It's Got To Be Perfect

by Claire Allan

  “I can’t honestly say that I blame her, though,” Fionn said. “I mean, why wouldn’t she love him? Feckwittedness aside, he’s good man, a great daddy and a great catch.”

  “But she didn’t love him before you came along. From what you’ve said there was never really any big relationship there?”

  “That’s the thing. I just presumed she never loved him – he told me they were never meant to be together and it was all pretty casual. But, if Alex was the same commitment-phobe then as he is now, maybe he was the one who made the decisions about whether or not their relationship was serious – baby or no baby.”

  I sat back and sipped from my beer. “Fionn, have you ever considered the possibility that, even if she did love him, she is not the woman for him anyway? I mean, he may not have done the asking when it came to your proposal but he did say yes. He did agree to marry you and he was – is – happy about it. He was glowing on the night of your engagement party.”

  “That could have been,” she said with a sly grin while wiping her tears away, “because of the damn good seeing to I gave him before we went out.”

  I laughed. “Sex and love are not the same thing, Fionn,” I said, thinking of my time with Ant. “Trust me. I should know.”

  Darcy joined us shortly after five. Even though she had just completed a long day at work, she looked positively glowing. Her blonde curls were twisted high on her head and she wore a tunic that most of us mere mortals could only get away with wearing teamed with trousers. She, however, teamed it with opaque tights and delightfully clunky shoes. A thick belt accentuated her virtually non-existent waist and a plethora of chunky jewellery last seen in the 1980s completed the look. She made me and Fionn look positively granny-ish in comparison. My low-slung jeans, vest top and bolero cardigan could never compete with her in the fashion stakes. Instinctively I ruffled my hair and repositioned my sunglasses on the top of my head.

  “Hey, babes,” she said, a broad grin spreading across her face. “I can’t believe I’ve finally got you to come to the Big Smoke. You survived the journey okay then?”

  Fionn grimaced. “Just about!” She got to her feet. “I’m going to the bar – what will you have?”

  “Pint of Magners on ice,” Darcy replied, slipping into the seat beside me and stubbing her toe on my case. “Still hiding your cases in case of wanton thieves and pickpockets?” she said with a wink and I blushed. “You really need to get out of Derry more,” she laughed.

  “How was work?” I asked.

  “Oh, busy – manic really. But great. I was talking to some new buyers today about the Spring collection. It’s all very exciting – well, for me anyway. You would be bored shiteless if I told you all the details. And I hate talking shop at the end of a day – let’s just enjoy a quick drink and head back to the flat.”

  I nodded. I was suddenly beyond tired, the combination of the long drive down from Derry and the beer making me feel a little woozy. “Sounds like a good idea. I’m beat.”

  “Well, I thought we would just order in some Chinese and get a good rest tonight. I figured you might be wrecked. I’ve booked a half day tomorrow – maybe we could head out somewhere and have a good natter.” She smiled warmly at me and I knew she was concerned for whatever it was that had enticed me out of Derry and down the road to Dublin.

  “I’d like that,” I said as Fionn walked towards us with a tray of drinks and enough packets of Cheese and Onion crisps to sink a small ship.

  “They had Tayto. I love Tayto from the South – much nicer than the Northern variety,” she said with a grin, opening a packet and cramming a few into her mouth.

  Darcy’s apartment was, appropriately, like my flat’s bigger, more stylish sister. On the top floor of a beautifully huge Georgian house, it had all its original features – but with a fully up-to-date modern kitchen that could fit at least six people in and a bathroom which was not ridiculously over-sized. It had two bedrooms in comparison to my own cavernous room and each was stylishly decorated with sash windows which didn’t rattle in the wind.

  Even better, it was only a short walk from the city centre and some very trendy pubs. Darcy had an apartment that would make most young professionals in Dublin seethe with jealousy – indeed, it made me a little green around the gills. I vowed, within five minutes of walking onto her polished oak floors that I would absolutely have to clean my own home more. I would also have to buy some proper grown-up furniture and ditch some of the hand-me-down efforts which littered each room.

