Not Quite Perfect (28 page)

Emma drums her fingers on the coffee shop bar, impatient at having to wait for her morning latte.
Calm down
, she tells herself.
You have to calm down
. Today is her first day back at work and she is nervous.

‘Just a black coffee please, Gio, no mess, no froth and none of those filthy syrups,’ booms a familiarly assertive voice.

‘Morning Miranda,’ calls Emma from the other end of the counter.

‘Darling girl! You’re back! How are you?’ says Miranda sweeping over, her voluminous turquoise silk outfit, wafting behind her like a sail.

‘I’m OK thank you.’

‘Good, I’m very glad to hear it. We’ve missed you. Ella will be so glad you’re back.’

‘Is she all right?’

‘She’s blooming – the absolutely picture of fecundity. And how are you faring with
The Red Orchid
?’

‘It’s finished,’ says Emma, realising the true significance of this statement. They both have their coffees now and are making their way down the street to the offices.

‘Well, you have been working hard. Is Richard happy?’ she asks as they step into the lift.

‘I think so. I haven’t seen him for a while but we’ve exchanged e-mails.’ Emma is trying to sound casual and hoping that Miranda won’t notice. She is out of luck.

Miranda peers at Emma over her half-moon glasses and narrows her eyes, as if toying with a tricky cryptic crossword clue. ‘Emma,’ she says finally as they reach her office. ‘You did heed my warnings, didn’t you?’ Emma bites her lip and looks guilty. ‘I think you better come in,’ says Miranda, ushering her inside.

Emma faces her defeated. ‘I’ve been an idiot, Miranda. I should have listened to you. I let my feelings for Richard get the better of me but I promise it hasn’t affected the book. I would understand if you asked me to resign though. I’m just sorry I’ve let you down.’

Miranda folds her arms and looks at her. ‘Emma, I can hardly chastise you for your actions given my past history but I did hope that you were a bit smarter than me.’

‘I’m sorry,’ says Emma again.

‘I think it is you who needs my sympathy. Am I right?’ Emma nods blinking back her tears. Miranda walks around the desk and puts her arms around her. This small gesture of affection is so welcome to Emma, and the tears fall easily as she thinks about her grief and her loss. She has let everyone down: her father, Miranda and Martin, yes most of all, Martin.

‘Do you think you came back to work a little too early, my dear?’ asks Miranda softly, handing her a tissue. ‘Grief is a very unpredictable thing and you clearly have a lot on your plate at the moment.’

Emma wipes her eyes. ‘I can’t stay at home any more. I need to get on with my life,’ she says with more determination than she feels.

‘All right, dear heart, but remember, my door is always open.’

‘Thank you,’ says Emma with a weak smile. ‘And sorry for the outburst.’

‘Don’t be so hard on yourself. We’re all human and it does us good to remember that sometimes.’

Emma nods and walks slowly out of Miranda’s office and back to her desk. There is a bunch of bright pink and purple peonies smiling up at her with a card from Ella: ‘Welcome back! We missed you. x’ Emma strokes their soft petals.

‘Oh, you’re back! Damn, I wanted to be here to welcome you,’ says Ella, lumbering into their work area.

Emma stares at her pregnant friend. ‘Look at you!’ she says, wrapping her in a tight hug. ‘It’s so good to see you.’

‘And you, Em. Yes, I’m turning into quite a little fatty now,’ says Ella with a grin.

Emma laughs. ‘Thanks for the flowers. It’s very sweet of you.’

‘You’re welcome. I’m sorry I couldn’t make the funeral. I had my twenty-one week scan.’

‘Oh wow! Do you know what you’re having?’

‘Yep, it’s a boy and we’re going to call him Stanley.’

Emma smiles with approval. ‘Fantastic news and who’s this “we”?’

Ella looks a little shy. ‘Jamie and I have decided to make a go of things.’

‘That’s lovely, darling. I’m so pleased for you,’ says Emma, sinking into her chair.

‘And now, do you want the good news or the bad news?’

‘Hmm, good first please.’

‘OK, I have bought doughnuts to welcome you back.’

‘You spoil me! And the bad?’

‘We have a marketing meeting in five minutes.’

‘Oh crap.’

‘I know. Sorry,’ says Ella wincing. ‘I can cover it if you like?’

‘No, it’s OK. Straight back to it, eh?’

‘Attagirl.’

