It's Got To Be Perfect

by Claire Allan

  “She’s just a little tired and emotional,” I soothed.

  “Hellooooo!” Darcy yelled. “I’m in the room. Don’t talk about me as if I’m not in the room. I am very much in the blasted room and hearing everything you say. I am not ‘tired and emotional’, I’m pissed and single and wondering if I have made the biggest mistake of my entire goddamn life!” She waved her hand around for emphasis, narrowly missing knocking a large lamp from her side table.

  Summer looked scared – as if Darcy could start waving her hands in her direction soon and narrowly missing her. She looked at Dermot as he carried the coffee cups into the room with a pleading expression on her face which screamed: “I’m a fashion intern. Get me out of here.”

  “Maybe you should go. I’ll take over from here,” I offered and both Dermot and Summer were out of the door before I could say, “No, honestly. We’ll be grand. You go on.”

  By this stage Darcy was lying across the sofa, a cushion over her face and her legs splayed on the arm of the settee.

  “Annie. Tell me I did the right thing. Tell me it won’t always hurt. Tell me that I’ll get over it and be fine and not turn into a mad bitter oul’ doll who shouts at couples snogging in the street and tells them they are dirty wee shites.”

  “You did the right thing.”

  “And the rest . . .” she waved her hand. “The not hurting? And the not shouting? And the not being bitter?”

  “All that, Darcy. I promise.”

  “I feel sick,” she said. “The room is spinning.”

  “I’ll get some water. You get to bed.”

  “’Kay”, she muttered as I left but when I came back she was already asleep on the sofa and it was the sleep of the deeply drunk. I pulled a blanket from her bed and tucked it around her, leaving a basin beside her and a pint glass of water and then I went into the spare room, opened the windows wide and listened to the sound of Dublin in the evening and the snoring of my very drunken sister.

  I curled up, and lifted my book and my phone and pretended to read the first, while wondering who on earth to phone with the second. Scrolling through my address book, I stopped at Fionn’s number and hit the call button. It rang three times before she answered, sounding deliriously happy if a little tired – from the journey back to Derry and the bedroom antics before and after.

  “Hey, babes,” she said cheerily and it was lovely to hear someone sound happy. It felt as if it had been one very long day of depressing news, and overwrought emotional interactions and it was just the loveliest noise in the world to hear my friend say “Hey, babes!” in a cheery tone.

  “Hey, yourself. I’m guessing by the obvious joy in your voice that things between you and Alex are on the mend?”

  “Well and truly. The wedding is very much back on so you will get to wear that gorgeous dress after all and I’ll get to wear the pink shoes.”

  “Well, that is just about the best thing I’ve heard all day.”

  “And you want to know what else?

  “What?”

  “He doesn’t even mind about the credit-card bill. Well, not that much anyway.”

  “That’s great, darling. Honestly. It’s brilliant.”

  “I know! But tell me, how are you? How is Darcy?”

  “Me? I’m fine – well, I will be fine. Darcy? She’s passed out on the sofa. She’ll be fine too though. I know it.”

  “Give her a hug from me,” she said, her voice soft and compassionate.

  “I will do. And give Alex a hug from me – and Emma too.”

  “Oh, I haven’t stopped squishing her since we got back.”

  She told me how Emma had thrown herself into her arms when she and Alex arrived at Rebecca’s to pick her up. Rebecca had looked a little put out, which in her good mood Fionn had understood. She actually felt sorry for Rebecca, she said – well, a little bit anyway.

  And now she was at home, back off the Naughty Step and she and Alex were working out the seating plan for their big do. All was right with the world.

  “I’m so glad to hear it,” I said honestly, before saying my goodbyes and hanging up. I lay back on the bed, sighed and realised that I felt utterly alone.

  Must. Not. Text. Pearse. Or Ant. Or Owen.

  So I closed my eyes and tried my damnedest to drift off to sleep, even though it was stupidly early and I wasn’t in the slightest bit tired.

  In my dream I was standing in Stephen’s Green on a balmy evening. Everything was gorgeously green and silent except for the gentle hush of the wind through the trees. I felt scared – exposed – and alone. And then he was there. And he walked towards me and smiled and I smiled back, even though I wasn’t sure what his motives were or what he could want from me. He reached his hand to my face, gently grazing my lips with his thumb before gently pulling me towards him and kissing me softly and gently with more love than I had ever felt in my life. He didn’t talk. He just breathed deeply in a way that said he adored me and everything about me. I felt my heart soar as his lips softly moved against my own and I felt content, and safe and sure that it was all going to be okay. Then he walked away and I woke – my heart sore because no one had ever kissed me or loved me like that in real life.

  Darcy was green – actually really green – around the face the following morning. I found her, still prone on the sofa, when I got up to get a glass of water shortly before seven.

  “Have I been here all night?” she asked. “I don’t remember coming home. Shit, did I make an arse of myself?”

  “No,” I lied. “You were fine.”

  “I need water.”

  “There’s some on the floor, but I’ll get you a fresh glass, and maybe some paracetamol?”

