It's Got To Be Perfect

by Claire Allan

  I felt the tears well up and, even without the effort of trying to justify myself, or fight for my accounts, I felt them start to fall. At first it was just one slowly sliding down my cheek and I tried to wipe it away quickly while glancing towards the window.

  But another followed and another.

  “It’s okay,” Bob said, in an uncharacteristically sympathetic manner. “These things happen, Annie. It is no reflection on your work, but you do understand why I have to do this, don’t you?”

  I nodded, as a big fat tear plopped right off the end of my nose and landed with a tiny little splash on my trousers.

  “And, despite the fact you haven’t exactly been on your game lately, you are a valuable member of this team.”

  I nodded, and the little splash became a puddle.

  “Look,” he said, moving his chair around so that he was sitting close to me, “I don’t know what has happened between you and Pearse. But I do know he is a bit of a knob and, if it weren’t for the credit crunch and us all fighting to keeping our head above water, I would tell him to shag off.”

  I was moved, and if truth be told a little disturbed, by Bob’s sudden non-knobbish behaviour. I looked at him, rubbing at my eyes, and he clearly saw the confusion etched all over my face.

  “I’m not the arse you think I am, you know,” he said with a half-smile. “I am paid to keep you all on your toes and that’s what I do. But don’t think I don’t notice what goes on here, Annie. Don’t think I haven’t noticed that all isn’t well with Fionn or that for the last couple of weeks you’ve been on another planet. I don’t pry into my employees’ private lives but I will say this much – he isn’t worth it. I’ve known many men like him in my time – truth be told, I’ve slept with a fair few of them too – and while they are perfectly useful for a short-term fling they are never going to be The One. Pearse loves himself, Annie. He will never love anyone else. I doubt he even really knows anyone else exists.”

  To say I was gobsmacked was putting it mildly. I gaped at him, trying to digest all this information. Bob was caring. Bob was gay. Bob slept with men like Pearse (but not actually Pearse, which was at least something) and it looked very much like Bob was actually going to hug me.

  And he did.

  And I let him, crying watery tears on his designer shirt.

  “Why don’t you take some time off?” he said. “You have the annual leave – take it.”

  He didn’t need to tell me that there wasn’t actually much for me to do in the office at the moment anyway.

  “Go away for a few days. Get your head clear and then come back and we’ll find you the biggest and best client we can lay hands on.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I said. “I’ll definitely think about it.”

  “Do,” he said. “And, Annie, don’t let the bastards get you down.”

  I stood up and straightened my hair with my hands. Taking a deep breath, I plastered a smile on my face, nodded in Bob’s direction and left his office, picking up my bag without talking to anyone and going straight to my car.

  Lifting my phone, I texted Fionn. “Going for a walk on the beach. Am okay. Won’t do a Reggie Perrin and throw myself in or anything. Promise. Will see you back at the flat.”

  He was still wearing his work suit when he opened the door. The faint smell of cigarette smoke hung in the air and he was holding a cold beer in his hand. He looked at me and smiled.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked.

  “I wanted to find out more about those sunsets,” I replied, taking his bottle of beer from him and leading him upstairs.

  “I should have probably asked this before,” Ant said, stroking my arm gently as I lay in his arms looking out again at the waves below. “But are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I said.

  “It’s just I wasn’t expecting to see you. Twice in two days, it’s very unlike you. And I didn’t even have to send any gifts.”

  “I just needed to see you. Tough day at work.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “No. Not now. I needed to absolutely not talk about it for a while and that’s –”

  “Why you came here? I’m your distraction, am I? Are you just using me for sex, Annie?” He had a cheeky glint in his eye and I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “You should be so lucky,” I replied.

  But as I drove home I wondered what on earth had taken me to his house, and his bed, when a large part of me was screaming that I needed to take it slow or perhaps just not go there at all. Ever.

  But I could not deny that I had felt content there. Even, dare I say it, happy, and I could ignore everything that was happening with work entirely. So no, I didn’t want to talk to him about it.

  “Are you okay?” Fionn asked. “I know you said you weren’t going to do a Reggie Perrin but after Bob sent that email round . . . well, fuck me, Annie, I didn’t see that coming!”

  “Didn’t you?” I asked, even though I hadn’t seen it coming myself. “In hindsight it was pretty obvious Pearse would pull something like this. It was much too much to think he would let me get away with dumping him. And he knows where to hurt me.”

  “He’s an asshole,” Fionn said, pulling me into a hug before offering a choice between wine or tea.

  Thinking that if I started drinking just then I might not ever stop, I opted for the tea.

  “That must have been some walk,” she said, pouring some chocolate biscuits onto a plate. “It’s dark out.”

  “I had to watch the sunset,” I offered. “It really was magnificent.”

  She carried the biscuits to the living room and sat down on the sofa. “Bob called me into his office after you had gone. He wants me to keep an eye on you.” There was a look of confusion on her face. “Is he okay?”

