The Impossible Search for the Perfect Man (21 page)

The next morning I pin a notice on the
door.  ‘Karina had a baby boy’… with yesterday’s date.  Then I look
at the date more closely.  December 15
^th
.  It absolutely
can’t be.  It’s not possible.  I knew Christmas was coming, but
it’s
ten days away…

I’ve done no shopping, which means I’ll
have to go on a Saturday, with the rest of the heaving masses, and oh, just the
thought makes my heart sink.  It’s the kind of shopping I loathe.
 But first I’m going to see Karina. 
Tonight.
 And I’m really looking forward to it.

The baby is tiny with Arian’s dark
hair.  Karina looks tired but serene, with the baby nestled in her arms,
making quiet little murmuring noises.

I kiss her and give her the chocolates I
brought her. 

‘Thanks, Louisa.  The food here is
worse than airline food,’ she tells me. 

           
‘Get Arian to bring you something nice,’ I suggest.  ‘Would you like me to
have a word with him?’

‘He’d probably bring Mars bars and
Doritos,’ she says.  ‘Anyway, I think Mum’s bringing me something later
on.  I’ll be fine.’

 When she asks me if I want to hold
the baby, I hesitate - I’ve never held a newborn before.  And this one’s
Arian’s.  Yet again, I think how weird this is.  But then I hold out
my arms and carefully take him.  Isn’t that why I came here? 

This little person that’s part Karina and
part
my ex, he’s the most perfect thing I’ve ever
seen. 

‘He’s gorgeous,’ I say truthfully,
gazing enraptured at the warm bundle in my arms. Then I clock that he’s wrapped
in the blanket I gave her and I feel strangely touched.  And I’m riveted
as I watch each delicate movement, each tiny yawn, but when he starts to wail,
there’s nothing cute about that whatsoever and I hastily return him to Karina,
who attaches him expertly to one of her enormous breasts.

‘Blimey,’ I must have said out loud.

‘Don’t stare, Louisa.  Anyway, it’s
perfectly natural,’ says Karina.  She’s right of course, and actually,
it’s rather fascinating.

As I leave the hospital, I feel a hollow
sensation inside.  A strange feeling I’ve never felt before, almost like a
yearning.  But all thoughts about babies vanish, when rounding a corner in
one of the corridors, I run slap bang into Arian.  Honestly, he is
so
unreliable.

‘You told me you weren’t visiting
tonight,’ I say crossly.

‘I wasn’t, but I couldn’t stay away,’ he
says, a stupid smile on his face.

‘I’ve just been to see your baby,
Arian.  And he’s beautiful.’

Arian beams.  ‘He is, isn’t he?
Everyone always tells you that life changes forever, but you just don’t
realise, until you have one of your own…’ he adds, with uncharacteristic
soppiness.

Then he looks at me more soberly. 
‘I’m sorry, Lou.  That was really tactless of me, especially…’  He
breaks off and looks at his feet.  Gosh.  Has Arian finally
discovered his sensitive side?

‘It’s okay,’ I reach out to touch his
arm.  ‘Really…’

‘Erm, could I walk out with you? 
Only there are one or two things I wanted to say, and
now’s
as good a time as any.’

‘Er, okay,’ I say slowly.

As we walk, he speaks.  ‘The thing
is Lou, I’ve realised it wasn’t you at all.  I wasn’t happy at home,
because I wasn’t happy with anything.  If I’d been around a bit more, we
might have had a chance.’

Blimey, I think to myself.  That’s
deep, especially for Arian.  Fatherhood is going to his head.

So I say truthfully, ‘Actually Arian, I
think it was purely sex between us, and when that burnt out, we were more like
brother and sister.’

Then in his next breath, he astounds me.

‘I’ve decided to look for another
job.  I want to make this work with Karina and if we’re both away all the
time, how can it?  I know some people manage to, but I think we both know
that I’m not cut out for a double life.’

