Not Quite Perfect

by Annie Lyons

  ‘Yes, yes, but you know how things are changing in this industry. Blink and you’ve missed another retailer going down the Swannee. We need to make sure we’re all on top form. We have to rise above it sometimes, don’t we?’

  Emma isn’t sure if she’s being advised or scolded. She nods and takes her leave. Joel is waiting at her desk.

  ‘Ah, Emma. We need to talk. Have you got five minutes?’

  ‘Yes, Joel, what is it?’

  ‘It’s about this new campaign for Tim Deakin. I think we should drop the above the line stuff and go with a viral approach. Thoughts?’

  ‘Fine. You’re probably right.’

  ‘Sorry?’ Joel looks stunned and slightly disappointed.

  ‘I said, I think you’re right. It’s your budget and you’re in charge of Marketing so I will go with your call and thanks for checking with me.’

  ‘Oh, right, OK. Is that it?’

  ‘That’s it. Sorry, lots to do. Was there anything else?’

  ‘Er, no. Thanks, Emma.’ Joel strides off.

  Ella appears by Emma’s side. ‘Did that just happen?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Did you just agree with Joel Riches?’

  ‘I did. Do you think it’s the beginning of the end?’

  ‘Well, I am a little concerned, but let’s just dismiss it as a one-off, shall we?’

  Emma laughs it off but feels strangely unsettled. She spends the afternoon editing, grateful for a distraction from real life, and trying to dismiss thoughts of Richard Bennett from her mind.

  Rachel looks at her watch: 4:28. Still two hours until Steve is due home and at least an hour until she can legitimately open a bottle of wine without feeling guilty. Will is having tea at a friend’s house, and Lily and Alfie have coerced their mother into a long and intricate game of Doctors and Nurses.

  ‘You are very sick,’ announces Lily. ‘We will have to operate. Nurse Alfred!’

  Alfie appears looking pleased to be included.

  ‘Prepare the gas mask for the patient!’

  Alfie finds a fireman’s helmet and passes it to Lily who applies it to her mother’s face with some force.

  ‘Now count to ten, patient.’

  Rachel does as she’s told, relishing the chance to close her eyes as her torturers empty out their doctor’s kit and set about cutting her open and removing the foreign object.

  ‘Aha!’ announces Lily. ‘You have been eating Lego again, you naughty lady. You will have to go to prison.’

  ‘For swallowing Lego?’ asks Rachel.

  ‘Yes. It is against the rules.’

  ‘Sounds a bit harsh.’

  ‘And you have to stop talking. PC Alfred, fetch the handcuffs!’

  Alfie obeys and soon Rachel is shackled by her ankles because, according to Lily ‘your wrists are too fat’.

  ‘Right, Mummy’s had enough of this game and needs a cup of tea. Can you bring me the keys please?’

  Lily looks disappointed, but knows better than to cross her mother when she needs a hot drink. ‘Aww, OK. Alf, where are the keys?’

  Alfie, in true foppish sidekick fashion looks blank. ‘I thought you had them, Lils?’

  ‘No, you did!’

  ‘You did!’

  ‘OK, both of you stop! Now let’s just stay calm and think. Where did you last have them?’ says Rachel realising how ridiculous this phrase sounds and trying to mask her growing panic.

  Lily looks worried. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Oh for goodness sake!’

  Alfie, always thrown by conflict, starts to cry.

  ‘Oh for goodness sake, Alfred!’ chastise Rachel and Lily together, just as the doorbell rings.

  There are times in Rachel’s existence when she can’t quite believe what has happened. Ten years ago she was sashaying her way through life with a brilliant job, nights out, dinners at Nobu, lots of sex and the overarching feeling that she was a strong, confident woman in control and at the top of her game. Now, she is never very far away from chaos and frustration and the compelling urge to shout ‘Oh for fuck’s sake!’ This is one of those moments.

  ‘Who is it?’ she asks pogo-ing towards the living room door, buying herself some time, and hoping it’s the postman so she can open the door without revealing her shackles.

  ‘It’s Tom! Sorry, is this a bad time?’

  Rachel stops and considers. She’s not sure if she really wants Tom to see her like this but on the other hand, she is a take as you find sort of girl so, in for a penny. She opens the door with the words ‘Please don’t ask but please come in,’ and hops back down the hall.

