The Impossible Search for the Perfect Man

by Martyn, Susie

  Bloody bloody wankers, him and Arian. I hate them more than ever. The first people he showed round have offered the asking price. I didn’t think that kind of thing ever happened. So to add insult to injury, now I’m homeless.

  I can’t help feeling oh so sorry for myself as yet again, I’m consumed by emotion. First my husband announces he’s leaving me, and as if that isn’t enough, he rips my home out from underneath me. My eyes are prickling again, and inside I’m screaming, silently, at the unfairness of it all.

  ‘It may not be a bad thing, Louisa,’ says Agnes most sensibly, when I put the phone down and start wailing. ‘It’s not going to be easy to get over Arian while you’re living in the house that you shared.’

  I snivel a bit longer then dry my blotchy face. I know she’s right – but it’s just too much, too soon. I’d rather wait until I’m feeling stronger – but Agnes has other ideas.

  ‘It may be quite good timing, you know. Now, a friend of mine has a holiday cottage that she’s thinking of renting out long term. It’s only round the corner from here, too. I think she’s fed up with the constant stream of people in and out of it, and would rather just not have the worry. Would you like me to have a word with her on your behalf?’

  My mouth drops open. Agnes is truly a miracle.

  ‘Please...if it’s not too much trouble. There’s Elmer of course too. Do you think your friend would mind her there?’ My voice quakes. I can’t possibly lose Elmer, now of all times.

  ‘Leave it to me,’ says Agnes briskly. ‘I’m sure it won’t be a problem.’

  I feel instantly reassured, knowing that if Agnes says it won’t be a problem, everything will be fine. And so I end up pulling myself together and being most sensible, agreeing with her that this somewhat fortuitous development might indeed be quite a good thing after all.

  In the event, after umpteen costly meetings with solicitors, Arian agrees, most magnanimously, to split the equity down the middle. Oh how generous of him. He and Karina of course, with their combined pilot mega-salaries, will be able to afford a huge mansion with nobs on. On my meagre wages, I’ll be lucky if I can find a pig sty. I resign myself to my new lowly status, which is apparently no less than I deserve.

  In the end, it’s all settled remarkably quickly. He doesn’t want any of our furniture, and actually, neither do I. After all, everything in our house that we chose together now feels tainted, and nor do I want anything that reminds me of HIM. The only exception is an ancient table that used to belong to my Granny.

  He leaves another message, telling me he’ll be collecting his clothes and old flying manuals. Too late, that woman spurned re-emerges and wishes she’d thought to burn them before he got here… Or at least unpicked all his crotches. Far more subtle than cutting them up. How funny would it be if he found himself in the middle of Heathrow Airport, a fine figure of an airline captain basking in all these admiring looks, suddenly aware of a howling draft around his privates. I find the idea childishly appealing. Sadly, I’m deprived of the opportunity. He comes in while I’m at work and also takes the mower. Well, it’s hardly as though he’d forget that.

  So then it’s house clearance and that’s it. All done. And here I am feeling surreal, as I stand in the middle of my house looking around at the emptiness. All that remains is a collection of boxes and a very large, battered table. It’s all happened scarily quickly. Good old Miles is coming over with a horse box to transport me, Elmer and the table to Agnes’s friend’s cottage, which I decided to rent while the dust settles, so to speak. Actually, I didn’t know what else to do. It’s smaller than Plum Tree Cottage, but just perfect for one newly single woman and her weird dog. It’s quite near the Hope and Anchor, and it’s furnished. There’s even a paddock behind, I couldn’t help noticing. Which just so happens to be empty... But best of all, I can’t help thinking with relief, is that with any luck, now this is all over and done with, I really have no reason to speak to Arian ever, ever again.

  4

  But in spite of everything that’s happened, my new home works a kind of magic on me. Surrounded by fields and beech woods, the huge trees catch the wind, and the air is full of the sound of birds. The peace and quiet is shattered only occasionally by the roar of a passing car or tractor - a definite advantage of living out the back end of beyond.

  And there’s the paddock… Fringed with hedges and knee high in shimmering grasses, it really does need a horse in it - just to keep it tidy, you understand.

