The Perfect Fit Read online

  ‘Becky, I love your company.’

  ‘Not as much as you love that thing’s company though, eh?’ I snapped, nodding to the shrouded painting. ‘Do you know how humiliating tonight was? Tarted up to the nines in bloody Wetherspoon’s, getting offered pity drinks by random blokes who thought I’d been stood up?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was a Wetherspoon’s.’

  ‘It’s not that, Cole. It’s everything. You forget the names of my friends, my family. You never come when they invite you places. You’re a virtual stranger to everyone I love.’

  ‘That’s not –’

  ‘And I know why,’ I went on. ‘Because you don’t want them, do you? You just want me, and they’re an inconvenient extra that comes with the package. And you only want me when it suits you.’

  ‘That’s not true, Becky.’ He came over to take my hands, but I pulled them away.

  ‘Then where were you tonight?’

  I waited for an answer, but he was silent.

  I shook my head. ‘Suppose I should’ve known you’d never be able to put me ahead of your precious painting.’

  ‘I do! I mean, I will,’ he said. ‘Becky, I love what I do. But I’d give it up tomorrow if I had to choose between painting and you.’ His anxious face lifted into a smile. ‘Here. Let me show you something.’

  I glared at him. ‘What’re you smiling about? We’re having a blazing row here.’

  ‘I’m declaring a row timeout. Please, darling, it’s important.’

  ‘What’s important?’

  ‘The reason I’ve been distracted. The thing that’s been taking me away from you.’

  ‘This commission, you mean?’

  ‘Well, I’m afraid that was a bit of a fib.’ He pulled the sheet off his painting. ‘This wasn’t a commission.’

  I stared at the canvas, shining in places where the paint was still damp. ‘Wow,’ I whispered. ‘It’s… gorgeous, Cole.’

  He flushed. ‘I’m glad you think so. I am proud of it.’

  ‘Pagans’ Rock. How did you…’

  ‘I’ve been sneaking up there when you’ve been out doing pantomime things. I took a few photos as aides-memoire, and, well, this is the result.’

  It really was an impressive piece. It was in Cole’s surrealist dreamscape style: Egglethwaite’s famous viaduct and reservoir viewed from the beauty spot of Pagans’ Rock, strongly invoked with vibrant twilight blends and a dizzyingly liberal take on proportion.

  ‘Is it for me?’ I whispered.

  ‘It’s your anniversary present. I wanted to give you a little piece of this place you love.’ He took me in his arms. ‘I am sorry I forgot about the restaurant, darling. I got so absorbed putting the finishing touches to it… I just wanted it to be the best thing I’d ever done. For the best thing that’s ever happened to me.’

  ‘It really is beautiful,’ I murmured, my eyes still fixed on the arches of Cole’s viaduct over his shoulder. ‘The times I dreamt about that view when we were down south… it was like it was calling me home.’

  He planted a soft kiss on my lips. ‘So am I forgiven?’

  It was a beautiful gesture. A beautiful painting. It reminded me of how we’d first met, and the stunning Westminster view Cole had given me as his way of asking me out. Big, romantic gestures appealed to him, I think. To the artist in his soul.

  But I couldn’t help feeling that a big, romantic gesture, wonderful as it was, couldn’t compare with the little ones. A coffee in bed, or an unexpected takeaway when you knew the other person had had a rough day. A hand slipped into yours when you needed a reassuring touch. A willingness to get to know each other’s loved ones, to be a part of each other’s lives with all their ups and downs.

  Cole couldn’t help the person he was. He had to think big because his mind was filled with big ideas, the gorgeous landscapes he felt compelled to bring to life. He tried to hide it, but I knew that the minutiae of day-to-day life bored him. That was part of what had drawn me to him, and it was hardly fair to complain, now, that he was the way he’d always been.

  And after all, perhaps I’d been as guilty as Cole, I thought with a prickle of shame. Badgering him to get involved with a pantomime I knew he wasn’t interested in. Silently resenting the intrusion of his friends Ryder and Ali into our lives just because their personalities weren’t to my taste. Trying to drag him into my world while not making enough effort to fit into his.

  ‘You’re forgiven,’ I said, managing a smile. ‘And thank you for my painting.’

  ‘You really like it?’

