The Impossible Search for the Perfect Man

by Martyn, Susie

  ‘You’re so nosey,’ she says. ‘If you must know, Will and I talked, and that’s all, for most of the night.’ And she starts looking dreamy.

  ‘Stop looking so lovestruck,’ I tell her bossily. ‘You were late and you’ve got work to catch up on.’

  But wow. It’s exciting, because I really think this is the start of something.

  Marcus gets caught up with the police for ages, which is a complete waste of his time because it’s far too late for the poor horses. He comes into the office at lunch time looking exhausted.

  ‘God, Lou. I’ve never had a morning like that, ever.’

  I make him a cup of strong coffee, and we sit outside in the yard while he drinks it.

  ‘You okay?’ I ask sympathetically.

  Marcus sighs rather too much like Miles does, in response.

  ‘You know, it’s one thing when a horse gets sick. I can cope with that. But road accidents are almost always because there’s an idiot. Which results in a horse that’s so damaged you can’t put it back together.’

  Oh my giddy aunt. We need some light relief, or we’ll all become as morose as Miles. And, right on cue, in comes Mrs Boggle. Four hours early, God bless her soul, which is entirely out of character. And she’s dyed her hair bright orange. Not chestnut, or auburn, or any even strawberry blonde. It’s nasturtium orange and my eyes are popping out of my head.

  ‘Mrs Boggle,’ I say to her earnestly. ‘I absolutely LOVE your hair…’

  Meanwhile Marcus is spluttering none too quietly into his coffee. Mrs Boggle gives him a killer look.

  ‘Don’t mind him,’ I say soothingly to her. ‘He’s had an absolutely terrible morning.’

  Then I add, ‘You’re very early today. Is everything okay?’

  ‘Fine, duck,’ she says, still giving Marcus dirty looks. ‘Only the bike’s got to be serviced later. Won’t have no wheels, like. Thought I better see to them loos.’

  Which is immensely thoughtful of her. And off she goes to get her bucket.

  I elbow Marcus in the side, hard.

  ‘You are very rude,’ I tell him bluntly.

  ‘I know,’ he grins. ‘And I can be even ruder… Come here…’

  But his lewd suggestions are brought to an untimely close as Karina yells out, ‘Louisa? Are you there? There’s a call for you…’

  Karina’s day ends at lunchtime, unless there’s any reason for her to stay on. And so when Will comes in later in the afternoon, I swiftly corner him and find out exactly what’s going on.

  ‘Had a great evening last night,’ he says happily. ‘That Oscar is a great little nipper. I told him my favourite stories,’ he says, looking all starry-eyed.

  I’m not convinced that’s such a good idea. I should hardly imagine that Will’s favourite stories are suitable for a three month old baby. They’re probably x-rated and full of topless nymphos, but then what on earth would I know. Maybe the obsession with the female form starts earlier than I thought.

  ‘And how did you and Karina get on?’ I ask, knowing that it’s pointless beating around the bush when you’re talking to Will.

  ‘Good,’ he says. ‘I don’t want to rush her, but she’s gorgeous, don’t you think?’

  And he gives me a dopey smile.

  That night, Marcus is still upset, but this time it’s about something else.

  ‘That flaming estate agent,’ he says irately. ‘He’s farting about wasting so much of my time. He’s trying to make me go and see houses that I’m not interested in. And anyway, I don’t want to look at anywhere unless we go together.’

  My ears prick up.

  ‘Marcus?’ I ask thoughtfully. ‘Would that by any chance be Martin Slime, I mean Syme, who’s supposed to be selling your cottage? Super smug, shiny suit, very sleek car?’ I add, just in case it helps.

  ‘That’s him,’ says Marcus bitterly. ‘And what’s more, he made me an offer himself. A bloody cheeky low one too.’ He laughs hollowly.

  ‘Hmmm. Martin and I go way back,’ I tell Marcus meaningfully. ‘And actually I happen to know that he is a bit of a sneaky bugger when it comes to house deals.’

  ‘Now I’m interested,’ says Marcus. ‘Go on…’

  ‘Well, Mr Slime has quite a substantial property portfolio. Did you know that?’ I say, enjoying myself. ‘I think he must have a way with the old ladies, who end up practically giving their homes away. To him of course.’

