Not Quite Perfect

by Annie Lyons

‘Well,’ says Emma, with an indulgent smile. ‘It’s very simple, very classic.’

  ‘Lovely. Where are you getting it from?’

  Emma feels a little embarrassed. ‘Erm, just someone my godmother knows. She’s making it for me.’

  ‘Ahh, that’s lovely and should save a bit of money, eh?’ Emma nods uncertainly. ‘And what flowers are you going to have? Oh, I know what I was going to say, do you want me to ask my mum to make the cake?’ Emma opens her mouth to speak and then thinks better of it. ‘Because she makes these really lovely ones. They look dead professional. Want me to ask her?’

  ‘That’s really kind of you, Stacey, but we haven’t really decided what we’re going to have yet. Can I let you know?’

  ‘‘Course, no probs. The offer’s there if you want it.’

  ‘Thank you. Very much,’ says Emma relieved.

  ‘Don’t you like your salad?’ asks Martin, pointing at her untouched plate.

  Emma shakes her head. ‘Think I might get some chips, actually.’

  ‘That’s the spirit!’ says Charlie. ‘Don’t want you wasting away, eh girl?’

  Emma smiles and watches as Charlie puts his arm around Stacey, feeling envious of their easy companionship.

  ‘All right, gel?’ he grins.

  ‘All right, fella?’ she smiles.

  ‘Drinks?’ asks Martin. He takes their orders and disappears to the bar leaving Emma wondering what to say next.

  ‘So, what’s new with you two?’ she asks.

  Stacey and Charlie exchange glances and Charlie nods encouragement at his girlfriend as Martin returns with the drinks.

  ‘Actually, we’ve got something to tell you,’ says Stacey, looking uncharacteristically shy. She looks at Charlie again who winks at her. ‘I’m pregnant!’ she cries. Several people look round from their lunchtime pints and cheer at them. Stacey laughs and the next few minutes are taken up with hugs and kisses and ‘well done mates’ among the four people.

  ‘That’s brilliant news. Really brilliant!’ says Martin.

  ‘Well, it’s nice to know that the old man’s doing his job,’ says Charlie patting his groin.

  ‘Charlie!’ scolds Stacey laughing.

  Charlie looks at Martin and Emma. ‘And it means that there’ll be a little fella lined up when you two finally get your act together.’

  ‘Cheeky! It might be a little girl,’ says Stacey.

  Charlie raises his eyes at Martin. ‘The next thing you’ll be telling me is that girls can play football.’ He eyes Emma waiting for the reaction. He isn’t disappointed.

  ‘Well, can’t they?’ she says, narrowing her eyes at him.

  ‘Not properly,’ he replies and then does a ‘winding up’ mime.

  ‘Well, let’s hope if it is a boy, it doesn’t inherit its father’s misogyny,’ says Emma.

  ‘Ding ding! And that’s the end of round one!’ cries Martin trying to inject some humour back into proceedings. Emma shuts her mouth and folds her arms. ‘Right, well, it’s brilliant news. Congratulations. Both of you,’ he says, looking embarrassed at Emma’s silence. ‘I don’t think it will be too long before we’re joining you in the parenting game.’

  Stacey pats Emma’s arm. ‘It’ll be brill, Em. We can go to the park with the kids, share the school run. How many do you want? I want at least three,’ she says without waiting for Emma to reply. She launches into a gushing commentary on babies and children without pausing for breath. Emma wishes she shared Stacey’s maternal urges but she’s not sure if she’s ready for all that yet. She looks at Martin. Is she really ready for weekends with Charlie and Stacey in the park with their children? She shudders at the thought. Martin finishes his beer and issues forth a loud belch.

  ‘Pardon me.’ Stacey giggles but Emma frowns. Martin always gets like this when he’s with Charlie. It’s like he’s a different person somehow and it’s annoying her today.

  ‘Are you ready to go, Martin?’ she asks.

  ‘Absolutely, darl. Right, Charlie, I’ll see you tomorrow. Stacey, congratulations again, darling.’

  ‘What’s tomorrow?’ asks Emma confused.

  ‘I told you. Charlie and I are going to look at a venue for the stag do.’

  ‘You didn’t tell me.’

  ‘Uh-oh, trouble in paradise,’ mutters Charlie.

