Read Online The Impossible Search for the Perfect Man by Debbie Howells/Susie Martyn - Free Book Online Page A

royals and asparagus. Mum’s bringing pudding.  She insisted
and I know better than to argue.  It’s probably sherry trifle made from a
packet, the only sherry, most likely, being in its title.
    Still, I tell myself.  In a few
hours it will all be over.   For a few more weeks, or
even months if I’m particularly lucky and maintain my air of elusiveness.
    Elmer barks ferociously when she hears
their car.  My mother’s never been a fan, but Elmer’s oblivious to this.
 She grabs hold of Mum’s skirt and wags her whole body delightedly before
they’re even through the door.  My mother brushes her off distastefully.
    ‘Darling.  It’s not as nice as Plum Tree Cottage is it?’ she says sharply, her beady
eyes glancing critically around in her search of something to slate, even
though I spent a large part of yesterday cleaning and tidying.
    ‘Hello poppet.’ Dad at least looks
pleased to see me.  ‘Nice place you’ve got here.  I like it.’
    Mum hmmph’s her disapproval.  I
kiss the cold cheek she proffers.
    ‘Come through to the kitchen and I’ll
pour us some wine.’  
    Already I’m tense as anything and they’ve
been here precisely thirty seconds.  I haven’t offered a guided tour, nor
do I intend to.  She’d take it as an opportunity to rip my new
surroundings to shreds.  For some unknown reason, my mother can rarely
find it in her to say a good word about anything.
    ‘I see Arian let you keep the table?’ is
the first thing she says, as she looks around the kitchen.  I instantly
rise to the bait.
    ‘Mum. It was always my table.
 Granny gave it to me, remember?  He didn’t even like it.’
 
    There’s a warning note in my voice. Mum
just adored Arian. I’ve tried to work out what it was, exactly, that endeared
him to her so. Was it his glamorous job? His salary? His swanky car?  Probably all of the above, thinking
about it.  And the fact that he cheated on her only daughter seems neither
here nor there, because my mother, as I concluded some time ago, is an out and
out snob.
    ‘Come and see the garden,’ I suggest,
taking me safely out of reach of the newly sharpened carving knife lying
temptingly within reach on the worktop.
    We walk outside.  The garden’s
looking pretty.  Arching boughs of roses are in bloom and there are clumps
of herbs which release their scent when you brush against them.  None of
it’s my doing, of course.  I don’t know the first thing about gardening.   But the air is fragrant and it’s peaceful, so I show it off proudly
nonetheless.
    ‘And this,’ I add as Horace nickers at
us and wanders over to the fence, ‘is Horace.’
    Dad smiles from ear to ear. ‘So glad
you’ve found yourself another one,’ he says quietly, stroking Horace’s soft
nose gently.  I know he’ll pay for it later.  Poor Dad’s horribly
allergic to horses, but he’s never able to resist them.
    Mum stares at me.  ‘Arian wouldn’t
have approved.  He always said it was difficult to go away if you kept horses.’
    ‘Well,’ I say, stroking Horace myself to
keep from exploding.  ‘Arian isn’t here, is he?  He’s somewhere else,
shacked up with the trollop who shares his rather questionable morals, so I
think I’m entitled to my horse.’  
    I kiss Horace’s nose and storm back into
the cottage, leaving my mother standing there speechless.
    No-one mentions Arian after that.
 Not for a while, at least, as Mum whinges on about Margaret at the WI who
wants to change where they go for their Christmas lunch this year, and moans
about absolutely everything.  She tells me the lamb is overdone and that
it should be pink in the middle, even though I’ve never known her serve up any
meat that isn’t so dry it practically chokes you.  But she eats every last
thing on her plate and even manages seconds, so it obviously isn’t too
bad.  Dad, as predicted, drinks too much red wine and nods off, absolutely
the only way he’s stayed married to my mother for so