  ‘It’s perfect.’ I planted a soft kiss on his lips. ‘But no more disappearing acts, all right? A surprise is lovely, but I’d prefer knowing you hadn’t forgotten me.’

  ‘You know I’ll do whatever makes you happy, Becky. Just let me know.’

  ‘Ok.’ Still, I couldn’t help feeling it might be nice if Cole was interested in getting to know the people in my life for their own sake, rather than just to please me.

  He put a finger under my chin. ‘Still my girl?’ he asked softly. ‘Yes.’ I took a deep breath. ‘Yes. I love you, Cole.’

  Chapter 15

  ‘Cole really did that?’ Lana said as we made our way up Egglethwaite’s steep cobbles the following day.

  ‘Yeah, he can be very sweet. I mean, he can also disappear for weeks and forget my friends’ names and not turn up to dates we’ve arranged. But then just as I’m about ready to bloody throttle him, he’ll do something totally adorable and I’ll remember exactly why I fell in love with him.’ I sighed. ‘That’s real life. No relationship’s perfect, you take the rough with the smooth.’

  ‘Hmm,’ she said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Just something I’ve been noticing recently. About you.’

  ‘Me?’ I looked out over the fields to avoid her stare. ‘Well stop noticing me. I hate being noticed.’

  ‘Want to hear a story, Becks?’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘Go on, it’s dead short. Pip told it me.’

  ‘Lana, what are you waffling about?’

  She ignored me. ‘Right, so once upon a time there was this rabbit, the prettiest little rabbit in all the forest, with the fluffiest, wuffiest cotton-wool tail –’

  ‘Eurghh.’

  ‘Shush. And the rabbit lived in the forest with a, um… badger. A handsome, intelligent, romantic badger who loved the rabbit very much in his stripy badgery way. And Becky – this rabbit’s name was Becky –’

  ‘Mmm. What a coincidence.’

  ‘I know, right? So anyway, Becky Rabbit loved, ooh, let’s call him Cole Badger, too. But even though he was practically perfect in every way, he wasn’t perfect for her. They were just too different. You know, what with her being a rabbit and him being a badger. I mean, the cooking arrangements alone must’ve been a nightmare.’

  ‘Wrap it up, love.’

  ‘But Becky Rabbit just couldn’t see that this badger wasn’t the one, even though there was some really top rabbit totty right under her stupid twitchy nose. So she married Cole Badger and they all lived miserably ever after.’

  ‘Right. Pip told you that, did she?’

  ‘Yeah.’ She fixed me with a shrewd look. ‘It’s just, there’s this little part of me that keeps whispering in my ear. Whispering things about you and Marcus Teasdale and the possibility you might fancy him a tiny bit.’

  ‘What? Don’t be daft.’

  ‘Come on, Becks, it’s me.’

  ‘I don’t fancy him. I… look, it’s just hormones, ok? Mine are all over the place at the moment.’

  Lana looked triumphant. ‘I knew it! I knew there was something between you two.’

  ‘There’s nothing between us, Lana.’ I held up a hand to stop her interrupting. ‘All right, so sometimes I dream about us wandering al
ong a wildflower-strewn path and picnicking naked in the grass. I have the same dream about Ryan Gosling on a semi-regular basis. So what? Doesn’t mean anything.’

  ‘Does he know you think that way about him?’

  ‘Gosling? Unlikely. He never answers my letters.’

  ‘Marcus, funny lady.’

  ‘You kidding? Look up the word “oblivious” in the dictionary, there’ll be a picture of Marcus Teasdale next to it.’ I jabbed a finger in her direction. ‘So keep your gob shut, all right? Marcus hasn’t noticed anything and I plan on keeping it that way till I’m over it. Dreams are just dreams. They’re not real.’

  ‘And what about Cole?’ she asked. ‘We’ve all noticed how quiet you’ve been lately.’

  I winced. ‘You all noticed?’

  ‘Yeah. Tom, Cam, Deano. Sorry.’

  That was sort of sweet. As irritating as it was that Lana always seemed to know what I was feeling before I did, it was touching to be part of a group who cared.

  ‘No need to worry about me,’ I said. ‘It was just miscommunication, that’s all. We’ve talked it out and everything’s back to normal.’