  Emma ignores him. ‘I can’t believe you’re going to look for somewhere for the stag do when we’ve got all the other stuff for the wedding to sort out!’

  Martin looks sheepish. ‘Well, it is part of the wedding and it does need to be done.’

  ‘Right, fine. Fine,’ says Emma not wanting to continue the argument in front of Charlie, who is relishing the spectacle. ‘Goodbye, Charlie; goodbye, Stacey. Congratulations again,’ she says walking out of the pub without a backward glance.

  ‘Last one to the top of Arthur’s Seat buys the ice creams!’

  The kids bound ahead like excited puppies. Steve offers his wife a hand.

  ‘Why thank you, kind sir.’ They walk hand in hand for a while not speaking, concentrating on breathing and admiring the immense view that is unravelling in front of them as if someone is lifting a blind on the world. The sky is filled with billowing grey and white clouds, but the wind is spiralling them across the sky at such a rate that if you stood still and looked up, you would think that you were moving.

  ‘Don’t go too far, kids!’ bellows Rachel.

  Steve is ahead of her now. ‘It’s OK. I can see them.’

  ‘When did I get so unfit?’ she puffs as she catches up with him.

  ‘That would be when you had children.’

  ‘I thought they were supposed to make you fitter. Phew! I don’t remember it being this difficult when we last did this. When was that?’

  ‘1990 and our ascent was fuelled by a night of filthy sex, a gigantic fry-up including Haggis and two pints of Heavy.’ Rachel giggles at the memory.

  ‘Ah yes, happy days and didn’t we, erm, seal the deal again at the summit?’

  ‘I think we did. Gave those Japanese tourists quite a fright, didn’t we?’

  ‘Ha, ha, Mummy and Daddy are losers!’ shouts Lily as she reaches the top. Reunited, the five of them sit and share some chocolate.

  ‘Why is it called Arthur’s Seat?’ asks Lily.

  ‘Something to do with a famous king called Arthur, I think. Actually, this used to be a volcano,’ says Steve.

  ‘Cool!’ shout Lily and Will.

  ‘A volcano?’ says Alfie looking around nervously as if he is about to be engulfed by molten lava.

  Lily tuts. ‘You’re such a baby, Alfie!’

  ‘Am not!’ cries Alfie, his face turning red.

  ‘Are!’

  ‘Not!’ A couple of tourists look round.

  ‘OK! OK!’ says Rachel. ‘Time Out! Why don’t you go and see what you can spot over there?’ Rachel and Steve watch the kids run off, jostling and carefree.

  ‘That’s what they need, isn’t it?’ says Steve eventually.

  ‘What? A walk up a hill followed by a Kit Kat?’

  ‘You know what I mean, Rach.’

  ‘Yeah well, we have hills in south-east London.’

  ‘Oh yeah, where?’

  ‘Crystal Palace is very hilly.’

  Rachel looks out at the view and breathes in. ‘When did life become so complicated?’

  Steve falls silent for a moment. ‘I think,’ he says, his voice filled with sincerity. ‘I think it was around the time they changed Marathon bars to Snickers.’

  ‘Ha bloody ha.’

  ‘Oh come on, Rach. Why does everything have to be so serious all the time? Why can’t we just live a little, laugh a little?’

  ‘Isn’t that a supermarket tagline?’

  ‘See? You can’t take this any more seriously than I can. Look, the bottom line is that this is a real chance for us; something different and new and exciting! So –’

  ‘So? Move to Scotland?’

  ‘Why not? Look, Rach, it
doesn’t have to be for ever. We could just rent a house for as long as I’m doing this job. See if we like it. Move back if we don’t.’

  ‘But what about Mum and Dad?’

  ‘Rach. They can visit. Anytime.’

  ‘All right, steady. Don’t give Mum ideas!’

  Steve laughs. ‘I just think we should give it a go.’

  Rachel looks at the children running in the distance and takes a deep breath. ‘All right then.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I mean, I’m not saying yes, I’m not saying no, but I think we should go and look at some houses tomorrow.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. Now let’s go and have a pint. I’m gasping!’

  She grabs Steve’s hand and they scoop up the children on their way down the hill, whooping and laughing all the way.

