Not Quite Perfect (23 page)

‘Mum, is there any way you could be a little bit more understanding?’

‘What do you mean?’

Emma sighs and wishes she hadn’t come here. She should have gone to Ella’s or Rosie’s. It was always this way with her mother. Tea and sympathy in a battle zone. Emma takes another sip of her gin and sees a get-out. ‘What about you then, Rach?’

Rachel’s eyes narrow as she realises her sister’s game. ‘Oh, Steve and I just had a bit of a row.’

Diana’s bloodhound radar leaps into action. ‘What about?’

‘Oh just about stuff that’s going on.’

‘You mean the move?’

‘Well partly,’ lies Rachel.

‘Rachel, do you mean the move?’

‘Well yes, among other things,’ she says, thinking it best to keep her mother off the scent for as long as possible.

‘I knew it! Edward, didn’t I say? That girl is not happy, she doesn’t really want to go, she’s just going along with it. I said that, didn’t I?’ She looks at her husband who realises that a response is required.

‘You did say that, darling.’

‘Well, you’ll just have to tell him you don’t want to go. He’ll have to say no to the job and either keep doing what he’s doing or find something else. Or maybe you could get a part-time job and we could help with the childcare? Edward, why didn’t you suggest that? Do I have to think of everything?’ And on Diana goes, her voice delivering each word in a rapid machine-gun fire staccato. Edward and the girls exchange subtle glances of amusement and let her talk. They are almost content sitting close to their father, while their mother pontificates to her heart’s content. It’s a picture of familial bliss. After a while, Edward stretches his arms and turns to his wife.

‘Diana darling, I was thinking about some supper. Would you like something?’ Diana leaps up as if a ten-ton truck has just careered into the living room.

‘I’ll go. You’ll only make a hideous mess. Girls, would you like a sandwich or something?’ Both girls nod gratefully.

‘Right, I haven’t got much in but I can sort something out and I expect you’ll be wanting another gin and tonic,’ she says scooping up their empty glasses. ‘Will you be staying tonight? Both spare beds are made up if you want to.’ She bustles off into the kitchen.

Rachel looks at her father. ‘You did that on purpose, didn’t you?’ she says with a weak smile.

‘Let’s just say I have my ways and means,’ says Edward smiling. ‘And now then you two, what’s going on? How are we going to help you out?’ Rachel and Emma look at one another. They are remembering how their father used to do this when they were upset as children. He would manage to somehow create a task or crisis to distract Diana while he sorted out their worries.

Edward turns to Emma. ‘Do you love this author chap?’

‘No, I don’t think so, oh I don’t know. He’s just –’

‘Different,’ says Rachel finishing her sentence for her.

‘Yes. Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome. God, I should be the editor,’ says Rachel.

‘So, he’s different but what about Martin?’ continues Edward.

‘Well Martin is wonderful but sometimes, I just feel so –’

‘Trapped,’ says Rachel.

‘Yes! That’s it! It’s as if I’m old and married and my life is over.’

‘Thanks very much,’ says Rachel. ‘You should actually try being married.’

‘Sorry sis, I didn’t mean it. Anyway, you’re not trapped, you’ve got everything and you’re about to fly away and have new adventures. I’m stuck in London, about to get married.’

‘Sorry, did you say I’m not trapped? What about the small matter of three children and the prospect of following my husband to Scotland like the obedient wife?’

‘Don’t take this the wrong way, Rach, but “obedient” isn’t exactly a word I would use for you.’

‘Bloody cheek. Anyway, you’ve got your career and life ahead of you. You can do anything you want. So you’re not sure about marrying Martin? So don’t.’

‘Simple as that?’

‘Well, why not?’

‘OK, don’t go to Scotland then.’

‘That’s different.’

‘How is it different? Just because you’re older than me and have three kids, it doesn’t make your life any more complicated.’

‘Oh come on, Emma, of course it does.’

‘You patronising cow.’

‘Oh, grow up.’

‘Girls!’ Edward uses his ex-headmaster’s voice to gain their immediate attention. They sit up and look towards him. ‘I think you’ve both got a lot to think about. Emma, you need to decide if Martin really is the one for you and if he isn’t, you need to tell him. He’s a lovely chap and he deserves that much.’ Emma nods, suddenly ashamed. ‘And as for this other fellow, well I don’t know, Emma, you’ll have to decide but if he isn’t a good man, don’t throw everything away. And Rachel, you need to really consider what you want from life. You and Steve have so much. You’re at a bit of a crossroads so tread carefully.’ Rachel knows her father is right. ‘Girls, I really think you need to take a deep breath and take stock of what you have. You’re both wonderful, clever women with long lives ahead of you. Don’t spend all your time waiting for life to begin – take charge and enjoy it for what it is. Now come here and give your old dad a hug before your mum gets back and starts laying down the law again.’

