The Impossible Search for the Perfect Man (26 page)

It’s my mother, sounding very strained
and odd, even for her.  The first thing I do is call Marcus, but he’s out
on a call so I leave him a tearful message.

‘My Dad’s in hospital…they think he’s
had a heart attack.  Oh Marcus, I’m terrified… He’s in intensive care…’

I rush around my house in a blur,
throwing some things into a bag, and leaving a message for Emma because she’s not
answering either.  Then as I’m walking out of the door, my
phone rings and thank
God, this time, its Marcus.

‘Can you hold on for ten minutes,
Lou?  I’ll be right over and I’ll drive you to the hospital,’ he says most
decisively.

So I sit down and wait, then get up and
pace around because I’m desperate to be on my way.  I can’t help thinking,
what if just ten minutes means I’m too late.  What if Dad dies before I
get there
…
It’s the longest ten minutes of my life and
all  I can think of is that he’s my Dad and I don’t know what I’d do
without him.

Marcus is seven minutes, not ten. 
I know because I’ve had my eyes fixed on my clock watching every second tick
by.  He hugs me tight,
then
picks up my bag.

‘Come on, let’s get going.  Elmer
will be fine here,’ he says firmly.  ‘Emma or someone will come and pick
her up later.’

The drive takes an hour and a
half.  Marcus drops me at the hospital entrance,
then
goes off to park, saying he’ll catch me up, so I belt along those corridors,
plea-bargaining with God as I run.  It feels like a race against time, to
get to my Dad before it’s too late.  Then I find intensive care and
clatter through the swing doors, making all the nurses look up. 

One of them comes over and says very
quietly, ‘Are you looking for someone?’

‘
David Sparks
,’ I say
tearfully.  ‘
I’m his daughter
.’

‘Follow me,’ she says.  ‘Are you in
the picture about what’s happened?’ she asks.

I shake my head.

‘He’s had a major heart attack, but he’s
responding well,’ she says.  ‘He’s on medication to thin his blood, and we
need to monitor him for a few days, to assess the damage to his heart. 
But we’re reasonably hopeful at this stage that he’s going to be okay.’

I’m too relieved to speak, and in any
case I can’t, because the tears are pouring down my face again.

Dad’s lying in a bed wired up all these
machines.  He looks pale and tired, and Mum is sitting beside him looking
worried to death.

‘What are you doing here poppet?’ he
asks in a rather breathless voice.

‘
Oh, Dad
,’ I say and bend to kiss
his stubbly cheek.

‘Hello
Mum,’ I say and she actually kisses my cheek for once, rather than the air.

‘Your father’s given all of us a scare,’
she says, making a valiant effort at sounding bright.  ‘But fortunately,
the early signs are that he should be fine…’ She gives him a small smile and
takes his hand.  I can’t remember seeing her do that before.

Then Marcus appears and I’m so glad to
see him.

‘Oh goodness,’ says Dad, embarrassed now
by the fuss he’s dared to cause by having a heart attack.  ‘I’m not dying,
you know…’

‘Well, for a moment there, I wasn’t
sure,’ says Mum, her voice cracking slightly.  She must have been
petrified.  I mean, what must it have been like?   One minute
Dad’s sitting there, right as rain, the next minute he has a crushing pain in
his chest and he’s struggling to breathe.  I squeeze Marcus’s hand.

‘Do you know how long you’ll be in
here?’ asks Marcus.  ‘Only I suppose they’ll want to keep an eye on you
for a bit, won’t they?’

‘Two or three days,’ says Dad, looking
less than delighted.  ‘Bit of a bloody nuisance,’ he adds sounding much
more like his old self.

But I for one am glad to hear it, and
Mum looks quite relieved too – I think if he came home any earlier, we’d both
be worried sick.

‘Erm, can I get anyone a cup of tea or
something?’ Marcus asks. 

‘Oh,’ says Mum, ‘tea would be very
welcome, thank you.’

‘Same please,’ I say and beam at him.