  “Oh Darcy, it’s gorgeous here,” Fionn said, staring around her wide-eyed. “It’s so stylish. You should go into interior design!”

  Darcy laughed and thanked her for the compliment before showing us to our bedroom – complete with king-sized wrought-iron bed, Egyptian cotton sheets and a very sparkly light fitting which made me gasp in admiration.

  “Seriously, girls,” Darcy laughed, pulling the curtains over, “you need to get out of Dodge more. Now, I’ll leave you to get freshened up while I dig out the Chinese menus – if you aren’t too stuffed on Tayto crisps, that is. Gerry is finishing work soon so I can get him to pick it up on his way back.”

  “Sounds fab,” I said and she left.

  Fionn flopped down on the bed. “Forget Alex getting cold feet – I think I want to run away from it all and live here forever. Seriously, Annie, I could die happy in this bed.”

  “If you could at all help it, then please don’t. I really don’t fancy waking up beside a corpse.”

  Fionn pulled a face and sat up, arms outstretched before her, in a pretty pathetic attempt at a zombie impression. “I’ll do my very best,” she said, “but, if I do cark it, can you do the Thriller dance at the funeral? It would be a laugh.”

  I threw a perfectly fluffed cushion at her face and sat down on the other side of the bed. “I’m worn out,” I said. “I’d love to just lie down and have a good sleep.”

  “I’m sure Darcy wouldn’t mind,” Fionn offered. “You’ve had a tough few days, petal. Why don’t you just take it easy? I’ll help Darcy demolish the Chinese, you have a lie-down.”

  “I think I will,” I said, slipping off my flip-flops and climbing onto the bed. The pillows felt so soft against my cheek and I was pretty sure I was asleep before Fionn even had the chance to walk to the door. It was only when I woke several hours later, needing the loo, that I realised just how completely bone-tired I was.

  Fionn was asleep beside me. I hadn’t heard her come into the room and it was now dark outside. Lifting my mobile from the side table, I flicked it open to see the time. It had gone twelve.

  I stretched before digging in the dark, with the light of my phone to guide me, for my pyjamas and wash-bag and I quickly changed and wiped off my make-up. Picking up my toothbrush, I crept out of the room towards the bathroom, stopping off at the kitchen first for a long, cold glass of water. As I stood there, rubbing my eyes and trying not to fall back asleep standing up, I heard the chatter of voices from the living room. Darcy and Gerry must still be up, I realised, and I made to go and say a quick hello in case Gerry thought I was a complete ignorant gulpen for falling asleep before even showing my face. As I padded quietly towards the door, my brain managed to tune into what they were saying just before I walked in on what was clearly a very personal conversation.

  “Darce, can we not have this argument again? Please!” Gerry pleaded in his deep Dublin brogue.

  “It doesn’t have to be an argument. It’s a discussion,” Darcy replied, her voice equally pleading.

  I know that I should have walked away and minded my own, considerably complex, business but I couldn’t. I couldn’t just leave and not get to the bottom of what it was that had been upsetting my sister so much lately.

  “You know, no matter how it starts, it always ends in an argument,” he retorted. “I’d love if we could talk about this calmly but we can’t, Darcy. Experience has shown us that.”

  “But it’s not going to go away, Gerry. I’m not goi
ng to wake up one morning and think ‘Feck me, I’ve changed my mind. I’m happy as I am after all.’ If it were that simple then I’d have done it by now. But it’s not.”

  I heard my sister’s voice start to break and I had to fight every urge in my body not to run into the room and comfort her while shooting death-ray stares at Gerry who was obviously being a complete bastard.

  “And I’m not sure I’m ever going to wake up and feel differently either, Darcy. You know that. You know we talked about this when we first got together and we were both certain we wanted – or didn’t want – the same things. It isn’t me who changed.”

  “I didn’t change to hurt you,” Darcy said, almost defeated.