When Diana comes back, the three of them are cuddled up on the sofa laughing at some seventies sitcom they’ve found on the television. Diana watches them for a while, envying Edward and longing to join them.

Emma is hiding in her flat. She phoned in sick today doing her best flu voice and has been spent most of the day sleeping and crying. She feels so weary, as if she could sleep for a year and still be tired. It had been weird staying at her parents’ house last night but she had found comfort in her dad’s counselling and even her mother’s bossy declarations that she’d ruined her life. There was something reassuring in the constancy of your family. Even Rachel had been consoling and Emma sensed that there was more going on in her sister’s life than she was letting on. It wasn’t like Rachel to run to her parents’ readily; her father maybe, but to expose herself to her mother’s critical scrutiny was virtually unheard of.

It’s getting dark now. Emma hears the heating click into life and feels comforted by the normality of life. She doesn’t think she’s going to be able to go back to sleep so she gets up and runs a bath. She reaches into the back of cupboards to retrieve enough candles to light a cathedral. She dots them around the bathroom and goes to find her cosiest pyjamas and fluffiest towels. This brings on a fresh round of tears as they are the pyjamas that Martin bought her last Christmas. She is feeling weak and feeble and hates herself for this. She sets about lighting the candles and is just about to get into the bath when there is a loud knock at the door.

‘Oh bugger off,’ she curses under her breath, retying her robe and blowing out all the candles before hurrying downstairs to answer it.

Richard stands on the doorstep grinning coyly. ‘Surprise?’ he says, leaning forward to kiss her.

‘Oh hi. What are you doing here?’

‘I just wanted to see if you were OK,’ he says looking concerned.

‘I’m fine,’ says Emma starting to cry again, showing that she clearly isn’t fine.

‘Oh darling, darling. Hey, hey, come here,’ says Richard, taking the opportunity to hop over the threshold. He takes Emma in his arms, kisses her face and wipes at her tears.

‘Richard, please don’t,’ she says, backing into the living room.

‘Sorry, Emma, it’s just, God, you know I can’t resist you. Come on, come and sit down. Let’s talk.’ He leads her to the sofa and notices the empty wine glass. ‘You sit down. I’ll get us both a drink.’

‘Oh, right, OK’, says Emma, a little peeved by his presumption. He returns with two large glasses of wine and plonks himself on the sofa next to her.

‘I have to say, I feel rather responsible for all this and I am sorry,’ he says offering her the wine.

‘Thanks,’ she says unsure of what else to say.

‘But if I’m honest I didn’t really think Martin was making you happy. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I do regret the trouble I’ve caused you.’

‘Well, I appreciate you coming round to see how I am,’ says Emma sipping her wine.

‘I was desperate to see you. I’ve thought of nothing else since last night.’ Richard takes her wine glass from her and sets it down on the table. He cups her face in his hands.

‘You see the thing is,’ he says kissing the corner of her lips. ‘I have fallen.’ Another kiss. ‘Quite hopelessly.’ And another. ‘In love with you.’ The next kiss is long and lingering and Emma feels herself move towards him. ‘Emma I think we should go upstairs,’ he breathes. He stands and picks up the wine glasses. Emma is completely stuck in the moment. Martin is gone, she tells herself. It’s time to move on. She stands to follow him just as her home phone rings.

‘I’ll leave it,’ she says.

She follows Richard upstairs and by the time they reach the bedroom she can hear her mother’s voice on the answering machine, but can’t pick out any words. I’ll call her tomorrow, she thinks, have a proper chat, maybe invite her for lunch. Richard sets down the wine glasses and walks to where Emma is hesitating in the doorway. He kisses her again on the mouth and then starts to kiss her neck and work his way down. He is just undoing her robe when Emma’s mobile starts to ring. She looks towards where it lies on the dresser.

‘Leave it,’ says Richard, but Emma glances over and sees the caller ID.

‘It’s my mother,’ she says.

‘So?’

‘She never phones my mobile,’ she says reaching for the phone. Richard pulls away and sinks onto the bed, sulking like a five-year-old.

‘Mum? Are you OK?’

‘Emma? Emma, is that you?’ Her mother sounds very far away, her voice uncharacteristically small and distant.

‘Yes, Mum, what is it?’

‘It’s your father, Emma. There’s – there’s –’ she stutters over her words and then breaks off.