  Most mornings, it’s five minutes’ walk to the practice. And already, I’m hurting less. Or maybe it’s just the change, because Agnes was absolutely right and relieved of the clutter of my joint life with Arian, and trying to look on the bright side of being a complete failure as a wife, I do feel rather liberated.

  Emma lives quite nearby, in a snazzy barn conversion and as she’s single too, we soon start seeing lots more of each other. She’s an amazing cook, as it turns out and I’m a more than willing guinea pig for her mouth-watering recipes. If she hadn’t been a vet, my multi-talented friend would undoubtedly have been a winner of Masterchef. What I don’t understand is why she isn’t fat as a pig. Out of her work clothes, Emma dresses simply but stylishly, and she’s thin as a supermodel. If I cooked the way she did, I’d be eating all the time. My favourite skinny jeans are already on the tight side, which I need to do something about. Turning into a lard arse is hardly going to improve my self-esteem. I’m flabbergasted when she tells me after a few evenings spent together, that she, too, was married. And is now divorced. My mouth literally drops open.

  ‘No-one else knows, Lou,’ she tells me hurriedly. ‘I’d rather keep it that way too. I met him before Vet College, and after I graduated we got married.’ Then she adds sadly, ‘I was so stupid, and well, young, really. It never could have worked. He wanted to settle down and have a family, and I wanted my career. I didn’t study all those years to stay at home and have babies - well, not straight away, anyway. So a year later we were divorced and that was the end of it.’

  Just as I’m thinking what a bastard, she adds, ‘he wasn’t a bad person. We just made a mistake.’

  ‘Oh Emma, I had no idea…’ I say inadequately, the wind completely taken out of my sails by her honesty. Then more bluntly, ‘You don’t look old enough.’

  She raises her eyebrows at me. ‘If I’d been older, I might have been a little wiser…’ she says soberly. ‘Anyway, its history and not a mistake I’ll make again in a hurry.’

  And there’s more to gossip about when I find out that Emma has fallen for a client, which isn’t generally considered a good idea, but after her divorce, I doubt she’s interested in anything serious. I’ve met him briefly and actually I have to agree, there’s lots to like. Ben is very handsome in a serious kind of way and has a big horse (of course). Well, several actually – it’s how they met. There’s a horse at the heart of everything around here. He’s even asked her out to dinner, but unfortunately for Emma, she was on call.

  I’ve been so wrapped up in myself, it’s passed me by that I don’t have the monopoly on busted marriages. The realisation makes me ashamed, especially when everyone’s been so supportive.

  Another thing bothers me too, because Leo’s gone quiet. She was often here when I first moved and spent many evenings devotedly keeping me company and helping, most therapeutically to dissect Arian’s shortcomings. But lately, I haven’t seen her. I’m sure she’s just busy, but all the same. Something niggles at me and I make a mental note to call her.

  Tonight my mood is buoyant. Agnes is coming for supper, maybe Emma too, if she’s not dashing around saving horses. I never try and compete with Emma’s superlative talents in the kitchen, just keep it simple. Tonight we’re having salad nicoise, which ought to be within even my modest capabilities, with a freshly baked loaf from the pub.

  But earlier than expected, there’s a knock at the door. It can’t be Agnes, because she’s always spot on time, so I’m expecting it to be Emma, only it isn�
��t. I open the door and it’s Leo.

  I’m thrilled that she’s here and as I pour my friend a glass of wine, she glances around admiringly.

  ‘It’s lovely here, Lou. I can’t believe how settled you look, I’m so happy for you.’

  Then she’s uncharacteristically quiet.

  But something doesn’t ring true, because right now, Leonie doesn’t look as though she could be happy about anything. Something’s clearly wrong.

  Then she asks, carefully, in a very subdued voice, ‘Lou? When you thought something was going on with Arian, what was it exactly that made you suspicious?’

  I look at her, dumbfounded. Surely not them too? Not Leonie and Pete, the greatest love story among all my friends I’ve ever had?

  ‘What’s happened Leo? Is something wrong?’

  And suddenly my fear is back, only this time it’s for my friends.

  She sighs. A very heartfelt sigh indeed and suddenly I notice that there are shadows under her eyes that were never there before.