  “I know, I know. And I’m trying to work round it but I’m tired now. I’ve had a long day. I’m just not up for going round in the same circles all night – it won’t get us anywhere. Don’t you understand that?”

  There was silence and I felt as if my heart might just pop right out of my chest. I stood there, not wanting to move but really, really not wanting to listen any more. Even my nosiest of instincts was screaming at me just to get to the bathroom as quickly as possible and as far away from scary conversations which sounded terribly grown-up and serious.

  Suddenly I was seven years old again and thirsty as hell. I’d climbed out of bed and headed to the top of the stairs to call Mum or Dad to fetch me a glass of water. But as I stood there I heard their raised voices – an argument – and I felt my centre of gravity shift.

  “We’re not taking the girls anywhere,” Daddy had said.

  “Why not?” Mum’s reply was almost petulant. I imagined her stamping her foot and tugging at her dress in mock rage.

  “Because they are settled here and they deserve to feel secure.”

  “What about me? Don’t I deserve to be happy?”

  Daddy had sighed. “Of course you deserve to be happy – but we have these girls to think about now as well. No matter how much we want to, we can’t be selfish here.”

  “Couldn’t we put them up for adoption or something?” Mum had said and Dad had laughed.

  And I cried. And went back to bed thirsty.

  As an adult, of course, I realised they were joking – sort of. But I spent the rest of my childhood trying my very best to behave so that they would want to keep me. When, in my twenty-fifth year, they announced their relocation to Spain I felt gutted but, at the same time, relieved. They were finally doing what would make them happy – even if it wasn’t what would make me happy. Happy endings didn’t necessarily work for everyone – and now standing in Darcy’s hall I saw her happy ending slipping away from her too.

  Creeping to the bathroom I stood and looked in the mirror, my pale face staring back at me. It might have been a monumental mistake to come to Dublin after all.

  As I crept back into bed, Fionn stirred. “Are you okay?” she asked sleepily.

  “Fine,” I lied. “Just fine.”

  22

  By the time I got up Darcy was dressed – in some ridiculous concoction with shoulder-pads – and Gerry had gone to work. She was smiling and singing to herself as she danced around the kitchen preparing breakfast.

  “Morning, sis!” she said cheerily. “Sleep well?”

  “Yes, great, thanks,” I fibbed, wondering if perhaps I had just imagined the previous night’s conversation. “Gerry gone already?”

  Her face didn’t darken. “Yes, he likes to hit the gym before the office. Has to keep his body in trim to keep me happy,” she said with a wink.

  I laughed out loud. I was quite happy, if truth be told, to pretend last night had simply been a figment of my imagination.

  “Where’s Fionn?” she added.

  “Shower,” I replied, picking up a piece of toast and slathering it in butter.

  “So, while we have five minutes to ourselves, do you want to tell me what has prompted this highly delightful trip to see your favourite sister?”

  “Trust me. It would take more than five minutes.”

  Darcy sat down beside me and poured two cups of coffee. “Well, this afternoon then. For definite. But please just tell me it doesn’t involve Pee-arse and his ability to get you back in the sack.”

  “Not directly,” I said with a grimace.

  “And what about the knicker guy?”

  I blushed at the memory of our last meeting, and just as quickly cringed at the memory of his last text. “He’s still on the scene.”

  “In a starring role?” she asked, eyebrow raised.

  “I don’t know is the easy answer. I don’t think I know an awful lot any more.” To my absolute disgust I felt tears spring to my eyes. Quickly I took a deep breath, forced myself to get composed. Darcy was due to leave for work any time – and anyway it seemed she had enough of her own worries.

  “Oh, petal,” Darcy said, “it will be okay, you know. It always is.” But she didn’t sound wholly convinced.

  I wanted then to ask her was she okay – maybe even ask if everything was okay with Gerry but, just as my mouth opened, Fionn walked in, broad smile across her face and best faux-Dublin accent on. “Top o’ the fecking morning to yese. Let’s hit the shops!”

