Читать книгу Not Quite Perfect - Annie Lyons - Страница 11

Rachel looks at the kitchen and tries to ignore the Weetabix-encrusted carnage. She presses the button on the washing machine, waiting with impatience for it to release the laundry. She can hear Alfie and Lily shouting their usual morning chorus of ‘I hate you’s’ and decides to let them resolve it for themselves, like the books tell you to. She unlocks the back door and picks her way across the dewy grass. She is just prising apart a mass of trousers and socks, when she hears the phone ring.

‘I’ll get it!’ calls Lily. Rachel curses. Moments later, her daughter pads into the garden.

‘My socks are wet and it’s Grandpa,’ she announces. Rachel accepts the phone and waves her daughter away with the international semaphore sign for ‘Go and find some dry socks.’

‘Hi, Dad,’ she says at last.

‘Morning, daughter number one. Your mother was fretting so she made me phone you,’ he says with a chuckle.

Rachel laughs. ‘I’m fine thanks, Dad. It was lovely to see you all yesterday, despite the apple tree incident.’

‘Yes and how is the little man this morning?’

Rachel can hear her mother talking in the background, directing operations. ‘He’s absolutely fine. No lasting damage. What’s Mum saying?’

Edward doesn’t speak for a moment, as he tries to listen to two separate conversations. ‘Sorry, Rachel. Your mother wants to know if you and Steve are all right?’ says Edward. Rachel hears her mother exclaim at his lack of subtlety.

She laughs again. ‘We’re fine. Why?’

‘She wants to know why,’ Edward reports back to his increasingly exasperated wife.

‘Oh for heaven’s sake, Edward. Give me the phone will you? Honestly, if you want something done in this family. Rachel?’ says Diana as she takes the phone.

‘Yes, Mum?’

‘Now don’t you “yes, Mum” me. I know what you and Daddy are like when you get together. I simply wanted to check that everything is all right between you and Steve.’

‘I’ve just told Dad we’re fine. Why do you ask?’

‘Steve has asked us to have the children on Saturday night.’

‘Oh right, yes, well we just want to have a little time on our own as a married couple.’

‘Yes all right, Rachel. There’s no need to be coarse. So I don’t need to worry then?’

Rachel contemplates this question and then immediately rejects the idea of telling her Mother about Edinburgh. ‘No, of course not.’

‘Well good, because I’ve got enough to worry about with this wedding of your sister’s. I’ll hand you back to your father.’

‘Rachel? Sorry about that. You know what your mother gets like when she’s been listening to the Today programme. Two hours of John Humphries and she just won’t let things go,’ says Edward.

‘It’s all right, Dad. I know.’

‘You know you can always talk to your old dad, if there is anything, don’t you?’

‘I know, Dad. Thanks. Look, I’ve got to go.’ Rachel replaces the phone and glances at her watch.

‘Kids! We’re –’

‘Yeah, yeah, we know. Late again!’ says Lily. ‘It’s OK, we’ve done our shoes and coats. We’re a bit more organised than grown-ups, you know.’

‘Well thank you, Lily,’ says Rachel through gritted teeth, grabbing her bag and ushering them out of the door.

It’s fortunate that Emma is not the sort of girl who blushes. She does her best to shake hands with Richard without betraying what can only be described as her almighty cock-up. Looking at him properly for the first time, she notices his dark brown eyes and the dimple that appears when the subject is amused. The subject is now extremely amused.

‘Hello, Emma. So good to see you. I feel as it we’ve met somewhere before? Or maybe not?’ He plonks himself down into the nearest chair, grabs a pastry and grins at her. Happily, no one else seems to notice this display.

‘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!’