Page 1 of Perfect

One

perfect

adjective

Having all the required or desirable elements, qualities, or characteristics; as good as it is possible to be.

The tight feeling in my throat had developed into an actual lump that no amount of forced coughing would clear. I twisted the cap back on the bottle of water I’d been devouring in a poor attempt to dislodge it.

It was warm with a sticky element circling the carriage, and the early signs of cramp had set in.

I’d considered stretching my legs with a trip to the loo but had been warned about the facilities on trains, and let’s face it, I just wasn’t in the mood to be faced with anything grotty.

The motion of the carriage as itrattledalong the rails was anythingbutcalming. I released a puff of frustration as the man in the seat opposite continued to stare at me like he was contemplating something. It made me feel like I had something on my face. I silently willed him to refocus on his boring-looking book. My eyes narrowed suspiciously; he also had a remnant of ‘I don’t know what’, at the corner of his mouth. Possibly a bit of sandwich that must have been there for at least the past hour. Nasty. I scowled as my insides twisted, turning away to look out at the passing countryside, forcing my mind elsewhere.

I felt exhausted; my last few weeks of exams had zoomed by, and I still couldn’t shake that feeling of anxiety. Those nervous knots about the thought of seeing my father tightening in my stomach again. We hadn’t spoken over the last few months, hence the probable reason for said lump. Being train bound and on my way to spend the summer with him was encouraging all sorts of crazy inside me.

After my parents separated a couple of years ago my dad had moved to Yorkshire, to the arse end of nowhere. He still lived in the arse end of nowhere but now with his new wife, Rachel. Brutal right?

I still found it hard to swallow as throughout my childhood, my family had seemed perfect to me. My father was my hero, and I was Daddy’s little girl. I was an only child and shared him with no one. He would check for monsters under my bed, clean me up when I got cuts and scrapes and be there when I fell out with my friends. Dad was my rock; the one I went to if I needed something fixing. When he left, I felt lost. A void had appeared in my life, and the only substance I had to fill it with was schoolwork. I’d adjusted, eventually. I’d had to for the sake of my exams at the time.

Of course, people break up, 'I do', is not necessarily forever. But it still stings, especially as the child on the outside looking in. It takes time to get your head around something like that—and then there are the added complications. Breakups wereneverstraightforward.

My father now lived on a farm. Afarm of all places, with cows and shit! He came from a family of Northern landowners, and when things had broken down with my mother, he had decided to return to his roots. He now owned over two hundred acres of rustic farmland.

I was nervous. Rural countryside and I was an untested relationship. I didn’t even own a pair of wellies; I would be so out of my comfort zone. I’d never even been camping; country life just wasn’t me. I was an indoor girl and I liked to surround myself with nice stuff;essentialcomforts. The house I shared with my mum in London was in the thick of everything; school, friends, family, and shops. It was handy, and Ilikedhandy.

When my dad left, everything became even more complicated, especially after he re-married; the new Mrs had baggage of her own, you see. And unfortunately, it, or should I sayhe, was rather nice to look at.

I had met Rachel and her son once, and they were not people I had particularly warmed to,especiallythe boy. I still didn’t understand how someone so physically gifted could be such a sarcastic, condescending dickhead.

I attempted to ward off a wave of bitterness as my belly flip-flopped at the thought of my stepbrother, Connor. I knew I should push the image away, far from my mind, to stop it from fuelling my angst, but it was impossible. Every time I closed my eyes, his face was there;contaminatingmy emotions. It made me want to bleach my brain.

To my misfortune, Connor Barratt ticked everyphysicalman-preference box I never knew I had.

My jaw clenched. I hated that rotating thought that 'he' would also be there all summer. A boulder the size of London sat in my stomach. Connor would try and come between my dad and me, I just knew it. Dad had explained in one of his emails how Connor had started working full-time on the farm. He must have rambled on over several paragraphs about how they had ‘hit it off’ and ‘understood’ each other. The jealousy I had experienced after digestingthatunwelcome news had almost pushed me towards a full-on tantrum. I hadn’t experienced one of those since my earlier teens. But I suppose jealousy does that to a person.

Placing the bottle of water on the table in front of me, I regretted my decision to ride backwards as the trainracedthrough a tunnel, bouncing shadows around the carriage.

To distract myself, I pulled out my iPhone and scanned through my messages, rolling my eyes at yetanothertext from my mother.

Everything OK sweetie?

I sent her a thumbs-up and a kiss. My mum was a worrier who would call my phone on a loop if she didn’t receive a reply within a nanosecond.

She started to type again, responding with a winking face, a fist bump, and a duck for some weird reason. Mumreallyhadn’t grasped the concept of emojis just yet.

Poor mum, she still wasn’t over my father’s ‘betrayal’ as she called it. She didn’t say it aloud, but it oozed from her. My mother doesn’t know the meaning of poker face and is an open book, although not a very comprehensive book. Eleanor Williams only possesses two main loves in life. Eating lunch with her friends and a bottle of vodka. The rest she just makes up as she goes along. I do love her though. She doestryto be a good mum, in her own way.

The carriage shook again as the train left the tunnel and I took a deep breath as my stress levels jumped up a notch. What I wouldn’t give for a quick squirt of Rescue Remedy or some sweets: a sugar coma would be a great distraction.

Thinking back to the last time I saw my father at his anniversary party, I shoved my head back against the seat and rested my eyes.

My dad and Rachel had hired a function room last year in a local pub. It had been a quiet, low-key event and nothing like the other parties I had been to. I’d arrived overdressed and had immediately felt out of place. What could I say, I liked to look nice; strappy dress and heels all the way for me. But I’d been stared at, and not in a good way.

My being there had also felt a little odd, considering the occasion was to celebrate my dad being with another woman.

I recall he'd been so pleased by my presence, beaming at me during the entire event. Smiling was not something I had seen him do when he was with my mother. The change was uplifting.

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