Not Quite Perfect

by Annie Lyons

  ‘Don’t be so mean,’ says Rachel hitting him on the arm.

  ‘What? Are you scared he’ll hear?’

  ‘Yes and it’s not true. He’s a very nice man!’

  ‘“A very nice man”,’ parrots Steve laughing. ‘He fancies you.’

  Rachel laughs too quickly. ‘He does not!’

  Steve raises his eyebrows. ‘Well, who cares? He’s got very good taste and anyway, you’re all mine,’ he declares, cupping her face in his hands and starting to kiss her neck. Rachel shivers with delight. ‘I think,’ he says in between kisses, ‘we might be able to bring back that lovin’ feeling after all.’

  Rachel smiles, but gives him a gentle shove. ‘All in good time, Mr Luvva Luvva. I think we should try and have that chat.’

  Steve frowns. ‘OK. I suppose you’re right,’ he agrees with reluctance. ‘But I have two, no actually, three conditions.’

  ‘Oh yes?’

  ‘Yes. One, we do this over a bottle of wine, two, we try not to shout, and three, we still get to do that filthy thing you promised in the pub.’

  ‘Deal.’

  Rachel fetches the wine and they stretch out on the sofa.

  ‘Right,’ says Rachel, ‘where do we start?’

  ‘Well, shall I tell you about the job?’

  ‘OK.’

  Steve takes a deep breath. ‘It’s a real step up with a lot more money, of course. I would get my own office and staff, and it’s in a really lovely old part of Edinburgh.’

  Rachel nods. ‘It does sound amazing. Amazing but far away.’

  ‘I know, I know, but it’s a real opportunity for us. Will’s only just started school, so he wouldn’t be too unsettled if we move him now. Plus the schools up there are really good and the city is beautiful.’

  ‘It sounds as if you’ve got it all mapped out.’

  ‘Well, I have thought about it a lot.’

  ‘But it sounds as if you’ve already decided. Without talking to me.’

  ‘We’re talking now.’

  ‘Yes, but after the event. Steve, you used to talk to me about everything. I mean you barely got dressed in the mornings without checking which colour shirt you should wear. And this is one of the biggest decisions of our lives. How do you think it makes me feel that you’ve been cooking this up for ages without talking to me?’

  ‘I know, Rach. I am sorry, really I am. It’s just that we’re always so busy and knackered. I kind of thought that if I got on with it, then we could take the final decision together.’

  ‘But Steve, you don’t seem to understand. I used to have a job, a good one and I loved it and I was good at it. Then I had the kids and they’re lovely and I love them more than I can explain, but there is something missing for me. Suddenly I don’t have to use my brain any more and the most challenging thing I’m asked to do is open a yoghurt. It’s just not very fulfilling sometimes and I feel bad saying it because you’re supposed to just love being a mother and I do.’ Rachel is crying now. ‘It’s just that I feel as if we’ve changed so much and we’re cutting each other out somehow and I don’t want to live like that.’

  ‘Hey, hey, come on, Rach, it’s OK.’

  ‘But it’s not. You can’t ever really understand how I feel because you’re the man and you haven’t had to give up your career to look after the kids. Nothing really changes for you, but it does for me. I feel as if I’m becoming a useless blob of jelly with no personality.’

  Steve laughs and Rachel giggles through her tears.

  ‘Well, I think you’re a very gorgeous blob of jelly and I wouldn’t have you any other way. Listen, Rach, no one said you couldn’t go back to work and to be honest with this new job, we could probably afford the childcare if you wanted to try it. I just want us to be happy and if you’re not, there’s no point in you being a martyr to the kids. Better a happy working mum, than a miserable stay-at-home one. Better for the kids and better for you.’

  ‘I guess. I just feel as if I should be there for them.’

  ‘Well you can be. You could find something part-time.’

  ‘Even in Edinburgh?’

  ‘Oh yes, they have jobs up there for clever, gorgeous types like you.’ He kisses the top of her head. ‘Listen, this could be really great for us. Will you at least come up to Edinburgh with the kids next month so we can check it all out?’

  ‘OK,’ says Rachel slowly, ‘and then make the decision?’

  ‘And then make the decision.’

  ‘All right then.’

