . . . Don’t call back. I’ll assume you’re coming unless I hear to the contrary. Goodbye.’

  Laura listened to the recording twice. The woman’s voice was clipped and incredibly strained. What had Rob said to her to force this change of heart? She closed her eyes, feeling her nerves rising already.

  She pressed for the next message.

  ‘Hello? Anyone there?’ Laura instinctively smiled at the sound of Kitty’s voice. ‘It’s me, Kit. Just checking in on you, hoping everything’s all right with your family emergency.’ Laura shut her eyes, knowing Fee was already frowning at her. ‘All’s well here. I got back two hours ago and had to go straight into lopping trees in the orchard. Back to reality, huh?’ An image of Kitty swinging from a harness with a power tool in one hand made Laura burst out laughing, prompting further furrowed brows from Fee. ‘Anyway, I just wanted to say, please do pop in whenever you’re in the area next. Verbier was such fun! Missing you already, sweets. Byeee.’

  ‘She’s pally,’ Fee said coolly, sitting up on the sofa.

  ‘Yes, I guess so.’

  ‘You need to be careful, Laura.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘“Be friendly, not familiar” – that’s what my grandpa always used to say. Wise words too. They’re only clients, remember.’

  Laura looked over at her. ‘You sound jealous, Fee.’

  ‘I’m not jealous.’

  ‘No?’ Laura arched an eyebrow.

  Fee shot Laura her most innocent look and a short silence passed between them. Things had been changing recently, Laura could feel it. Other people were coming between them – first Paul, now Kitty and the others, breaking the seal on their cosy little vacuum. Th
ere seemed to be an almost constant undercurrent of tension in their conversations.

  ‘So, tea was it, m’lady?’ Fee asked, hoisting herself up off the sofa with a pained expression.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll do it,’ Laura sighed, crossing the room.

  ‘Have you spoken to Jack since you got home?’ Fee asked, watching her.

  ‘No. But that’s a good point. I’d better try him again. There’s no reception on the beach. I’ll call him now.’

  ‘Oh, leave it – let’s have our tea first.’

  ‘I should just let him know I’m back.’

  ‘He can wait a bit longer. You’re always going off after talking to him. He’ll tell you he’s already home making some romantic supper and I won’t get my cup of tea. And then what’ll I do?’

  ‘Make it yourself?’ Laura smiled, relieved to see some of Fee’s usual dramatics return.

  ‘Meh!’ Fee said, swiping the suggestion away and falling back on the sofa.

  Laura rolled her eyes as she walked over to the kitchenette, catching sight of her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She looked noticeably younger and healthier. More vital. She stopped and stared at her new image, trying to see herself as Jack would see her tonight. Would he like it? What would he say? What would she? Would he see the other changes in her too?

  She gave a small resolute nod to her own reflection, like an officer to his sergeant. It was only a hair colour. It didn’t mean anything. She was still Jack’s girl, the girl he chose to love – in spite of all her meekness and small-mindedness and sarcasm. She blinked hard, banishing Rob’s harsh words from her mind. That was already the past. Unreal. She was home now and back on a safe path once more, no net required.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  None of the lights were on inside the cottage as she parked Dolly at the back and walked down the garden path, her eyes scanning for the usual ice patches. She let herself in, wondering if Jack had splurged on the tree and where he’d put it. The position of the Christmas tree constituted one of their three annual rows, the other two being Valentine’s Day cards are not romantic (her position), and the first day of the Ashes should be a bank holiday (his).

  She silently bet herself he’d put it in the back corner of the sitting room, even though he knew she preferred it in the small bowed window that nudged into the street. It looked prettier and more festive from outside, and acted as a screen for nosy passers-by looking in on them, but Jack felt it was too close to the door there and made him feel like he was walking into a hedge.

  Laura switched the lights on and hung up her coat in the porch before opening the sitting-room door, to see whether her hunch was right. She stared in dismay at the pristine sight before her. Nothing had been done apart from the hoovering. There was no tree, no tinsel, not a card nor plastic angel to be seen. Even the candle on the coffee table was a lily-of-the-valley scent from the summer. It could have been July.

  Feeling disproportionately flattened by the revelation, she moved into the kitchen, kicking off her shoes by the table and staring, bewildered, into the fridge. Carrots, mushrooms, a pot of chicken liver pâté, hummus, some tenderstem broccoli and mint jelly. She racked her brain, wondering what meal Jack was planning to make out of those ingredients and whether she could make it first.

  ‘You’re home.’

  Jack’s voice was quiet behind her.

  Laura spun round with fright. ‘Wha—?’ she shrieked, holding on to the fridge door for support, one hand trying to steady her hammering heart. ‘Jack! What are you doing sneaking up on me like that? You almost gave me a heart attack. Jesus! I didn’t hear you come in.’

  ‘That’s because I wasn’t out. I was upstairs,’ he replied in a subdued voice, his eyes on her hair as if it was moving of its own accord. If he was as shocked as she was, he was doing a better job of hiding it.

  He’d been upstairs in the dark? Laura swallowed nervously. ‘Like it?’ she asked, plastering a hopeful smile on her face and bobbing the bottom of her hair with her hands.

  ‘When were you going to tell me, Laur?’

