Not Quite Perfect (19 page)

‘There,’ he said satisfied, his eyes shining with friendly amusement.

Emma looked up at him. ‘I had a wonderful time. Thank you for inviting me.’ She could feel his breath on her cheek and thought she knew what was coming. She was ready now. She tilted her head upwards and could see Richard studying her face. The kiss brushed lightly past her lips and landed on her cheek.

‘I’ll see you soon,’ he said, turning to leave. He glanced back at her. ‘I’m really glad you came.’

Emma felt as if she was in a trance as she made her way through the ticket barrier and down the escalators. She was trying to decipher her emotions as she made her way onto the platform. As the train pulled into the station, she realised that what she was feeling was a lurching disappointment that she wasn’t still standing outside the Tube station kissing Richard Bennett.

‘Well, good luck, dearie. It was lovely to meet you and really super to meet you too, Lily – don’t forget to keep telling people the truth, will you? They need that!’

‘I know, I won’t. Thanks, Edie!’ grins Lily and gives the old lady a kiss. Rachel enjoys a rare moment of unadulterated pride.

‘Right, got the bags. Let’s go!’ says Steve.

Once in the car, the three children are quiet and one by one they nod off. Rachel yawns and stretches out her legs. She reaches over and strokes the back of Steve’s head.

‘All right, gorgeous?’ he smiles.

‘Yes thanks, handsome.’

‘It was a good trip in the end, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes it was.’

‘And I was right about that house, wasn’t I?’

‘You were. It is gorgeous and I could really see us there.’

‘So?’

‘So –’

‘You still don’t want to, do you?’

‘I didn’t say that, Steve.’

‘But I can sense it. You’ve made up your mind, haven’t you?’

‘Yes, I’ve made up my mind.’

‘I knew it! I knew it! You’d made up your mind before we went. You were never going to change it!’

‘Now hang on a minute, matey, you haven’t asked me properly.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You haven’t actually asked me what I’ve decided.’

‘Do I need to?’

‘Well, I do have a problem actually.’

‘Oh yes?’

‘Yeah, I’m not sure how I’m going to tell Mum and Emma we’re going.’

‘What?’

‘You heard me, cowboy.’

‘Are you serious?’

‘I had my doubts but I was coming round and then I talked to that lady on the plane and she just made me realise what I had and what we need.’

Steve is beaming at her now. ‘That’s brilliant, Rach, really brilliant! God I love you.’

‘And I love you too, Mr Summers.’

Steve smiles over at Rachel. Her phone beeps with a text. She looks at it. It’s from Emma: ‘R u movng 2 Edinburgh or not?’

She switches off her phone and puts her arm around Steve.

Emma steps into the lift and checks her reflection, willing away the dark shadows under her eyes. She hadn’t slept well last night. Coming home to Martin had brought her back down to earth with a guilty bump. He had been kind and attentive, too attentive in fact. As they had sex that night, she had tried but failed to stop herself from imagining it was Richard making love to her.

‘Morning, Emma!’ says Ella, sneaking in before the doors close.

‘Hi,’ says Emma, her voice flat.

‘Look, I –’ begins Ella.

‘Hold that lift!’

It’s the unmistakeable bark of Joel. Ella presses the buttons, panicked. Emma sees this as proof that something is going on between them and looks at the ceiling, shaking her head.

Joel darts into the lift without a word of thanks. ‘Ladies,’ he says by way of a greeting. Emma ignores him and presses the button for the fifteenth floor.

Joel coughs. ‘Actually I’m off to the twenty-first floor. The Yanks are in town and Phil Allen has asked to see me.’

‘He probably wants to deliver your P45 in person,’ says Emma.

Joel’s laugh is accompanied by a wrinkle-faced sneer and a shake of the head. ‘I don’t think so. He’s probably heard about some of my more cutting-edge marketing techniques and wants to sound me out.’

They have reached the fifteenth floor and Joel steps aside for them with a little bow.

‘Emma?’

‘What?’

