A Not Quite Perfect Christmas

A Christmas fairy tale in New York?

This Christmas, Emma Darcy has decided, is going to be perfect! Not only has she exchanged her glamorous London life to jet out to the even more glitzy New York, but she has her gorgeous boyfriend finally by her side, and her dream job comes with an invite to their super-dazzling Christmas party. Ooooh, what to wear?!

To celebrate, this year she’s planning a Christmas like you see in the movies; her tinsel-topped to-do list includes ice-skating outside Rockefeller Center, strolling around a snow-covered Central Park and Christmas (window) shopping at Tiffany.

That plan goes slightly out the window with news that her Mum, sister and niece Lily will be visiting her – that’s a lot of Darcy women, even in the Big Apple! With family drama and a work disaster to avoid too, this might not quite be the picture-perfect Christmas she’d had in mind…!

A Not Quite Perfect short story.

Also available by Annie Lyons

Not Quite Perfect

Not Quite Perfect Christmas

Annie Lyons

Copyright

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2013

Copyright © Annie Lyons 2013

Annie Lyons asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © June 2013 ISBN: 9781472083838

Version date: 2018-07-23

Annie Lyons

decided, after leaving university, that she ‘rather liked books’ and got a job as a bookseller on Charing Cross Road, London. Two years later she left the retail world and continued rather liking books during an eleven-year career in publishing. Following redundancy in 2009 she realised that she would rather like to write books and having undertaken a creative writing course, lots of reading and a bit of practice she produced Not Quite Perfect. She now realises that she loves writing as much as coffee, not as much as her children and a bit more than gardening. She has since written another novel and is about to start work on her third. She lives in a house in south-east London with her husband and two children. The garden is somewhat overgrown. One day she hopes to own a chocolate-brown Labrador named John and have tea with Mary Berry.

Thanks to Sally Williamson, Nicky Lovick, Lucy Gilmour and all at Carina for pulling out the stops on this one – you are wonderful people.

Many thanks to Jane, my eagle-eyed friend for helping me with the final checks.

Thanks and love to my children for finding it amusing to tell me that their dinner or my outfit is, ‘not quite perfect,’ and special thanks to my daughter, who encouraged me to write this story and who isn’t really like Lily from the book apart from being the spirit of Christmas in small girl form.

Finally, thanks and love to Rich for everything else.

For everyone who read and enjoyed Not Quite Perfect – thank you.

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Book List

Title Page

Copyright

Author Bio

Acknowledgement

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Excerpt

Endpages

About the Publisher

Chapter One

‘Where’s Lily?’ Rachel searched frantically around the baggage-claim area at JFK for her wayward seven-year-old daughter.

‘I thought she was with you,’ said Diana.

‘Well, she was, but she’s wandered off again,’ said Rachel. ‘You stay with the trolley. I’ll try to find her.’ Rachel ran the length of the polished marble hall, scanning the crowds for signs of her daughter. In some ways, she felt that she had spent the majority of her adult life searching for any one of her three children. She was beginning to wonder if she should have taken the trip to New York to visit her sister alone. She had now lost Lily in airports on both sides of the Atlantic.

They had met Rachel’s mother, Diana, at Heathrow and after checking in and going through security without incident, Rachel had begun to relax a little, suggesting that they go for a coffee. As they had found a table and Lily had set about devouring a chocolate doughnut, Rachel had looked at her mother and daughter and allowed herself a moment’s excitement about their trip. It had been Emma’s idea. Ever since she had been transferred to New York with her publishing firm, she had tried to persuade them to come for a visit. Diana had been reluctant at first.

‘Why would I want to go to America?’ she asked. ‘It’s full of fat people and guns.’

‘That’s like saying England is full of women like Kate Middleton and men like David Cameron,’ said Rachel.

‘If only that were true,’ Diana murmured.

It had been Lily who had eventually persuaded her grandmother. ‘Well, I’m not going unless you come, Granny,’ she declared. ‘You know what Mum and Auntie Emma are like once they’ve had a drink,’ she added with frightening insight.