Gosh again
. 
I’ve always thought that Arian was one of those people who was defined by his
job.  I wonder if he realises that leaving flying will be far more
life-changing for him than having a baby.  Somehow, I doubt he’s thought
that far.  There’ll be no more admiring glances as he strides through
international airports, no more posh hotels - unless he pays for them himself.
 No.  I can’t see this at all.

‘That sounds wonderful Arian,’ I say
dubiously.  ‘I wish you the best of luck.  Look, why don’t you go and
see Karina?  I think visiting hours are over soon…’

I get the briefest kiss on the cheek
before he turns smack bang into the wall then almost runs back the way we’ve
walked.  I experience a moment’s pity for Karina.

Life can be truly weird, I decide. 
I find Arian’s new-found energy quite exhausting, so as an antedote I think
about Marcus and immediately get a warm, fuzzy feeling inside.  

The next night is my dinner date with
Marcus and he takes me to an Indian restaurant on the outskirts of Winchester.

‘Hope you like curry,’ he says.  ‘I
should have checked, but all the damn pubs have Christmas meals and Christmas
parties going on, and to tell you the truth, one Christmas meal is more than
enough for me.’

‘Curry’s great,’ I say.  ‘I
absolutely love it and I completely agree about Christmas,’ thinking about my
darling mother’s overcooked, dried out turkey, mushy sprouts that make you fart
for days, gravy straight out of a packet and Tesco’s value Christmas pudding.

‘So what are you doing for Christmas,’
Marcus asks, as we speed along in the Land Cruiser.

‘Nothing special,’ I say.  ‘I’ll
probably go to my parents - just for lunch.’

‘That’s nice,’ he says.

‘Actually, it’s not,’ I say. ‘Not
really, because I have a mad dog, so I’ll only have one glass of sherry because
I’ll be driving home that evening.  My mother can’t stand Elmer. 
She’ll also send everyone insane with her moaning
,
my
father will get as pissed as a fart because it’s the only way he knows to cope
with her.  I, meanwhile, will bite my tongue
most
of the time, try
to eat the horrific meal she’s cooked and stay sober enough to leave the first
moment I can get away.’  I smile sweetly at him.  ‘What about you?’

‘Not sure,’ he says shortly.  ‘My
parents are away - as usual.  Even if they weren’t, I’m not sure I’d see
them.  They live in Salcombe and I’m on call Boxing Day.’

Golly.  Salcombe… How very
posh. 
Hmmm.
 Do I dare invite him to join
my weird family Christmas
...

But fortunately he says, ‘Actually, Emma
and Ben have invited me for lunch.  They’ve asked Will too, so I think
I’ll probably do that.’

Sounds much more fun than mine will be.
 I’m envious.  Emma’s Christmas lunch will be scrumptious. 

‘How about,’ he suggests slowly,
sounding quite pleased with
himself
, ‘You and I have
Christmas together on Boxing Day evening?  The way
we
want to do
it?’

‘Oooh, that sounds fun,’ I say,
envisaging me and Marcus pulling crackers and drinking champagne by my fire.

‘Tell you what,’ he says.  ‘Why
don’t you leave it to me?’

I have so many presents to buy this year. 
There’s Mum and Dad of course, Leonie, Emma, and Marcus and Agnes ….and maybe
something for Zac.  And a box of chocolates for Mr Jones to make up for
the carrots that Wurzel stole.  So I forego my Saturday morning ride on
Horace, and head in to Winchester, wishing I hadn’t, because it’s Christmas
shopping at its absolute, bloody worst, with the traffic queuing for miles and
queues for all the car parks.  And to top it off, it’s wet and windy,
which isn’t Christmassy at all.

By the time I’ve finished, I vow that
next year all my shopping will be done online.  I am never going Christmas
shopping ever again.

