by Annie Lyons
Here, the orchids are exceptional. No supermarket hybrids to be seen, just pure beauty and exotic perfection.
‘Remarkable, aren’t they?’ says a voice. Emma jumps. She turns to see Richard’s smiling face. He looks handsome in a scholarly way today, his face framed by flattering black-edged glasses.
‘Yes, yes they are. Wonderful. Really lovely. Stunning. How are you?’ Emma realises that she’s jabbering and tells herself to calm down.
‘All the better for seeing you, esteemed editor. ‘ He leans forwards and kisses her on the cheek.
Emma takes in the scent of expensive aftershave and feels her stomach dip a little. Get a grip, Darcy, she thinks. ‘Shall we go and grab a coffee and discuss this brilliant book then?’ she asks in full-on professional editor mode.
‘After you,’ says Richard with a gallant bow.
‘No, Lily, you cannot wear your swimming costume to the music group. It’s six degrees outside!’ Rachel lifts the lid on the stove-top coffee pot, willing it to be ready, desperate for a hit of caffeine.
‘I hate you!’ Lily shouts.
Rachel shrugs her shoulders. ‘Well I love you, darling,’ she says with as much calm in her voice as she can muster.
‘Well, I flippin’ well hate you!’ screams Lily, her voice reaching a pitch that only dolphins can hear, followed by a dramatic thumping of small feet and an explosive slamming of her bedroom door. Rachel considers momentarily if perhaps her child has become a teenager overnight. She pours herself a coffee and slumps into her favourite kitchen chair as Alfie waddles in.
‘Is Lily cross?’ he asks with pure innocence.
‘No, darling, she’s just got issues,’ says Rachel cheerily. ‘Now where’s Mummy’s cuddle?’ Alfie squeaks with delight as Rachel grabs him and tickles him mercilessly.
‘That’s enough, Mummy!’
Rachel relinquishes her grasp and enjoys a leisurely sip of her coffee. ‘Ahh, the nectar of life,’ she sighs. She can hear Lily throwing toys, books and what sounds like small items of furniture around her room, but Ken Bruce is playing a James Taylor song and Rachel is determined to savour the moment. As the song ends, she glances at the clock.
‘Holy cow! We’re going to be late! Alfie, find your shoes, I’ll get your sister!’
‘Holy cow!’ giggles Alfie with unbridled joy.
Rachel stampedes up the stairs and throws open Lily’s door.
‘Come on, Lils, it’s nearly time for “Hello Sally” and you don’t want to miss that, do you?’ urges Rachel, trying not to show panic in her voice.
‘Oh and I suppose we’re late again, are we?’ says Lily with frightening insight. Rachel realises, as she has realised many times before, that these are not the battles she will win easily. Her mother has often said how eerily similar Rachel and Lily are and Rachel has a grudging admiration for her four-year-old’s intelligence.
‘OK, Lilsy, I’ll do you a deal. You let me get you dressed and into the car without any fuss and there’s a babycino in it for you.’
‘Hmm,’ contemplates Lily. ‘Deal or no deal? Let me think.’ Rachel tries to suppress the dark thoughts she is now having about her torturer. ‘OK, mother. Throw in a chocolate chip panettone and you have a deal.’
Rachel is flabbergasted and impressed in equal measure. ‘Fine, fine. Now, let’s get you dressed and don’t call me mother.’
‘All right. Don’t call me Lilsy then. I’m not a baby. And I’m already dressed.’ She peels off her dressing-gown to reveal an outfit incorporating pink corduroy trousers, a red glittery sequined top, which Rosie bought for her and which Rachel hates, and a green Tinkerbell dress. Rachel doesn’t know whether to laugh, cry or take a picture. She remembers what the books tell you about praising positive behaviours and not undermining your child.
‘That is a really remarkable outfit, Lily. Well done.’
‘S’not finished yet’. She fishes out a pair of gold glitter wings, a red and yellow Peruvian hat and a pastel pink polka dot bag.
‘There,’ she says checking herself in the mirror. ‘Perfect.’
‘You look like a Christmas tree,’ says Alfie unwisely as he wanders in. Rachel waits for the backlash. It doesn’t come.