I have to say, that tea or no tea,
having Marcus here makes all the difference in the world.

‘I love you Dad,’ I tell him, when it’s
time to leave, which I haven’t said to him since I was about thirteen.

He looks a little teary.  ‘I love
you too, poppet.’

As we leave, I glance back over my
shoulder.  Lying there all alone, he looks very old and worried, now that
he thinks no-one’s watching.  And just like Agnes when she was ill, for
the first time ever, my Dad looks small.

Marcus and I take Mum home.  I
scrub the carpet for her, where poor Dad was sick when he collapsed and Marcus
makes a pot of tea and beans on toast for us all.  He’s called both Will
and Emma, who’ve agreed that he should take at least tomorrow morning off, so
he’s staying here with me and Mum.  And my fickle hound’s not the least
put out – she’s snoring on Emma’s sofa.

Mum is very subdued.  I guess she’s
just had a sneak preview of what it would be like to lose Dad for good.  I
think I can understand now, what Agnes said, about how her illness made her
change the way she saw things, because this heart attack of Dad’s has certainly
given all of us a reminder that not a single one of us is immortal.

I’m amazed when Mum produces only one
set of clean sheets, which are for the double bed in my old room.  I’d
fully expected Marcus to be shown to the guest room - it has a creaky old bed
so everyone can hear what you’re up to – and she comes up with a new toothbrush
and a clean shirt of Dad’s for the morning.  Then she says she’s tired and
trudges wearily off to bed.

I rummage around in the drinks cabinet,
and buried at the back behind the gin and Bacardi and whisky, I find it.

‘Aha,’ I say to Marcus with glee,
pulling out the half full bottle of Remy Martin Louis XIII that I was sure was
still lurking somewhere.

‘Shall we?’ I ask him wickedly. ‘I mean,
strictly medicinal, as Agnes would say…’

‘Oh I think we ought to,’ he agrees. ‘If
you’re sure your Dad won’t mind.  This stuff costs a fortune, Lou.’

‘It was a present about five years ago,’
I explain.  ‘So I think we can safely assume they won’t miss it.’  I
pour us two large glasses.

‘Nectar,’ says Marcus after the first
sip. 

‘Thank you for coming with me tonight,’
I say, reaching to stroke his cheek with my spare hand. 

‘That’s okay,’ says Marcus.  ‘I
could hardly let you drive over here on your own.  It does make you think,
though, doesn’t it?  I mean we all just carry on with our lives as though
we’ll go on forever.’

I wriggle nearer and kiss him. 
‘Even more reason to make the most of every bit of it,’ I say, before moving in
for a full-on snog.

The only problem is that as we already
know with brandy, just one little glass doesn’t quite hit the spot and before
we know it, we’ve finished the bottle.

‘I’ll never be able to drink brandy
again,’ says Marcus sadly, gazing at the empty bottle.  ‘Because it will
never live up to what we’ve just drunk.’

‘I know, we could call our first baby
Louis,’ I suggest, giggling, as we tiptoe up to my room so as not to wake my
mother.

‘Have you ever done it in this bed
before, Louisa?’ asks Marcus a little later, as his hands slide under my
T-shirt to stroke my back in the most erotic way imaginable.

‘Absolutely no way,’ I say
sternly.  ‘This bed squeaks like billy-oh.’

‘Well then,’ says Marcus huskily, as he
pulls me even nearer, ‘we’ll just have to be quiet…’

‘Darling, you didn’t give Marcus that
ropey old brandy did you?’ says Mum the next morning when she finds the empty
bottle.  ‘Oh Louisa…’ she says crossly, sounding much more her usual self.
 ‘How could you?  It’s been there for so long, I’ve been meaning to
throw it away for ages.  Didn’t you find the nice Bacardi and Cinzano?’

‘Oh,
it’s
okay,
Mum, it wasn’t too bad,’ I say, giving Marcus an I-told-you look at the same
time.  ‘I think he found it quite reviving…’

Marcus drives us to the hospital again after
breakfast, and Auntie Lucy’s coming over to see Dad later, so she’ll give Mum a
lift home.  Apparently Dad has had a good night.  He’s looking
slightly less pallid this morning and his mood is definitely better.