  “I think the old Bawb may have been abducted by aliens and replaced with an imposter,” I answered. “He was actually very, very lovely today.”

  “Ah, that will be because he wants in your knickers then?” Fionn said, referring to our earlier lesbian-fantasy conversation.

  “That actually couldn’t be further from the truth,” I said and then I let her have it straight. “He’s gay.”

  “He’s gay?” she repeated stupidly.

  “Yep. Queer as a bottle of chips. Camp as a row of tents. Gay as a . . . very gay thing. He says he’s slept with knobs the likes of Pearse and it’s never worth it.”

  “Well, feck me!” Fionn was reeling. “Really? Gay? He told you that? Did he tell you more? Does he have a boyfriend? Even though the thought doesn’t sit well with me – and not because he’s gay, just because he’s Bawb and the thought of him with anyone . . . eek!” She shuddered. “Do we have to stick to the tea? Because I’m thinking wine would be good around now. For the shock, you understand?”

  I smiled. “Tea is just fine, Fionn. And no, he didn’t mention a partner. He didn’t say much more than I told you. I was as shocked as you. He just seemed so utterly asexual that I never imagined him with anyone else.”

  We sat in stunned silence for a while before Fionn spoke again. “So what now? Bob said you might be taking some time off?”

  “He thinks it would be good – just a week or so to get my head together and wait till the rest of the office gossips have moved on to a new topic.”

  “A week off sounds like bliss!”

  A thought struck me.

  “Why don’t you take it too then? We could go away somewhere? Go on – a girly holiday. One last fling before you settle down to married life with Alex and I settle down to a life of spinsterhood?”

  “I could, couldn’t I?” Fionn asked. “I could do with a break away.”

  “Great then,” I said, clinking my teacup against hers. “It’s a plan!”

  Darcy answered the phone with her trademark cheerful “Hellloooo!”

  “Hey, sis,” I started. “You know when you said I never visited you and that I should at least make some sort of effort to get do
wn to Dublin some time?”

  “Yes?”

  “How about Wednesday?”

  “This Wednesday?” she asked, clearly surprised.

  “Yep. Me and Fionn. A girly break. We won’t get under your feet, promise. You won’t even know we’re there. Honest!”

  “Is something wrong, Annie?” Darcy asked. She knew me so well.

  “Something and nothing,” I answered. “I’d rather tell you face to face.”

  “I’d have to work,” she said. “And I need to run it past Gerry – you know, just as a formality – but, darling Annie, of course you are welcome. You are always welcome.”

  And I wondered if I heard a small sob catch in her throat.

  21

  Fionn had promised Emma she would bring her back something gorgeous from Dublin. Alex had been surprised at her impromptu break away and had hugged her and told her he would miss her terribly.

  “Ha, Rebecca! Stick that in your pipe and smoke it!” Fionn had cheered when she came back from saying goodbye to them.

  “Are you sure you want to go?” I asked. The absolute last thing I wanted to do was be responsible for things getting worse between her and Alex. Although from the sounds of it, absence certainly had been making the heart grow fonder.

  If Alex had been commitment-phobic before now, his enforced separation from Fionn was changing his mind. Now, as long as Rebecca kept her nose out of it, it was possible they could come back stronger – jaunts to Dublin aside.

  “Of course,” she said. “I’m really looking forward to it. It’s been yonks since I was in the Big Smoke. I can’t wait to hit the shops and – result!” She flashed a piece of plastic at me. “Alex pressed this into my hand before I left and said to enjoy myself! Cha-ching!”

  Oh, how I loved Mastercard!

  I grinned and gave her an impromptu hug before zipping up my case.

  “I’m looking forward to it as well. Apart from the bus journey.”

  Fionn grimaced along with me. It wasn’t necessarily that the bus was uncomfortable – it was more that the journey was long and arduous and – before you hit the motorways in the south – very, very windy. Even the most settled of stomachs would struggle to stay calm between Omagh and Monaghan. But at least we had the glorious surroundings of the Monaghan bus depot and their ice-cold toilets and impressive sandwiches to look forward to midway through the trip. It took a brave soul to risk the cold seat of their breeze-block toilet-building at any time of year.

  We could have driven of course, but I was nowhere near brave enough to face the traffic in Dublin. It certainly required someone made of sterner stuff than me to take on the bus lanes and taxi drivers of the city centre. I even broke out into a cold sweat when approaching the toll-booths – just in case I was all out of euro. Besides, there was limited parking at Darcy’s apartment and she and Gerry had already taken up their two designated spots.

  It would have to be the bus – there was no choice. We just loaded up with Polo mints, bottled water and magazines which we wouldn’t read as they would make us feel even more travel-sick.

  By the time we arrived in Bus Áras in Dublin, I was half-demented with exhaustion and bursting for a pee. I would have to face my demons – namely the public loos in the bus centre. With Fionn’s support, I did, and emerged in better form to face the city if still a bit anxious.