But then something happens that
absolutely makes my day, because I bump into smug
Martin,
that
jumped up little shit of an estate agent that sold mine and Arian’s
old home.  Battling with the crowds in the streets, I try my hardest to
avoid him, but he comes right over anyway and says as smoothly as ever, ‘Mrs
Mulholland!  How lovely to see you again.  How are you?’ 

As if I
were
a
long lost friend or something, the git.

‘I’m awfully well, thanks, Mr Slime,’ I
say, standing there in the downpour, water pouring down my face. ‘Oh yes.
 
Very good indeed.
  Oh how lovely, I see
you’re wearing one of those Value suits from Tesco’s…. excellent aren’t
they?  I mean, these days, no-one can tell the difference can they? 
Must go.
  Happy Christmas!’ and I walk away leaving him
looking really stupid as he stands there with his mouth wide open.  He’s
probably wearing Armani.  Tesco’s value is absolutely okay to me, but
Martin’s a complete snob.   

We close the office at lunchtime on
Christmas Eve, and Beamish and Agnes arrive with drinks and nibbles.  What
we used to do was have champagne and cut Mrs Winkle’s delicious Christmas cake
- not this year, though.  But Agnes, bless her, has done us proud. 
It’s not just nibbles at all.  There’s the most sumptuous array of
delicious hot canapés, and tiny, bite-sized roast beef and Yorkshire pudding,
so when all the vets get back, we have a party.

Mrs Boggle always comes in specially,
wearing tacky earrings made of singing Christmas baubles, and always says
something like ‘
Oh, I couldn’t eat another bite
,’ as she stuffs yet
another delectable morsel into her mouth.  Zac’s looking at it all as
though he can’t believe his eyes.  He told me he’s spending Christmas with
Sam at Sam’s sisters.  I’m awfully glad he’s got somewhere nice to go to,
not just his lousy Mum’s.

It’s lovely having Agnes back here, even
if she’s only passing the food around.  For once, she’s doing as she’s told
and taking it easy.  Beamish is terribly protective of her, and even makes
her sit down and actually passes some of the food around
himself
.

Marcus keeps giving me the loveliest of
smiles, and Will’s regaling Agnes with various outlandish tales that appear to
have her in stitches.

‘She’s a great lady,’ he says to me
later. 

I agree with him.  ‘She is. 
One of the best,’ I say loyally.  ‘Actually, she has been the best friend
to me this year.  She’s more like a mother than my own mother.’

‘Wow.’  Will is fittingly
awed.  He obviously realises how special she is.

And so I go home alone, but I’m meeting
everyone later on in the pub, except maybe not Marcus who’s on call for the
rest of the day.  He kisses me goodbye in the car park, which thoroughly
baffles Beamish, who thinks he’s given his blessing to my union with Will,
which he still hasn’t realised only ever existed in his imagination.

Ah well.  So it’s Christmas. 
That evening, everyone gets to the pub - including Marcus.  When I walk
in, they all stop talking at once and look over at me.

When I ask Marcus what it is they were
discussing, he says, ‘nothing, Lou.  Don’t know what you mean.’

I ask Emma too.  She gives me an
evasive look and changes the subject.  Suddenly I’m less than happy. 

What am I not supposed to know? 
Secrets make me uneasy – there’ve been too many in recent months - and I can
only imagine the worst, like I’ve done something terrible, or I’m about to be
fired – or Marcus’s ex is coming back to him...

I wake up on Christmas morning a little
less paranoid.  Horace has done surprisingly well from Santa this
year.  As well as a bulging stocking of carrots and apples, he has a
lovely new headcollar from Emma and a soft, fleecy rug from me.  It’s
bitterly cold this morning, so I put it on him.  It’s like thermal
underwear, with his hefty old waterproof rug over the top and he looks very
happy and cosy.  I spin it out for ages before turning him out = because
now, oh joy of joys, it’s time for the parents.

My mother looks like she has a smell up
her nose when she opens the door. 

‘Oh, how lovely, darling,’ she says as
we air-kiss. ‘You’re just in time to peel the sprouts.’