‘Outrageous,’ said Rachel.

‘But true,’ laughed Diana. ‘All right. I’ll come. If only to keep you all in line.’

They had decided to make the trip into a Christmas-shopping expedition and had chosen a hotel near to the apartment that Emma shared with her boyfriend, Martin.

‘I can’t wait to see Uncle Fartin,’ said Lily, finishing her doughnut and wiping her mouth on her sleeve.

‘Napkin, Lily?’ said Rachel with a certain amount of exasperation.

‘No, thanks, I’m fine,’ said Lily.

Rachel shook her head and finished her coffee. ‘I’m just going to nip to the loo,’ she said. ‘Do you want to go, Lils?’ Lily shook her head. ‘Are you sure? Because I don’t want to come back and then have to take you. It might be better if you tried now.’

Lily held up her hand like a barrier to her mother’s words. ‘Chill, Mum. I’ll stay with Granny. You go.’

‘All right,’ said Rachel. When she returned five minutes later, her mother was sitting at the table, wearing her reading glasses and frowning at her mobile phone. ‘Mum,’ said Rachel, trying not to sound panicked. ‘Where’s Lily?’

Diana peered up at her daughter and then looked at the empty space next to her. ‘Oh, she went to look at that Christmas tree,’ she said, pointing towards a small spiky artificial tree covered in purple and gold baubles. Lily was nowhere to be seen.

‘Well, she’s not there now!’

‘She can’t have gone far,’ said Diana in a tone that came across as less reassuring and more accusing. Rachel rushed to the top of the stairs and scanned the floor below. Suddenly she spotted Lily standing in front of an altogether bigger and more impressive-looking Christmas tree with flashing snowflake lights and a small train chugging round a track beneath its base.

‘Lily, you can’t run off like that!’ Rachel said, appearing at her daughter’s side, out of breath and patience.

Lily glanced up at her mother and then fixed her eyes back on the tree. ‘I told Granny I was going to look at the tree but she was too busy texting to hear me probably. I love Christmas,’ she sighed.

So once again, Rachel was rushing up and down at another international airport, searching for her daughter, who could not stand still for more than five seconds. She was starting to panic when someone tapped her on the shoulder. She turned to face a tall man with a pleasing air of Denzel Washington wearing an airport security uniform, a gun over his shoulder and an amused expression. He was leading Lily by the hand.

‘Excuse me, ma’am. I think this young lady belongs to you,’ he said with a smile.

‘Oh, thank you so much,’ gushed Rachel. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘It’s quite all right, ma’am.’ He turned to Lily. ‘Now remember, Lily, riding the carousel looks like a lot of fun but it could be dangerous so don’t try it, okay, sweetie?’

‘Okay, Nathan. I promise. Thanks for rescuing me,’ said Lily with a breathy sigh.

Nathan nodded at them both. ‘Now you take care,’ he said, tapping his cap before he carried on his way.

‘He was lovely,’ declared Lily as they made their way back to Diana. They collected their bags and walked through the exit gate. A sea of faces, smiling and full of expectation, looked back at them. Rachel scanned the crowd and immediately spotted Martin. He was wearing a chauffeur’s hat and trying to look serious. He was also holding up a sign that said, ‘Miss Lily Summers’. Lily spotted him too and raced over.

Martin swallowed a smile and said in a terrible American accent, ‘Can I help you, ma’am?’

Lily jumped up and down like a frog in a bucket. ‘I’m Lily Summers. I’m Lily Summers. I’m Lily Summers!’ she cried.

Martin peered at her. ‘But the Lily Summers I’m looking for is a little girl, not a grown-up young lady.’ His face broke into a smile. ‘Hey, Lils, and guess what? I’ve got a surprise for you.’

He stood back to reveal Emma hiding behind him. Lily leapt into her arms. ‘I’ve missed you so much, Auntie Em,’ she cried. Emma had to brush the tears from her eyes.

Rachel appeared alongside them. ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Emma, this isn’t a Richard Curtis film. Stop weeping and give us a hug!’ She laughed, reaching for her sister.