‘I know,’ says Lily delighted. ‘I love Christmas! Now, Mum, please can we go? It’s sooo embarrassing when we’re late.’
Rachel is speechless.
‘So let’s talk about Stella and what she really wants. Is she genuinely drawn to the brothers or is it all just a game to her? Does she behave the way she does due to the death of her mother?’
‘Absolutely, absolutely. So Emma, are you married?’
‘Well, Richard, I’m not sure it’s entirely relevant to this conversation, but for your information, I am engaged.’
‘Ahh, who’s the lucky chap?’ smiles Richard, toying with the froth on his cappuccino.
‘His name is Martin and he’s the love of my life. Now look, we’re supposed to be discussing your plotline.’
‘Oh come on, Emma, we’ve been talking plotlines for two hours and I think it’s important that we get to know each other a bit better as editor and author.’
Emma folds her arms and surveys him. ‘OK, what do you want to know?’
‘How did you meet this Marlon?’
‘Martin.’
‘Yes of course, sorry. Martin.’
‘He used to work in our IT department.’
‘How romantic.’
‘Are you mocking me?’
‘Only mildly. No, I’m just in awe of two people who are prepared to commit to one another in this day and age.’
‘I take it you’re a commitment-phobe,’ teases Emma.
Richard smirks. ‘I just haven’t met the right available woman yet,’ he says with emphasis on the word ‘available’.
‘I’m sure you will,’ she replies dismissively.
Richard nods his head looking earnest. ‘I hope so. I didn’t have the best role models to be honest. My father left my mother for her sister, so not a great example.’
‘That’s terrible. Your poor mum.’
‘Mmm. It was tough on her. She ended up in a mental asylum after she tried to kill herself.’
Emma puts a hand to her mouth. ‘I’m so sorry. That must have been hard on you too.’
‘It was.’ Richard looks into the distance for a moment as if lost in a memory. He takes a deep breath and smiles at her. ‘Thank you, Emma. You see? I told you it was good to share. I feel better already.’ He reaches out and touches her hand. Emma feels a little jolt like an electric shock. Richard moves his hand away. ‘Anyway, tell me more about Martin. When are you getting married?’
Emma frowns. ‘Next June. Although to be honest I’m not enjoying the planning so far.’
Richard eyes her. ‘Interfering mothers, perchance? Occupational hazard I should imagine.’
‘Actually it’s Martin. He booked the venue without talking to me,’ says Emma feeling immediately disloyal for mentioning it.
‘Hmm, far be it from me to criticise another man but that sounds a bit unreasonable.’
‘Thank you,’ says Emma with genuine relief. ‘It’s nice to talk to someone who doesn’t try to excuse him all the time. Sometimes I think I’m a bit of a pushover.’
‘I can’t imagine that for one moment,’ says Richard. ‘You strike me as a very strong, in-control woman. If you were my fiancée, frankly I’d let you walk all over me.’
Emma’s not sure how but somehow Richard manages to make this sound romantic and sexy all at the same time. She gives a little cough and realises she needs to take control of the situation. ‘Right, well I think that’s enough social chat. Shall we get back to Stella?’
Richard gives her a devilish grin and a small salute. ‘Whatever you say, Emma Darcy. You’re the boss.’
Rachel is amazed to find that they are on time for the music group. The crowd of pre-schoolers is only just gathering in the church hall, with its regulation orange plastic chairs an
d vomit-green curtains. Sue waves wearily as they enter and Rachel has soon dumped their coats and joined her cross-legged on the floor,
‘Hello, Susan,’ she singsongs in the manner of the music teacher, Sally.
An immaculately dressed mother with a black bob as neat as a topiary hedge looks up, ‘Ray-chel! You made it on time! What happened?’ Then she sees Lily’s outfit and let’s out an involuntary, ‘Aieee!’
‘Yes, “aieee” indeed, Polly. Lily’s experimenting with clothes, but at least she’s wearing something today,’ says Rachel recalling with a shiver the day Lily decided to strip off mid-lesson and the rest of the children copied her. Some of the mothers haven’t spoken to her since.
‘All right, chick?’ she says, nudging Sue.
‘Fine, my sweet. Just a bit tired. Joe’s been a bit up and down.’