‘How lovely, Mum.  I can’t
wait.’  I smile brightly at her. 
Fucking blasted sprouts
. I
hate the things.  She completely ignores Elmer, who’s had a bath and is
wearing a red bow especially for the occasion.

‘Happy Christmas, poppet,’ says Dad,
clearly already on the vino.  Mum’s obviously on form then.

‘Auntie Lucy and Uncle Peter are coming
for lunch,’ she calls from the kitchen.  ‘I knew you’d love to see them.’

Auntie Lucy’s okay.  She’s Dad’s
sister and I can’t imagine how she puts up with Uncle Peter, who’s a lecherous
old pervert with an eye for a cleavage.  I know Auntie Lucy’s a little on
the flat-chested side, but even so, I do my cardigan up to the top straight
away, in case I forget later. 

Then I have a glass of wine with Dad
while Mum makes the gravy from a packet.

‘How’s it all going then,
sweetheart?  Still as busy as ever?’ says Dad, looking a little mistily at
me.  Hmmm, it’s only eleven thirty.  Better ease up on the wine, Dad.

‘Really good,’ I say.  ‘Yes, works
good…’ 
And I have a gorgeous vet who wants to get my knickers off, my
friend Karina’s had Arian’s baby, I’ve sorted Emma’s horoscope habit and Pete
is on the up again…
only my Dad doesn’t really know any of my friends these
days, except Leonie, and he’d never get his head round the whole Arian-Karina
thing.

‘Yes.  Thanks Dad. 
Everything’s great.  Why don’t I make us a cup of tea?’

But he shakes his head.  ‘I’ll
stick with this, thanks, poppet.’ 

But then he surprises me.  ‘I’m
very proud of how you coped when that, that, you know….’  
Ah, you mean
the tosser-loser-wanker left me…
well, that idiot of a husband left
you.  Anyway, I wanted you to know.’

‘Golly.  Thanks Dad.’

Oh God.  
The
doorbell.
 
Auntie Lucy… and Uncle Peter.

I kiss Auntie Lucy who’s actually very
sweet, and always reminds me a bit of Dad, but then they are related. 
They have quite a lot in common too, having particularly annoying
spouses. 

‘You’re looking mighty hot, young lady,’
booms Uncle Peter.  

I’m not sure if he means the gorgeous
kind, or the damp kind.  I can already feel sweat trickling down my back
but no way am I taking off this cardigan with him hanging around for an eyeful.

‘I’m fine,’ I say sweetly. 
‘Absolutely fine, but thank you so much Uncle Peter.’

This Christmas I’m lucky.  Mum
boils the sprouts until they disintegrate, so we agree, terribly sadly that
we’ll just have to throw them away and make do with the frozen vegetable medley
that she bought when it was on offer in the Co-op.  Fortunately I catch
her just as she’s about to feed the pulped mush to Elmer, which would have been
catastrophic.  There’s a chink in the clouds though, as even Mum can’t
ruin the sausages with bacon wrapped around them and though they’re a bit
crispy, they’re edible.  Thank heavens, I’m thinking to myself.  I
nearly inflicted this on Marcus.  And then I remember that right now
they’re all sitting down to an Emma special, and it will be the best Christmas
lunch in the history of the world.   Filled with a rush of insane
jealousy, I swiftly remind myself that I’m lucky to have my parents, who in
spite of their quirks, are in their own peculiar way, still my parents.

My dear mother has wrapped tinsel around
the napkins, which sheds glittery strands all over the table and everyone’s
plates, and she’s bought these candles which were a bargain, only they’ve
melted into puddles of wax, even before we’ve sat down.  But still. 
It’s Christmas and this is my family.  And as I stare at the plate in
front of me, I remind myself - at least we’ve been spared the sprouts.