‘If he asks me if I know an editor with a penchant for profit-leaking books, I’ll be sure to give him your name.’ The doors close and Emma and Ella are left side by side.

‘That man!’

‘I know.’

‘I just want to –’

‘I know.’

Emma looks at her friend and sees desperation in her eyes.

Ella takes a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry I’ve been a bit distant lately. I’ve just had a lot going on. Can we go for a coffee later? I’ll explain everything.’

Emma sees how much her friend needs her and realises that she could do with a friend too. ‘Of course.’

Ella smiles gratefully.

They walk into the offices and are greeted by the bustling, coffee-laden form of Joy, the formidable office manager, who is the font of all knowledge at Allen Chandler. ‘Morning girls!’

‘Hi, Joy. How are things?’ says Emma.

‘Oh you know, bearing up under the strain. I suppose you’ve heard the news?’

‘What news?’

‘There’s a big powwow going on upstairs. Company meeting at ten.’

‘Really? What’s that about?’

Joy approaches them, looking around her, as if checking for spies. ‘I reckon it’s a bit of a management shake-up,’ she whispers.

‘Oh shit!’ says Emma.

‘What?’ asks Ella.

‘Bloody Joel’s on his way up there. Why can’t they see what a slippery customer he is?’

‘Because he’s good at covering his tracks?’

‘Everyone knows that Philippa’s been doing his job for years. It’s a travesty!’

‘Don’t you worry, Emma,’ says Joy, taking on the tone of a wise oracle. ‘If there’s one thing I’ve learned in this place, it’s that every dog will have his day.’

‘Well, he’s bloody overdue his day,’ says Emma.

‘Don’t let the buggers get you down,’ says Joy with a wink.

Ella and Emma reach their desks and Emma switches on her computer, firing up her e-mails, not expecting anything major on a Monday. The first thing she sees is an e-mail from Richard. Her heart quickens and she notices that it was sent either very late last night or very early this morning depending on how you view your day. The subject is blank but as Emma clicks to the message she can see that this is no one sentence message. She scans the words, hungry for information and her eyes come to rest on the last sentence: ‘You are the most incredible woman I have ever met.’

‘Good morning, Emma; Ella,’ says Miranda.

Emma jumps and clicks shut the e-mail as if she’s been stung. ‘Good morning,’ she says, turning to face her and immediately noticing how weary she is looking. ‘Is everything all right?’

Miranda inhales deeply. ‘There are some days, my dear girl, when you know you are going to need a large gin and tonic by 11 a.m. and this is one of those days.’

Emma looks nonplussed but Miranda offers no further explanation. ‘I take it you know about the company meeting at ten?’

Emma and Ella nod.

‘Good. I’m glad to see the Joy-telegraph is still working its magic. See you anon.’ She sweeps off in a blur of purple silk.

‘Curiouser and curiouser,’ says Ella.

‘Hmm,’ says Emma turning back to her e-mail.

‘Coffee?’ asks Ella heading for the kitchen.

‘Please,’ says Emma, grateful to be left alone to read Richard’s e-mail in peace.

Rachel reaches the coffee shop early for once. She is meeting an old friend from the ad agency who has recently had a baby. Her mother, fearful that her grandchildren are about to be whipped away to the North at any second, was only too happy to entertain Lily and Alfie for the morning. So, having dropped Will at school, Rachel is looking forward to a visit to the coffee shop without having to wipe sticky fingers or buy an endless supply of muffins.

She orders a large skinny latte and takes a seat by the window. She checks her watch. She is still early and so unused is Rachel to this sensation, that she doesn’t know what to do with herself. She stirs her coffee and sits back in the chair but feels as if she should be doing something. Realising she is experiencing restless mother syndrome, she plucks her mobile from her bag and finds Emma’s number.

‘Hey, Rach,’ answers Emma sounding flat.

‘Ooh lordy, what’s up with you, tart-face?’ asks Rachel unsympathetic as ever.