  The thing is, visiting the big city showed me up for the yokel I really was. I liked to think Derry was all very metropolitan and chic but, truth was, in comparison to Dublin it was little more than a village. Whenever I visited the big city I instantly became a gobshite tourist who walked about clutching her bag to her in fear of the pickpockets (I even felt the urge to pick up my trolley-case and hug it to me) and looking on in shock at the beggars on the street and the sheer number of people bustling in and out of every building at any hour of the day and night.

  I tried not to make eye contact even though the locals were supposed to be friendly and, if truth be told, I was afraid of my life that everyone would hear my Northern accent and rip me off. And as for euros – it was like Monopoly money and I would find myself standing like an eejit searching out the appropriate coins to pay for a Mars bar while mentally trying to work out how much it would cost in sterling. I was not a good traveller whereas Fionn was in her absolute element with her oversized sunglasses perched on her head and her Orla Kiely trolley-case trailing behind her effortlessly. She wasn’t even one bit tempted to lift it up and hug it to her. She knew it would take a brave person to try and mug her.

  “Darcy won’t be finished work for another two hours,” I said as we walked towards O’Connell Street. “So we have some time to kill? Any ideas? Shopping? Something to eat?”

  “How about the pub? We are on our holidays after all.”

  I thought about it for a moment and nodded. “Sure why not? Why not treat ourselves after that journey? I could do with a drink or two.” All I had to do was make sure I kept our cases tucked under our table and never let them out of our sight.

  We headed to the delightfully named Hairy Lemon where I declined Fionn’s offer of a pint of Guinness.

  “No,” I said, pulling a face. “A bottle of ordinary beer will do me just fine.”

  “Ah, but you’re on your holliers!” Fionn replied in her best faux-Dublin accent.

  “Fionn, we are only 200 miles from home – where we can drink Guinness any time we want! Now stop acting the eejit and bring me beer!”

  She headed to the bar, not even stopping to dig out the right amount of euro first.

  I was glad she had come with me – and not just because it saved me from having to endure the long journey on my own. It had been a long time since I’d been to Dublin and longer still since I’d been away on any kind of a girly holiday. Pearse and I had devoted all our free time to each other over the last two years – with me planning my holidays from work around his schedule. My last break had been a weekender to London where he was filming some Saturday-morning cooking show. I had wandered around the shops on my own, occasionally phoning Darcy to ask which clothes shops were in my league and which I should avoid like the plague, or texting pictures of random touristy things to Fionn.

  I had spent the afternoon in the hotel bar, curled up with a good book and a glass of wine, while Pearse met with agents and journalists and then that night we had gone to dinner at another celebrity chef’s restaurant so that he could make notes for Manna and how he could promote it. I had enjoyed myself – I couldn’t deny that – but it had not been the same as sharing a break with someone and just relaxing and letting go.

  Briefly I wondered what kind of place Ant would take me to – or even if he would take me anywhere at all? Perhaps all I was good for was his bedroom in Donegal?

  I had texted him to say I was going away for a few days and would be in touch. I had been hoping – after the tenderness of the weekend – he would text me back to tell me he would miss me or maybe even to ask me not to go. (I would have gone anyway, for the record, but it would have been nice to have been asked.) He had texted back a simple “OK”.

  I didn’t know how to take him – and because of that I had managed a full four-hour bus journey to Dublin without talking to Fionn about him at all. He was giving me very mixed signals, running hot and cold, and I didn’t know if I needed the hassle of something else to worry about just now. But when I thought of him, and how it felt in his arms, I thought maybe he was worth the risk.

  “Beer for the lady, go on – get it into ye!” Fionn said, placing a bottle of cold beer on the table in front of me. Sitting down, she raised her pint of the black stuff and clinked it against mine.

  “To us, and freedom, and being better than all the feckwit men on the planet!”

  “I’ll drink to that!”

  “You’d better! Alex is paying for it,” she said with a wicked smile.

  “Is he one of the aforementioned feckwit men?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “You know, I don’t
think so. I think he’s a fairly decent sort but he has definite feckwit qualities. I just hope that by realising what he might lose he may want to hold onto it tighter. Of course, it could all blow up in my face and I could end up back on the shelf again. And you know what has shocked me most about it all? The thought that Emma could be out of my life. Shocking, isn’t it? You’d think I’d be doing cartwheels at the thought of no more Disney nonsense, or High School Musical or My fricking Little Ponies but . . .” her eyes filled with tears, “the wee shite has really grown on me.”

  “Course she has. She’s a cute one,” I said, reaching out and giving Fionn’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “But tell you what, darling, even though my faith in happy endings has been really shaken lately, I just know you and Alex will work it out. He loves you. He’s just being a commitment-phobic arse and it doesn’t help that Rebecca is getting her nose in wherever she can.”