Not Quite Perfect

‘Coffee anyone?’ asks Miranda.

‘Tea thanks. Lapsang souchong if you have it – with lemon,’ says Joanna.

‘Yeah. Coffee’s fine. Milk, no sugar thanks,’ says Richard folding his arms behind his head in a ‘so what can you offer me?’ type way.

‘Of course. I’ll get Andrea to do the honours,’ says Miranda disappearing.

Emma is panicking inwardly like a child whose mother has left the room, but she fights the urge to throw herself on the floor and beat the carpet with her fists, offering Joanna a seat instead. Joanna looks horrified and turns to inspect the chair, dusting it with a manicured hand and perching awkwardly, as if this is the first time she’s sat down in her life. All the while Richard is eyeing Emma with vast amusement.

‘So,’ booms Miranda on her return, ‘thank you for coming today. We’re tremendously excited about this book and hope you decide that Allen Chandler is the best home for it. Emma has prepared some data on the current market, our comparable titles and what we can offer Richard.’

‘Oh come on, Miranda, never mind that. This is a brilliant and original book. We all know that. Every other publisher is telling us that. Great. Fantastic. We’re thrilled. But what are you prepared to pay?’ Joanna’s voice is direct, fierce and as terrifying as her reputation. Emma gulps. No one speaks to Miranda like that. Her eyes betray thunder, but her smile remains fixed.

‘No Joanna, it’s OK, I think we should hear what Emma has to say.’ Richard’s voice is amused and almost mocking.

‘Do you?’ Joanna says in surprise. ‘Oh all right then. Let’s hear it.’

Emma’s heart is in her mouth. ‘Right, well I’ve prepared some data.’

‘Yes, yes. Miranda said that. Let’s see it.’

She passes round the pages.

‘Ooh, PowerPoint®. How modern!’ says Richard, and Joanna sniggers.

‘The first slide shows what we view as the benchmarks for this title and sales data to support,’ says Emma ignoring them.

‘Life of Pi? The Book Thief? Surely The Red Orchid is better than these?’ says Joanna looking unimpressed.

‘Well, I think so, yes. If you look at Allen Chandler’s own, comparable titles from the past five years we have exceeded sales of these industry benchmarks, and I see no reason why we can’t go even further with The Red Orchid.’

‘How?’

‘Well, it will obviously be picked up by the key retailers and reviewers.’

‘Ha! A Waterstone’s 3 for 2 and four inches in the Guardian does not a bestseller make.’

‘Well, then there’s the awards.’

‘Yes, but there’s no guarantee, is there?’

‘Of course not, but –’

‘What I want to know is, how are you going to make the UK’s most talented and original author since McEwan into an out and out bestseller?’

‘As I’ve said –’

‘But you haven’t said. It’s all hot air and promises you can’t keep, isn’t it?’

Richard is grinning, enjoying the spectacle, but for Emma it is turning into another fight with her mother. She is waiting for Joanna to tell her to go and tidy her room.

‘No, it’s not all hot air and promises,’ says Emma surprising everyone in the room including herself. Joanna looks at her sharply. ‘In the past ten years the fiction market has changed beyond recognition.’

‘Tell me something I don’t know,’ yawns Joanna.

‘Publishers are under incredible pressure to deliver profit, but are being squeezed by the demands of agents and authors for ever higher advances.’

‘And I suppose that’s my fault, is it?’ Joanna wants to spar. Emma won’t bite.

‘There are a whole host of publishers who will offer you more money than they can ever earn just to win your book.’

‘And?’

Emma address her directly now, refusing to be cowed. ‘And, those with the fattest cheque books don’t necessarily have what you need to turn a book from an emerging talent to a bestseller to a classic.’

‘Oh please impart your wisdom. What would that be?’

‘One word: Passion.’

Joanna snorts with derision. Miranda is watching Emma with what she detects is a glimmer of pride. Emma takes courage from this and addresses Richard directly. ‘Your characters, particularly Alexander and Newton, are the lifeblood of this book. They leap out and grab you by the throat, and Alexander’s unrequited love for Stella is one of the greatest love stories ever told. It’s a story that will stay with readers for ever.’

Richard’s eyes are fixed on Emma now, calm and steady. He has lost his earlier cockiness. He opens his mouth to speak but Joanna butts in. ‘Listen, I’m sure you’re a great editor and it’s lovely to hear that you’ve read and loved this book. Ya di ya big deal, but what are ya gonna pay?’ She spits out the last six words with venom.