‘I just can’t believe you’re all here!’ cried Emma, squeezing her sister with delight. ‘Hello, Mum,’ she added, putting down her niece and pulling her mother into an embrace.

Diana patted her on the back before letting go. ‘Is all this hugging something you’ve learnt since you arrived here?’ she asked with disdain. ‘Now, shall we go? It’s been a very long day and I could really do with a proper cup of tea. Although I don’t suppose I’ll be able to find one while I’m here.’ She reached up to kiss Martin on the cheek. He smiled and took control of the trolley, sitting Lily on the top like a queen.

‘I love you, Uncle Fartin,’ declared Lily.

Rachel and Emma exchanged glances before linking arms and following the procession out of the terminal building. ‘Welcome to New York City,’ said Emma with a grin.

Chapter Two

‘Lily, can you stop ordering things from room service, please?’ said Rachel, carrying another pile of towels into the bathroom where her daughter was having her third bath in less than twenty-four hours.

‘I love hotels,’ murmured Lily, lifting up a handful of bubbles and spreading them over her chin so that she looked like a miniature female Father Christmas. ‘When I’m older, I’m going to earn enough money so that I can just live in a hotel,’ she declared, blowing a handful of foam at her mother.

‘Can I come and live with you?’ asked Rachel with a smile.

‘I don’t think so,’ said Lily.

‘Don’t beat around the bush, Lils.’

‘I expect Will or Alfie will look after you,’ she said in an almost consoling way.

‘I live in hope,’ muttered Rachel, walking back into the bedroom. ‘Don’t be too long. We need to go and meet Granny for breakfast in a bit.’

‘’Kay,’ said Lily before sinking back into the water and breaking into a tuneless but enthusiastic rendition of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.

Rachel picked up her tea mug and took a large sip. She got the feeling she would be needing a few caffeine hits today after a night sharing a bed with her extremely kicky daughter, who also liked to sleep in a starfish position leaving approximately two feet of space for her mother. She peered at herself in the mirror, ignoring the dark shadows under her eyes. She pulled at her forehead to iron out the wrinkles before coaxing her fringe down to hide the most prominent lines. She scrunched at her hair in an attempt to give it more volume and scrutinised her roots. ‘The Darcy women never go grey,’ her mother had observed one day as if allowing this to happen might show a weakness of character. Rachel was glad; it was one less thing to worry about in the ageing process. She stood up straight, sucked in her stomach and pulled back her shoulders. There were saggy bits, it was true, but she was slimmer and fitter these days. Not bad for a woman approaching the big 4-0, she decided.

She picked up her phone and saw a text from Steve obviously sent before he went to bed.

‘Alf missing you. I’m missing you. Will missing the iPad.’ Rachel smiled. There had been a boys-versus-girls tussle over whether the family iPad would go to New York. New York and the girls had won. Rachel would have liked to phone the boys but she knew even her usually tolerant husband wouldn’t appreciate a call at three-thirty in the morning. She missed them too, she realised. In a way she wished that they’d all been able to come. She knew Will would have declared everything he saw to be ‘awesome’ and Alfie would have liked to have seen ‘the lady with the ice cream’, or ‘the Statue of Liberty’ as most people called it. She smiled at the thought of her chaotic family and of herself as a mother now compared to two years ago when she so nearly lost everything. It had taken the death of her darling dad to make her realise how lucky she was. She missed him every day. He would have found the idea of Diana, Rachel and Lily in New York vastly amusing and completely wonderful. Rachel composed a reply to Steve.

‘Missing you all too. Lady Gaga on a mission to use up all bubble bath in hotel. Call you later for proper chat x.’

She heard Lily getting out of the bath and went to see if she needed any help. She was wrapped in a gigantic towel and was attempting to fashion another into a turban for her hair.

‘Let me do that,’ said Rachel.

‘No, it’s fine. You always do it too tight,’ snapped Lily.

