Annie Lyons - Not Quite Perfect

Joel is riled. ‘Well, I think Digby would disagree.’

‘Well, Digby isn’t Queenie’s editor and while I am tasked with producing books that are fit for publication, I will have the ultimate say on covers, OK?’

‘Like I say, I think Digby might have something to say.’

‘And so might Miranda,’ retorts Emma aware that they are starting to sound like five-year-olds.

Philippa and Saskia shift uncomfortably in their seats. The rest of the meeting passes without further confrontation, but beneath it all Emma is seething.

‘I mean, who does he think he is?’ she complains to Ella on returning to her desk.

A beautiful array of pink and white lilies is waiting for her. She picks up the card. They’re from her godmother, Rosie: ‘Clever girl. Well done.’ Her phone rings. She picks it up smiling. ‘Hello-oo?’

‘Emma? It’s Mummy. You sound pleased with yourself.’

‘I am, thanks, Mum. Auntie Rosie just sent me the most gorgeous flowers.’

‘Oh.’ Her mother sounds perplexed. ‘Did I miss something?’

‘Oh sorry, I forgot to tell you. We got that book I was telling you about.’

‘Oh. Good. Well done. It’s a shame you didn’t think to tell us before your godmother. We’re only your parents.’

‘Sorry, Mum, and I didn’t tell Rosie. She must have heard. You know what she’s like.’

‘Yes I do. Anyway, Emma, Rachel and I are going to take you dress-shopping. How about this Saturday?’

‘Sorry, I can’t do this Saturday. Martin’s whisking me away for the weekend.’

‘Oh. Right. Is there anything else you haven’t told us? You’re not emigrating like your sister are you?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Oh well at least Rachel tells us things first. Your brother-in-law is planning to move them all to Scotland.’

‘What?’

‘Exactly. So when you’ve finished living your life in isolation from your family, maybe we could set a date to look for wedding dresses?’

‘Don’t be like that, Mum. Look, I’ll take a day off. Maybe Dad can look after the kids and we can have a girly day with Rach?’

Diana doesn’t want to give in, but Emma can tell she’s softening. ‘All right, let’s say Monday week.’

‘Perfect. Wow, that’s big news about Rachel. I’m seeing her tomorrow and I thought there was something up.’

‘Yes well, maybe you can try talking some sense into her. Goodness only knows I’ve tried.’

Rachel takes a sip from her Styrofoam™ cup of coffee and does a quick head count. Lily and Alfie are engaged in a stand-off with an older boy on the play-bus, while Will is scaling the rope climbing frame, SAS-style. She sees Christa and Roger and waves. Roger jumps out of his pushchair with great excitement and runs over to join Lily and Alfie.

‘Halloo,’ cries Christa kissing Rachel on both cheeks. ‘Could Sue not make it?’

‘Joe’s still poorly. How are you?’

‘Good, danke .’

‘Coffee?’ asks Rachel finishing her first and ready for another.

‘ Nein danke , your English coffee tastes like scheisse .’

Rachel laughs. ‘It’s actually Nescafé which I believe is a Swiss company?’ she says with a grin.

‘ Ja perhaps, but they are not as bad as your Pot Noodles, hey?

‘Touché! So, how are things with you?’ asks Rachel as they find a bench.

‘Fine. I think you and Sue were perhaps a little shocked by the things I told you on Monday, yes?’

‘It does sound like you’ve got a lot on your plate.’

Christa laughs. ‘I love you English and your metaphors. My life is really not so bad. Rudi is a good man really. He looks after us. We are going to have a wonderful family holiday next month.’

‘Oh lovely. Where are you going?’ asks Rachel thinking of Disneyland or a villa in Spain.

‘We are sehr lucky as that lovely Cowell man is letting us use his yacht.’

Rachel is amazed. ‘As in Simon Cowell?’

‘ Nein! ’ Christa snorts as if this is the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard. ‘ Nein , silly, his brother, Nicholas. He is not nearly as rich. He only has one yacht while Simon has, I think, six or seven.’

‘Well, that will be fantastic.’

‘ Ja , for sure. You should come!’

‘Oh I don’t think so.’

‘ Ja! It would be so much fun. There are always many famous people dropping in. Last year Paris Hilton was there and Bruce Willis. Paris was so sweet with Roger and Bruce is lovely. He told me to call him if Rudi and I ever split up.’

‘Really?’ says Rachel, wishing that Sue was there.

‘Well, you know. Have a think about it. Talk to Dave,’ she adds.

‘Steve,’ corrects Rachel.

‘Yes, him too. Roger!’

Christa strides off to rescue her bilious-looking son from the roundabout, which Lily and Alfie have been spinning a little too fast.

‘Mum! Look at me!’

Rachel looks over to see Will at the top of the climbing frame.

‘Well done, Will. Clever boy.’

She catches sight of Verity talking with intensity to another mother. She lifts her hand to wave, but Verity looks away, pretending not to see her. Rachel sighs as her phone beeps with a text. It’s Steve: ‘Dn’t b md bt gt 2 wrk l8 agn. Lkng 4wrd 2 w/e. Love u, sx’

Rachel punches a reply ‘OK. Going fr drnks wth Em 2mrrw.Pls cn u b on time, r’

Steve answers: ‘Wll do my bst. C u l8tr. x’

Rachel throws her phone into her bag and calls to the children. ‘Right who wants pizza? Mummy’s treat!’

Richard Bennett is feeling smug as he strides into the entrance hall of the Battersea riverside apartments. The lobby is tastefully decorated with modern-looking canvasses and the discreet lighting gives a warm glow that says ‘you really want to live here’. Richard breathes in the aroma of a new and untouched world, a million miles away from the piss and vomit stench of his East Dulwich flat’s corridor.

‘Mr Bennett?’

He turns smiling, ready with effortless charm. He is delighted by the form and features of the person before him. She holds out a perfectly manicured, soft hand.

‘Sophie Chancellor. Delighted to meet you. I think you’ll like what I’m about to show you,’ she adds with mild innuendo.

‘The pleasure will be all mine,’ Richard replies, knowing that this sounds corny, but also knowing that he is talking to a casual acquaintance. He has nothing to lose.

‘Please follow me.’

He follows her into the lift, enjoying a shameless view of Sophie’s perfectly sculpted behind, enveloped as it is in an hourglass-tight, knee-length skirt. As they travel to the ninth floor, Richard observes the curve of her neck and notices her checking him with a coy, sexy smile. They emerge from the lift and she leads him to the end of a corridor, then takes a sharp right, stopping at door number 915.

‘Here we are. Home,’ she says with a smile as she turns the key.

Richard pushes the door and is impressed. Every corner of the flat screams ‘I’m modern, I’m hip. You want me.’ From the granite breakfast bar and six-ring stove to the Bose stereo which blinks into life at the flick of a switch, it is everything Richard has longed for. All the endless research trips, the hours spent doing time at the British Library and the years writing, getting rejected, rewriting and then getting accepted as a proper writer, have been worth it. Richard turns towards the French windows that flank one side of the apartment and is breathless at the view. London in all its mish-mashed glory stretches before him looking wonderful. Richard turns to Sophie who is watching him carefully, allowing him to take in his surroundings.

Good at her job and probably a good shag too , he thinks.