Diana looks at the photos on the mantelpiece. She picks up each in turn and wipes them with a duster. She replaces them carefully. The grandchildren take the central position, Rachel’s wedding photo on the right, Emma’s engagement photo on the left. She considers removing this one, but decides against it. She knows how fickle girls can be. Finally, she replaces her wedding photo and then the portraits of Edward and herself when they were twenty-one.

‘You bloody man,’ she tells Edward. ‘I wish you were still here so I didn’t have to do this infernal dusting every day.’ She feels emotion catch her throat, grabs the mantelpiece to steady herself and then sinks back into Edward’s favourite armchair. She likes to sit here for her morning coffee. It still smells of him and she can do the
Telegraph
crossword a lot quicker. She smoothes the arms of the chair and picks up her coffee. People are always telling her to ‘keep busy’ but she doesn’t know how. Her life has always been structured by the whims of her dependents. Her friend, Jean has tried to persuade her to go for coffee at the local community hall but Diana feels as if that would be giving in and she never gives in.

She looks at the remote control and considers turning on the television and then feels horrified. She never watches daytime TV and never allowed the girls to either. She is pretty sure that petty crime and vandalism could be eradicated if someone put a stop to Jeremy Kyle. Suddenly she remembers
Woman’s Hour
and thanks the Good Lord for Radio 4. She moves to switch it on, but is interrupted by the telephone ringing. She contemplates leaving it for the answering machine; something she never used to do but something she has learnt to do since Edward died. Most people have been kind and thoughtful, but she can always hear their voices straining with the effort and she feels herself wanting to release them from the thrall of sympathetic chitchat. She almost prefers speaking to her mother, who is rude and direct, but Diana is used to this. She lifts the receiver and has barely had a moment to utter a greeting when the caller launches into a monologue of cooing interrogation.

‘Darling Diana! How are you? I’ve been thinking of you and wondering how you were but I wasn’t sure whether to call after Edward’s funeral. I could tell you were very emotional on the day and I just want to tell you that I forgive you. I’m finding it so hard to cope without him, aren’t you? I mean I just can’t believe he’s gone. It’s so tragic.’

‘Hello, Rosie,’ says Diana, trying to break her flow.

‘How are the girls? They must be struggling. They were so close to their father. I hear that Rachel and Steve are having problems and that Emma and Marvin are no longer together. Oh poor, dear Diana, your whole life falling apart around your ears, it must be ghastly. I feel for you, my dear, I really do.’

Diana wonders how long Rosie can talk without interruption and is now letting her do just that. Suddenly she feels a bubble of emotion well up inside her and wonders if she is about to cry. She is amazed when the sound that emerges from her mouth is a small giggle. Rosie is stopped in her tracks.

‘Diana, dear, are you all right?’

‘I’m fine, Rosie, it’s just that –’ begins Diana and then she laughs again and finds that she can’t stop laughing.

‘Diana? Diana? What are you laughing about? Oh I see, it’s hysteria. You poor thing. Do you want me to come round or call Rachel or Emma?’ But Diana doesn’t stop laughing and when she eventually recovers she realises that Rosie has stopped talking and hung up.

‘Well,’ she says to Edward’s picture as she replaces the phone in its cradle. ‘That’s one way to stop the old cow talking. Scare her witless!’

The meeting room is almost full by the time Ella and Emma arrive. They find two seats next to Philippa, who smiles and squeezes Emma’s hand under the table. Joel makes no acknowledgement of Emma’s return.

‘OK guys, as you know Philippa is still learning the ropes and ultimately when she’s up to speed and completely on message, we will be alternating the chairing of this meeting. So for today, I will chair, OK? Good,’ he barks without waiting for a response.

Emma looks at the agenda. The first half is taken up with other editors’ titles. Then she notices point number five, ‘
The Red Orchid
– update from Emma,’ and feels her stomach lurch. She tries to concentrate on what people are saying but feels as if she’s drifting somewhere in the corner of the room, as if none of this is entirely real.

Saskia, the designer, is trying to convince them to develop a book cover made entirely of PVC, but Eve, the production manager keeps shaking her head and trying to point out that this is commercially unviable. Saskia is becoming more and more excited, flapping her skinny little arms like an agitated bird, her voice reaching a pitch and crescendo that would only be audible to dolphins. She is now accusing Eve of having ‘no creative backbone’, to which Eve simply raises her eyebrows and looks over at Joel, willing him to take control of the meeting. Joel is whispering to Jacqui and it is Philippa who says, ‘OK, Saskia, it’s a very interesting idea and if you want to try to source it yourself, at a reasonable cost, I’m sure Eve would be happy to discuss it with you?’

