Not Quite Perfect

Rachel snorts. ‘Don’t be daft, Lily’s much more responsible! No, Tom is babysitting until Steve gets home.’

‘Tom?’

‘Our next-door neighbour.’

‘Oh, the dishy one.’

Rachel is surprised that she and her sister obviously have similar taste. ‘D’you think?’

‘Oh yeah, bit pudgy, but very cute. Like Russell Crowe.’

‘Steady on, he’s hardly a gladiator!’

‘Oh, so you have checked him out then?’ Emma teases.

‘So what if I have. I am a respectable married lady so it’s fine to look as long as you don’t touch,’ says Rachel in a superior tone.

‘I agree with the married bit,’ laughs Emma. Rachel flicks her sister the V-sign. ‘Anyway, sister dearest, when exactly were you going to tell me that you’re moving to Scotland?’

‘Aha, you’ve spoken to mother then?’

‘Yes but still, Rach, I’m your sister. You could have told me.’

‘Why do you think we’re having this drink? I wanted to tell you face to face. Don’t be so sensitive.’

Emma is irritated by the brush-off, but is interrupted by Rachel’s phone. Rachel glances at the caller ID and rolls her eyes, mouthing ‘Steve’ as she answers with a curt ‘Hi?’ Steve obviously has a lot to say and Emma watches Rachel’s face as her look transforms from one of mild irritation to impatient anger. Emma waits for the backlash and isn’t disappointed.

‘No, Steve, you bloody listen. You said you’d be home in time and you weren’t. Tom offered and I actually do think it’s OK to leave our children with him. He’s been more supportive than you have lately. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to hang up and moan to my sister about you.’ She punches the end call button with a defiant ‘Tosser!’

Emma looks at her sister. ‘You’re really very cross, aren’t you?’

‘D’you think?’ says Rachel. ‘First he wants to move us up north, then I find out he’d known for ages and now he’s playing the alpha-male working all bloody hours while my brain is dissolving due to lack of proper use. I dunno, Em, sometimes I just want to walk out the door and never come back.’

Emma is a little shocked by the outburst. She knows Rachel can fly off the handle and she knows she’s found it hard to adjust to life as a stay-at-home mum, but she’s never heard her talk like this before. Giving up is not something the Darcy sisters do and she’s never seen her as angry as this with Steve either. She’d always had them down as rock-solid and immune to the kind of vitriol she’s seen other couples develop after so many years and so many children. She knows better than to wind up her sister any further and decides that softly, softly might be the way to go.

‘Come on, Rach, you don’t mean that.’

‘Don’t I? Oh God, Em, I don’t know what I mean these days.’

‘Have you tried talking to Steve?’

Rachel looks at Emma as if she’s just arrived from Planet Stupid. ‘Of course I’ve tried talking to him. All I ever bloody do these days is try to talk to my husband, but he’s never bloody there!’

Emma sees the error she’s made but presses on like a woman on a suicide mission. ‘Well, I can babysit one night if you want to go out, you know, to talk.’

Rachel realises she’s been ranting and looks at her baby sister. Emma’s face is twisted with concern and Rachel sees a shadow of the four-year-old agreeing to let Rachel cut her hair, just to please her. Their mother had not been amused when she’d come upstairs to find her youngest daughter resembling a child with alopecia, especially when Rachel had tried to clarify the situation with the words ‘It just fell out, honest.’

Rachel smiles at the memory and at her sister. ‘Thanks, Em,’ she says with as much softness as she can muster. ‘I think Mum and Dad are having the kids at the weekend so we can try and sort it all out. Don’t worry, little sis, I’m just knackered, OK?’ Emma looks relieved. ‘So what have you been up to? Tell me about this gorgeous new author of yours. I presume he is gorgeous? Congrats on getting the book by the way. Sorry, should have said that before’. She knocks her pint glass against Emma’s in a feeble toast.

‘He’s just a nice bloke who’s written a really good book.’

‘Wow, Em, sounds amazing,’ says Rachel, feigning a yawn. ‘Let’s hope they don’t get you to write the marketing copy.’

‘Ha, ha,’ says Emma. ‘Oh by the way, I think Mum’s planning a dress-shopping trip. Are you up for it?’

‘I’m always up for it! Now drink up, little sis, it’s your round!’ By closing time, they have both drunk at least one pint more than is good for them, but Rachel doesn’t want to go home.

‘Let’s go for a curry!’

Emma hasn’t eaten since lunchtime and the thought fills her with an overpowering hunger bordering on nausea, but she agrees. They stagger out into the drizzly night and across the road to the pink neon-lit Bombay Fantasy. The waiters’ smiles are patient and accommodating and they are quickly led to an enormous table adjacent to the only other diners: three sweaty city boys, their faces red from alcohol with shirtsleeves rolled up and ties abandoned. Their ringleader, a mid-thirties chancer with a receding hairline and an air of being funnier than he is, leers towards them: ‘All right ladies?’

‘All right?’ Rachel replies with bravado.

‘So what are two gorgeous ladies like yourselves doing out alone?’

Rachel is in her element. ‘Trying to avoid cretinous men, but failing miserably,’ she retorts fixing him with a disappointed look.

Chancer likes this response. ‘Ha ha, get you. Are you lesbians then?’ he asks, as if this could be the only explanation for Rachel’s sarcasm.

Emma matches her sister’s look. ‘We’re sisters, half-wit.’

‘Even better! How about we finish up here and you can shake your booties back at my gaff?’ says Chancer nudging his friends.

Emma is about to open her mouth but Rachel holds up her hand to stop her. ‘We-ell,’ she purrs, ‘that sounds like a very tempting offer. Are you going to buy us dinner then?’

Chancer grins. ‘Of course.’

‘Why don’t we get it to take away?’ adds Rachel provocatively.

‘Wahey!’ Chancer and his monkeys whoop in agreement.

Emma pretends to drop her napkin and hisses, ‘Rachel!’

Rachel bobs her head under the table. ‘What?’

‘What are you doing?’

‘Getting us a free takeaway. Trust me.’

‘I don’t like the sound of this.’

‘Just meet me by the door in five minutes.’

They place their order. Rachel makes her excuses and goes to the toilet, flashing her cleavage as she passes the city boys, who wolf-whistle in appreciation. Emma attempts a smile and Chancer’s weasly, greasy-haired friend takes this as a come-on. ‘I think you’re in there, Jez,’ says Chancer with a nudge

Emma feels as if she might vomit and lurches to her feet. ‘I just need to go and check on my sister.’

‘You do that, darling.’