Perfect Timing

by Jill Mansell

  ‘You look great.’

  Rita, crammed into the loo behind Poppy, was handing over eyeshadow, mascara, and lipstick like an efficient nurse in an operating theatre. Except efficient nurses in operating theatres didn’t pass sterile instruments with cigarettes dangling from the corners of their mouths.

  Poppy finished her make-up with sixty seconds to spare. She fiddled with a few tendrils of hair and hastily checked her overall reflection in the mirror.

  ‘I’m getting married. I’m actually getting married.’ As she spoke, a horrible thought struck her. ‘Oh help, where are we going after this? The house is a complete tip—’

  ‘Don’t panic, that’s all sorted. Everyone back to my place.’

  Poppy was touched. ‘Oh Rita, you are brilliant. What would I do without you?’

  ‘Silly girl. D’you think Alex would have wanted your wedding reception held anywhere else?’ Rita hugged her. ‘Oh Lord, don’t you dare cry…’

  ‘I wish he was here.’ Poppy grabbed a handful of loo roll and dabbed her brimming eyes.

  ‘I know, love. So do I. Now come on, we’ve got a wedding to go to. Anyway,’ Rita announced, to distract her, ‘there’s another little surprise for you when we get home.’

  Poppy didn’t know if she could cope with anymore surprises.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ve got Kenda’s Kitchen doing the food.’ Rita’s grin was mischievous. ‘For old times’ sake.’

  Reading Group Guide

  The night before her wedding, Poppy meets Tom and has an instant attraction to him. Do you think it was love at first sight or cold feet? Knowing that she is getting married the next day, is Tom’s behavior appropriate?

  At the end of the night, Poppy has two choices: to forget Tom and go through with the wedding or to meet Tom and see what happens. She chooses the third option—going off on her own. Why do you think Poppy makes this choice? Was this the easiest choice to make? Was it the best choice?

  Everyone in Bristol loves Rob McBride and thinks he is the ideal catch, so no one understands why Poppy calls off the wedding. Have you ever broken up with someone who everyone else thought that you should be with? What were the repercussions? Did you handle things like Poppy did?

  Claudia and Poppy aren’t a great fit as roommates at first. Have you ever had a living situation that was less than ideal? Were you able to work through it to an amicable conclusion?

  Families in Perfect Timing are rather unconventional. Caspar has the perfect family, Claudia’s mother drives her crazy, and Poppy is still searching for hers. In your opinion, whose family is the most desirable? How do your relationships with family members compare to the relationships in Perfect Timing?

  In many ways, Dina’s life is what Poppy’s might have been had she gone through with her wedding. Why is Dina so discontented? Do you think her excursions to London make her more or less happy? Have you ever been envious of someone else’s life as Dina is of Poppy’s?

  Rita and Alex have an enviably happy marriage, but it wasn’t always perfect. Do you think a marriage can recover from a big roadblock like an affair? Can it make it stronger, as Rita suggests was the case for her, or will it destroy the marriage as it did for Laura and Mervyn? How does Rita and Alex’s marriage compare to the other marriages in the book?

  Tom and Poppy had an instant attraction—and initially he seemed perfect. When do you think that Poppy realizes that he might not be right for her? Have you ever thought someone was perfect for you, only to be proven wrong?

  Poppy admits that all she has been searching for throughout her life is a family that she belongs to. How did that desire lead her astray in her relationships? In the end, do you think she finds what she was looking for?

  Claudia has her idea of the perfect man set, and then she finds Jake, who seems like the last guy on earth she would go for. What changes her mind? Have the things you look for in a partner changed as you’ve matured?

  When we first meet Caspar, he is a notorious womanizer. Is he the kind of guy you expected Poppy to end up with? Do you think they are a good fit?

  Throughout the book, Poppy’s timing is sometimes completely off and other times it leads her to something she never expected. What role does timing play in where Poppy ends up? Do you believe that timing is a matter of fate, or is it something that is completely decided by chance?

  Downstairs in the living room Max was uncorking a bottle of red wine.

  ‘Here’s to the end of your first day.’ He clinked his glass against Tilly’s. ‘You haven’t run screaming back to London yet. Cheers. Not too unbearable so far, then?’

  ‘I’ve hardly done anything. I feel like a fraud.’

  ‘Hey, that’s because I haven’t started cracking my whip yet. You’ll hate the sight of me by the end of the week. Now, I’ve written a list of things I need you to do tomorrow. I’m off up to Oxford first thing, but any problems and you can give me a ring.’ Max showed her the sheet of paper, which said:

  8.00a.m. Take Lou to school.

  a.m. Drop wallpaper books back to Derwyn’s in Cirencester.

  Buy food, cook dinner, take Betty for a walk, collect six framed prints from Welch & Co. in Roxborough.

  Pick up Lou and Nesh from school at 4.10p.m.

  ‘That looks fine.’ Tilly was finding it hard to concentrate; the revelation about Jack was rocketing around inside her head and she was longing to ask a million questions. ‘Um, what would you like me to cook?’

  ‘Oh, God knows. It does my head in, trying to think about food. The joy of having you here is that now it’s your job. But we’re not fussy, so don’t get your knickers in a twist worrying about it. I’ll be home by six,’ said Max. ‘And the next day you can come out with me, give me a hand with measuring up the next job.’

  ‘Fantastic.’ Tilly wondered how soon she could swing the conversation round to Jack.

  ‘Nothing too fancy, just one of Jack’s.’

  Bingo!