Miranda clears her throat. ‘Joanna, I think it’s time we drew this meeting to a close.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Yes, so am I. I think we have been upfront, honest and seeringly enthusiastic for Richard’s book. If it’s all about the money, it’s not for us. Shall I see you to the lift?’ Miranda appears calm but the area of neck just below her ears has reddened.

‘But I thought –’ Joanna blurts.

‘Then you thought wrong. If other publishers are prepared to let you throw your weight around and patronise their editors, then more fool them. I, for one, am not.’

Joanna opens her mouth to speak but stops when she sees Miranda’s face. She raises herself up on her bony twig legs and pats her immobile hair. ‘Come on, Richard, let’s go to another, less short-sighted publisher.’ Joanna Uppington breezes out of the room on a waft of Chanel No. 5.

Richard is still staring at Emma.

‘Richard!’ shouts Joanna from the corridor.

Richard jumps up ready to follow, but stops at the door and turns to address Emma and Miranda. ‘I’m sorry, I have to erm, it was lovely to meet you –’

‘Richard!’ screeches Joanna again.

Richard holds up his hands and smiles like a defeated man. ‘Bye,’ he says and darts out of the door.

‘Tell me his written word is better than his spoken,’ says Miranda after a moment.

‘It is. Unfortunately,’ says Emma with a sigh. ‘Why does Joanna behave like that?’

‘Because, my dear, she is a bully and frankly we’re better off without them both.’ Her phone chirps and she glances at it, looking weary. Emma feels guilty. ‘It’s Digby. I better update him.’

Emma takes this as a signal to leave and tries to creep back to her desk unnoticed. She realises that the god of shit days has got it in for her as she turns the corner and Joel appears out of nowhere. Emma jumps. ‘Jesus, Joel!’

‘Ahh, thanks for the accolade, you can just call me Joel though. Sooo, how’d it go? Ooh. Not so good eh?’

‘I don’t know. We’ll just have to see.’

‘Ouch. That bad eh? You should have asked me to come along, Em. I would have been happy to help.’

Emma bristles at his familiar use of her name. Realising that homicide is probably not the best course of action, she tries to muster some dignity and shambles back to her desk. Almost immediately, Ella is by her side confirming that the Joel bush telegraph is fully operational.

‘Come on,’ she says, ‘we need Oreo cookie cheesecake and we need it now.’

The over-enthusiastic librarian has her hand up a surprised looking crocodile puppet as Rachel arrives hot and flustered at the library. As the highlight of pre-school entertainment in this town, the tiny space is packed with fifty or more mums and dads and their wriggly offspring. Rachel attempts to park her double buggy by the door.

‘Can’t park there, love,’ insists a red-faced man with a bunch of keys on his belt.

‘Can’t I?’ says Rachel irritated.

‘‘ealth ‘n’ safety innit?’ he insists.

‘Right. Fine.’ Rachel can’t be bothered to argue and steers the buggy round to ‘Large Print’. She turns round to see that Alfie has escaped, while is sister is still calmly disembarking. ‘Lily, where’s Alfie?’

‘I don’t know,’ says Lily with a complete lack of concern.

‘Oh shit!’

A large lady in her sixties who is dressed like a duchess tuts loudly in Rachel’s direction.

‘Sorry, it’s just that I’ve lost my –’

‘Boo!’ Alfie jumps out from behind a Catherine Cookson display.

The woman is unimpressed. ‘This isn’t a crèche, you know.’

Rachel wants to respond but Alfie is tugging at her leg,

‘Let’s go and see Joe, Mummy.’

‘All right, darling. Silly old bag,’ mutters Rachel.

Lily giggles. ‘Silly old bag!’

The woman looks around and Rachel smiles trying to look innocent. ‘Bye!’

After a row of ‘sorry’s’ and side-shuffles, she reaches Sue and Christa and their respective sons, Joe and Roger. ‘What did I miss?’ she whisper to Sue.

‘Just a couple of ‘Bobbins’ and an energetic ‘Sailor Went to Sea’.’

The librarian, a bony woman of indeterminate age, is now handing out musical instruments. Alfie shakes his sleigh bell enthusiastically resulting in a glancing blow to Roger’s bemused face.

‘Alfie! Say sorry.’

‘Sorreeee,’ sings Alfie with a grin.

Roger looks unsure, but then joins in as Joe takes this as a cue for an impromptu sword fight.

‘Boys! Stop it!’ commands Lily. ‘I can’t hear the lady.’

The boys comply and Sue smiles, impressed. ‘Got her mother’s way with men, has she?’