Rachel held up her hands in defeat. To say that Lily was an independent little girl would be like saying Bill Gates knew a thing or two about computers. From the moment she could speak, which in Rachel’s mind had been almost weeks into her existence, she had known exactly what she wanted. It was a self-confidence that astonished her parents, teachers and peers and, when coupled with the cleverness and steely sense of justice she also possessed, made her the small-girl equivalent of Marmite. Some people found her funny, charming and bright. Others found her precocious and irritating. Rachel had a foot in both camps.

At the parents’ evening towards the end of the summer term in Lily’s first year at school, her teacher had observed to Rachel and Steve, ‘I think you might have a future prime minister there.’

Rachel had shivered. It hadn’t been the first time that the comparison had been made and for Rachel, growing up in the eighties with the echoes of ‘Maggie Thatcher, milk snatcher,’ still in her head, she wondered at the monster she might have created.

‘She might be the first female Labour prime minister,’ said Steve when they got home. They heard Lily demanding that Will make room for her on the sofa or she would throw his Skylanders in the bin. Steve winced.

‘Or dictator of the first republic,’ said Rachel with a worried look. ‘And I know for a fact that I’ll be first against the wall.’

Rachel followed her daughter out of the bathroom and watched as she rifled through her bag, flinging tops, jumpers and leggings onto the bed. She decided to let her get on with it. There was a confident tap at the door. Rachel opened it to find her mother standing before her, dressed in a casual jumper and trousers with a scarf around her neck.

‘Morning, Mum. You look very nice.’

‘Don’t say “nice”, Rachel. It shows such a lack of imagination.’

Rachel rolled her eyes and wondered if she should just give up trying. Between her mother and her daughter, there was no hope of pleasing anyone. She longed for one of Alfie’s tight little hugs and breathy, ‘I love you, Mama,’ sighs into her ear.

‘Morning, Granny,’ said Lily, pulling a jumper over her head.

‘Good morning, Lily.,’ Diana smiled. ‘How did you sleep?’

‘Very well, although Mum hogs the bed a bit,’ she said confidentially.

Rachel ignored the comment. ‘What about you, Mum?’

‘Oh, I never sleep for long these days,’ said Diana. ‘I watched some of that American television. Most of it was advertisements for things I’d never heard of.’

‘Well, I don’t know about you two but I’m ready for breakfast. Bacon, maple syrup and pancakes anyone?’ said Rachel.

Diana wrinkled her nose. ‘Sounds revolting.’

‘It’s actually really yummy, Granny,’ said Lily. ‘I had them at my friend Daisy’s house. Her mum’s American and they were delicious. Mum tried to make them once but she burnt them all.’

‘Well, you’ll have to show me,’ said Diana, taking her granddaughter by the hand.

Rachel shook her head and followed them out of the room.

******

Emma pulled the belt of her emerald-green wool coat tighter around her slim waist and shifted her bobble hat over her shoulder-length hair. She looked up at the clear blue sky and thought how much she loved New York. Before she had lived here, she had never considered there to be a city as wonderful as London. It was her birthplace and her home and its history, beauty and crazy, bustling cosmopolitanism had kept her happy and occupied for as long as she could remember. It also made her think of her dad and, like him, was the bedrock of her very existence.

New York was different but, two years into her secondment, she couldn’t imagine going back home. Not yet at least. It was like a thrilling roller-coaster ride that she didn’t want to end. On her first day in the city, she had strolled along the streets soaking up the atmosphere like a sponge. All she could think was, It’s just like in the movies. Here are the yellow taxis, here’s the steam coming up from the ground, here are the ‘Walk, Don’t Walk,’ signs, here’s a man selling knishes, I have no idea what they are, but I want one. And on and on it went. Fifth Avenue, Central Park, the Empire State Building, the Flatiron Building, Tiffany’s oh Tiffany’s, it was all there, just as the films she had watched since the age of twelve had promised. And she loved it. And the best thing of all was that the offices of Allen Chandler Inc. were on Broadway. Broadway! Added to this, the supremely efficient office administrator, Delia, had found her an apartment on the Upper West Side so she could walk to work through Central Park. Central Park!

