The Perfectly Imperfect Woman

by Milly Johnson

  The next half-hour flew as they talked about Laurence and his mad company directives and the jargon spouted in the meetings. Blue-Sky Thinking, Game-Changer, We’re on a Journey, Thought Shower – Laurence brought them all into play. Sweaty Andrew had tried to impress with a Let’s Get our Ducks in a Row once, which had Marnie pretend-blowing her nose to cover up the involuntary snort she made. If she’d caught anyone’s eye in that meeting that’d had the smallest amused twinkle in it, she’d have exploded. Now she knew that Justin was of the same mindset, she had better never look at him again when Laurence went cheesy-corporate.

  Then their conversation crept beyond work boundaries and into the territory of personal. So, Marnie, do you live in the city or commute? Where do you come from originally? Are you single? He barely gave her time to bat back any questions to him; it was all about her, which was refreshingly unusual. Marnie hadn’t had any lunch and those liqueurs were quickly going to her head and she felt very warm inside and dangerously receptive to his flattery. All worries that Justin might be a plant had dissolved. She doubted a Laurence-spy would have used the line, ‘You know, your eyes are the most amazing shade of green.’

  ‘I suppose I’d better get back to the hell-hole,’ he said eventually with a loaded sigh. ‘Walk back together?’

  ‘I’ve got the afternoon off,’ said Marnie. ‘I caught the train in this morning. My car’s poorly.’

  ‘Well, you can walk part of the way with me at least.’

  ‘Okay,’ she agreed.

  They both said goodbye to a totally plastered Clifford – Justin with a firm handshake and Marnie with a squashy hug – and Justin held the door open for Marnie on the way out. Aaron would have let it swing in her face.

  ‘I’m glad I’m not driv—’ was as far as Marnie got in the sentence before Justin grabbed the top of her arm and steered her right rather than left.

  ‘So let’s walk around the block and sober up a bit,’ he said, turning into the dead end of a lane that went behind the pub.

  ‘Ok-ay,’ replied Marnie, thinking that this was slightly odd but she went with it, presuming his intentions were innocent. Then he suddenly stopped, pushed her against the wall and kissed her full on the mouth. Caught unawares, it took Marnie a long second to press him backwards, politely but firmly.

  ‘Forgive me. I’ve wanted to do that since I was in the first meeting with you,’ Justin said, his voice a low sexy growl. ‘You had a navy blue suit on and red “fuck-me” shoes.’

  Marnie raised her eyebrows. He had remembered what she wore? He had been lusting after her for two months? Gulp.

  ‘I trust your wife doesn’t know you’re in the habit of kissing other women in dark alleys,’ she said, hoping that he’d say he wasn’t attached because she would have slapped his face if he was.

  He grinned. ‘I can assure you, there’s no one in here.’ He patted his heart with his wedding-ring-less left hand. ‘Now do I have your permission to kiss you?’

  No, piss off with your soft velvety lips, said the protective angel on her shoulder, though her mouth issued no such protest. She couldn’t entirely blame the alcohol, although it played its part, but Justin Fox’s obvious desire for her blew all sense out of the window. He took her silence for concession. This time his kiss was tentative, tender, gentle and Marnie felt a complimentary hardness as he pressed against her.

  Then he broke away and apologised. ‘Forgive me for being an absolute oaf. I have forgotten how to behave. This is what tequila at lunchtime and a marriage breakdown does for you.’

  Marnie’s hands rose, palms flat on his chest, forming a definite barrier between them.

  ‘So you are married?’

  ‘In name only. Honestly. We’re in the final stages of our divorce.’ He rubbed his forehead with his fingertips. ‘Look, have lunch with me next week because a back alley isn’t the right place for this conversation, especially not when we’re both swimming with alcohol. I’ll explain then, if you’ll let me. And I’ll behave. I’ll try to anyway.’

  He’s married, said that angel. Steer well clear.

  Yeah, but let him explain, argued something else with a too-convincing voice. One that couldn’t believe its luck that this tall, dark handsome exec actually fancied her. Yep, she knew she was being too easily bought by him remembering what she was wearing in that meeting. She wasn’t even really sure if she had been in her navy suit.