  She still looked concerned. ‘I’d hate to see you unhappy, Becks.’

  ‘Look, it’s sweet of you all to care, but I love Cole. Honestly I do,’ I told her. ‘I want to spend the rest of my life with Cole, who despite you and your bloody woodland tales is 100% quality rabbit.’

  ‘And Marc?’

  ‘He’s a mate, that’s all.’

  ‘A mate you’ve been having sexy dreams about.’

  ‘That’s nothing,’ I said, heartily wishing she’d change the record. ‘Come on, we all have those. Tell me you’ve never had a sexy dream about Deano.’

  She snorted. ‘Deano, are you kidding?’

  ‘Well, you must have had one about someone. Everyone does.’

  We reached Pie and a Pint, waved through the window to Tom and Stew, then carried on into open countryside.

  ‘Not me,’ Lana said.

  ‘You must do.’

  She shrugged. ‘Nope. Why go window shopping for Dairylea when you can have camembert at home, right? Stew’s enough for me.’

  ‘Ugh. I bet you’re the kind of couple that actually kisses at kissing gates, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yeah, we’re pretty sickening.’

  We reached Holyfield Farm, Gerry’s big blue tractor parked outside and his Swaledale sheep grazing placidly nearby. Lana rapped at the farmhouse door, and it was soon filled by Sue’s plump frame.

  ‘Delivery for Mr Lightowler,’ Lana said, nodding to the brown paper parcel under my arm. ‘We’ve come to do a fitting.’

  ‘Hiya, girls.’ Sue ushered us in. ‘I was just cooking the old man’s tea. No one wants a skinny Santa, do they?’

  We followed her into the living room, where Gerry was watching rugby.

  ‘So what trouble have you come to get me into today?’ he asked, standing up.

  ‘Who says we’ve come to get you into trouble?’ I said.

  ‘A house full of women always means trouble for some poor bugger.’ He pointed at my parcel. ‘Is that it then?’

  ‘Yep. One jolly fat man, as requested.’

  He groaned. ‘How did I get roped into this again?’

  ‘You volunteered.’

  ‘Doesn’t sound like me. What size did you bring?’

  ‘Extra large with the reinforced waistband,’ Lana said, patting his beer belly.

  ‘Less of the cheek, young lady. All right, let’s get this over with.’ He took the parcel and left the room to go try it on.

  When he came back in, Lana stared. Sue stared. Not wanting to feel left out, I had a good old stare too.

  ‘Bad Santa,’ Lana muttered. ‘That is a bad, bad Santa, Gerry.’

  ‘Fits, doesn’t it?’

  ‘You’ve got the beard on wonky. And those fake eyebrows – you look like a drunken old letch.’

  ‘Well, if the suit fits…’ Sue said.

  ‘And your moustache is poking out. Here.’ Lana went over and rearranged the false beard, removed the dodgy eyebrows, tightened the belt and put the hat at a slightly less jaunty angle, then stood back to survey her work. ‘That’s better. Now you look like a man people might be marginally happier to have sneaking down their chimneys.’

  ‘Can I take it off then? I’m sweating like a bitch on heat in here.’

  ‘Yeah, go on,’ I said. ‘We’ll stay for a cuppa.’

  ‘How’s the panto?’ Sue asked when Santa had re-Gerried himself and we were all furnished with a mug of tea. She nodded to her piano. ‘Roger dropped the score off last week.’

  ‘Not bad,’ I said. ‘We’ve cast all the parts but one, script’s shaping up, Guides and Scouts are working on props. We’ll be starting rehearsals soon.’

  ‘Who’s in it other than Yo-yo? You two?’

  ‘Not me,’ Lana said. ‘Don’t think I got the acting gene from Dad, sadly.’ She nodded to me. ‘Our Becky’s a sly one though. Turns out she’s a great little actress. And you should hear the voice on her.’

  I flushed. ‘It’s nothing amazing.’

  ‘She’s lying,’ Lana mouthed.

  Sue smiled. ‘Good for you, love. Let us know if we can do anything.’

  ‘She’s volunteering me for stuff again,’ Gerry muttered. ‘I’ll never get a moment’s peace while I’m married to that woman.’

  ‘You’ll get plenty of peace when you’re dead,’ Sue told him.