  ‘That’s great. That’s really great.’ Steve looks relieved and picks up his glass. ‘To Team Summers?’ he says.

  Rachel taps her glass against his and takes a drink. ‘To Team Summers,’ she says, replacing it on the table.

  Steve takes a large sip and then puts down his glass before turning to his wife, a lecherous smile on his face. ‘Now what about that thing you promised?’ he says, jumping on Rachel, who squeals with delight.

  Chapter 9

  Emma is woken by a shaft of buttery sunlight inching through the tapestry curtains. She lies for a minute or two feeling drowsy and content, enjoying the peace of the early morning. She glances over at Martin who is lying on his back with his arms above his head, breathing softly. His frame is broad and muscular and his face looks soft and handsome as he slumbers. She is about to lean over and kiss him when her phone vibrates across the bedside table. She reaches over and reads the text message. It’s from Rachel: ‘All right cow-bag? R u coming 2 M&D’s 2day?’

  She punches a reply: ‘Fine thx tart. Got coffee with future in-laws but might c u l8r’

  ‘Good luck flibbertigibit! btw talked 2 steve - all good.’

  Emma is pleased. She doesn’t like the thought of her sister being unhappy, and she likes their family dynamic: largely chaotic with moments of calm and a dash of insanity.

  Martin rolls over and puts his arms around her. ‘Morning, beautiful. You’re up early.’

  ‘Hello, handsome. Well, we did go to bed rather early last night.’

  ‘Yeah, but not to sleep,’ he quips with a filthy grin. ‘And seeing as you seem so full of beans this morning.’ He pulls back the cover to reveal an impressive morning glory. ‘We better not let this one go to waste!’ Emma giggles and allows herself to be overpowered.

  Afterwards, she runs a bath and is just settling into some Molton Brown luxury when Martin appears in the doorway and stands, smiling at her.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m just admiring my beautiful future wife.’

  ‘Oh stop.’

  ‘Seriously Em, I’m the happiest, luckiest man in the world. We’ve set a date for the wedding, we’re having a lot of sex and you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Even if Cameron Diaz walked in here right now and begged me to marry her, I just wouldn’t.’

  ‘Well, that’s a great comfort.’

  ‘I mean it! People make life so complicated. Does he love me? Do I love him? But it’s simple. All you have to do is meet someone, fall in love and bish bash bosh.’

  ‘Bish bash bosh?’

  ‘That’s it,’ says Martin, grinning like a man who has cracked the secret of life. ‘I’m going for a quick stroll before breakfast. Enjoy your soak.’ He disappears whistling cheerfully.

  Emma sinks into her bath and closes her eyes. She thinks about Martin and his carefree view of life. She envies the way men can just accept things without analysing everything. She wishes she could be more like this. She’s never been one to rest on her laurels or accept things as they are just for the sake of it. ‘A restless soul,’ her dad calls her sometimes, ‘always searching for something new or different.’ In her professional life this has often been to her advantage; fuelling her ambition and driving her career. But as she approaches marriage, it strikes her that a different tack might be necessary. Surely finding the one you want to spend the rest of your life with brings contentment and less of a need to keep searching for something. Emma hopes this will be true. She lov
es Martin very much. He’s kind, reliable, good looking and loves her unconditionally, as well as being a bit of a tiger in the bedroom. She knows this should be enough for her and in lots of ways it is. However, she also knows that Martin is keen to get their babies out into the world as soon as possible and she shudders slightly at the thought.

  She thinks about Rosie and her carefree, no strings, lots of money, ‘big is beautiful’ life. She seems happy. She has it all. Emma sinks under the water and rises blowing a spout of water from her mouth. And then there’s Rachel with her three gorgeous, albeit slightly exhausting, children. She seems happy. Sometimes. Emma sighs.

  There are times when she wishes she could stop her brain questioning everything and accept her life for what it is. But now there’s a wedding to organise as well and given the start she and Martin have had sorting the venue, Emma is experiencing an encroaching sense of dread. It’s supposed to be the best day of her life and she’s sure it will be if she can prevent it being hijacked by her mother, godmother and even fiancé. She gets out of the bath and wraps herself in a fluffy white robe just as Martin returns. After breakfast, they check out and make the short drive to Martin’s parents.

  ‘Nervous?’

  ‘Why should I be?’