‘I wish. Wait until I tell you what Steve’s got lined up for us.’

‘I’m hoping it’s an all expenses paid trip to 5-star luxury beach resort with hot and cold running nannies but from your face, I’m guessing not.’

‘Ok, mums, dads, boys and girls, are we ready to be jingle-jangle scarecrows?’

‘Tell you over a latte,’ says Rachel with a rictus, ready-to-sing grin.

Emma lets Ella take her by the arm like some doddery old dear and they make the short walk to Auntie Mabel’s, the favourite haunt for any day when they’re in need of a consolation doughnut or celebratory bun. Emma has always thought it a shame that there is no Auntie Mabel: The proprietors are Simon and his partner David and they happily dispense cake and wisdom as a favourite auntie would.

‘Ohmygod. David? Look at that face. Bad news, is it sweetie?’ says Simon as the bell above the door signals their entrance.

Emma lets out an enormous sigh in response and nods, adopting the look of a dejected child.

‘Oh my darling, bring those puppy dog eyes here. Uncle Simon will make it better.’ He embraces her and guides them to a table covered with a red check cloth and tomato-shaped ketchup bottle. ‘Here, have Audrey’s table. I’m guessing it’s two caps and two cheesecake?’

‘Simon, you’re as perceptive as a girl and yet such a loss to the female race!’ says Ella.

‘Ah but gorgeous girl, I am seriously high maintenance and would spend much longer in the bathroom than you. Apart from that and the aversion to fannies, you’d turn me in a heartbeat.’

Ella giggles like a schoolgirl. When Emma brought her mother here for lunch, Simon had her eating out of his hand and Diana kept trying to hook her up with David: ‘What a catch he’d be, Em!’ Emma didn’t have the heart to tell her, but luckily Martin came along and she had another prospective son-in-law to fix her hopes on.

‘Are we in full-scale “don’t be nice to me” mode?’ inquires Ella.

Emma looks up at Audrey Hepburn gazing down at them in that ‘yes, I am more beautiful that you could ever hope to be but I won’t make you feel bad about it and could actually be your best friend if we met’ way. ‘I think we are,’ Emma replies.

‘Right,’ says Ella feeling uncomfortable at the prospect of having to insult rather than hug her friend.

David appears with their order. ‘Here we go. I’ve given you a dollop of homemade vanilla ice cream as well. All on the house today girls.’

Ella sees Emma’s lip begin to wobble and ploughs in. ‘Who wants to publish that kind of fiction anyway?’

‘I do,’ says Emma. ‘Can’t you do any better than that?’

‘OK,’ says Ella unsure. ‘Well it won’t make us any money and will just be a pain in the arse to get off the ground.’

‘Now you sound like Joel.’

Ella looks crestfallen. Emma knows she’s just too lovely for this kind of thing. Then she surprises her. ‘Well you’re a crap editor and it will better off at another publisher.’

‘Ella, steady on!’

‘Sorry, you know I’m not much good at this game. How about “the author’s probably a tosser”?’

‘Actually, that might be true.’

Ella raises her eyebrows quizzically.

‘Well there are the rumours that he’s a ladies’ man and he did seem to enjoy watching me squirm during the pitch meeting.’

‘There you go then,’ smiles Ella, pleased to have found a negative for her friend to cling to. ‘That probably explains why he writes about relationships so well.’

‘Yes, all right. Aren’t you supposed to be telling me about how much better off I am without this man and his novel?’

‘Oh yes, sorry. Well it has its flaws.’

‘Like what?’

‘Well the title’s a bit girly.’

‘Girly?’

‘Yeah, I mean how many blokes want to read a book with a flower in the title?’

‘OK, it’s a viewpoint. What else?’

‘Erm, it’s too long?’

‘Too long?’

‘A bit’

‘Do you think Tolstoy would have created one of the masterpieces of fiction if his editor had told him War and Peace was a bit on the lengthy side?’

‘S’pose not. Do you think you would stop feeling sorry for yourself with a gob full of cheesecake?’

‘Good point.’

Despite a noble effort from Ella and two more pieces of cheesecake, Emma returns to the office with a heavy heart and even heavier stomach. Her phone shows two missed calls from Martin. She calls him back. ‘Lo?’ she says in a flat voice.

‘I take it we’re not celebrating this evening.’

‘Oh Martin, it was bloody awful.’

‘You poor thing. Do you want me and Charlie to go round and sort him out for you?’

‘It’s a kind offer but I’d rather have a hug.’