‘Goodness me, you do look tired, Susan,’ says Polly unhelpfully. ‘You should try this ylang-ylang tea I picked up at Fortnum’s. My personal trainer swears by it.’
‘Ignore her,’ whispers Rachel as Sally claps her hands to start the class. ‘She’s a Stepford wife.’
‘Now then, mummies, no talking! It’s time for our Hello Sallys!’ trills the teacher with a high-pitched edge bordering on hysteria. The class passes with only three major incidents and Rachel is overwhelmed with schadenfreude as they all involve Polly’s little boy, Jasper. Following one particularly vicious attack with a rhythm stick on dolly-faced Evie and Polly’s inability to quash this behaviour with her imploring, ‘Come on, my little ray of sunshine, come and sit with mummee,’ Sally has had enough.
‘Stop it now, Jasper!’ bellows Sally, her usually smiling face now dissolved into that of a baying dog. ‘You are being a very naughty boy. Go to Mummy or you will have to sit on Sally’s naughty chair!’
Jasper and the other children freeze. The parents look at each other, in awe and moderate terror. Polly looks mortified and open and shuts her mouth in the manner of a fish out of water. Jasper’s lip begins to wobble and soon the rest of his face follows suite. He makes a small squeaking sound, which escalates into a medium-sized cry, then a gigantic wail, at which point he throws himself at his mother and buries his sobbing head in her lap. Some of the smaller children follow his example nestling against their mothers’ bosoms.
Alfie snuggles into Rachel’s lap while Lily sits defiantly on her own.
‘Weaklings!’ she mutters, patently disappointed by her peers’ lack of character.
‘Right,’ says Sally, her face as pink as a beetroot. ‘Shall we finish with Sleepy Bunnies?’
‘I love Sally,’ says Lily as they leave the hall and head out into the street. ‘That Jasper’s a pain in the bum.’
‘Thank you, darling,’ says Rachel looking over her shoulder and hoping that Polly hasn’t heard. ‘Fancy a coffee, Suze?’
‘I better not. Joe’s a bit knackered, so we should probably get home. Just tell me quickly, how was the weekend with Steve?’
Rachel smiles. ‘Pretty good, actually. I managed to talk and listen and enjoy some spectacular sex. We’re going to go up to Edinburgh in a week or two so we can make a considered decision together.’
Sue laughs. ‘Good girl. I’m very glad and seriously jealous. I managed to go two hours without Joe vomiting all over me. But I guess you have to count your blessings and at least he’s OK now,’ she says, stroking Joe’s hair.
‘Sorry, Suze,’ says Rachel putting an arm round her friend. ‘Do you want me to have him for a couple of hours while you go home and have a kip? I’m sure he’ll be fine. We can make a bed for him on the sofa if he gets tired.’
‘Thanks, darl, but I think I’ll take him home, give him some lunch and bung on a DVD.’
‘OK but if you change your mind, you know where I am.’ She gives Sue a big squeezing hug.
‘I’ll miss you if you go, Rach,’ says Sue, and Rachel suddenly feels a pang. ‘But then we’ll be up to stay every holiday so you’ll soon be sick of the sight of us,’ she adds seeing her friend’s worried face.
‘Well, that’s the last time we do Singalong Sally, I think.’ Polly breezes through in her purple cape and matching cap. ‘Come on, Jasper darling, Mummy take you to the toyshop, buy you that Lego fire station you wanted and then how about Pizza Express for lunch? Susan. Rachel. See you later.’
‘Bye Jasper!’ calls Alfie sweetly.
Jasper turns around and sticks out his tongue.
‘Bugger off you rude, rude boy!’ says Lily with venom. ‘And don’t you ever stick your tongue out at my brother again!’
‘Lily!’ says Rachel shocked, ‘you can’t say that to people. It’s a bit rude.’
‘You say it to Daddy,’ declares Lily. ‘And anyway, he deserves it.’ Rachel can’t disagree and leads the children home feeling rather proud of her daughter and a bit sad at the possibility of losing her best friend.
Chapter 11
Emma returns to her desk to find a hillock of post and her answerphone flashing red. ‘Talk to me now!’ it seems to be saying. She dumps her bag on the floor and spies the manuscript for The Red Orchid, its pages curled from being read again and again. She enjoyed her morning with Richard, although she wouldn’t say she’d managed to keep control of the situation at all times. Richard was a shameless flirt but he was good company and she told herself that it was important to build good relations with your authors. He had bid her farewell at the Tube station with a kiss on the cheek.