  “Oh Jesus, Fionnuala,” Darcy said with a grin as she set about pouring a third cup of coffee and sticking two more slices of bread in the toaster. “Whatever you do, do not talk like that to anyone who actually comes from round these parts. You might actually get lynched.”

  “What has you so chipper this morning?” I asked Fionn.

  “Oooh, text from Alex. He misses me. He loves me. He loves me a lot,” she said with a wave of her left hand and a grin on her face that was positively contagious.

  “You see, treat ‘em mean, keep ‘em keen,” Darcy piped up, biting into a piece of toast as she lifted her bag from the worktop and headed towards the door. “I shall see you lovely ladies after lunch. I’m thinking picnic at St Stephen’s Green. Bring a good book, some sunscreen and something yummy to eat. It’s going to be a hot one out there today so I’m thinking basking in the sun could be just perfect.”

  Fionn gave the thumbs-up while I promised to include some lovely chocolate in the picnic and to bring along the nice picnic blanket from the back of the airing cupboard.

  I even promised to wash up while Darcy was at work, which was very unlike me, but I figured she deserved a break. Emotional upheaval really does fuck up your desire to keep the house in check.

  Darcy left and Fionn and I looked at each – a glorious air of “What do we do now?” in the air.

  “Shopping?” she offered.

  I shook my head. The heat was oppressive in the city and I didn’t fancy traipsing through the crowds in Grafton Street, clutching my bag to me for fear of being robbed by some faceless pickpocket with sneaky fingers and brass neck.

  “Sleeping then?” she offered, eyebrow raised, and that sounded good to me. After all, in normal circumstances at this time of a morning we would both have been at our desks under Bob’s watchful gaze, listening to his joyful Americanisms and business clichés. At times like that we would have probably killed to be back in our beds – so it seemed lovely and decadent to be able to creep back into bed now.

  “Hang on a minute till I text Alex,” Fionn said as she climbed under the covers. “I’ll tell him I’m off to bed with a hot woman and get him all a-flutter. Absence not only makes the heart grow fonder but the you-know-what grow harder.”

  I blushed, embarrassed by her honesty, and wondering if Ant was thinking of me at all – and indeed if his you-know-what was getting harder at the thought of our time together. No, I chided myself. I had to put thoughts of him out of my head. This was my new beginning – my new way to a happy ending. This way would include only occasional dalliances with men and would never again mix business with pleasure. I had tied myself in knots since his “OK” text message, wondering how many other ladies had seen the sunset over Donegal from his bedroom.

  No, it would do me no good whatsoever to
think of him now.

  So I laughed – tried to get the image of Alex and his penis out of my head – and stretched out for a snooze.

  I dozed on and off for an hour before getting up and padding back to the kitchen where I cleaned up as Fionn slept on. Opening the fridge to get a drink of orange juice, I spotted a postcard on the outside from Spain. I knew it had to be from Mum and Dad – the image on the front was of their nearest beach.

  I suddenly had the urge to see my mother’s handwriting so I turned it over and saw her familiar scrawl. I didn’t need to read the words. I just held it to me, comforted by the thought that she had once held it in her own hands. I also knew that once I read it any sense of comfort would most likely leave me. Mum and Dad – lovely as they were – were not blessed with the usual parental qualities of gushing adoration for their offspring. I looked and found it was covered in simple instructions to Darcy (they wouldn’t have trusted me) regarding the rental of the old family home and a quick mention of me with a comment that they hoped I was behaving myself.

  If only they knew! Mum would have had a mild coronary at the very notion of me having casual sex with a hairy man from Donegal on a semi-regular basis.

  I smiled anyway at the card – and the way my parents dealt with everything practical first of all. Maybe if I was more like them and less inclined to have my head in the clouds, I would live in a lovely practical house with decently proportioned rooms and spend my day working at a sensible job where nipple-tassel-wearing was strictly off limits.