‘Now that won’t be difficult. Listen, I’ll cook you your favourite tonight and we’ll drown our sorrows. Spaghetti Bolognese is it, madam?’

‘Thanks darling. I love you.’

‘Love you too.’

After a morning of trying children, a nagging mother and cheery singing, Rachel is ready for something far stronger than a skinny latte. However, the coffee shop does offer the next best thing with its promise of grown-up interaction and sugar-infused treats for the children to prolong this grown-up interaction. Despite its coffee chain décor of dark wood tables, fat dark brown sofas and sepia pictures of corpulent grinning ‘roasters’ and couples enjoying the coffees of their lives, Rachel has a fondness for this place. She has come here since Will was a baby and knows most of the baristas by sight. Plus they welcome the mothers of the town and don’t balk at mashed muffin or spilt smoothie. They have circled their buggies like wagons, bought their coffees and the children are distracted with cake. Rachel is recounting the details of last night’s argument with Steve.

‘Edinburgh?’

‘I know!’

‘Wow!’

‘I know!’

‘It’s an amazing city, really beautiful.’

‘Yeah, OK but I’m wallowing in self-pity here and you’re supposed to be helping.’

‘Right, sorry. It is bloody far away too.’

‘Exactly.’

‘And the weather’s shit. Al went to uni there. He loved it but always says the weather was appalling.’

‘Precisely.’

Christa laughs. ‘You English and your weather. It’s a national passing of time, isn’t it?’

Rachel smiles. ‘I just don’t want to bring up my kids so far from my family. Sorry, Christa, that was a bit insensitive of me. You must miss your family terribly.’

‘It is OK, Rachel. To be honest, I do not really get on with my family, not since my mother’s sex change.’

Sue nearly chokes on her muffin. ‘Her what?’

‘Ja, she was name of Wilhelmina and now she is just Wilhelm.’

Rachel notices Sue ram the rest of her muffin in her mouth to stop herself from laughing.

‘Mein poor father did not see it coming. I think it was the shock das killed him.’

‘God, that’s awful Christa,’ says Rachel unsure of what else to say.

‘Ja, that and the prostitute he was with the night he died. His herz was never very strong, you see.’

Rachel doesn’t dare make eye contact with Sue and pats Christa’s arm, trying to look earnest.

‘But I’m so sorry Rachel, you were saying about moving away from your family. Are you very close?’

Rachel thinks for a moment. She adores her father, her mother interferes but means well, and Emma is, well, her baby sister.

‘We’re as close as any family and I just don’t really want my kids missing out on the chance of those relationships.’

Sue has regained her composure. ‘What does Steve say?’

‘Well, he, erm,’ Rachel says, ‘actually, I don’t know. I kind of shouted him down and didn’t really ask him.’

‘Sorry, dear friend, I’m as ready as the next militant feminist to blame men for everything from global warming to why the plughole’s always full of hair, but even I think you need to talk this one through properly.’

‘I know, I know. You’re right. What would you do then, oh wise and rational one? Would you up sticks and go?’

‘No comparison, my friend. The family is all tucked up safe and sound in the North. I’d probably jump at the chance to be honest. I mean, London’s all right, but this south-east corner isn’t exactly Hampstead and you don’t really get the benefit of living in the big smoke with kids. I mean, when was the last time you went to the cinema or a gig?’

‘2003. Duran Duran reunion gig. Bloody fantastic. Anyway, I grew up round here and it’s not that bad. I bet more people get mugged in Hampstead.’

‘Maybe. I just don’t know if I want Joe to be a teenager around here. All those knives and gangs. I say think about it. Rationally,’ says Sue with a grin.

‘You’re supposed to tell me to stay,’ says Rachel crestfallen.

‘Rach, you know I’ll probably just take the kids to the pub and the bookies if you ever leave us, but all I’m saying is think about it.’

Christa is looking wistful. ‘It must be nice to have a husband who is there and who values your opinion. My Rudi is never here.’

‘He works for a drinks company, doesn’t he?’

‘Ja, he is Russian and spends a lot of time in Moscow. I think he has a mistress.’

‘Christa, that’s terrible!’

‘Ja, but I have my boy and Rudi would never forget his responsibility to his boy.’ She ruffles Roger’s ginger mop of hair.

‘Now, let’s have another coffee and perhaps some kuchen? My treat,’ Christa smiles broadly as if she has just given them details of a lovely holiday rather than a life in turmoil.

‘That poor woman,’ whispers Rachel while Christa is ordering for them.