  “Yes, please,” she moaned, sitting up. “That sofa was clearly not made for sleeping on.”

  I walked back in and handed her the water and some tablets and told her to go to bed for a proper sleep.

  She padded off to the bedroom and I settled on the sofa, ready for another long day trying to amuse myself on the scary big streets of Dublin. Figuring that it was still too early for the majority of pickpockets to be up and about, I decided to go for a run while planning to stop off to pick up some croissants on the way back.

  The only way to get out of this crappy mood was to run around until I felt like I might vomit and then gorge on baked goods.

  So I set off slowly – forgetting that there had always been a fatal flaw in my plan. My sore ankle didn’t want to go for a run. In fact, it protested quite loudly at the very notion of doing anything more strenuous than a gentle stroll. Of course, had this been some Hollywood romantic comedy, this would have been exactly the moment – as I stretched over to rub my swollen ankle – that Owen Reilly would have appeared as if from nowhere and commented on coincidences and fate and other such things.

  Part of me wanted to believe in Hollywood happy endings, so I glanced around me hoping for a glimpse of him on his way out to get another fix of coffee. But the streets were quiet, so I limped towards the shop and then back to Darcy’s flat, feeling really rather sorry for myself.

  Boiling the kettle, I made a cup of tea and buttered a croissant while waiting for Darcy to wake. When she did, she seemed like a new woman.

  “Right, moping over. I’m just going to have to get on with it, aren’t I?”

  “Go easy on yourself, petal, but I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

  “Grand job,” she said, pouring herself a glass of orange juice. “So what time do you want me to leave you to the bus station?”

  Bus station? There was no way I was going anywhere near any buses any time soon – not when Darcy was so emotionally fragile. Although looking at her shoving half a croissant into her face and declaring it delicious, she looked pretty stable to me.

  “I was planning on staying.”

  “But don’t you have to be back at work, Annie? Tomorrow’s Monday and I’m pretty sure that boss of yours won’t be impressed if you don’t show up.”

  It w
as then that it hit me. The whole spinster plan didn’t need to be set in Derry. I could be just as much of a spinster in the Big Smoke as I could in Derry. And I’m sure I could find a job down here – there had to be more chance of a new job in PR in Dublin than in Derry. There wasn’t much for me up in the North anyway – an oddly shaped flat, Fionn of course – but no Pearse, no Ant, no good contracts in work.

  “I could stay. Here. I could be your new room-mate. You need someone, don’t you?”

  “Now, Annie, I love you with all my heart. But no. I’ll be fine and you need to go home.”

  “This could be home.”

  “No, it couldn’t. It’s not you – the big city and the way things are. And it never would be you. You are just trying to run away from your problems.”

  “No,” I was adamant. “I want to be here to help you, Darcy. And, yes, well, life isn’t perfect up North so a fresh start could do me – could do us – the world of good.”

  “But it wouldn’t be a fresh start. We know we can’t live together, Annie. We would fall out in no time. And you know that things are just tough back home for you right now but you have to face it head on because if you don’t you will be letting Pee-Arse win.”

  And I realised I would be letting Ant win too. And Bob. More than that I would be letting myself down. Darcy was right – and not for the first time.

  “But I don’t want to leave you.”

  “Jesus, Annie, it’s only a few miles up the road. I’ll be there if you need me and vice versa and I will be fine. Sure don’t I have Summer and Dermot looking out for me down here? And you – my lovely sister – will be fine too. You are going to go back up there and you are going to kick some ass and show the world that you can’t keep a Delaney down. Do you hear me?”

  I nodded as she clinked her glass against my cup.

  “That’s the girl!”

  I decided then and there I would leave telling her about the plan for us to be spinsters raising our bought baby for another day. For now I had to prepare myself for the trek back to Derry and walking into an office where everyone would know my personal business and I would be left dealing with some utterly shitey account while one of my colleagues gloated about the Manna deal. The most exciting thing on my books was Love, Sex and Magic but there is only so much coverage you get for lubricants and nipple-clamps in the Northern Irish media. Believe me, I’d tried.

  The big goodbye at Bus Áras wasn’t as absolutely horrendous as it might have been. Darcy had given me a hug and told me that I was not, under any circumstances whatsoever, to cry or she would kill me. So I sniffed a bit and stifled my emotions until the bus was pulling out of the city centre and even then I only let out the eeniest of squeaks in case Darcy and her bat ears could still hear me. I was going to miss her, and I was going to worry about her. There was nothing that was going to change that.

  29

  There was a strange comfort in walking back into my flat – even though it was a pigsty in comparison to the luxury of Waterloo Road. My things were all where they should be. My fridge was still comfortingly understocked. The windows still rattled just that little bit when the breeze hit them and the toilet was still much too far from the bathroom door. There might not have been a hint of a high ceiling, or a marble fireplace or a gorgeous twisted metal light-fitting but that was okay for now.