  Marcus is nodding slowly now. ‘I get it,’ he says at last. ‘He doesn’t let any would-be buyers anywhere near, then tells the old dears that it’s obviously over-priced, then makes them a ridiculous offer.’

  Golly. Even I hadn’t worked out the details. Marcus’s imagination is almost on a par with mine – but he must be right.

  ‘I’ll deal with that little toad tomorrow,’ says Marcus.

  ‘Oh, do give him my best,’ I say innocently.

  But far from amused, Marcus is furious. ‘Tomorrow I’m putting the cottage on with a different agent,’ he says angrily.

  He’s still cross after we’ve had supper. In fact, I’ve never seen him in such a mood.

  ‘Marcus…’ I run my hands up his arms and fasten them round his neck. ‘Darling? Why don’t we have an early night.’

  But for the first time ever, he brushes me off.

  ‘You can if you like. I’ll join you later,’ he says abruptly.

  Suddenly it’s like the wind’s been knocked out of me. Did Marcus really just say that? Numb, and without another word, I take myself to bed.

  I’m too upset to sleep. And I lie there in the dark for all of about five minutes before Marcus comes thundering up the stairs and hurls himself onto our bed.

  ‘Louisa,’ he says, in a very gruff voice. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it. It wasn’t you, it was me…’ and for a split second there, he sounds exactly like Arian, which unleashes a whole other set of emotions I thought I’d seen the back of.

  But then he says, ‘Look, I’ve had one of the worst days ever. Is there any chance you could wriggle over and let me climb in too?’

  I think about giving him a hard time. But he’s had a truly horrible day and actually, I can’t be cross with him for long. I fold back the duvet and he climbs in beside me, still fully dressed.

  But it doesn’t feel like the time to joke, and silently, I help him peel off the shirt and trousers, after which he falls asleep in my arms.

  49

  It’s Saturday. No alarm clock. No horses to get up for, it being the time of year that Horace and Mavis are turned out in the field. Marcus lies peacefully sleeping. He actually has a whole weekend off. I’m thinking perhaps we ought to spend some of it talking about our wedding, because even small weddings don’t happen on their own.

  I creep downstairs and make us a pot of tea and hot buttered toast. When I take it back upstairs, Marcus is awake and looking more like his usual self again.

  It’s a rare morning that we can lie in bed without one of us having to rush off to do something. And after the tea is drunk and some of the toast eaten, he turns to me and says earnestly,

  ‘I’m really sorry about last night, Lou. I was in a foul temper. Forgive me?’

  I know he’d had just the worst day. And looking at those brown, imploring eyes and the lips I’m itching to kiss, of course I do.

  ‘I might,’ I say. ‘It depends. You might need to do a little persuading, though.’

  Marcus is quite happy about the persuading idea, which was quite inspired of me, I decide. After all, there’s no better way to spend a lazy morning than gloriously, decadent sex.

  When we do finally get round to discussing our wedding, Marcus suggests that we book a registry office.

  ‘We can always have a church blessing later, when we have our party,’ he says.

  Which could be quite romantic, being secretly married for as long it takes to organise the second bit.

  ‘I suppose…’ And it’s not quite how I’d imagined it, but at least we’ll actually
be married.

  Then he says, ‘I don’t suppose you’d like to pay our Mr Syme a visit with me? Today? Only I’ve had an idea. I think you might find it entertaining.’

  But before we do, Marcus calls a couple of other local estate agents and we agree to meet one of them at his cottage before we go and visit Martin. The new agent seems to think that Marcus’s cottage would sell very quickly, particularly as it’s already empty, and he values it far higher than Martin has.

  Then, we drive into town. Marcus’s face is grim as we enter the offices of Symes Country Property. Martin’s sitting at his large, mahogany desk and leaps up the instant he sees me, pasting one of his smug smiles on his face. Then, when he catches sight of Marcus beside me, his face is an absolute picture.

  ‘Hello Martin,’ I say airily. ‘I believe you know my fiancé, Marcus Fitzpatrick?’

  ‘Mr Fitzpatrick,’ says Martin smoothly. ‘Of course. How can I help you?’