‘You just want to pretend you’re Rachel from Friends,’ Martin had joked. Emma had laughed, but it was partly true. You couldn’t help getting swept up by the romance of the place as you strolled through the park towards the heart of the city. Emma had felt immediately at home here. She loved the place, the people and their sense of humour. It was very like the British sense of humour: dry but less self-deprecating. She found that New Yorkers liked her because she was British; they were wryly amused by her in an indulgent way. She was having a ball.

As she approached the Allen Chandler building she looked up at its magnificent high-rise splendour and grinned. She pushed through the revolving doors and was immediately greeted by Don, the regular security guard.

‘Ooh, is he like Don Draper?’ Rachel had asked when Emma told her about him.

‘Hmm, not really,’ she replied, considering Don’s nineteen-stone bulk. ‘But he does a good impression of Joey from Friends.’

Don fixed her with a side-on grin. ‘Hey, Emma. How you doin’?’

‘I’m doing quite well, thank you, Donald,’ said Emma in the English aristocrat’s voice she reserved for their morning banter.

Don slapped his considerable thigh as he chuckled. ‘You crack me up. “Quite well, thank you, Donald.” That’s funny. You have a good day, now.’

‘You too.’ She smiled.

She was about to climb into the lift when a voice behind her shouted, ‘Hold that elevator!’ She turned to see Wendell Burke, fellow editor and a man as irritating as a bad case of piles, marching towards the lift. Emma sighed. Not everything about New York was perfect. They had wankers here too.

‘Good morning, Wendell,’ she said.

‘Emma Darcy. Why, the pleasure is all mine,’ he said in a terrible English accent. He thought he was being funny and clever. He was neither. ‘So how is project Brit-Lit coming on?’

‘Very well, thank you,’ said Emma.

‘I told Michael way back, why would you want to bring over this editor from England with her books on baking and football and the royal family? It’ll never work.’

‘Well, it just goes to show how wrong you can be.’

Wendell looked unimpressed. ‘You’ve had one book in the New York Times bestsellers and it was about Kate Middleton. You could sell diapers with Kate Middleton on.’

‘Look, my brief was to import anything British that captured the American interest. That is what I am doing. Michael is quite happy, so I don’t see what business it is of yours.’

Wendell shrugged. ‘It’s not, I guess. I’m happy to concentrate on proper literary works while you swan about with books for the masses. Actually, I’m doing a tour with an author you used to know. Richard Bennett?’

Emma kept her face very still but she could feel her heart start to beat a little faster. ‘Oh, yes?’

‘Yeah. His new book’s been picked up by Oprah so we’re going to get him over for a few days. We should all go out for dinner.’

‘That would be lovely,’ lied Emma. ‘Oh, this is my floor. Excuse me,’ she added, sidling past Wendell.

‘Good luck with your One Direction books,’ he jeered. ‘And have a nice day, now.’

‘I’ll have whatever bastard day I want, you oily toss-pot,’ muttered Emma, making her way to her desk. She switched on her computer and took off her coat just as Delia was wandering past with her coffee pot. Delia was the über-efficient office administrator, a proud New Yorker who had taken Emma under her wing from day one. Her impressive, immovable thick black bouffant was almost as big as her fearsome reputation for knowing everyone and everything there was to know about Allen Chandler. Emma loved her.

‘Who crapped in your purse?’ she asked with a cheery grin.

‘Guess. And good morning, by the way.’

‘Aww, not that dumbass Burke again. I told you a hundred times. Ignore him. From what I hear, he ain’t so shit-hot after all.’

‘Do you think?’ asked Emma.

Delia tapped the side of her nose. ‘I know it, honey. He’ll have his day, you mark me. Now, do you want a cawfee or not?’ she said, holding up the pot.

‘Please.’

Delia nodded and made her way to the kitchen. Emma sat down at her computer and fired up her e-mails. The top message had been sent early that morning and it was from her boss, Michael Allen, who also just happened to be the CEO’s son.