  ‘Maybe,’ she said demurely, and opened her bag to retrieve a couple of tissues, because if she looked anything like Justin did at that moment, she might have been mistaken for Pennywise the clown. Her lipstick was smeared all over the bottom half of his face.

  ‘Please let’s keep this between ourselves,’ he said. ‘My divorce is complicated as it is and Laurence doesn’t like workplace relationships. He doesn’t want anyone to have what he can’t have himself, the ugly old bugger.’

  Relationships. Is that where he saw this going? Blimey.

  Marnie held up her compact mirror for Justin to wipe his face and he laughed.

  ‘We look as if we’ve been at a Billy Smart convention.’

  He had such a lovely smile, said something soppy inside her and she knew she was in trouble.

  As they exited the lane and moved onto the bustling Leeds Headrow, Justin turned to Marnie.

  ‘Well, hope your car doesn’t prove to be too expensive, and have a lovely weekend,’ he said.

  ‘And you,’ she replied, at a respectable physical distance now.

  ‘Mine will be hideous,’ he said with a sorrow-laden out-breath. ‘I want to fast-forward to Wednesday and that lunch. I’ll pick you up at twelve from outside the library.’

  And with that he was gone and with delightfully trembly legs, Marnie walked down to the train station feeling more like a sighing Disney princess with every step.

  *

  Over the weekend, Marnie grew a grin so large it had its own brain. Her thoughts were completely overtaken by her up-close and personal encounter with Justin Fox and there was no room in her head for researching her cheesecake book, mulling over her dissipating relationship with her best friend, Aaron and Sorrento, or Lilian Dearman and her disintegrating spine. Her frontal lobe was showing one film only: The Snog, which would have worn out by Saturday lunchtime had it been an old-style videotape. It changed a touch with each loop. She added in Justin holding her face in big square hands (though in reality they were quite long and narrow), kissing her eyelids, telling her that he had fallen in love with her the first time he saw her. She deleted from her memory the part about his mouth looking as if it had sustained third-degree burns from her lipstick. She added in that he kissed her again passionately in the middle of the street as they parted, throwing caution to the wind.

  She lounged in the bath like a beached mermaid with expensive treatments on her hair and face. She went to Meadowhall and bought new underwear and indelible lipstick. And on Monday and Tuesday, not even Vicky’s miserable countenance could dampen her smile. Roisean even asked her if she’d had ‘a bit of work’ done because she looked different somehow. Must be the effect of the onset of spring, explained Marnie, imagining Justin springing from a wardrobe onto her spread-eagled body. Time seemed to take a tantalisingly long journey to noon on Wednesday.

  Despite anticipating that something would arise to scupper plans, nothing did and the allotted hour eventually arrived. Marnie left the office early so she could reapply her makeup in the loo. Justin’s car pulled around the corner just as she reached the library and she hopped straight in. He gave her knee an affectionate squeeze as she fastened her seat belt.

  ‘I wondered if you’d remember,’ he said with a lazy, sexy grin.

  ‘I wondered if you would forget,’ she replied, trying to keep cool which was difficult as her nether regions were fizzing.

  They drove to a quiet country pub where, over halibut and an arty-farty fan of vegetables, they’d gazed into each other’s eyes and smiled a lot like shy teenagers. Justin confessed th
at he hadn’t been looking for romance at all, didn’t even want to start something else whilst he was in the mess of his divorce but Marnie had hit him in the heart like a thunderbolt. And Marnie told him that she hadn’t been looking for romance either but he’d ignited something within her that she rather liked the feel of. They’d had a ridiculously passionate fumble in his car afterwards in which he admitted that he hadn’t had sex in fourteen months and so she had better watch out. He demolished her new flimsy knickers and, as she had no spare pair, she said that she’d have to go without them for the rest of the day and he replied that he’d better hide his crotch behind his desk all afternoon then because the thought of it would keep his erection so big they could have flown the company flag from it.

