A Perfect Life Read Free

the foundations: it is not meant to last. Or is it? Ever since then he and Angel have been getting on with building the rest. Or so Nick believes. Of course, he loves her, she knows that. They have a life together.
    The crumbling of tyres on the gravel, echoing hollow as the car passes in through the gates, is one of the sounds Nick knows best, and it brings texture to his memories of first seeing the house, Actually it is a miracle he can remember anything about that time. His life ten years ago is mostly lost in a fog of confused fragments, memories torn apart by being drunk, orrows over drink, or attempts to stop drinking, or lies about having stopped drinking. Most of his sober moments were spent juggling two questions: would Angel have married him if she hadn’t been pregnant, and where will the next drink be coming from?
    There is no possibility that they would ever have bought a house like this if it hadn’t been for Angel’s family. There is no way he, Nick, ever thought a rambling idyll in a picture-book village was an achievable dream.
    Frankly, it often looks to him more like a nightmare. A giant money-guzzling monster parked in the middle of his life, demanding everything he can ever muster and more. If they hadn’t bought this house, things might have turned out differently. He might have been able to do something other than work for Fourply, rival to Angel for her father Lionel Mayden’s affections, as Angel used to joke, but the joke was thin because Angel knew the business had won long ago.
    The Mill Stone House, as Nick secretly called it to himself, was their wedding present from Lionel. Nick’s pay-off, or rather Nick’s high-interest loan. Lionel has been dead for ten years now, but still Nick feels he is paying with his life.
    And it is true; every day Nick goes to work in Cambridge at the head office, as sales director of the company, doing a job that is vital in a small British manufacturing business, but which he still believes no one needs him to do. It’s enough to turn anyone to drink. If they haven’t already been turned off it.
    Nick has stopped the car at the front door and the engine cooler buzzes in the silence.
    In the house, music throbs in the kitchen, and Coral, teetering in high-heeled shoes with a cigarette in her mouth, eyes narrowed to the smoke, is breaking ice in the blender.
    â€˜Hi,’ says Nick, pointlessly he feels, as there is no way she can hear him.
    Coral turns round from the dresser and moves towards the sink. Her eyes widen seeing him. ‘God! Nick. I didn’t know you were back,’ she says.
    â€˜Evidently,’ Nick replies, grinding his teeth to curb anger he has no reason to feel. Coral brushes her hands down her thighs, automatically smoothing her clothes, even though they are not crumpled. She twists her hair into a loose plait and smiles, flashing on and off automatically, calculating the effect on Nick of a strange youth in his kitchen.
    â€˜This is Matt. Matt, this is Nick. Nick is my, my –’ Coral laughs angrily. ‘Oh well, you’ve met my mum, this is the other half.’
    Matt doesn’t stand up, though he smiles and nods his head at Nick and carries on rolling his cigarette. Nick wants to make a cup of tea, to sit down at the table and read his post and catch up with the cricket score on the radio. He stands in the doorway for a moment. Coral and Matt ignore him. Coral shovels the crushed ice into two glasses then throws the blender into the sink. There is no suggestion that she might pour a third glass. The music is impenetrable, loud and feverish. Matt says something Nick cannoteven hear. Coral runs her fingers through her long hair and laughs. Smarting slightly, and at the same time knowing it is absurd to be hurt by any teenage behaviour, Nick leaves the room. Coral lowers the music to shout after him.
    â€˜Oh, by the way, could you tell Mum I won’t be home for supper?