‘I’ll be over at the weekend Dad,’ I tell
him.  ‘So just do what these nice nurses say, will you and hopefully
you’ll be coming home.’

‘You don’t want to come all the way over
here again, poppet,’ he protests weakly.

‘I do and I am,’ I say firmly.

‘I wouldn’t argue,’ says Marcus, with a
wink at my Dad.

I kiss my parents goodbye.

Marcus kisses Mum’s cheek too, and then
we transport ourselves back to the normality we left just yesterday, which now
feels anything but.

There’s a message waiting for me on my
desk.  It’s from Karina.  I call her straight away. 

‘I’m so sorry about your father,
Louisa.  If you need me to cover the office at any time, I’m not flying
much and I’m more than happy to fill in.’

‘Thank you,’ I say, touched at her
concern.  ‘But hopefully he’s out of the woods.’

‘I don’t want to frighten you, but I
lost my father from a heart attack,’ she says soberly. ‘He had high blood
pressure, smoked too much and drank too much too.  His killed him
outright.  Your Dad’s lucky.  Hopefully he can change his lifestyle
so that it won’t happen again.’

Oh
my gosh
. 
I knew Sylvie was a widow, but I’d no idea what the story was.  Karina’s
right, of course.  Dad will have to make serious changes.  I mean, he
certainly drinks too much wine and I don’t think his blood pressure is exactly
low, and he barely moves at all, except from his armchair to the dining table
and back again.

‘Thanks Karina, that’s really kind,’ I
say genuinely.  Then it strikes me.  I wonder if she’s missing her
old job - or possibly Will.  

Then I notice an unfamiliar figure
hanging around the yard.  She looks about Paris’s age and build. In fact,
just like Paris, except the hair is an unremarkable, light-ish brown colour and
she isn’t wearing any makeup.  And the jeans aren’t skin-tight and she’s
wearing an everyday, unflattering kind of sweatshirt.  I do a double
take. 
Can it be?
  As I peer through the window at this girl,
she walks over to the office and tentatively comes in.

 
‘Um,
Paris
?’
I say disbelievingly. 

‘Could you give this to Emma for me, please?’ 
The girl hands me an envelope.  Her eyes have only the slightest hint of
mascara,
and the hair’s in a messy Emma-style ponytail.
‘Only she was so brilliant the other day - she practically saved Chelsea’s
life.  I really love that horse – I was kind of hoping to see her to say
thank you.’  A solitary tear trickles down her cheek.

‘I’m not at all sure when she’ll be
back,’ I say gently.  ‘But don’t
worry,
I’ll make
sure she gets this later on.’

‘Okay.  Thank you.’  Very
quietly, Paris wanders out.

And then I get it.  I better warn
her quick smart, because Emma is obviously the latest crush.

Marcus has started moving his clothes
and other bits into my place and it’s quickly becoming apparent that my cottage
is a little bit on the small side for all our combined stuff.  He’s
decided to put his furniture into storage (well, it’s in a spare barn that Ben
just happens to have knocking around) until we decide where our future
lies.  It’s hardly a problem though, because we are just enjoying
inhabiting the same space – though there’s nothing wrong with one or two ground
rules.

‘Now Marcus.
 
On the subject of loos,’ I start firmly.  ‘As well as leaving the seat up,
it has come to my notice, and this is not specifically directed at you, that
males in general have problems with their aim, and that frequently they miss -
and I for one, am not a Mrs Boggle.  I do not enjoy cleaning toilets,’ I
add, waggling a finger at him.

‘I’ll have you know that there’s nothing
wrong with my aim and I’m quite good at cleaning too,’ he says in injured
tones. 

‘And the other thing, Marcus, is shoes,
which live in wardrobes or in the porch. 
Not under
chairs and tables and scattered all over the floor.’