  Emma looks around the flat and feels her heckles rise. She is tired and dehydrated after one lunchtime glass of wine too many and is bristling from Martin’s revelation about spending tomorrow with Charlie. She is starting to feel as if she is the only one doing anything towards their wedding and is also feeling a bit guilty about letting Martin chase Richard away yesterday. She did send him a text to apologise and he had sent her a short and somewhat abrupt message: ‘Nothing to apologise for. Have a good weekend.’ She had considered calling him but wasn’t sure what the right course of action might be. He is just her author after all, nothing more.

  She wants to follow Martin’s example and lie on the sofa, snoozing with the papers. However, as a woman she knows this option is simply not open to her. The kitchen needs to be tidied, the bathroom needs to be cleaned, the clothes which have been hanging on the airer all week are demanding to be put away and she can not rest until she has at least attempted some of these jobs. She moves towards the kitchen surfaces and lets out a loud ‘Oh for God’s sake’ at the open pot of jam with a sticky knife protruding from the top, the discarded foil from a newly opened tub of butter and the teabag nestled on a teaspoon in a pool of tea. Emma hates housework, but knows that she will feel a lot better once it is done. It’s just that it will take a lot of swearing and cupboard slamming before she gets to that stage.

  ‘All right, sweet pea?’ asks Martin, wandering into the kitchen and, unwittingly, a domestic war zone.

  ‘No, not really!’

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Are you blind?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Look at the state of this kitchen!’

  ‘Oh yeah, sorry. We left in a bit of a hurry. I meant to do that.’

  ‘It’s disgusting.’

  ‘All right, Em, calm down. I’ll do it in a bit.’

  ‘Calm down? Calm down? Martin, does it ever occur to you to just clean up without being asked? I mean, I do work just as hard as you and yet it’s always me cleaning up after us, making sure it gets done. Would it kill you to clean the bathroom without being asked once in a while?’

  ‘No, but I just don’t think of doing it. I’ll do it if you remind me.’

  ‘But I don’t want to remind you, I don’t want to be the nagger and the whinger!’

  Martin looks at his nagging, whingeing fiancée. ‘OK, so don’t then,’ he says with the innocence of a child.

  ‘Aaaaaargh! You’re so annoying!’ shouts Emma. ‘You just don’t get it, do you?’

  ‘Well, I don’t think I’m going to tonight, no,’ quips Martin unwisely.

  Emma fixes him with a glare and points a finger at him. ‘You are pathetic.’

  ‘Emma, calm down! I said I would clear up and I will.’

  ‘But when? When? Today? Tomorrow? The day of the next lunar eclipse?’

  ‘Today! In a minute. Why does it matter? Why are you being like this?’

  Emma shakes her head and starts to cry. ‘I don’t know! I don’t know!’ she sobs. ‘I just feel so –’ She covers her face with her hands, realising that the word that is pounding in her ears but which she can’t bring herself to say is ‘trapped’.

  Martin tries to prise her hands from her face. ‘What is it? Tell me, Em, what’s the matter?’

  ‘I don’t know! I told you, I don’t know! Just leave me alone, will you?’ She pushes him away, rushes from the room and flings open the front door just as her father is about to knock.

  ‘Hello youngest daughter. I was just passing and –’ he begins and then seeing his daughter’s face, opens his arms to her. ‘Hey, hey, what’s all this?’

  Martin appears behind Emma at the door. ‘Oh hi, Edward, sorry, just a minor spat about domestic chores. Would you like a cup of tea?’

  ‘Well, I don’t want to intrude.’

  ‘No, it’s fine, you go and have a seat with Em.’

  Edward leads his daughter into the living room and they sit down on the sofa. He reaches into his pocket and retrieves a large monogrammed handkerchief and offers it to his daughter. She sniffs and accepts it gratefully, smiling at him from behind red puffy eyes.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes. Thanks, Sorry, Dad.’

  ‘Oh you don’t need to apologise to me. I just don’t like seeing you upset. It reminds me of when you were a nipper and your sister used to terrorise you. Mind you, when you were a bit bigger, you gave as good as you got.’ He laughs at the memory. ‘So, do you want to talk about it?’

  ‘I don’t know that there’s anything to talk about. Probably just work stress or the wedding or both.’