  With a face like thunder, Marcus tells him, ‘I’m afraid you picked the wrong person to play your little game with, Mr Syme. I’ve just spent a very interesting morning with some other agents who will market my house far more cheaply than you, and interestingly, have valued it at a much higher price. One already has buyers lined up... ‘

  Martin starts, ‘Funnily enough sir, I was just about to call you myself, ho ho.’ He does that horrible smug little laugh of his.

  Marcus says calmly, ‘Don’t bother. I am taking my business elsewhere. As of now, I no longer wish to have any further dealings with your agency.’

  And just as Martin opens his mouth to protest about contracts and agreements and whatnot, Marcus adds in deadly seriousness, ‘Oh, and by the way, I shall be dropping a line to the National Association of Estate Agencies - I’m sure I’m don’t need to explain why - suggesting that they take a closer look into exactly what goes on in this office. After all, I believe you have quite a little portfolio of your own. Come on Louisa. Let’s go.’

  As we leave, I wink at Martin. ‘Love the suit. It’s only a little bit shiny,’ I say brightly, with a beaming smile in his direction.

  He glares back at me, but before he can say anything, there’s an almighty crash out in the street. There’s a red Peugeot 205 embedded in the side of the brand new Mercedes. Martin’s day has just got a whole lot worse

  ‘Oh golly,’ I call back to him, a look of mock-surprise on my face. ‘Looks like someone’s just driven into an awfully expensive Merc out here. You wouldn’t happen to know whose it is, would you?’ and nearly get flattened as he belts out of the door boiling with rage.

  ‘Will you really do that?’ I ask Marcus a bit later, quite impressed at how he wiped the floor with smug Martin back there, who’s now considerably less smug. And his car getting driven into was just brilliant. Such perfect timing.

  ‘And how do you know about the National Association of Estate Agents? Have you done this sort of thing before?’

  Marcus grins. ‘Looked it up on the internet while you were in the shower! I don’t think it matters whether I actually write to them or not. Our good friend Mr Syme’s probably sweating nervously and scurrying around trying to cover his tracks as we speak - well, once he’s had his car towed away. Thing is, he’ll never know, will he! I reckon he’ll be watching his back for some time to come, don’t you?’

  ‘Brilliant,’ I say delightedly. ‘You are so clever, Marcus. Now, can I buy you lunch to celebrate?’

  And the afternoon gets better, when we carry on mooching around town and stumble across a menswear shop where we find Marcus a fabulous suit just perfect for a secret wedding.

  ‘Can I buy you a tie?’ I say persuasively. ‘Only I have to hide it, otherwise it’ll give the game away about my dress…’

  ‘Okay, just as long as it’s not pink.’

  ‘Hmmm, ok…’ I say. Bugger. Pink was exactly what I had in mind, and I’d just spotted one the perfect colour. I sneakily buy it when he’s not looking. On the day, he won’t really mind because he’ll be so happy to be marrying me, he probably won’t even notice.

  That evening we go to the pub. Being Saturday night, it’s packed, and we take our drinks outside and find a table in the garden. In no time we’re joined by Ben, on his own because Emma’s on a call, and then by Will and Karina, which is lovely and only a bit weird.

  As I chat to her and Will, we end up looking at photographs from Agnes and Beamish’s wedding. And I get a pang which I instantly dispel, about Marcus and I keeping our wedding a secret, because part of me would love to be talking about it all and sharing it with our friends. But no, I tell myself. It’s what Marcus and I both want, just to be married without a fuss.

  Will is looking very lovey-dovey, clearly besotted with Karina. She too looks happy, even though in some ways, he’s her total opposite, but then isn’t that the mystery of love? And you could knock me down with a feather when an embarrassed looking Miles comes over, characteristic frown in place, with a bony, horsy-looking looking girl he introduces as Fiona.

  ‘Fiona works at the horse sanctuary,’ he tells us, as they sit down at our table. Oh golly, she looks as serious as Miles. I can’t imagine how that will work. They probably go home and play Nick Drake CD’s and get all maudlin and depressed together about the poor starving horses around the world.

  Then he drops a bombshell. ‘Fiona and I are going on holiday,’ he says, nearly managing to smile as he takes her scrawny hand in his.