  ‘Well, I thought it would be better to show you than tell you over the phone. I thought you might freak out and think I’d done a Marilyn or something. But it’s not bright blonde, is it?’ she asked rhetorically. ‘It’s just a few shades stronger than my natural colour.’

  He gave a tired sigh and walked up to her at the fridge. Laura puckered up for a kiss, but Jack simply reached past her and pulled out a beer.

  ‘Jack?’ she asked, as he turned and walked out of the room again.

  Laura stared at the spot where he’d been standing, trying to make sense of what had just happened. She followed him into the sitting room, where he had thrown himself on the sofa and was flicking through the sports channels at lightning speed.

  ‘Jack? What’s wrong?’ she asked, resting her cheek against the edge of the door.

  His eyes flicked up to her. ‘I asked you a question. If you want to waste my time and yours gabbling on about your hair, then be my guest. I’d rather hang out here.’

  ‘But I thought that’s what you were talking about.’

  ‘Did you now?’ Sarcasm oozed from his words. Everyone was at it.

  ‘Yes. What are you talking about?’

  ‘You really can’t guess?’

  Her heart lurched and Laura sank on to the arm of the sofa. She could now. His eyes – bitter and disappointed – told her exactly what he knew. He’d had the realization in the middle of the night after all.

  ‘Oh God, Jack. It’s not what you think. I can explain. I wasn’t trying to—’

  ‘What? Hide it from me? Get it taken care of before I could do anything about it? No, of course not!’

  ‘I mean it, Jack. I was going to tell you. I just needed time to think. It was a shock, that was all.’

  ‘That’s why you couldn’t get on that plane fast enough, wasn’t it?’ He wouldn’t look at her.

  Laura swallowed. ‘It’s true I thought the change of scenery would do me good. I thought it would help me get some perspective.’

  ‘And did it? Did partying with a load of hedge-funders in Verbier help you decide whether to keep our baby?’

  She looked down, his words hitting hard. ‘You know it’s not a straightforward decision for me.’

  He was quiet for a long time. ‘You know what I think, Laura? I don’t think your concerns were about whether or not to have a baby. I think they were about whether or not to have my baby.’

  ‘Jack, no!’ Laura gasped, collapsing on to the sofa next to him. ‘That’s categorically not true.’

  ‘No?’ His eyes followed a bobsleigh hurtling down a luge.

  She shook her head frantically. ‘It just wasn’t a decision that I could take lightly.’

  ‘But you could take it alone, that’s what you’re saying?’

  ‘I would have told you, Jack – I promise!’ Laura cried, stretching across the sofa so that she was now sitting on his lap and obscuring his view of the TV screen that he was so determined to focus on. ‘I just needed to discover what I thought first before I told you. I already knew what you would say,’ she said softly, stroking his cheek.

  ‘Did you?’ His eyes met hers.

  She nodded. ‘I know you’d love a baby more than anything. I know how badly you want us to be a proper family. But having children isn’t something we’ve ever talked about and I just didn’t know that I could do it. I’d be so frightened all the time and what kind of mother would that make me? I’d be neurotic and smothering . . .’ She kissed his temple lightly. ‘And I knew that if I told you, you’d talk me into it with that ruthless, gentle persuasion of yours.’

  Laura rested her cheek against the top of his head, her fingers stroking his shaggy hair. Sweet, darling Jack, so dependable and safe and familiar, like worn slippers; he was everything she wanted. He didn’t change with the wind; he didn’t push her to be someone she didn’t want to be; he didn’t make her jump out of helicopters or
slam her against walls to kiss her; he didn’t hold her heart in his hand and leave her breathless and terrified that he might crush it with whimsical caprice.

  She closed her eyes. If Verbier had shown her anything, it was how fragile her world was without Jack, how quickly she had succumbed to her own passions in his absence, sampling danger and desire with reckless abandon. She needed Jack’s quiet steer and gentle guidance.

  ‘But Verbier gave me the time I needed, Jack, and I think maybe we should have a baby.’ She waited for the light to reach his eyes, but it didn’t. He pulled away, silent and unresponsive. ‘Jack?’ she asked, watching the Adam’s apple in his throat bob up and down. ‘Did you hear what I said?’

  He got up, moving her so roughly to the side that she practically fell back on to the sofa. He walked over to the window, where the Christmas tree wasn’t.

  ‘I can see that you’re trying, don’t think I can’t,’ he said quietly. ‘But I can always see it; that’s the problem.’

  Laura looked at him in confusion. ‘What?’

  ‘You try so hard all the time to love me.’

  ‘I do love you, Jack.’

  He shook his head. ‘No. You love what I represent, and that’s not enough any more. It hasn’t been for a long time.’ He looked into the deserted street. The cottage opposite was empty – owned by Londoners who only came on summer weekends – and shrouded in darkness. ‘I told myself that I could love you enough for the both of us, but every day I watch you trying to live my life with me and every day it breaks my heart.’

  ‘It’s our life, Jack.’

  ‘No. It’s mine. I belong here. I have a business, friends—’

  ‘So do I.’

  ‘You live on the surface, Laura. You could pick up your tools and leave tomorrow and the only people who would notice would be me and Fee.’ He looked at her sadly. ‘I see you trying to mould yourself into the person you think you should be for us. If I didn’t love you so much, I’d hate you for it. It’s so patronizing seeing you fold into smaller versions of yourself – but I’d have put up with anything so long as you stayed.’