  ‘You know, you don’t have to be a superwoman all the time, Em. It’s OK to give yourself a day off every now and then.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And Martin is a good man, you know.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Men are just poor weak souls and it’s up to you women to show us the way and goodness only knows the Darcy women are better at that than most.’

  Emma laughs through the tears.

  ‘Is there anything else?’

  She contemplates telling her father about Richard, but knows she can’t. It’s a Pandora’s box that she’s too confused to open.

  ‘No. I feel better for a chat and a hug, thanks.’

  ‘Just like when you were five.’

  Martin comes into the room with the tea. ‘Feeling better?’ he asks.

  ‘Much,’ she lies.

  ‘Good stuff. Well, I’ll just go and sort the kitchen and bathroom. You stay and chat to your dad.’

  Emma looks at her father and smiles. ‘I am lucky, I know,’ she says.

  ‘Just as long as you’re happy, Em. That’s the main thing.’

  ‘I am,’ she lies again, wishing that she could shake off the nagging sensation that she is losing control of her life and everything in it.

  Chapter 17

  ‘This is a wonderful area for schools and as you can see, it’s already a family home so you could move in straightaway,’ says the matronly estate agent in a Miss Jean Brodie voice, peering at them from behind her half-moon spectacles.

  ‘I don’t like it!’ declares Lily.

  The estate agent behaves as if no one has spoken and looks expectantly at Rachel and Steve.

  ‘It’s very nice,’ says Rachel feebly.

  ‘I love it!’ shouts Will, sliding down the wooden-floored hall on his knees.

  ‘Let’s go and have a look upstairs, shall we?’ says Steve, keen to keep them on the move.

  The estate agent ushers them up in front of her.

  Alfie stays by her side. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Yes?’ replies the woman, horrified to be addressed by a small child with snot streaming from his nose.

  ‘Why do you talk like that?’

  ‘Sorry! Sorry!’ says Rachel wondering if she will have to spend the rest of her life apologising for her family. ‘He’s at that very direct age!’ she explains.

  ‘I see,’ says the estate agent.

  ‘Mum! The toilet works!’ calls Lily from upstairs.

  Rachel smiles at the woman and hurtles upstairs after her daughter.
<
br />   ‘I thought she was lovely,’ says Lily without irony as they watch the estate agent drive away.

  ‘Excellent, great. OK, one more to go then,’ says Steve with his trademark optimism.

  The other members of his family groan.

  ‘This is boring,’ says Will. ‘When can we have something to eat?’

  ‘Oh come on, guys! This is our only chance to have a good look round. Alfie!’ says Steve, scooping up the most compliant member of the group. ‘You want to go and look round another house with Daddy, don’t you? This one’s got a big garden!’

  Alfie looks uncertain. ‘‘kay,’ he says, burying his head in his father’s shoulder.

  ‘Weakling!’ mutters Lily.

  ‘Come on, Steve, this is the third one we’ve seen,’ echoes Rachel.

  ‘Rach, I promise you. You’re going to love this one.’

  ‘That’s what you said about the last one.’

  ‘Trust me.’

  Rachel looks at her husband and then at the children. ‘Come on kids! Last house and then Dad’s going to buy us the biggest lunch ever!’

  Emma pours herself another cup of coffee and picks up the newspaper, listening to Martin singing cheerfully in the shower. They had managed to broker a fragile peace yesterday with Martin overcompensating for his failings by not only cleaning the house but also changing the bed linen and cooking dinner. They had cuddled up on the sofa but Emma had felt restless. She had excused herself and gone to bed early, pretending to be asleep when Martin came up some time later. That morning he had treated her to breakfast in bed but instead of feeling touched, she was irritated and she wasn’t sure why. Her phone buzzes with a text from Rachel: ‘Ednbrgh grey and S gt us on our 4th hse. L pooed in the last 1. Hope yr hvng a gd w/e and M was helpfl wth the flwrs - lol. Rx’

  Emma smiles and sends back a non-committal reply. She would actually quite like to see her sister now. She’s probably the only one who could help her cut through the crap and see her situation for what it is.

  Martin appears in the bedroom doorway wearing a towel and a cautious smile. ‘How was your breakfast?’

  ‘Lovely, thank you,’ says Emma stretching.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry we got our wires crossed about today but I shouldn’t be late. Shall I cook us a roast when I get back?’