‘Mum!’ calls Emma feeling the panic rising in her voice. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

‘Emma?’ It’s Rachel’s voice. ‘Are you there?’

‘Yes, Rach, tell me what’s happened to Dad!’

‘He’s had a heart attack. We’re at St. Mary’s. I think you better get down here.’

‘Do you want anything from the machine, Mum?’

Diana, her eyes red from crying, looks at her daughter as if she has just spoken to her in Lithuanian.

‘Sorry, Rachel, did you say something?’ Rachel sits down next to her mother and takes her hand. Diana immediately stiffens at the physical contact and draws her hand away but pats Rachel’s leg to show that she is grateful. ‘I’m fine. Thank you.’ They are sitting on plastic chairs, which have probably won awards for ‘world’s most uncomfortable seat’. Rachel looks around her. A low coffee table to her right is covered in tatty women’s weeklies and the odd
Saga
magazine. On the opposite wall, there is a print of one of Van Gogh’s sunflower paintings. How depressing, thinks Rachel – a painting by a mentally unstable genius who committed suicide – perfect for encouraging people to get better.

‘I’m going to go and get a drink. Do you want one?’ she tries again.

‘What? No thank you, Rachel,’ says her mother and she continues staring off into the middle distance. Rachel walks down the corridor feeling slightly nauseous at the smell of chemical cleanliness and fearful of the beeps and groans she can hear coming from the wards. She finds a drinks machine and empties her change into its slot. She is rewarded with a drink the consistency of mud and sand which purports to be a cappuccino

‘Excuse me, dear,’ says a thin voice at her elbow. Rachel looks round to find a small, skeletal woman, carrying two heavily stuffed plastic bags, her hair a wispy halo around her head.

‘Are you all right?’ asks Rachel, immediately concerned.

‘Oh yes, dear, I’m fine,’ says the woman displaying a mouth devoid of teeth, ‘I just need to know where I go for the number fifty-two bus?’

‘Well, I’m not sure,’ says Rachel looking around her, desperate for a nurse to appear. Just at that moment the woman lets forth a gush of urine onto the floor, some of which splashes onto Rachel’s shoe.

‘Ahhh, that’s better,’ says the woman with a grateful smile.

‘Mrs Hill! Mrs Hill! There you are,’ calls a genial looking West Indian nurse. She jogs up to the old lady and takes her by the arm. ‘Oh, you had a little accident. Well, I’ll sort that out. Let’s get you back to bed, shall we?’ The nurse turns to Rachel and whispers, ‘Poor lady. She keeps trying to pack her bags and go back home to her husband, but he died seven years ago. It’s very sad.’ She leads the old lady away and Rachel hears her ask, ‘When will I see my Ernie again, Grace?’ Rachel feels tears welling in her eyes and is aware of someone standing next to her. She turns and is so grateful to be looking up at Steve. He wraps her in his arms and she sobs.

Richard screeches into the hospital car park and pulls up outside the modern, pillared entrance.

‘Are you going to wait?’ asks Emma. She looks at him and sees the panic pass over his face before he masks it with a kindly smile.

‘Oh Emma, I would but to be honest I’m not very good with family things, you know,’ he says, as if she has invited him to her cousin’s wedding. ‘I don’t think they’d want me there.’

‘No, but I could do with some support.’

‘Of course, of course,’ he says, ‘and if you need me, you just have to call me, OK?’ He takes her hands and kisses her, ‘I really hope your dad’s OK, Emma.’

Emma doesn’t answer. She opens the door of the car feeling numb and walks into the hospital without looking back.

Richard watches her disappear and retrieves his mobile. He flicks to missed calls. The voice that answers is purring but with a hard edge.

‘Hey, loser, good to hear from you.’

Richard grins and stretches back in his seat. ‘What are you up to?’

‘Well, I’m currently lying in bed wearing nothing but a smile. It would be lovely to see you, if you’re not too busy with your editor,’ purrs the female voice.

Richard laughs. ‘That’s a very tempting offer. I’m obviously very busy but I think I might be able to fit you in, in say half an hour?’

‘I look forward to it.’

‘He’s had quite a sizeable heart attack and, at this stage, it’s a little like a volcano. We can’t really say what will happen next. But for the moment, he’s stable. The next twenty-four hours will be critical,’ says the consultant.

Rachel is staring at the mole on the doctor’s lip all the while she is talking. Diana sits looking almost serene as if this woman is delivering tomorrow’s weather forecast. Emma is crying noisily in the corner. Steve is the only one paying full attention to the doctor and when she has finished he thanks her. She smiles the smile of a woman who experiences these scenes every day of her life and sweeps out of the room. The four of them sit together in silence for a while. Rachel looks at the tubes and machines that are keeping her father alive.