  ‘Oh,’ is all Tom wisely opts to say as he follows her into the kitchen. ‘Shall I make us some tea? I’ve brought you some biscuits by way of a thank you for rescuing me the other day.’

  ‘You are very kind, and in answer to the tea, yes please.’

  ‘Do you want me to see if I’ve got a hacksaw?’

  ‘Again, that would be lovely, but let’s have a cup of tea first, shall we? Anyway, how come you’re home so early? In fact, I don’t think you’ve ever told me what you do.’

  ‘Ahh well I’m actually a trained assassin so I only work at night.’

  ‘Oh really. I don’t think snails count as targets,’ jokes Rachel. ‘But seriously, what do you do?’

  ‘I’m a business analyst mainly covering Asia, so I get to start very early but knock off at 3.30. It’s lovely really because I never miss The One Show.’

  ‘Gosh Tom, your life sounds almost as exciting as mine!’

  Tom laughs and Rachel wonders at how at ease she feels with this man. He reminds her of Steve in the early days with his easy banter and ability to make each other laugh with just a remark. She is just contemplating opening a bottle of wine when the doorbell rings again.

  ‘Oh drat!’

  ‘Never fear, shackled maiden. I’ll get it.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  He returns moments later flanked by Rory the bodyguard, Christa and Roger.

  ‘Rachel, so sorry to drop in without the announcement, but we were just driving past and Roger was very keen to see Alfie and Lily. I hope you don’t mind.’

  Rachel does mind a little but is far too British to admit it, and soon they are all sitting around the kitchen table. Rachel and Christa are drinking wine, Tom is on coffee and Rory has opted for green tea. Rachel smiles to herself as Tom nervously tries to interact with the burly Russian minder.

  ‘Zo,’ says Christa, ‘you were not telling me that you had such a handsome man living in the next door.’ Tom blushes and Rachel feels oddly irritated by her flirting.

  ‘No, well, we’ve had him locked in the cellar for six months. We only bring him out for special occasions,’ jokes Rachel.

  Christa looks perplexed and then sees Rachel’s face. ‘Ah yes, I see, this is one of your jokes, isn’t it, Rachel? Ha, ha, sehr gut. Rachel is teaching me how to be funny, Tomas. You see even though I am Swiss, I am still German so I do not have the sense of humour. In fact, do you know, we don’t really have a word for it. Funny eh?’

  ‘More wine, Christa?’ ask Rachel.

  ‘Ja, why nicht? I have my driver here and we Muttis deserve a little treat, nicht wahr?’

  Rachel has forgotten about her compromised ankles and her attempt to move is followed by her falling flat on her face. ‘Shit! These bloody handcuffs!’

  ‘Ah, mein Gott, what has happened to you? Oh I’m so sorry, were we interrupting you and Tom?’

  ‘Oh Christa, don’t be ridiculous! It was the children,’ laughs Rachel feeling bizarrely pleased by the insinuation.

  ‘Natürlich, natürlich. Sorry Rachel. I must stop thinking that just because Rudi is having an affair, that everyone is. I might be able to help.’

  ‘With what?’

  ‘With those handcuffs. I have many sets of keys.’ She reaches into her bag and pulls out a key ring adorned with about twenty of what can only be handcuff keys. She crouches down and looks at
the handcuffs, sorts through her selection methodically and within minutes, has released Rachel.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You are sehr welcome. I always carry these. Rudi and I are always getting into situations like this so it is gut to have them to hand, you know?’

  ‘Erm, I’m sure,’ agrees Rachel. She notices that Tom is watching Christa open-mouthed.

  ‘Well, we better go. Roger! Heim jetzt, mein Schatz! Thanks for the wine and so schön to meet you, Tomas.’

  When they are gone, Rachel and Tom burst into helpless laughter.

  ‘Is she for real?’ asks Tom.

  ‘I know, she’s brilliant, isn’t she? But actually, I do feel a bit sorry for her with her husband and being in a strange country. It must be hard.’

  ‘Hmm. Anyway, I’m sure you’ve got to sort the kids. I better be off too.’

  ‘Oh, OK, of course,’ says Rachel feeling a little disappointed.

  ‘Thanks for the tea and remember to let me know if you ever need a babysitter.’

  ‘You might regret that but thank you.’