  ‘I bet even then I won’t be allowed. I bet you’ll be there, standing over the fresh-shovelled earth.’ He put on a high-pitched voice, jamming his hands on his hips. ‘“Gerald! What’re you lying about down there for? Don’t you know it’s lambing time?”’

  Lana laughed. ‘Come on, Gerry. You enjoy it really.’

  ‘I might enjoy peace and quiet, if I ever got to find out what they felt like.’

  ‘You ok, Becky?’ Sue said.

  I didn’t answer. I was too busy staring at Gerry.

  ‘Do that voice again,’ I said.

  He frowned. ‘What voice?’

  ‘The one you did when you were taking the piss out of Sue.’

  ‘Eh? Why?’

  Lana turned wide eyes on me. ‘Oh my God! You’re right, he’d be perfect.’

  I nodded vigorously. ‘He’s got everything. He’s hairy –’

  ‘– grumpy –’

  ‘– overweight –’

  ‘– takes himself too seriously –’

  ‘What are the pair of you on about?’ Sue said. ‘I hope you’re not insulting my better half when you know that’s my job.’

  ‘The part we haven’t cast,’ I said, eyes glittering. ‘It’s the dame.’

  Gerry shook his head. ‘Oh, no. Not a chance, love.’

  ‘Please, Gerry! You’re just what we’re looking for.’

  He snorted. ‘You what? Dress up like a lass and make jokes about knockers? Being Santa’s bad enough.’

  ‘You’re a morris dancer, aren’t you?’ Lana said. ‘That’s more embarrassing than being a pantomime dame.’

  ‘That’s different. That’s an ancient tradition that needs to be kept alive for future generations.’

  ‘Well, so is blokes dressing as women on stage. Ask Shakespeare.’

  He folded his arms. ‘Nope. You’re not bullying me into this one, ladies.’

  ‘See, this is why he’d be perfect,’ I said to Sue. ‘He’s so grumpy. It’d be hilarious in drag.’

  ‘You’re on our side, aren’t you?’ Lana said.

  ‘Always, chicken.’ Sue turned to Gerry. ‘Why can’t you do it then, you miserable old giffer?’

  ‘Because I’ll look a tit, that’s why.’

  ‘Well why break the habit of a lifetime?’ Sue said.
‘Go on. Do it for our Pip.’

  ‘Oh, no. That was how I got talked into the Santa thing. You can’t guilt-trip me with the grandkid this time, I’m ready for you.’

  ‘Then do it for the Temp,’ I said. ‘This panto could be our chance to get her safely in the black.’

  His expression softened slightly. ‘Is there really no one else you can ask? I can’t act for shite, you know.’

  ‘Course you can,’ Lana said. ‘What about that double-act routine you did with Dad at Christmas when me and Tom were kids? We fell about laughing.’

  ‘Trust you to remember that.’

  ‘I remember because you were good. Better than Morecambe and Wise.’

  ‘Flattery’ll get you nowhere, petal,’ Gerry said. ‘Anyway, it was a completely different pot of tea, that.’

  ‘Why was it?’

  ‘Because I was a bloke playing another bloke. What do I know about being a woman?’

  ‘It’s not about being a woman, Gerry.’ I stood and went to rest my hands on his shoulders. ‘It’s about being all woman.’

  Lana nodded. ‘You just need to get in touch with your feminine side. It’ll be behind your moustache somewhere if you’ve lost it.’

  ‘So, will you?’ I said, sensing he was weakening.

  He let out a sigh of surrender. ‘I’ll give it a go. But don’t think it’s because you ganged up on me. I fancy myself in the wig, that’s all.’

  Chapter 16

  I hadn’t realised just how invested I’d become in the panto until the night before our first rehearsal. Thirty years earlier, I’d felt exactly the same staring at the silhouette of an empty stocking: stomach fluttering so much with anticipation about the bulges that would be there on Christmas morning, I couldn’t sleep.

  Deano wanted to take it easy for the first one – just run through a few key scenes, help the actors get a feel for their parts (innuendo entirely intended). It still felt like a pretty big deal though. It was the first time the group would get to see the script Marc and me had worked so hard on, for one thing. It was also the first time we’d be able to judge how the bunch of misshapes who made up our cast could work together.