‘Nothing,’ lies Emma. ‘How was Edinburgh?’

‘Brilliant actually. How would you feel about having a sister who lives north of Watford?’

‘You’re not serious?’

‘I think I am but don’t tell Mum. I’m going to have to ease her into the idea.’

‘Good luck with that one. Wow Rach, that’s incredible. It must have been one hell of a visit.’

‘It was. I could really see us there and sometimes you’ve just got to seize the moment, haven’t you?’

‘I guess,’ says Emma, thinking about her own moment-seizing.

‘What’s up, Em? Are you going to miss me?’

‘I will actually,’ says Emma.

‘Are you sure you’re OK? What happened at the weekend?’

‘Oh, nothing really. Just a bit annoyed with Martin because I seem to be doing everything for the wedding. Anyway, I’m sorry I’ve got to go as I am tremendously busy and important,’ says Emma, trying to inject a note of humour to reassure Rachel.

‘All right but come for tea soon, yeah? The kids love their Auntie Em. And I always like having someone around to take the piss out of.’

‘OK,’ laughs Emma weakly. ‘Bye.’

Rachel feels a little uneasy as she puts her phone back in her bag and wonders if she should call Martin, then chides herself for reacting as her mother would.

There’s a subdued air in the boardroom as Emma and Ella join their colleagues. Only Jacqui and Joel are the exception, chatting in excited voices, smiling at anyone who will look their way, perched like eager schoolchildren in the front row. Emma notices Miranda, also sitting at the front and is concerned to see her shoulders hunched and her head bowed as if in prayer. They find some seats in the middle row next to Philippa, who gives a small wave.

‘Any idea what this is about?’ whispers Emma.

‘Not a clue, but I don’t think it’s good news.’

Their conversation is interrupted as Philip Allen, CEO of Allen Chandler, strides into the room flanked by a tall, well-built man and a short, compact woman. They take their places at the front. Philip turns to face the room, which is full to bursting, with latecomers being forced to stand.

‘Good morning!’ he begins.

The crowd murmurs in reply and Philip looks a little perturbed by this typically British response. Emma fears he’s going to try it again, like some kind of corporate children’s entertainer but happily, he thinks better of it.

‘OK guys, I guess you’re probably wondering what’s going on and I just want to say from the outset that none of you need to worry. Your jobs are all safe for the time being.’

‘Blimey,’ whispers Emma, ‘if I wasn’t worried before, I am now!’

‘I wanted to bring you all together to update you on the strategic review which we initiated last year and which is now complete.’

Emma, who has an aversion to people who use words like ‘strategic’ forces her brain to carry on listening.

‘As a result of this review we have decided to undertake a restructure at the top level and it is my duty to inform you that Digby Chandler will be taking a well-earned retirement and relinquishing his responsibilities as MD. I would like to take this opportunity to thank him for all his hard work.’

He continues to speak but Emma is no longer listening as she is watching Miranda, who is motionless. Eventually Philip stops speaking and then the well-built man, who is something to do with finance, starts enthusing about bottom lines and five-year profit projections.

Shut up, shut up
, thinks Emma.
Can’t you see that people are in shock?

After a lot of arm flapping, he stops talking too and then the small woman, who announces herself to be the Head of Human Resources, tells them to come and see her if they have any questions. Her voice is as soothing as honey and Emma distrusts her on sight. They are dismissed but no one really moves and the room is silent apart from the odd murmured word between colleagues. The Americans, obviously fearing a mutiny, are quick to leave, closely followed by Joel, who can be heard calling ‘Phil? Phil? Can I have a quick word please?’

‘Judas,’ mutters Emma, ‘he’s probably going to put himself forward.’ As soon as the words are out of her mouth, Emma realises the horror of the situation. ‘Oh my God, he’s probably going to go for the job and then he’ll be my boss and I’ll have to kill myself!’

‘Emma,’ says Ella quietly and then again as her friend continues to rant, ‘Emma!’

‘Yes? Sorry! What?’