‘If I’d known you’d be such a nit-picky
fusspot,’ he says woundedly, ‘I’d never have proposed.  I’d have asked
Rachel or someone instead.  Maybe I better move back to my place…’ he
adds, with a sideways look at me.

‘Oh no,’ I say alarmed.  ‘You
can’t.  And I’m not giving you back my ring, buster, so you just stay
right here.’

‘Well, I have only one rule,’ he says,
coming and standing very close in front of me, then bending his head to kiss me
on the mouth.

‘Mmmm?’
I say, grinning up into those gorgeous eyes.

‘Sex,’ he says, picking me up and
carrying me up the stairs, as if I was tiny like Rachel.  ‘And plenty of
it.  Starting now…’

I’ve just realised that Agnes and
Beamish’s
wedding is only three weeks away.  Rachel
and I have lots of secretive conversations as we tie up even more loose ends
and make sure that we haven’t forgotten anything.  Emma and Karina are
coming to decorate Ben’s with us the night before, because any sooner and
Beamish would most definitely wonder where we all were and smell a rat. 

Beamish is frightfully impressed with
Sam and Zac, who have been spring cleaning like you wouldn’t believe.  It
serves as an excellent distraction while the rest of us are being furtive and
trying not to give the game away.  Sam has an empty stable in which we can
lock secret things and he’s told Beamish he can’t find the key.  Karina’s
been in a few mornings to help out in the office, so it’s been a bit like old
times, except I no longer refer to Arian as my ex-husband; from now on, he’s
her fiancé - and she’s more than welcome to him. 

Dad’s doing really well.  Mum told
me that he’s got to start doing regular exercise.  But first they’re going
to Devon, and Dad’s going to eat more healthily and start walking, even on
holiday.  He has to start gradually, and she’s going to join him, she told
me, because it would be good for her too.  Oh my golly gosh.  I can
see it now…my parents morphing into a couple of power walkers, in matching
shell suits, maps round their necks and those ski-pole things which for some
reason power-walkers always seem to use, instead of just legs like normal
people. 

Rachel and I go to Emma’s old place for
a proper girls evening and because she likes to check up on it from time to
time.  When I get there, she’s scooting around unlocking all the windows.

‘I’m so happy at Ben’s,’ she says, her
eyes shining with happiness.  ‘I think I’m going to put this on the
market.’

‘Weird, isn’t it,’ I say.  ‘How
even six months ago, neither of us could have imagined we’d be ever be anything
other than single…’ I giggle, because you’d think, wouldn’t you, that after one
disastrous marriage and a painful divorce, we’d have learned.  And here’s
Emma flinging herself willingly into life with Ben, and me getting married
after I’d sworn off men for good.

 ‘Seen much of Paris?’ I ask innocently.

Emma gives me one of her looks. 
‘Believe it or not,’ she says, sounding rather impressed, ‘she’s asked if she
can come out with me for work experience.  She’s thinking she might want
to be a vet.’

I splutter with hilarity at the
idea.  ‘She just fancies being around hunky males all day, that’s all Em!’

But Emma doesn’t laugh.  ‘You are
so immature at times, Louisa.  She’s actually quite a smart girl. 
You wait and see.’

When Rachel comes in, both of us quiz
her mercilessly about Will.

‘He’s lovely,’ she looks at us.  I
can hear
the
but
before she says it. ‘He’s
completely different to Miles… funny, larks around, like having this big
buffoon of a brother…’

‘That’s what I thought!’ I chip
in.  ‘Does he remind you of Jeremy Clarkson?’

They both turn and look at me oddly.

Then Rachel says thoughtfully, ‘I think
it’s just that he’s
too
much the opposite of Miles.  I mean, is he
ever serious about anything?’

This time I keep quiet, because I know
for a fact that there is a serious side to Will, but unfortunately too, it
sounds as though he’s still hung up on Karina, which is not good news.

But then we get on to the hot topic that
we’re all itching to talk about, because
there’s
only
a few days to go.