  I lifted the phone to call Darcy just to let her know I was back safe and sound and then I called Fionn to let her know that I would be at work the next day. Both sounded okay. Both said they would talk to me the next day. So I unpacked, loaded the washing machine, made my umpteenth cup of tea of the day, and climbed into bed for an early night. Glancing at my bedside table, I saw the card which Ant had sent with his saucy gift and I ripped it up into impossibly small pieces before throwing it in the wastepaper basket and laughing – just a little maniacally – to myself.

  I made it into work early. I figured if I was already there when people arrived it would give them less time to talk about me. So, as my colleagues arrived, I was at my desk, scanning through my client portfolio and wondering how on earth I was going retain even an ounce of dignity. Aside from the sex shop, there was, of course, Haven Cosmetics, a very self-important photographer, a swish clothing boutique which was overpriced and under-stocked, and a handful of wannabes who rarely contacted us for any PR campaigns because they were completely broke. I would have to pull something else out of the bag – and quickly – if I was to continue to justify my position at NorthStar. Without Manna and the rising star that was Pearse to work with, my portfolio looked distinctly lacklustre.

  Fionn arrived on time – smiling broadly. She passed by my desk to check I was okay and said she just couldn’t wait for our FSB so she could fill me in on the latest developments.

  Bob was next in the door. He smiled – just a little one – in my direction before declaring to the room that we would all touch base at ten for a staff meeting and we would see where we could move on from there to get the Star in NorthStar up and shining again. He finished this with a wink and a weird finger-pointy thing and walked on.

  It was comforting at least to know that Bob was still ‘Bawb’. Much as I had appreciated his compassion the previous week, it had unnerved me. He might be an eejit but a part of me liked him that way.

  I caught up with a few emails, had a quick and cheeky look on Facebook and then lifted my prop lighter and headed outside to meet with Fionn.

  “Well?” I said, leaning against the side of the smoking shelter.

  “Well, everything is going to be fine. Alex and Rebecca talked. She’s keeping Emma the week of our honeymoon. And she didn’t even complain. Can you believe it?”

  A big part of me couldn’t. But I didn’t say so because I wasn’t in the mood for piddling on her parade. Of all the things I knew about Rebecca, I knew for certain it was highly unlikely that she hadn’t complained. I guessed Alex had doctored some of the previous night’s events to appease Fionn a little, which was okay, I suppose. I certainly wasn’t going to go running after him to check anyway. I had learned my lesson.

  I smiled and nodded, despite my doubts.

  “Oh, I know it’s probably not going to be completely plain sailing from now on, but I think he might be over this commitment-phobia thing. Last night he said he couldn’t wait to marry me.”

  “That’s good, darling,” I smiled.

  “I can’t wait to marry him either. We are sending the invites out at the weekend. I know I’m ridiculously late with them but they had to be perfect. Do you think we should still invite Darcy? Would it be shitty and insensitive for her to get a wedding invite when she has just broken up with Gerry?”

  “What I think is that it would be shitty and insensitive if you didn’t invite her. You know what Darcy is like. She’s a strong woman – she’s hurting but she’ll be fine and if we all start trying to wrap her in cotton wool she will turn angry and, believe me, you would not like her when she is angry.”

  “Oh I know. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten I locked horns with her recently. But, what about you anyway? You doing okay?”

  “I’m crapping myself about Bob’s team meeting, and I’m feeling a little ego-bruised but I’m fine.”

  “Did you text him back?”

  “Bob? Pearse?”

  “No, yer man. The lifesaver.”

  “Owen?”

  Fionn rolled her eyes. “Well, you know, I’ve forgotten his name – but, yes, if you say ‘Owen’ I imagine that’s the boy all right unless someone else saved your life recently.”

  I could see Fionn’s matchmaking antennae were twitching like mad twitchy antennae-like things.

  “I did. I thanked him. And that’s it.”

  “That’s horribly disappointing,” she said, pulling a horribly disappointed face, so I decided not to tell her how I had seen him outside a coffee shop and hidden behind a magazine. She would not have been impressed.

  We gathered in the boardroom at ten on the dot. Bob w
ould not have accepted a minute before or a minute after. I painted on my best smile (with the aid of some heavy-duty lip gloss) and carried a notebook brimming with ideas (or at least looking as though it were brimming with ideas). I tried not to notice the sympathetic looks from my colleagues who obviously knew I had been shafted royally the week before. Instead I looked straight ahead, chin up and tits out, as Darcy would have told me.

  “Hey, everyone. Nice to start another week with you all by my side – and to have you all smiling! Great.” The charm offensive began. “We want to keep those smiles up all week – especially when you lot are out and about interfacing with clients or talking to the press. We need whatever coverage, whatever deals and whatever money you can bring our way. We all know times are tough and last week was a scary one for NorthStar. Almost losing two of our biggest clients was a kick in the teeth, but thankfully Elise has pulled us back from the edge.”

  I felt my face burn. So I had taken NorthStar to the edge, had I? And Elise had pulled it back with my clients, had she?

  “But this is certainly no time for complacency. We’ll put last week behind us and move onwards and upwards. Now, folks, what have we all planned? Annie – how is the Haven Lip Gloss campaign going? Will you call around the media this morning and check that they got their samples and see if they are going to run anything?”