  Which makes us all nearly fall off our chairs.

  ‘We’re going to India to one of those welfare places where they try to educate the locals about basic horse care.’

  It’s not my idea of a holiday, but bony Fiona looks as thrilled as he does. What a funny old world it is.

  Marcus and I walk slowly home, our arms round each other’s waists.

  ‘Who’d have thought it?’ says Marcus with a grin. ‘Old Miles and a girl as obsessed as he is?’

  ‘She would have to be, wouldn’t she? Marcus?’ I say questioningly. ‘Er, do you definitely want a secret wedding, or have you thought you might like some other kind?’

  ‘Definitely the secret one,’ he says and kisses the ear that’s nearest to him. ‘Why? Have you changed your mind?’

  ‘Oh no, no,’ I say hastily. ‘No, our secret wedding will be perfect.’ If it’s what Marcus wants, then I want it too. And I’m sure it will be just perfect.

  50

  Oh. It’s Sunday morning and I’ve just had a call from my mother. And to tell you the truth, I’m not entirely sure what to make of it.

  ‘Darling,’ she said, sounding a little odd. ‘Now it’s nothing to worry about, but Daddy’s gone into hospital. They just want to give him a check-up, and then he’ll be home again. Probably tonight… So don’t worry, I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.’

  And with that she rang off.

  I go over it again in my head. Okay, so my mother phones, which she does extremely rarely, tells me my father’s in hospital, and then tells me there’s nothing to worry about, at least three times.

  I call her back to ask what he was doing in hospital in the first place, but there’s no reply and my call goes to voicemail.

  ‘Marcus?’ I call. I can hear him getting out of the shower, so I go in to the bathroom and perch on the side of the bath, watching him stand there naked as he shaves as I recount the conversation I’ve just had with my mother.

  ‘Sounds to me like something has happened,’ says Marcus, looking worried. I love that he shares my worries with me.

  ‘Why don’t you call the hospital?’ he suggests.

  Isn’t he brilliant? So after half an hour of being transferred and cut off and ringing unmanned extensions, I eventually get through to a ward which confirms that yes, they do have a David Sparks in one of their beds.

  Eventually I persuade them that I’m not an imposter and that I genuinely am his daughter, and a nurse tells me that he came in last night suffering with chest pains and feeling rather unwell.
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  ‘He’s comfortable now,’ she says. Comfortable. They always use that word in hospitals don’t they? As if anyone could be comfortable in those horrid narrow beds with all that noise and bright lights and complete lack of privacy.

  I thank her and put the phone down. I don’t have a good feeling about this at all.

  ‘Marcus?’ I say to him. ‘Look, do you mind if I nip over to the hospital and find out what’s going on? Only I’m a little bit worried that there’s something no-one’s telling me.’

  Marcus comes over and hugs me deliciously close to him.

  ‘I’ll come with you if you like,’ he says gently.

  ‘Oh, I know you would,’ I say, longing to have him with me. ‘But you need this weekend off, and I’ll be fine, you know. I’ll be back this afternoon.’

  I drive over there without the sense of urgency of last time, but with this anxious feeling niggling away inside me. I remind myself what the nurse said on the phone, that Dad was comfortable, but also that he’d had more chest pains and that’s the bit that worries me, especially after all the changes he’s been making.

  I go to the ward where Dad was earlier, but he’s not there. Nor is Mum. So I wait for a nurse to finish a long winded and trivial sounding phone call, before I ask where I can find David Sparks.

  She looks at me and gets up to lead me away from the ward.

  ‘He took a bit of a turn for the worse,’ she says gently. ‘He’s actually in intensive care. Do you know where it is or would you like me to take you there?’

  I shake my head dumbly, which doesn’t give her an answer and start walking, then running in the direction of ICU, because that niggling feeling has just grown into a full blown feeling of fear, of the worst, and of being there too late…

  This time I negotiate the swing doors with a little more care and my entrance to ICU is less dramatic. I see Mum immediately, beside a bed in which Dad is hooked up to all kinds of machines.

  ‘Hello, Dad,’ I say, trying my hardest not to show how worried I am. I kiss his cheek and then Mum’s, before taking his hand in mine.