‘I’ve written a list,’ says Rachel, ‘of everything
I can possibly think of.  So can you both just listen and see if you can
think of anything else…’

And she runs through the list,
consisting of transport, the vicar - who’s booked and which we didn’t have to
worry about because Agnes and Beamish did that bit, then it’s on to catering,
which is the hog roast, the wine is all sorted, as is the music, the flowers…

‘So that’s about it,’ says Rachel
eventually. ‘All we have to do now is wait for Friday and leap into action…’

Poor old Beamish.
 
He wants to go on a bit of a stag do on Friday night.  The task of telling
him that none of the vets can go falls on Marcus, owing to his position of
joint-senior-partner.  He persuades Beamish that Thursday would be a far
better night, so that he’ll be rested and clear-headed on the Saturday, which
fortunately Beamish agrees with.  The reality is that Emma and I have
roped in all the vets we can lay our hands on to help us on Friday night.

‘Have you had any thoughts about
our
wedding?’ asks Marcus that night, as we cuddle up in bed.

‘To tell you the truth, the only wedding
I’ve been thinking about lately is Agnes and
Beamish’s
,’
I say honestly.  Then I stop, and prop myself up in bed so I’m looking
over Marcus’s face.

‘That’s terrible,’ I say, gently kissing
his lips.  ‘It sounds like I’m not that fussed, and I
so
am. 
I can’t wait to marry you,’ I tell him.

‘I feel the same,’ he says soberly.
‘This might sound daft, but rather than get into some huge, complicated rigmarole
of planning all the details which actually, as far as I’m concerned, don’t even
matter, why don’t you buy a gorgeous pink dress, we’ll have a small ceremony –
a church, registry office, a field – anywhere! And then we’ll have a party at
the pub to celebrate!’

Oh! I am marrying such a clever man.
 I really don’t care about the whole big white wedding thing.  I just
want to be married to him

‘We’ll invite our parents, under the
pretence of getting them together before the wedding,’ I say excitedly. 
‘And we can book them rooms at the pub.’

I collapse back on the bed and gaze up
at the ceiling.  ‘What I’d absolutely love is a tiny service round the
corner in the church… do you think the vicar would agree?  Just our
parents there, no-one else… and late afternoon, so we can all walk over to the
pub like you said, where everyone will be taken by surprise…’

Marcus has a broad smile on his face and
he absolutely agrees with me, so we decide that I’ll pop over and have a chat
with the vicar and as soon as it’s organised, we’ll go ahead.

Everyone is working flat out this
morning, to get everything done in double quick time, because tomorrow’s the
big day. 
Will’s come up trumps, supplying not just one,
but two willing vet mates who are taking all our calls from 5 o’clock this
evening.
  It’s unheard of, all of us being off work at the same
time, and with everyone in a holiday mood,
it
already
feels like a party.

Rachel’s here and Karina came over at
lunchtime.  ‘Helping in the office,’ was what we told Beamish when he
showed up rather unexpectedly.  I can’t help noticing that there’s totally
unmissable chemistry still going on between her and Will.

Marcus and Miles have collected some
beers from the pub, because this is jolly thirsty work and we’ll most certainly
need some serious refreshing before too long.  For early May, the weather
is perfect, and though the temperature’s dropping this evening, it’s been the
most glorious spring day imaginable.

Dear old Will turns out to be a dab hand
at all this.  He’s strung up miles of bunting in the garden behind Ben’s
house.  Karina got hold of it and far from being the plastic Village Fete
variety which I was expecting, it’s actually Cath Kidston and really pretty.
 He’s despatched Miles and Marcus to go and pull ivy off the trees to
festoon the staircase with, and meanwhile, us girls are fannying around with
flowers and fairylights, as Marcus so eloquently describes it.  Oh, and
drinking some of those beers.  

Sam’s carrying piles of chairs inside,
Zac’s spreading white cloths on the tables and it’s all starting to look quite
amazing.  And really, given one lovely old house, a few vets, a stunningly
organised office manager (me) and a few more helpers thrown in, what more do
you need?