‘I enjoyed our first date,’ he’d said smiling mischievously. ‘When can we do it again?’ Emma had tried to steer him back to business. ‘Why don’t you crack on with the revisions we discussed and we’ll take it from there. You can call me if you need me.’
He had clicked his heels together and saluted. ‘I’ll be in touch very soon then,’ he said with a wolfish grin before disappearing through the ticket barrier.
‘How was the dreamboat author?’ asks Ella, popping her head over the partition that separated their working areas.
‘Ella, you scared me!’
‘Sorry. Daydreaming about literature’s great new hope, were you?’ teases Ella.
‘Oh stop it, Ells. I’m practically a married woman’
‘Of course, of course, but you’re still allowed at little low-level flirting.’
Emma smiles. ‘Well, maybe a little.’
‘Ha! I knew it.’
‘What? I was an angel and Richard’s not that easy to deal with, you know. You’re lucky to have straightforward Clive and his historical fiction.’
‘Yeah right. Clive stares at my breasts while I’m trying to give him sound editorial advice and, to be honest, I’d rather endure that from a good-looking man than someone who reminds me of my uncle, Dennis.’
‘Poor Ella,’ says Emma with a little pout.
‘I appreciate your sympathy. By the way, Joel popped round. I think he left you a love note.’
Emma snatches up the sticky note attached to her computer screen before scrunching it into a ball and throwing it in the bin. ‘Patronising moron. Who does he think he is?’
‘Alistair Campbell?’
‘With a splash of Genghis Khan. Right, I better go and see him, I guess. Wish me luck.’
‘Bon chance. I’ll come and rescue you if you’re not back by home time.’
‘Thanks.’
Emma strides along the corridor ready to do battle. Joel’s door is slightly ajar and she can hear voices.
‘I just can’t stand another day sucking up to that buffoon,’ she hears Jacqui purr.
‘Patience, Jacqueline. It’s only a matter of time before the Americans see what a drain on resources he is. I’ve already been exchanging e-mails with Phil. He’s coming over in a few weeks. As soon as he sees Digby for the fool he is, they’re bound to be looking around for some strong leaders and they won’t have to look far, will they?’
‘What about Miranda?’
‘Oh, she’s an old bag, but she’s a useful old bag. I’m sure there’ll
be room for her in the new regime.’
Jacqui laughs like a pantomime villain. Emma freezes. She can hear movement in the room and in a fight or flight moment, chooses flight. She rounds the corner straight into the not insubstantial bosom of Miranda.
‘Ahh Emma, I was just looking for you. Ella said you were on your way to see our little Marketing spin-doctor but you appear to be going the wrong way. Is everything all right?’
Emma is caught off guard. She would like to talk about what she’s just heard, but doesn’t want to seem as if she’s telling tales.
‘Er yes fine. Joel was just sort of busy.’
‘Yes, he’s a busy boy, that one. I need to tell you about some bloody awful course I’ve got to send you on. Can you spare a moment?’
‘Absolutely.’
Once back in her office, Miranda rummages through the myriad paper that covers her desk.
‘Ah yes, here it is: “Communicating with Authors”. Hmm. Arse-gravy of the worst kind. In my day we just slept with the good-looking ones and got the ugly ones drunk, but these days it’s all about psyches and egos and analysing each other until we disappear up our own backsides trying to find whatever it was we’d forgotten we had. Ho-hum. However, it will be a good opportunity to network as they like to call it and find out what the enemy is up to. It’s at a swanky little hotel just off Sloane Street, so you can go and lust after some shoes at lunchtime. Ok?’
‘I will suspend judgement and look forward to the shoe-shopping.’
‘Good woman. So is everything all right with you and Mr Riches?’
‘Fine, fine, why?’ says Emma with a little too much enthusiasm.
‘Look Emma, I know he’s a bit cocksure but to be honest, we’re under a bit of pressure. The Americans are on our backs a little, so we need to make sure we all pull together, OK?’
‘Of course, but we’re doing all right, aren’t we?’