Eve smiles gratefully at Philippa. Saskia looks a little sulky but nods anyway. Joel is visibly perturbed by Philippa’s presumption. ‘OK, thank you, Philippa. I think I can handle this. All right, Saskia, you see what you can find and Eve will be there as a sounding board, yes?’

Saskia nods enthusiastically and bounces up and down in her chair like an excited puppy. Eve shakes her head and looks wearily at Philippa, who shrugs her shoulders.

‘And so, let’s turn now to our newest and probably most challenging title.’ Joel looks sideways at Jacqui and gives a little chuckle. ‘Emma can you give us an update?’

Emma almost jumps at the sound of her name. She looks at Joel and is suddenly struck by the pointlessness of all this. Why does she spend her life battling with this man? She feels strangely calm. ‘It’s finished,’ she says quietly.

‘Well, that’s lovely,’ says Joel with a mocking grin. ‘I’m glad we’ve got all the words in the right order. The question is, how do we pitch it to the market? I mean what’s the genre? Where does it fit?’

Emma takes a deep breath. ‘Well, I’m sure you’ll have no problem marketing it. I mean we all agree it’s a brilliant book, don’t we?’ Everyone in the room nods enthusiastically. ‘So, as long as you’ve read it and you understand it, Joel, which I expect someone who loves
Don Quixote
will have no trouble doing, there shouldn’t be a problem, should there?’ Joel looks at Emma, a flicker of confusion crossing his face.
Is she flattering him?

‘Although if you’re struggling, I’m sure Philippa can give you a few pointers. She’s completely on message with the book,’ says Emma, parroting Joel’s marketing speak.

Emma can see a shadow of panic in Joel’s face. ‘I don’t think that will be necessary. I’m sure I can manage. Thank you for the update, Emma,’ he says, keen to end the conversation.

‘You’re more than welcome, Joel,’ says Emma with a saintly smile.

Philippa gives her a thumbs-up under the table and Joel leaves Emma alone for the rest of the meeting.

‘Daaaaa-deeeeeeeee,’ cries Lily from the top of the stairs, hurtling down to greet her father. Alfie runs straight into his leg and clings on, looking up at him with a grinning moon-face, and Will stands casually at the living room door, half-watching
Ben 10™
. ‘Hi, Dad,’ he says without emotion.

‘Wow, what a welcoming committee,’ says Steve. ‘I should go away more often.’

‘Are you staying here tonight?’ asks Alfie.

‘I am.’

‘Yessss!’ chorus the kids.

Rachel comes in from the kitchen, tea towel in hand, feeling a little shy, like a stranger at a party.

‘Hi there,’ she says smiling.

‘Hi,’ says Steve still with a child attached to each leg. ‘I would say hello properly, but I am a little bit tied down at the moment.’

‘So I see. Cup of tea?’

‘Please.’

Rachel returns to the safe territory of the kitchen and listens to the excited squeaks and giggles coming from the living room. Eventually, Steve extracts himself and makes it to the kitchen. He reaches for the mug on the table.

‘Lovely. Thanks, Rach,’ he says.

‘You’re welcome and thanks for coming over tonight. It will be good to see Mum. We haven’t really caught up properly since the funeral.’ Rachel pauses and then reverts to safer, practical matters. ‘So, there’s a lasagne in the oven and there’s garlic bread if you want to do that. Help yourself to whatever you want and –’

‘Rach?’

Rachel is piling plates, knives and forks on the table, but looks up to see Steve staring at her, his face a picture of worry.

‘What?’

‘Is this how it’s going to be from now on?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘You handing the kids over for visits and me being a stranger in my own home?’

‘No, of course not. I just don’t really know what else to say. I’m sort of waiting for you to give the word, seeing as –’

‘Seeing as I’m the one who left?’

Rachel shrugs. ‘Well yes.’

Steve sighs. He looks weary and worn down somehow. ‘I miss the children,’ he says after a pause.

And me
, Rachel wants to cry,
do you miss me?
She is standing by the sink, a tea towel in her hand. She realises that she’s squeezing the life out of it.

‘And there’s something else I need to tell you,’ he adds, picking up a piece of cucumber from the chopping board and taking a bite.

You forgive me. You want me back, You’re ready to trust me again
, prays Rachel. ‘Kate Winslet heard you’d moved out and asked you out on a date?’ she jokes, trying to keep the conversation light.