  ‘Oh Lou, I don’t know. Pete just isn’t himself. He’s distant. Bites my head off at the drop of a hat. All he wants to do when he’s home from work is read or sleep. And he won’t talk to me. Not about anything - and we’ve always talked, about everything, until now... I just don’t know what the matter is. I really think it must be me. He seems fine with everyone else…’ Her voice tails off.

  I truly don’t know what to say to help her. She’s right. It doesn’t sound like Pete at all.

  ‘Just hang in there Leo. It might be some work thing on his mind... A base check or an arsey training captain? We both know what these pilots are like...’

  Only too well, in my case.

  She raises huge brown eyes to look at me. ‘If that’s the case, why doesn’t he tell me?’

  ‘Maybe he’s a bit under the weather Leonie, I don’t know. Have you tried to get him out? Or maybe just spend some time together?’

  None of which, of course, made a scrap of difference with Arian.

  Leonie shrugs. I can tell I’m way off the mark here. We’re not really getting anywhere with this.

  ‘Stay for supper?’ I offer. Agnes would know what to say. ‘Agnes and Emma are coming round. There’s plenty for four...’ I try to persuade her. And it might take her mind off things for a while.

  But Leonie shakes her head. ‘Thanks Lou, but I think I’ll go. I don’t think I’d be great company.’

  Supper with Agnes and Emma is always fun, though tonight I can’t quite shake my concern for Leonie from my mind.

  Away from the office, Agnes lets her hair down just a tiny bit, and listens to me and Emma gossiping with an indulgent smile, as though we were her babies. When Emma and I start cackling about initiating Marcus though, Agnes is a touch disapproving.

  ‘That was just a tad unfair of you, girls. If I’d spotted it, you would have got Henderson, Emma.’ Her tone is slightly reprimanding, but there’s the faintest ghost of a smile there too.

  ‘Oh Agnes,’ we both crow. ‘It was funny. Emma’s dealt with that horse loads of times. And Henderson actually paid. Result!’ Emma and I high-five each other.

  Agnes has the good grace to smile properly then. ‘On this occasion, you’re off the hook, girls. But don’t do it again. Really, that poor boy...’

  Poor boy my arse. There’s nothing poor about Marcus. He’s obviously already reeled Agnes in, hook, line and sinker, along with all the other admirers, female of course, that are queuing up for his services, veterinary and otherwise, no doubt.

  I’ve also, just recently, discovered Emma’s guilty secret. Don’t we all have one? Anyway, Emma’s, it seems, is that she is addicted, quite seriously I’m finding out, to horoscopes. ‘Astrology’, she’ll tell you, because she thinks it sounds more intelligent. Can you imagine? She’s clever, educated, accomplished in her career, very pretty, and yet relies on a twat like Jerome Castello, ‘astrologer to the stars’, as he describes himself, to tell her how to live her life. I ask you. Even with my three and a half GCSE’s, I’m not as daft as that.

  Emma has updates regularly texted to her mobile during the day, and pretends to whoever she’s with, be it client or colleague, that it’s an urgent update on a patient. It must cost her a fortune. She is unreservedly and worryingly hooked, and I’ve decided it’s my mission to cure her. Well, someone has to.

  Jerome Castello must be laughing all the way to the bank. There are probably millions of Emma’s who get sucked in via his website, and before they know it, they can’t function without subscribing to his super-duper overpriced premier service. He’s a con man. He must be. I plan to do some research and find out more about him. I don’t like seeing my friends ripped off.

  Half way through the evening, there’s a bleeping noise from Emma’s direction. She leaps to attention and grabs her phone. It could be a call out from a client, or maybe it’s just Jerome with an update. She stands there, listening, uttering the occasional ‘erm,’ or ‘I see’. Then hangs up. Definitely Jerome then.

  ‘Okay?’ I smile brightly at her, holding her gaze just a little longer than necessary.

  ‘Fine.’ Just like Beamish. It must be catching. But she’s looking guilty. Ah ha. She knows I know.

  Agnes looks quizzically from one of us to the other. This must be the first time in the history of the world that I know something she doesn’t.