  A month later, the affair was established and passionate. And it was wonderful, amazing, blissful and all-consuming and ticked all the boxes except one – the big fat box that had the word ‘perfect’ on the side of it, because her heart remained troubled by their relationship. She wanted to declare that they were a couple from the rooftops but that was strictly prohibited. Okay, so Laurence might have frowned heavily on romances in the workplace, which is why they gave no hint of any connection between them in Café Caramba HQ, but out of work should have been a different matter. Yet it wasn’t. Justin had only ever been to her house once. She’d cooked a meal which he ate nervously as if he expected his wife to appear from behind the curtains. His nerves, however, had not shown in the post-prandial bonk but they’d reappeared when the hands of the clock touched on 9 p.m. Marnie had barely got her breath back before he had leapt into the shower and dressed to go and not even his profuse apology that he had to rush off could smooth over the disappointment. They never went out to dinner or to the cinema or for a walk in the park in case they were seen. He gave her the best of reasons why they had to behave so, at least for the time being: because of his children. Justin still resided in the family home even though he and his wife lived separate lives now – and he knew that sounded like a line, but he really was telling the truth. His wife was a first-class bitch and yes, she’d agreed to a divorce but only on her terms. Terms he had to strictly adhere to because if not, he knew she would keep his three small children away from him. Or worse, poison them against him.

  Suranna Fox, it seemed, had taken a leaf out of Gwyneth Paltrow’s book and insisted on a conscious uncoupling, which – Justin said – was a psycho-bollocks way of her drawing out the agony. It was making him depressed and thank goodness Marnie understood and wasn’t giving him a hard time like any other woman might have. Did she know how much of an angel she was for understanding such an impossible, sticky, horrible situation?

  So how could Marnie give him any grief? She kept her misgivings to herself and gave Justin lots of care and attention and sex and the affair continued under a blanket of secrecy. But it didn’t sit right with Marnie at all.

  Chapter 5

  It was Friday night and once again Marnie was looking forward to a lonely boring weekend, even though she had been in ‘a relationship’ for six weeks and should have been going out for a lovely romantic dinner tonight and then dragging her man up to bed for lots of sex. Instead, she was in her pyjamas with a meal for one ready to shove in the microwave and only a bottle of Pinot Grigio for company. It was Justin’s daughter’s fifth birthday and he was having to spend the whole weekend with his family and extended family, who were coming up from Derby to stay with them. Justin lived in a des-res detached on the other side of Sheffield. Marnie didn’t know the exact address, but the area, Highton, was well-known as a new village full of prestigious multi-bedroomed, multi-bathroomed executive homes. Apparently, he and his wife were going to finally attempt to tell the children on Sunday that Mummy and Daddy were going their separate ways. He was terrified of losing the love of his three young children. His family values made Marnie like him even more. Or was it love? She didn’t know. She didn’t want it to be love yet because she had promised herself that she would definitely not fall for another man who had complications and more baggage than Elton John took on a year-long tour.

  She had barely given Lilian Dearman a thought in the past few weeks and suddenly felt bad for that, especially as she’d been going into hospital the last time they’d been in contact. She logged onto the Sisters of Cheesecake site and found a multi-peopled heated dialogue going on. Have you tried introducing a swirl of marmite into the mascarpone for a singular taste? was the header of the thread, composed by ‘Cheeseman’. It had all the hallmarks of Lilian.

  Marnie, grinning, private-messaged her.

  ‘Marmite would only work if you added parmesan to the crumb base. Are you out of hospital now?’

  ‘Hello, Marnie! Yes, hospital did the trick. Am well enough to come on here causing mischief. I have missed you. How are you and are we finally going to have that afternoon tea this weekend? Are you free tomorrow? Do say yes.’

  And because Marnie needed not to think about her lover being in the bosom of his family surrounded by kids who would probably hate her when they eventually met her, she typed,

  ‘Yes, am free tomorrow and I would love to. Yes, yes, yes.’

  *

  Lilian Dearman was nothing like Marnie had pictured her. She’d visualised a second tiny Mrs McMaid, but Lilian was tall and willowy with long, wavy silver-white hair which added a femininity to her otherwise androgynous frame and square-jawed long face. Her eyes were the most striking feature: large, bright and green, sharp and intense. Already in situ at the café table, Lilian stood, leaning on her stick, when she spotted Marnie and smiled from ear to ear.