  When Tom is gone, Rachel pours another glass of wine. She looks at the handcuffs on the table and laughs to herself. Her phone rings and she sees that it’s Steve.

  ‘Hi love,’ she says, making her way over to the fridge ready to select something imaginative for tea.

  ‘Rach, hi. Listen, I’m really sorry but I’m going to be a bit late home tonight.’

  ‘Again?’

  ‘Yeah, sorry love. There’s lots going on with the plans for the new office. I shouldn’t be too late but I won’t be back in time to help with the kids. Sorry.’

  Rachel sighs but doesn’t want a fight tonight. ‘OK, well I guess I’ll see you later,’ says Rachel, reaching into the freezer for the fish fingers and chips.

  ‘OK, thanks, Rach. Give the kids a kiss from me.’ Steve presses the end call button and throws his phone onto the desk. He starts to gather up his papers and carries his dirty mug to the kitchen. A woman with short hair and pretty elfin features is already there doing some washing-up.

  ‘Hey, Sam, are you nearly ready to leave?’ he asks.

  ‘Yep, just give me two minutes to log off. Where do you want to go?’

  ‘Fox and Hound?’

  ‘Perfect. I’ll get my stuff,’ she says with a smile.

  Emma opens her front door, her mind fixed solely on a hot bath and a large gin and tonic. The flat is still in darkness, which strikes her as odd, and it feels cold, which strikes her as irritating. She switches on the lights and stalks into the kitchen and is mortified to find no welcoming orange glow on the boiler controls and no flicker of life as she randomly presses all the buttons and taps at its dials.

  ‘Bollocks! What’s wrong with this bloody thing?’

  She stomps around the kitchen swearing, her mind racing at the thought of no bath and the cost of a plumber. She is cross because Martin isn’t home and surely men are supposed to be the ones to discover and solve these things. Then she feels stupid for being helpless. She rummages through the miscellaneous items drawer containing takeaway menus, keys, a gigantic ball of red elastic bands which Martin inexplicably decided to construct one day from all those that the postman had dropped outside their front door, and instruction manuals for everything she has acquired since 1997. Eventually she pulls out a discoloured, dusty booklet that promises to hold all the secrets of their boiler. After seven minutes of scanning pages detailing installation, commissioning and routine maintenance, Emma finds the fault-finding flow chart and a further four minutes’ examination leads her to the conclusion that she needs either a degree in engineering or a plumber.

  ‘He-llo? Shit, it’s cold in here!’ calls Martin from the hall.

  ‘In here and the bloody boiler’s not working!’

  ‘Oh no! Hang on, I’ll come and have a look.’

  Another quarter of an hour’s tinkering by Martin and he’s on the phone to Charlie for the number of a ‘bloke he knows’. Emma has hauled the old heater down from the spare bedroom and made hot water bottles for them both. Martin comes in bearing a gin and tonic for Emma and a beer for him.

  ‘Oh you lovely man,’ she says kissing him. They climb under the duvet and nestle alongside each other.

  ‘This is cosy,’ says Martin, putting an arm round her. ‘How was your day?’

  ‘Oh the usual, you know.’ She’s not quite sure why but she decides against mentioning Richard. It’s just work and, after all, Martin doesn’t tell her about the details of his IT world, thank God. ‘Although there’s something fishy going on with Joel.’ Martin looks blank. ‘You know, Joel, the tosser, who’s always trying to undermine me.’ Martin nods vaguely. ‘Well, I think he’s plotting to overthrow Digby.’

  Martin snorts. ‘Plotting to overthrow him? You make it sound like something from one of your books.’

  ‘Shut up!’ says Emma hitting him. She doesn’t like the way he says ‘one of your books’ as if it’s not important. ‘It’s serious.’

  ‘Sorry,’ says Martin stifling a laugh.

  Emma is irritated and decides to change the subject. ‘By the way, have you had a look at those photography brochures?’ Again Martin looks blank. ‘Martin! I left them out for you,’ she rummages on the coffee table. ‘Here,’ she says handing him a sheaf of leaflets. Martin looks sheepish and Emma is angry now. ‘Oh come on, Martin, you promised and we need to get on and book these things,’ she cries.

  ‘All right, all right, don’t get grumpy. I’ll do it now.’ He sifts through the leaflets. ‘Hmm, I’m not sure. What do you think?’ he asks looking helpless.