‘I know. Fancy have a mum with a willy, called Willy!’

Rachel explodes with laughter. ‘Susan, you are going straight to hell!’

‘Yeah, baby and you’re right behind me!’

Chapter 4

Rachel stacks the plates from lunch into the dishwasher and listens, enjoying the sweet sound of silent children enjoying the chaotic capers of a talking dog and his hippy friends. Will has declared Scooby Doo to be a ‘baby’s programme’, but Rachel has noticed how he grasps one of Lily’s hands when the janitor dressed up as a ghost tries to spook the characters. She looks in on them now; three perfect forms with wide eyes and open mouths, rapt in a state of unbridled joy at the action playing out on screen, barely aware of her presence. Lily glances round.

‘Look, Mummy, Scooby’s going to have another snack!’

‘Oh my goodness! Is he? I bet that’s his third or fourth so far!’ says Rachel.

‘Fifth actually, Mum,’ corrects Will, ever hot on his facts.

‘Well enjoy, my darlings; Mummy is just going to do something on the computer.’

‘Can Alfie look too?’ asks Alfie, his eyes not leaving the screen.

‘In a bit darling, you watch Scooby with Lils and Will.’

Rachel takes her chance and sneaks away, tragically excited about a few precious moments away from motherhood, even if it’s just to pay some bills. She feels a mild thrill as the computer starts up and she connects to the internet, her mind filling with expectation at what she might find. It reaffirms that there is still a world out there, even if she often feels disconnected from it. It seems ridiculous that her house is filled with chaos and yet she feels so lonely and detached from it, like a character watching life play out before her. Rachel stares at the glowing screen, its possibilities welcoming her, inviting her in: Do you feel lucky? Just click here, madam. Not sure what you’re after? Just punch in a couple of words and we’ll do the rest.

She is methodical however and goes straight to her e-mails. She sends her sister a message asking about the book pitch and gets a response almost immediately: ‘Cock-up of the century. Too depressed to speak. Have just eaten my own body weight in cheesecake. How’s Alf?’

Rachel grins. She considers telling Emma about the possible move to Scotland but can’t face it. Instead she writes, ‘No lasting damage. Never mind about the book – bet it was a pile of crap anyway. Let’s go and drown our sorrows soon. R x’

‘Ok. Speak soon. Big hugs to you all. E x’

Rachel looks around her, trying desperately to remember what she is supposed to be doing on the internet. She finds her brain increasingly unable to retain this kind of information, like some kind of leaky bottle. The other day, she had stood in front of the fridge for a good five minutes before she remembered that she was looking for the cheese.

She glances to her right and notices that Steve has left his BlackBerry at home. She looks back at the screen trying to ignore the urge that is starting to overwhelm her. She looks back at Steve’s phone. Its blue flashing light seems to tempt and console her at the same time: Go on, have a look. No one will ever know. It’s not as if you’re going to find anything incriminating anyway.

Rachel shakes her head and turns back to the computer, desperately trying to remember what she was going to search for.

‘Oh bollocks!’ she mutters grabbing Steve’s phone and clicking it into life. She’s not sure why she’s looking or what she’s looking for, but almost without knowing it, she finds herself looking at Steve’s e-mails. One is from someone called Sam and is entitled ‘Coffee’.

Hmm, thinks Rachel, never heard of Sam before. She clicks on the message feeling a bit sordid for checking up on her husband.

Hi Steve, are you still OK for coffee at 11 today? Need to talk about rolling out training on new IT system to your team. Thanks, Sam.

Rachel sighs, feeling guilty for even suspecting infidelity when all Steve is doing is having coffee with some geeky bloke from IT. Suddenly, her eye is caught by an e-mail entitled ‘Edinburgh’ and she has clicked on it before she’s had the chance to question her actions. The message, from Steve’s boss, Doug details, ‘our discussions regarding a possible move to start up a new office’ and was sent a month ago. Rachel is outraged. She reaches for her mobile and punches buttons until she finds Steve’s office number. It clicks straight through to his voicemail. Rachel flings the phone across the room with a growl of anger. Her heart is pounding and she has scared herself by flying off the handle so readily.

‘Mum?’ Lily appears at the door looking concerned, but not surprised by her mother’s outburst

Rachel is caught off guard. ‘Darling, sorry, Mummy was just –’

‘When’s Daddy coming home?’ asks Lily interrupting her.

Rachel is irritated by the question. ‘No bloody idea,’ she says.

Lily looks unimpressed. ‘Don’t swear, Mummy. It’s rude.’