  ‘I recognised you immediately,’ she said, holding her arms out wide and as Marnie embraced her, she breathed in a familiar scent of lilies wonderfully reminiscent of times past.

  Not a serial killer then, or a reporter. She was just as it said on the tin – an old lady with a spine problem, thought Marnie, taking a seat across the table. She noted the silver top of Lilian’s stick in the form of a greyhound’s head.

  ‘That’s beautiful,’ she commented.

  ‘Had it years,’ said Lilian. ‘I’ve got a collection of walkers but this is my favourite. Had it made after Dido died. Most loyal dog I ever had, bloody marvellous creature. Had to rely on damned sticks since I was a child, thanks to a lineage of bloody interbred bastards,’ she explained, at volume, causing the eyebrows of a woman on the next table to zoom up her forehead. ‘Let’s order first before we start to talk,’ she went on. ‘Afternoon tea with cheesecake, I thought. What else?’ And she winked.

  Marnie nodded her agreement and Lilian waved over a waitress.

  ‘So how long were you in hospital for, then?’ asked Marnie.

  ‘Bor-ing,’ said Lilian. ‘Let’s not talk about health but of things far more exciting. Mr Fox for instance. Have there been any developments?’

  ‘A few,’ said Marnie, more sigh than words. ‘We are now a couple.’

  ‘Excellent.’ Lilian clapped her hands together. ‘There’s nothing like a bit of love in the air. I hope he treats you better than the last bastard.’

  Again the woman on the next table – mid-macaron – turned around to give Lilian a glance of disapproval.

  ‘Do join us,’ Lilian yelled over, with an expansive beckon. ‘Your attentions seem to be more on our table than your own anyway.’

  Marnie snorted in an effort not to laugh. She’d got it very wrong thinking Lilian would be a quiet little old lady like Mrs McMaid.

  ‘Aaron, wasn’t it?’ said Lilian. ‘And I have to say, Marnie, your friend sounds a horrible trollop. I say friend . . . She should not have put Grigori before a chum of nearly eighteen years,’ and she huffed and Marnie’s mouth dropped into a long O. Was there anything she hadn’t told Lilian Dearman that night of the two bottles of Shiraz? And was there anything Lilian Dearman hadn’t remembered about it? She felt her cheeks start to heat up with embarrassment.

  ‘I think I must have bored you rigid with the story of my life, Lil
ian. I shouldn’t—’

  ‘If you’re trying to say that you shouldn’t have got absolutely buggered on booze and poured out your heart to me, then save your breath,’ said Lilian firmly. ‘I could tell by your increasingly bad spelling that whatever you were drinking was taking effect but that stupid cheesecake site brought us together for a reason, my dear, and I have absolutely no doubt fate played a hand in it.’ Her voice softened and a smile spread across her lips. ‘I sensed a troubled soul that night and I very much think that you needed to say what you did because you’d kept it trapped inside you for far too long. Not good for you at all – trust me, I know this. What a vile family you have, dear. No wonder you have so much difficulty negotiating life. They’ve imprinted a faulty map in you. Totally understandable why you keep losing your way. I have the same map imprinted on me too. We have more in common than you could know.’

  The afternoon tea arrived cutting off further apologies from Marnie, and what a feast. Three tiers of sandwiches, pastries and miniature cakes with a smaller fourth tier at the top, bearing a selection of cute cheesecake squares.

  ‘Tuck in, dear,’ said Lilian, stuffing in an egg mayo triangle and making exaggerated sounds not unlike those uttered when Harry met Sally. Marnie was less impressed. She detected cheap mayo and margarine not butter, and not spread to the edges either which was a cardinal sin in her book.

  ‘I do hope you’ll come to Wychwell for the May Day Fair in a fortnight,’ said Lilian. ‘Not as popular as it used to be when I was a girl, but we do still honour the long-held tradition. We desperately need some new blood in the village. The last fresh young May Queen was ninety-two and died a week after she was crowned.’