  ‘Actually, Lou and I were—’

  ‘Here, I can show you the details, he left me the brochure earlier.’ Max reached for a folder on the table. ‘Jack’s in buy-to-let, did you know that? Built up quite a portfolio over the years. He picks up properties at auction and renovates them, then I make them look great before he rents them out. Now this one, for instance, is a second-floor flat in a Victorian house in Cheltenham with a south-facing living room and—’

  ‘Lou told me about his girlfriend dying,’ Tilly blurted out, no longer able to control herself. ‘The week before their wedding. Lou said she drowned.’

  Max paused, smiled slightly, drank some wine. Finally he turned to look at her.

  ‘That’s right. Oh dear, and now you’ve joined the club. I can see it in your eyes.’

  ‘What? I don’t know what you mean.’ But Tilly could feel herself turning red, because deep down she did know.

  ‘The romance of it all. The tragic widower—except he isn’t a widower because they didn’t quite manage to get married. Sorry.’ Max shook his head, his tone wry. ‘Jack’s one of my best friends and what happened was terrible, but it just amuses me to see the effect it has on the opposite sex. As if he isn’t bloody good-looking enough to start with, and smart and successful with it. The moment women hear his history, that’s it, they lose all control. It makes them want him all the more. And now it’s happened to you.’

  ‘It hasn’t,’ Tilly protested, redder than ever.

  ‘Don’t give me that.’ Looking resigned, Max said, ‘D’you know what? If Jack seduces you and dumps you and breaks your heart, and you’re so distraught as a result that you realize you can’t carry on living here any more and you hand in your notice and bugger off leaving me and Lou high and dry, I swear to God, best friend or no best friend, I’m personally going to break the tragic widower’s neck.’

  Tilly was still longing to hear all the details; having told her the basics, Louisa had been overcome with the urge to sleep. ‘I already told you, I’m nobody�
��s notch.’

  ‘Ah, but that was before you knew the whole story.’

  Frustration welled up. ‘I still don’t know the whole story!’

  ‘OK. Ready for a top-up?’ Max refilled her glass then stuck his feet up on the coffee table in front of the sofa. ‘Get those tissues ready, girl. Jack and Rose were together for three years. She was gorgeous, a year younger than him, the prettiest thing you ever saw. Everyone loved her. They got engaged on Christmas Eve five years ago. The wedding was booked for the following December. It was due to be held at the church in the village in Pembrokeshire where Rose had grown up. Everything was arranged. Then they found out Rose was pregnant, which was the icing on the cake. They couldn’t wait to become parents. Rose was crazy about horse-riding but Jack made her give up in case it damaged the baby. Anyhow, the week before the wedding, Rose went on ahead to Wales to stay with her parents and do all that last-minute faffing about. Jack stayed behind here, tying up loose ends to do with the business. On the Sunday morning, Rose took her parents’ dog for a walk along the seafront. It was a stormy day, the sea was rough. Basically, the dog was chasing a seagull into the surf and it got into difficulties. This was an animal Rose had practically grown up with. The whole family was besotted with him. Well, people saw Rose yelling to the dog but he couldn’t get back to shore. The next moment she’d jumped off the rocks into the sea.’

  Tilly’s mouth was bone dry; listening to a story like this when you already knew the outcome was unbearable.

  ‘And you know what?’ said Max. ‘She did rescue the dog. God knows how, but she managed to reach him and get him close enough to the rocks to be able to scramble to safety. But she couldn’t save herself. A huge wave crashed over her, then the weight of the water dragged her down and the currents swept her away. By the time the lifeboat reached her, it was too late. She was dead.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say.’ Tilly shook her head, trying and failing to imagine the horror of it. ‘Her poor family.’

  ‘It was rough,’ Max agreed, taking another glug of wine. ‘The parents were devastated. They’d lost their daughter and their grandchild—their whole future, basically. And of course Jack blamed himself. He was convinced that if only he’d gone to Pembrokeshire instead of staying here, it would never have happened.’ He paused, exhaled heavily. ‘The thing is, of course, he had a point. Anyway, that was it. No more wedding; we had a funeral instead. Rose’s family was in pieces. Jack went through the whole thing on autopilot. Afterwards he threw himself into his work. Then, about six months later, he started… socializing again.’ Dryly Max said, ‘And he’s been socializing ever since, in pretty epic fashion. We’re thinking of contacting the Guinness Book of Records. Except they’d send some poor innocent girl down here to check him out and we all know what would happen next. Imagine the next year, opening the book and reading: “The world record for seducing women is held by Jack Lucas, aged 33, of Roxborough in the Cotswolds, who said he’d phone me, who promised faithfully that I’d see him again, but oh no, he’s just a rotten lying bastard who thinks he can get away with treating us women like rubbish… I mean, who the hell does he think he is?”’

  There was a not-so-subtle message in there somewhere. In fact Tilly supposed she should be grateful Max wasn’t using a megaphone to bellow the message right in her face.

  ‘Everyone wants to make him better,’ Max went on. ‘They all think they’ll be the one to make a difference, to break through the barriers and make Jack fall in love again. But it’s been four years now. Take it from me, he’s not interested in any of that lovey-dovey stuff. He’d rather steer clear of commitment and stay single. That way he can’t be hurt again. And that,’ Max concluded, ‘is what makes Jack irresistible. That’s the challenge.’ He stopped and looked sideways at Tilly, to gauge her reaction.

  ‘What happened to the dog?’ said Tilly.

  ‘It died a year later. Nothing dramatic, just old age. Went to sleep and never woke up. Pretty good way to go.’ Max held up his glass and said deadpan, ‘Although given the choice, I’d prefer a night with Johnny Depp.’

  About the Author

  Jill Mansell lives with her partner and children in Bristol and writes full time. Actually, that’s not true; she watches TV, eats gum drops, admires the rugby players training in the sports field behind her house, and spends hours on the Internet marveling at how many other writers have blogs. Only when she’s completely run out of ways to procrastinate does she write.