Dear Horace saves me though, because
he’s the perfect reason why I have to leave before it gets too dark.  And
as my parents’ front door closes behind me, I unbutton my cardigan to let the
air in and breathe a huge sigh of relief that it’s over.  Perhaps next
year, I’ll invite them over to mine, but blissfully, that’s a
whole year
away at this moment and who knows, by then, anything could happen. 

Dear Emma has stuck a Christmas card
through my door.  When I look more closely, I see it’s not your average
card.  It’s a photograph, clearly taken earlier today, of her, Ben, and
Will wearing silly hats holding champagne glasses in the air.  So where’s
Marcus?  On the back she’s scribbled
, hope you had as much fun as we
did,
come
over later?  We’ll save you a glass xxx

Ah bless.  I might just do
that.  But by the time I eventually get there, I think perhaps that actually,
maybe I shouldn’t have.  I’ve never seen Emma so drunk.  Ben looks
very smiley and he’s slurring all his words, and as for Will… either he’s
consumed a huge amount of booze or he’s a complete lightweight.  He goes
to pick up his glass and misses.  Then looks mystified as to what’s gone
wrong, so he tries again.  Mainly because I’m hours behind them in the
alcohol consumption stakes, I pick it up and put it in his hands.

‘
Noooooo,
’ cries Emma, a mad grin
on her face.  ‘
You’ve spoilt it.  He’s so funny…
’ and she
collapses in giggles on top of Ben, who’s practically wetting himself.

Will studies his glass with serious
intent.  I really don’t fancy catching this lot up tonight, I decide, so I
finish the drink that Emma gave me and wish them all a very good night.

‘And don’t forget to drink lots of
water,’ I tell them very sensibly, just before I leave.

It’s only when I get home that I realise
I completely forgot to ask them what had happened to Marcus.

And then Christmas is over and it’s Boxing
Day, which I love, especially this year, because tonight, Marcus and I are
having our first Christmas together.  And yes I know
,
it may be our only Christmas.  So, I am going to look my most gorgeous and
completely wow him.

I’ve still no idea what he’s
planning. 
He texts me that afternoon, telling me to be
ready at seven.
  So I’m ready at six thirty, with his present
wrapped.  It’s an ironic present, because it’s the Nickleback CD we were
talking about the other night, and I’ve also bought him a very nice bottle of
wine.  Well, I hope it’s nice, because it cost me twenty-five quid.

Marcus arrives bang on seven. 
Almost as though he’d been sitting outside looking at his watch.

‘Hello,’ he grins and kisses me lightly
on the lips.  ‘You ready?  Why don’t you bring Elmer?’

Needing no encouragement, Elmer’s there
in an instant, wagging her tail most ingratiatingly.

‘Okay,’ I say.  ‘But can you wait
while Elmer brushes her teeth, only she wasn’t expecting to be going out…’

Marcus has his arm round my shoulder as
we walk out to his car.  It’s a lovely clear, frosty night and his body
feels warm against mine.  He opens the door for Elmer to climb into the
back,
then
opens the passenger door for me.  And
there’s no awkwardness – it’s perfect.  

Just ten minutes later, he turns off the
road and pulls up in front of the loveliest old farm cottage ever.  The
lights are on inside and it looks so welcoming.  There’s even a candle
burning on the windowsill.

‘Welcome to my humble abode,’ he says
apologetically.  ‘I kind of thought that you’d be all Christmassed out by
now, so actually, I thought I’d do the cooking rather than go to a pub.  I
hope that’s okay?’

Oh, it most definitely is.

He unlocks the front door, and I find
myself standing in this glorious cottage.  There’s bare brick and battered
old timbers everywhere.  The floors are wonky and there’s logs burning in
the fireplace, but
there’s
also huge comfortable sofas
in his living room, one bright green and the other mustard yellow, and a
massive
aga
in the kitchen, which is crammed with
high tech gadgets, everywhere I look.  I wouldn’t know how to use half
this stuff.

Marcus goes to the enormous fridge and
pulls out a bottle of champagne, which he uncorks noisily and pours into
flutes.