  ‘Oh no reason.’

  ‘Martin, this is just coffee with your parents isn’t it?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘I think Mum might have invited a couple of other bods.’

  ‘How many?’

  ‘Oh I dunno, four or maybe six. Don’t worry about it. They’ll love you.’

  He switches on the radio just as Steve Wright announces, ‘And this one is for Emma from her fiancé Martin.’ The opening strains of ‘I Won’t Last A Day Without You’ by The Carpenters leak through the speakers.

  Emma is irritated at the prospect of fifty of Martin’s relatives, but is touched by the gesture with the song. ‘Thanks darling,’ she says weakly.

  They reach his parents’ house just as Karen Carpenter finishes singing. Martin turns and smiles at her. ‘I love you, Emma Darcy. Now let’s go and face the music, shall we?’

  Emma nods but suddenly her attention is distracted by the dozen or so cars parked on the road and drive, and the crowd of people she can see through the window. She feels slightly sick as Martin’s mother, Daphne, flings open the door with a ‘They’re here!’ and twenty excited people spill out to greet them. Martin takes her hand and mouths ‘Sorry,’ as they enter the fray.

  ‘Darlings, how wonderful to see you. Come in, come in,’ trills Daphne.

  They troop into the house, which is a testament to an era of chintz and frills circa 1978. Emma is horrified to enter the lounge and find a table piled high with all manner of cold meats, cheeses and bread.

  ‘Oh Daphne, you didn’t have to go to all this trouble. Coffee would have been fine,’ she says looking meaningfully at Martin, who has a fixed grin on his face.

  ‘Nonsense, nonsense! It’s a celebration and I thought we’d have one of those, what do you call it, Sara? Munch?’

  ‘Brunch, honey.’

  ‘Brunch, of course. Sara is –’ she grasps Emma’s hand and whispers confidentially ‘– an American!’ as if she’s just introduced her to a new species of exotic bird. ‘She’s taught me so much and apparently brunch is very popular in New York, isn’t that right, darling?’

  ‘Sure is, Daph. Hey, good to meet you, kids. Congratulations and all that. Can’t say marriage worked out for me. It was the old three strikes and I was out but good for you!’

  ‘Thanks,’ says Emma uncertainly.

  ‘Well, you must come and meet everyone,’ says Daphne ushering them in. ‘We’re all dying to see the ring. And grab some food. I decided to go all Scandinavian and do a smorgasbord or whatever they’re called. Elke from the village gave me the idea. She’s Swedish, you know. The pickled herring is very good.’

  Emma’s stomach flips at the thought of cold fish at 10.30 in the morning. She glances over to see Martin give her a little wave before making himself a cheese and pickle sandwich, and marvels at a man’s ability to eat constantly, like grazing cattle. Daphne leads her through to the living room, smiling triumphantly as if she is about to present a member of minor royalty.

  ‘Now you must come and meet –’

  ‘Hullo, Emma!’ Martin’s father, Rob, shambles up and gives her an awkward hug.

  ‘Hi, Rob, nice to see you. How are you?’

  ‘Oh fine, fine. Keeping busy, you know, pottering around the garden. How are your mum and dad?’

  ‘Robert!’ barks Daphne.

  ‘Yes, my tulip?’

  ‘I thought I told you to put out all the wine glasses and did you remember the pickle forks?’

  ‘Pickle forks. Wine glasses. Right, sorry Emma. Duty calls.’ He shuffles off, a mass of Damart trousers and old-man cardigans.

  ‘Sorry Emma, where were we? Ah yes. Let me introduce you. You’ve met Sara and this is Elke of the pickled herring fame.’ Daphne laughs at her own joke. ‘And this is David and Vanessa, David’s our doctor you know, and Roger and Doreen, Harriet and Philip … ‘ Daphne continues to reel off name after name until Emma just wants to plonk herself down in the nearest Ercol chair and have a plate of Mortadella and pickled cucumber. Eventually the introductions are done, the ring is cooed over and Emma has talked about everything from lighting bonfires to why John Lewis is the only place to shop. She decides that she has done her duty and goes on a hunt for Martin. She finds him hiding in the kitchen with his dad.

  ‘Hello darling. Having fun?’

