Read Online A Perfect Life by Raffaella Barker - Free Book Online
Authors: Raffaella Barker
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There she stayed, consumed, falling, and allowing no safety net in herself, cut off from her friends and family, drunk on headlong sex and passion,pretending to herself it was safe because he was going away. âThree weeks wonât hurt,â was her promise to herself, âand then Iâll get on with my life.â
The man opposite her on the train that day was the antithesis of sleek, small-boned delicate Ranim whose liquid dark eyes promised everything, whose sensitive hands and smooth body gave her pleasure she had not known before. She mistook pleasure for love, and was yearning to see him again even as he kissed her goodbye and boarded his plane. She never did. The shock of his going numbed her, and she could only measure the extent of her pain some years later, when she noticed it had gone. Life was too big and full for her to dwell on a memory, no matter how lovely, and the affair with Ranim was more a memory than anything else.
Out of the fantasy of what she wanted to believe at the time was the biggest love affair of her life, she allowed Nick to rescue her, a damsel in distress. He seemed strong and sure and he wanted her in his life. The distress became self-disgust when she found that she was pregnant, and Nick asking her to marry him was affirmation that she was lovable. She found it hard to believe he could still want to have anything to do with her, but Nick was drawn to complexity, and the more Angel revealed of the mess she believed herself to be, the more he loved her for being herself. And without noticing it happening, over the first year of knowing him, Angel fell in love with Nickâs courage, his willingness and his determination. Nick stopped the raging voices in her head, and in thesilence she heard her own heart and was amazed it was still in one piece. And relieved to have a father for her baby. She would never stop being grateful to Nick for that.
Searching in the kitchen for her sunglasses, Angel cannot get the grin off her face. She feels reckless and young. Desired. Just the way Jake looks at her is waking up her body, and sparkling energy runs through her, making her want to sing and dance and kiss and touch. In this moment she cannot connect with the notion that she has four children and a husband, and she runs out of the door and into Jakeâs car, more or less not touching the ground but floating in a pink-tinted fantasy.
Jem
If she wasnât my mother and therefore beyond sex, I would swear that Mum has been shagging when she arrives at the beach. Sheâs got Jake the Spaz with her and sheâs wearing one of Coralâs T-shirts which says âBitch 1â on it and is tiny so a lot of Mumâs suntan is showing and more of her tits than I ever want to see. Ruby sees Mum first and she runs back past the beach huts and up the steps to where Mum is at the top of the dunes, her back to the pine trees, shading her eyes to look for us. She knows where she is looking though, because we always go to the same place on this beach. Ever since we saw the poo floating by, we have made our encampments well away from the popular stretch where the sand is soft, and instead we have gone for the Neolithic option with giant pebbles and sand like a mosaic with broken razor shells.
Quality of life on the beach is not about texture, itâs about waste levels and pollution. Or escaping them. I like to tell Mum that we are eco-warriors. Itell her because itâs true, but also because it puts her in a really good mood to think of us having any sort of conscience or cause. Sorry to be cynical, but itâs true. We have given up buying one make of cereal completely because the company exploits African babies, and even Foss knows to look at the brand before he chooses an ice cream and he boycotts the bad one.
Ruby has adopted an African child to make up for the wrongs of this cereal company. So far she has written her child ten letters and sent biros, pencil cases and
The man opposite her on the train that day was the antithesis of sleek, small-boned delicate Ranim whose liquid dark eyes promised everything, whose sensitive hands and smooth body gave her pleasure she had not known before. She mistook pleasure for love, and was yearning to see him again even as he kissed her goodbye and boarded his plane. She never did. The shock of his going numbed her, and she could only measure the extent of her pain some years later, when she noticed it had gone. Life was too big and full for her to dwell on a memory, no matter how lovely, and the affair with Ranim was more a memory than anything else.
Out of the fantasy of what she wanted to believe at the time was the biggest love affair of her life, she allowed Nick to rescue her, a damsel in distress. He seemed strong and sure and he wanted her in his life. The distress became self-disgust when she found that she was pregnant, and Nick asking her to marry him was affirmation that she was lovable. She found it hard to believe he could still want to have anything to do with her, but Nick was drawn to complexity, and the more Angel revealed of the mess she believed herself to be, the more he loved her for being herself. And without noticing it happening, over the first year of knowing him, Angel fell in love with Nickâs courage, his willingness and his determination. Nick stopped the raging voices in her head, and in thesilence she heard her own heart and was amazed it was still in one piece. And relieved to have a father for her baby. She would never stop being grateful to Nick for that.
Searching in the kitchen for her sunglasses, Angel cannot get the grin off her face. She feels reckless and young. Desired. Just the way Jake looks at her is waking up her body, and sparkling energy runs through her, making her want to sing and dance and kiss and touch. In this moment she cannot connect with the notion that she has four children and a husband, and she runs out of the door and into Jakeâs car, more or less not touching the ground but floating in a pink-tinted fantasy.
Jem
If she wasnât my mother and therefore beyond sex, I would swear that Mum has been shagging when she arrives at the beach. Sheâs got Jake the Spaz with her and sheâs wearing one of Coralâs T-shirts which says âBitch 1â on it and is tiny so a lot of Mumâs suntan is showing and more of her tits than I ever want to see. Ruby sees Mum first and she runs back past the beach huts and up the steps to where Mum is at the top of the dunes, her back to the pine trees, shading her eyes to look for us. She knows where she is looking though, because we always go to the same place on this beach. Ever since we saw the poo floating by, we have made our encampments well away from the popular stretch where the sand is soft, and instead we have gone for the Neolithic option with giant pebbles and sand like a mosaic with broken razor shells.
Quality of life on the beach is not about texture, itâs about waste levels and pollution. Or escaping them. I like to tell Mum that we are eco-warriors. Itell her because itâs true, but also because it puts her in a really good mood to think of us having any sort of conscience or cause. Sorry to be cynical, but itâs true. We have given up buying one make of cereal completely because the company exploits African babies, and even Foss knows to look at the brand before he chooses an ice cream and he boycotts the bad one.
Ruby has adopted an African child to make up for the wrongs of this cereal company. So far she has written her child ten letters and sent biros, pencil cases and
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