Ella nods over to where Miranda sits. People are starting to leave now, but Miranda continues to sit and stare into the distance. One or two stop to see if she is all right, but she waves them away and stays where she is.

Emma approaches her. ‘Miranda?’

Miranda looks up and Emma sees tears in her eyes. Emma sits down beside her and takes her hand. ‘Oh Miranda, I’m so sorry.’

Miranda pats her hand. ‘Thank you, dear girl.’

‘How is Digby?’

‘Oh, he’ll be fine, silly old fool. He’ll just go to his club every day and write his memoirs. It’s just another nail in the coffin of imaginative publishing. Another step towards letting the bind-weed of pappy fiction take over the world, rather than allowing some interesting new seedling to flourish alongside.’

‘That’s a great metaphor’ says Emma. ‘Have you ever thought of going into publishing?’ Miranda gives a weak smile. ‘So, what do you think will happen? Do you think the Americans will stop us publishing literary titles?’ she asks, suddenly concerned about Richard.

‘I really don’t know, but I tell you one thing, Emma, if they start telling me how to publish fiction, I’ll be off to the nearest competitor before they can tell me to “Have a nice day”.’

Emma laughs. ‘I’m very glad to hear it.’

‘Right, well I’m off for lunch with my literary husband. Can I count on you to keep the home fire burning?’

‘Always. Give Digby our love, won’t you?’

Miranda stands and puts her arms around Emma.

‘You are a good woman, Emma Darcy.’

Emma smiles and watches Miranda leave the room, feeling as if her world is slowly and quietly imploding.

Rachel is enjoying her morning, although she leaves the coffee shop feeling oddly unsettled. It had been lovely to catch up with her friend, Olivia. Her baby had been cute and thankfully asleep so they were able to have a grown-up conversation without distractions. Olivia was planning to go back to work once her baby reached six months and Rachel had felt a pang of envy at her confident decision.

‘I just can’t stay at home all the time,’ she had declared. ‘It would drive me potty!’

Rachel knows what she means.

‘And what about you? How do you cope with it all?’

Rachel had considered the question and brushed it off with her usual self-deprecating humour. ‘Oh you know, there’s always a bottle of wine in the fridge but I try not to touch it until at least eleven!’

They had laughed and gone on to discuss work and the latest gossip from the ad agency. Whenever she met old work-colleagues, Rachel always longed to be told that it was all falling apart without her. Of course that never happened.

‘So, Amanda, you know, who took over your job has just been promoted. She’s such a lovely person and so good at her job,’ Olivia said.

Rachel had nodded and smiled.
Curse the woman
. ‘And how’s Daniel?’

‘Oh you know Daniel, married to the job but fine, I think. I think he misses you.’ Rachel clung onto the sentiment like a life raft. ‘So what about you and Steve? How are things?’

Rachel had confided the Scotland news and watched as Olivia’s eyes grew wide with horror. ‘Oh God and do you really want to go?’

Rachel considered the question. ‘I think so.’

‘Well, good for you,’ chimed Olivia. ‘I don’t think I’d be up for Scotland. I’d miss London and my parents too much,’ she added, giving voice to Rachel’s deepest worries.

Rachel had kissed Olivia goodbye and promised to meet her for a drink soon. She could feel a knot of uncertainty growing in her stomach. She thought she’d made a decision but now the doubts were flying round her head again like a swarm of persistent flies. She had phoned her parents to see how they were getting on and thankfully her father had answered. He had insisted that Lily and Alfie stay for lunch and Rachel had gratefully accepted. So now she is working her way along the shops on the high street, relishing not having to negotiate doorways with a heavy pushchair or endlessly apologise for her children being children. She makes her way to her favourite haven; their local, independent bookshop. Once inside she scans the shelves, admiring the covers, enjoying the luxury of time. She breathes in the heady smell of new books and runs her fingers along their spines, picking out titles at random and reading the blurb on the back. She is just considering the new Anne Tyler when she hears a voice next to her.