  Emma makes a face and pulls him to one side. ‘Let’s just say that I’m not planning to invite many of your mother’s friends to our wedding. Can we go soon please?’

  ‘Can I come with you?’ asks Rob with a wry smile.

  ‘Poor Dad. Has Mum been bossing you around again?’

  ‘I think if you removed the word “again” you’d have it about right. Look, you two get off and enjoy the rest of your weekend. I’ll deal with your mother.’

  ‘Thanks. I’m going to take Emma home the scenic way.’

  ‘Great. Do you think we could pop in to see Mum and Dad? I want to hear the latest about Rach and Steve’s move.’ says Emma.

  ‘Sure thing.’

  ‘Oh Emma, I must give your dad a call. I want his advice on transplanting a camellia.’

  ‘Oh all right, I’ll mention it to him.’ She gives Rob a hug feeling genuine affection for him.

  ‘Going so soon? But I’ve just put a strudel in the oven!’ says Daphne.

  ‘Yes, sorry Mum got to get back, shirts to iron, stuff to sort for work.’

  ‘Ahh you young types, so dedicated to their work. Well, once you’re married, you’ll have the children to think about, and Emma will have to give up that working life, eh?’

  Rob raises his eyes heavenwards and Martin looks at the floor. Emma curses the weakness of men. She pecks Daphne on the cheek.

  ‘Right, well thanks for a lovely, er –’

  ‘Brunch,’ chimes Daphne.

  ‘Yes, brunch. We’ll see you soon.’

  Emma flops into her car seat, her cheeks aching from smiling too hard for too long. Martin kisses her on the forehead.

  ‘Well done, my darling. You survived. Now, let’s play a game of Shoot, Marry, Shag, with my mother’s friends!’

  ‘Come on Rach, we’re going to be late!’ calls Steve.

  ‘Coming!’ Rachel appears at the top of the stairs wearing a dark grey empire-line Karen Millen dress she picked up in a charity shop last week and gorgeously comfortable but, destined to fall apart at any second, boots from Primark®.

  ‘Wow! Who is this vision I see before me?’

  ‘Oh stop,’ chides Rachel, never able to take a compliment. ‘I just thought I’d make a bit of an effort.’

  ‘Well, I like,’ says Steve, wrapping her in his arms, ‘very much. All set?’

 
‘Yes. Actually I’m looking forward to seeing the kids. I’ve sort of missed them.’

  ‘I know what you mean. It’s been a bit too quiet. Lovely, but a bit too quiet.’

  They drive over to Edward and Diana’s with Rachel flicking through the radio channels. ‘I’ve got to find Lionel! You can’t have a Sunday without Lionel! Aha!’ she cheers hitting on the right commercial station and whistling along to ‘Easy Like Sunday Morning’. They pull up outside the house and Rachel notices the silver Mercedes blocking her parent’s drive.

  ‘Oh bugger. I think that’s Rosie’s car.’

  ‘Is that a problem?’

  ‘It’s just that, you know what she can be like. It’s been such a lovely weekend; I don’t fancy listening to the loaded comments and criticisms just because I’m not Emma.’

  ‘Oh sod her. Just ignore it.’

  ‘Steve, you know that’s simply not in my make-up.’

  ‘Yes, well I did wonder as soon as I said it.’

  ‘Never mind, give us a kiss and let’s face the music.’

  As they get out of the car, two small forms come charging out of the door.

  ‘Mummy! Daddy!’ they chorus. A third small female form follows behind shouting ‘Daddy! Daddy!’

  Rachel scoops up Will and Alfie breathing them in and remembering something she read recently which described boys as smelling of angels and tigers. How well that writer knows boys, she’d thought. Her father appears at the door smiling.

  ‘Welcome, welcome and thank goodness you’re here. The children and I were about to go on a moon mission and we didn’t want you to miss it. They’ve even made moon cakes with Granny.’ And then as an aside to Rachel, ‘And Grandpa forgot to tell Granny that Great-Auntie Rosie was coming, so he’ll probably be fired off in a rocket later.’

  ‘Poor old Grandpa,’ laughs Rachel, putting an arm around her father and planting a kiss on his forehead. ‘And are the old ladies playing nicely?’

  ‘Not especially,’ he replies, kissing her on the cheek. ‘And how’s my favourite daughter with children? Nice weekend?’