‘I just don’t understand it. Why is this happening to him? He’s so fit and well, he eats properly, he doesn’t smoke, OK, he likes a drink, but God, it’s just so unfair!’ Steve squeezes her shoulder. She smiles at him gratefully.

‘Some people have weak hearts I guess,’ offers Emma in a small, weepy voice.

‘Oh for goodness sake, Emma. That’s not a very helpful thing to say!’ cries Rachel.

‘Sorry, I’m just saying,’ says Emma sulkily.

‘Girls, can you just be quiet please,’ says Diana. The girls look at their mother and mumble ashamed apologies.

‘I think we should all try to get some rest,’ says Steve.

‘We can’t go anywhere,’ says Rachel.

‘No, of course not. Your mum can have the chair and I’ll ask at the nurse’s station for some mattresses and blankets.’

‘What about the kids?’ says Rachel.

‘Sue says she can stay and take them to school in the morning. She said not to give it a second thought,’ says Steve.

Rachel wishes she knew what to say to Steve. They haven’t spoken properly since she stormed out the previous night. She had returned early in the morning, in time to take Will to school, and there had been a cursory exchange in the hall as he left for work. It was as if they couldn’t bring themselves to start on a conversation for fear of where it might lead. All she knows is that she’s so glad he’s here at the moment.

Moments later, Steve returns with the bedding and soon, they are all tucked up around the room, like tourists on some bizarre camping holiday.

If it wasn’t so terrifying
, thinks Rachel,
this would be quite funny
. She looks at her mother, who is propped up in a hospital armchair with a blanket draped loosely around her shoulders. She is staring at Edward with a look of such love and concern, Rachel feels as if her heart will break.

‘Mum?’ Diana looks over at her daughter, slightly bemused. ‘You should get some rest,’ urges Rachel.

‘I will, darling. You go to sleep.’

Emma wakes up and at first can’t remember where she is. The room is dark and as her eyes adjust she can see her mother’s shoes a few feet from her face and wonders if she’s having another bizarre dream. She sits up and rubs her eyes, banging her head hard on the bottom of her father’s bed.

‘Ow!’

‘Emma?’

‘Mum?’ Emma rubs her head and peers through the darkness at her mother propped up in the padded green hospital chair. She is alarmed to see her staring past her as if she is asleep with her eyes open. ‘Mum, are you OK?’ she asks, following her eyes to where Edward lies, his breathing steady through a jumble of tubes.

Diana’s eyes don’t leave Edward for a second. ‘I’m fine.’

Emma isn’t sure what to do next. She feels as if she’s intruding on her parents and suddenly sees them as a couple in love and wants to cry. ‘I think I’ll go and get a drink. Will you be OK?’

‘Of course,’ says Diana not looking at her. ‘We’ll be fine.’

Emma tiptoes out of the room and down the corridor. It’s deathly silent, which strikes Emma as strange for a building full of sick people. Suddenly she hears a moan from one of the other rooms. Its volume and frequency intensify and Emma looks round in panic. She walks towards the nurse’s station.

‘Excuse me? Excuse me? I think there’s someone here who needs help,’ she calls. A stout looking nurse with a weary face appears and heads towards the room without acknowledging Emma’s pleas or presence. Emma stands alone feeling frightened and then turns on her heels and heads towards the exit. Once outside she breathes in cold night air, holding the wall for support. She looks up at the sky and for once in her life, she prays: ‘Please, please don’t let him die.’

The tears course down her face and the enormity of the situation hits her like a slap. She reaches into her pocket for her phone willing herself to be wrong about Richard. There are no messages, no consoling texts, and Emma Darcy is forced to confront a truth she would rather ignore. She hears the automatic doors open and feels her sister by her side.

‘Hey, Em.’

‘Hey,’ says Emma her voice hoarse from crying.

‘I thought I might find you here,’ adds Rachel linking arms with her sister. ‘Come on. Let’s walk.’

They make their way across the car park. A heavily pregnant woman is lumbering towards the hospital, her husband beside her, looking helpless. She pauses every now and then as a ripple of pain surges through her body. Her husband takes her hands, his face ashen and concerned. Rachel shivers once they are passed.

‘Poor buggers. I know how that feels and I certainly wouldn’t want to go through it again.’ Emma, already on an emotional knife-edge, bursts into a fresh round of tears. Rachel hugs her sister. ‘Come on, Em, it’s OK.’