  Then Emma’s phone bleeps again, and I look at her, annoyed actually, that she’s going to let some stupid astrologer interrupt our evening for the second time. But this time it’s a bona fide client, and after taking some details in a highly professional manner, Emma’s off to save someone’s precious horse. She exits very speedily, knowing full well that she’s only putting off the inevitable, and that I’ll be addressing her problem at the next possible opportunity.

  It’s funny really. My new home isn’t far from where Arian and I lived, but life has changed beyond recognition. But it’s crept up on me that it’s better, a realisation that wasn’t entirely welcome at first – but it’s true. For starters, I have such great friends, I’ve realised, now I no longer take them for granted. And for the most part, I feel really good. There have been the occasional blips when I’ve forgotten myself and reverted to a bawling, snot-nosed wreck, but I always hate myself so much afterwards, I’ve tried to stop myself, because it’s a simple fact that my marriage is over, and no amount of self-pity will change that. Shit happens, and not just to me, as I’m finding out.

  But tonight’s the first night I’ve been unable to sleep in ages. I ditched those hideous 3am gremlins when I left Plum Tree Cottage and have slept like a log ever since. But tonight, for a change, it’s not about me. I can’t stop thinking about Leonie, and wonder what’s going on with Pete. They have always been so utterly devoted to each other. I can’t in all honesty believe they’re headed the same way as me and Arian, but how can I be sure? I didn’t see that coming, after all.

  Leonie adores Pete, loves him with every fibre of her being. I admire that kind of love. And I’m a little envious if I’m honest. I’m not at all sure I ever felt that way about Arian, nor did I invest the tireless, unselfish, unconditional effort that Leonie so generously does. It’s not a welcome thought, but maybe our relationship wasn’t as great as I’d assumed. Maybe, like Emma, I too made a mistake. I mean, far from falling apart, I seem to be managing just fine without him.

  On that less than comfortable note, I fall asleep.

  5

  The next morning is clear and sunny. The kind when you’d like to pause for a moment and believe that summer is just around the corner, but today – no way. From the word go, it’s so hectic, there’s barely time to think. It all kicks off with Miles, who was summoned to a riding school at the crack of dawn to a horse with a suspected fracture. For a horse, that’s life threatening and the owner will be worried out of his mind. Meanwhile Emma has spent most of last night sitting in a stable with an in-foal mare in a very sorry state and has had about an hour’s slee
p, if that. And now, just to top it all, Beamish has phoned in sick. Gastric flu, he says, sounding extremely sorry for himself. Hmm. It might just possibly have been the whisky. So, while Emma is catching forty winks in an empty stable, it’s just Marcus and a rather full diary.

  ‘Okay,’ he starts. ‘Let’s sort this out. This yard here.’ He points to the first entry. ‘It’s all vaccinations and other routine stuff. Can you phone them and say I’ve been called out to an emergency and will be over this afternoon? Miles can cover this one.’ He points to the next entry in the diary. ‘It’s just down the road from where he is now, and I’ll get started on the rest. Think I’ll take Sam, it might speed things up a bit. Give Emma another hour’s sleep and ask her to call me.’

  And with that, he’s striding out of the office, wasting no time at all. Gosh. How jolly masterful. I feel ever so slightly inadequate. Uncharacteristically quiet, Agnes raises her eyebrows at me.

  The afternoon gets better though. A very pretty Shetland called Lucy comes in for an ultrasound, and we all spend ages making a huge fuss of her. She’s followed by a very shouty little pony with an equally gobby owner, who’s unfortunately in no hurry to leave. Paris cruises by (cerise jodhpurs and classic raybans, hair screwed up in a sort of pineapple thing on top of her head) but stays all of about ten seconds once she’s sniffed out the absence of testosterone.

  Miles has sorted out his fracture, which ended up in the nearest equine hospital and which being Miles, he’s frightfully worried about. Emma by now is fully revived and perky as ever, after an hour’s sleep on a bale of hay. How do vets do that? Mind you, pilots do it too. They can sleep anytime, anywhere it would seem - particularly in my ex-husband’s case. But keeping my mind firmly focused on work, I’ve no doubt Beamish will be back in the morning - right as rain - and we’ll be back on track. Marcus, to my surprise, is working his socks off. I’m not easily impressed, but dare I say it, without him, today would have been a nightmare.