  ‘Right, fine, I’ll do it, shall I? I mean it’s not enough that I have to work, clean the house and sort the wedding. Is there any chance you could pull your weight?’

  Martin looks cross now. ‘That’s not fair. I booked the venue.’

  ‘Without asking me.’

  ‘Oh not that again. I thought that was all sorted.’

  ‘Oh you did, did you?’

  ‘Yes I did. I mean you agreed with me in the end, didn’t you? And to be honest, having been given such a hard time over the venue, I’m terrified to make any other decisions without consulting you, your mother, Rachel and Lily.’

  ‘Now you’re being ridiculous.’

  ‘Oh I’m being ridiculous?’

  Emma leaps to her feet, grabbing the duvet from him and struggling towards the door. ‘Well, I am going to bed!’ she declares. ‘Goodnight!’ She leaves him sitting on the sofa without a backward glance. Once in bed she pulls the duvet over her head in an attempt to get warm. She is still fuming and can hear her heart beating in her ears. She listens to the muffled rise and fall of voices on the television and is cross that Martin’s not coming to try and resolve the argument. ‘Never let the sun set on your anger,’ her father would say. She finds this impossible. She and Martin are far too stubborn to apologise when they’re angry. Besides, it was Martin who didn’t do what he was asked and it isn’t fair to expect her to do everything. She wonders at what married life must be like if the wedding preparations are this stressful. She rolls over in bed. She is hot and uncomfortable but doesn’t want to move. She hears the television go off and the sound of Martin climbing the stairs. He opens the bedroom door and she can tell he is peering over at her but she pretends to be asleep.

  ‘Em? Are you awake?’ he whispers. She snuffles in a fake snore and she hears him undress and get into bed beside her. She lies awake, still angry and it is long after Martin starts to breathe in a steady sleeping rhythm that she falls into an uneasy and restless sleep.

  Rachel wakes as she hears Steve’s key in the door and looks over at the television, where a weatherman is forecasting rain for the morning. She glances at the empty wine glass and almost empty bottle next to it. Her head feels fuzzy and she dearly wishes she’d gone to bed an hour ago.

  ‘Hey gorgeous,’ says Steve, sticking his head round the living room door. ‘Sorry I’m late.’

&nb
sp; He embraces her and she feels his cold, bristly face against hers and smells mint on his breath. She wants them to stay like this for a while in the quiet warm of their home.

  ‘Hey you. You’re a bit later than I thought. Have you eaten?’

  Steve nods, plonking himself down on the sofa and putting an arm round Rachel. ‘We ordered in pizza.’

  Rachel looks at her husband’s weary face. She hasn’t got the energy for a discussion about the move now and she can see he’s tired too. She rests against his shoulder. ‘Tough day?’

  ‘Oh you know, the usual. But I do have some news. How would you like a trip to Scotland this weekend?’

  ‘Really? So soon?’ says Rachel panicking inwardly. She’d thought she’d have a bit more time to get used to the idea and maybe even get Steve to see what they’d be leaving behind. She’d been feeling flat ever since seeing Sue and realising how much she’ll miss her friend if they go.

  ‘Well, there’s no time like the present. So I’ve booked flights and a swanky hotel near to the Royal Mile. Oh and I’ve also booked us in with a couple of estate agents just to get the feel for the place.’

  ‘Oh. Right.’

  ‘Rach? You don’t sound that happy. I thought you’d be pleased?’

  ‘I am, of course, it sound great,’ lies Rachel.

  ‘Great,’ smiles Steve. He leans over to kiss her and behind the taste of mint, Rachel can detect something alcoholic.

  ‘Have you been drinking?’ she asks.

  ‘Oh we just had a beer with the pizzas at the office,’ says Steve. ‘Why? Don’t you trust me?’

  I always thought I did, thinks Rachel. ‘Of course. I’m going to bed,’ she says, pecking him on the cheek.

  ‘OK, love. Just going to check the football scores and then I’ll be up. Love you, Rach.’

  ‘Love you too,’ says Rachel. She plods up the stairs feeling exhausted and unable to shake off a growing sense of unease.

  Chapter 12

  Emma wakes from a disturbing dream involving Miranda and Digby dressed as chickens and trapped in a cage with Joel and Jacqui as their captors. She opens her eyes wide, feeling the reality of her bedroom return to her.