We
chink
our
glasses and say ‘Cheers.’  Then I have to ask. ‘Are you like Emma? 
A secret Masterchef in the making?
  Only, all this
stuff…’  I gesture around the kitchen.

That makes him smile.  ‘Not
exactly…’ Then the smile goes.  ‘It was my ex who was into cooking. 
I, kind of, dabble…’

Oh.  That’s made me feel a bit
funny.  So this house was
theirs.
 Then I remind myself to
keep this in proportion, because I have a history too.

‘So did you
miss
Emma’s Christmas?’  I ask him.  ‘Only she sent me a picture of all of
them completely off their heads and you weren’t in it.’

‘I spent yesterday in a muddy field with
a horse that wouldn’t move.  When we eventually did get him to his stable,
I had another call
– a colic
– and so on and so on…
Someone gave me a turkey sandwich, but that was just about it,’ says Marcus,
looking quite relieved that it’s over.  ‘Not one of my better days...
Anyway, I hope you’re hungry.  Don’t expect anything too impressive but it
should be edible…’

I actually can’t believe how much trouble
he’s gone to.  There’s a rose on the table and a pair of tall
candlesticks, and he’s set it out so we’re sitting opposite each other. 
To start, he’s made a goat’s cheese salad.  Well, it’s a large hunk of
goat’s cheese which he’s toasted on the top, with some salad leaves and
tomato.  It’s delicious.  It’s followed by salmon baked with herbs,
and then
there’s
lots of cheeses, and medjool dates
and mouth-watering dark truffle chocolates. And I haven’t even mentioned the
wine.  We’ve long finished the champagne and now we’re on this gorgeous
velvety red which tastes of oak and vanilla.

I’m not quite sure how I’m going to get
home, but then as if reading my
mind,
Marcus says
he’ll call me a cab - later on.  So everything is just perfect.

‘Every bit of that was wonderful,’ I
tell him sincerely.  I don’t think Arian tried to cook for me once in all
the years I knew him.  ‘You couldn’t have chosen better… and best of all,
not a sprout in sight,’ I add, most happily.

‘Well, thank you kindly,’ he says, looking
rather pleased.

Then he takes my hand across the
table. 

‘You
know Lou, I’ve messed up most of the dates we’ve been on,’ he starts.

‘And I don’t know if you realise why…’
he says, a little awkwardly.  ‘Only it’s because as well as living with
Karen, I worked with her too….and…’  He sighs.  Oh.  I can’t
help prickling at the mention of ‘Karen’, but Rachel was absolutely right.

‘And you don’t want to make the same
mistake again?’ I say gently, because actually, I really do understand.

He smiles and takes my hands in
his.  ‘Does it sound silly?  I know you’re not remotely like Karen,
but after that, I decided I wouldn’t rush into anything.’

‘It’s okay,’ I squeeze his hand. 
‘I understand.’

When neither of us can manage to eat
another delicious thing, we retire to his living room, where amazingly Elmer is
stretched out by the fire, snoring.  Kicking off my boots, I collapse on
one of the huge sofas, while Marcus sits at the other end, lifting up my feet
so they’re resting on his lap.  And quite simply, lying there, warmed by
the fire and the wine,
it’s
bliss.  And I’m glad
I shaved my legs because Marcus is stroking them and it would have killed it
slightly, the sensuous feel of stubble poking through my tights.

‘There’s only one problem,’ he says
softly after a while.  ‘Lovely though your feet are, they’re not the bit I
want to kiss…’

So of course, knowing that, I have to
wriggle myself round, so it’s the other half of me that’s resting against
Marcus, and then he kisses me.

And this time - apart from a snoring dog
– it’s just us and the kissing becomes more and more passionate.

And then I
decide,
that all this taking it slowly and just seeing what happens isn’t such a great
idea after all, because right now I know exactly what I want.  It’s
abundantly clear that Marcus feels just the same, as he takes my hand and leads
me upstairs to his bedroom.