Less Than Perfect Read online

  Ber Carroll was born in Blarney, County Cork, and moved to Australia in 1995. Her first novel, Executive Affair, was inspired by her initial impressions of Sydney, and her exciting, dynamic work environment at the time. Ber now lives in Sydney’s northern beaches with her husband and two children, whose constant interruptions and cries of ‘Mum … Mum!’ are no help at all to the writing process. Still, though, she loves them very much and has dedicated this novel, her fifth, to them both.

  Ber’s novels have been published in five countries, including Ireland. If you would like to know more about Ber and her novels, you can visit her website at www.bercarroll.com.

  Other titles by Ber Carroll

  Executive Affair

  High Potential

  Just Business

  The Better Woman

  less

  than

  perfect

  Ber

  Carroll

  First published 2011 in Macmillan by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Limited

  1 Market Street, Sydney

  Copyright © Ber Carroll 2011

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.

  National Library of Australia

  Cataloguing-in-Publication data:

  Carroll, Ber, 1971–

  Less Than Perfect / Ber Carroll.

  9781405039796 (pbk.)

  A823.4

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Typeset in 12.5/15.5 pt Granjon by Post Pre-press Group, Brisbane, Queensland

  Printed in Australia by McPherson’s Printing Group

  Papers used by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Limited are natural, recyclable products made from wood grown in sustainable forests. The manufacturing processes conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin.

  These electronic editions published in 2011 by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd

  1 Market Street, Sydney 2000

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved. This publication (or any part of it) may not be reproduced or transmitted, copied, stored, distributed or otherwise made available by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical) or by any means (photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise) without prior written permission from the publisher.

  Less Than Perfect

  Ber Carroll

  Adobe eReader format

  978-1-74262-657-4

  EPub format

  978-1-74262-659-8

  Online format

  978-1-74262-656-7

  Macmillan Digital Australia

  www.macmillandigital.com.au

  Visit www.panmacmillan.com.au to read more about all our books and to buy both print and ebooks online. You will also find features, author interviews and news of any author events.

  For Conor and Ashling

  Part One

  Chapter 1

  The day I met Josh McKinstry is etched in my mind, its light, texture and sound, each and every fragment and feeling. At any random moment I can close my eyes and instantaneously, magically I’m transported back: 26 July 1997, my eighteenth birthday. My ears fill with the swell of music and voices in the sectioned-off corner of Maggie Maloney’s where I had my party. The summery atmosphere washes over me, an atmosphere that is both consistent and convincing even though it’s the end of a grey, overcast day in a string of such days that masquerades as the Irish summer.

  Josh was not an invited guest at the party – well, at least not invited by me. He came with Liam, my brother, and some other friends. Their arrival was loud and disruptive, their voices amplified by the pints they’d had in the pub across the road. One of them made a beeline to the bar to get a round of drinks and the others hung their thumbs from their jeans pockets and exuded an air of superiority, making it clear that they’d come for Liam’s sake, not mine. They were drunk, but not excessively so, the usual fare for twenty-one-year-old males on a Saturday night out. Nevertheless, my father stared daggers in their direction and his blatant disapproval added an underlying chill to the summery feeling. Liam returned Dad’s stare with defiance and a touch of hatred.

  My father was, and still is, a professor. He lectures students in ethics – you know, what’s right, what’s wrong. He’s not a tweed-jacket, cigar-smoking kind of professor. He wears jeans and polo shirts. He’s suave, youthful and, I suppose, attractive in a serious, straitlaced kind of way. Back then most of his female students were half in love with him. But they didn’t know what he was really like. They didn’t have to live with him, like Liam and I did, and Maeve, our younger sister.

  The tension between Liam and Dad was so conspicuous that it had the potential to sour the whole night. Though they were standing a good distance apart, I felt I had no choice but to intervene, so I sailed across the room to arrive at Liam’s shoulder. (I was the short one of the family.)

  ‘You graced us with your presence.’ I grinned.

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘I’m eternally grateful.’

  Liam wrenched his gaze away from Dad. His pale blue eyes were the same shade as mine, and we both had red-gold hair. This colouring came from our mother, Paula.

  ‘You’re lookin’ well, Caitlin.’

  I was pleased. As with most brothers, Liam’s compliments were rare, insults more the norm. I wore a strappy top and capri pants, both in black. My skin was lightly tanned from a brand of fake tan that I’d discovered after much trial and error. My hair, vibrant next to my black clothes, fell thickly past my shoulders. I knew that I looked good, but it was nice to hear it confirmed. I had spent the whole day getting ready for this, my passage into adulthood. I was primed, not just physically but psychologically too. I was now the legal age to vote, to buy cigarettes and alcohol, to apply for a passport or a mortgage or both. I could marry without my parents’ consent, and though I had no intention of doing so – I didn’t even have a boyfriend – the sheer thought of it was enough to make me giggle. I’d been waiting for this freedom for what had seemed like my whole life.

  Liam was temporarily distracted by the return of the friend who had gone to the bar. Lifting his pint of Guinness from the tray, he took a long drink, effortlessly emptying a third of the glass, fortifying himself for this obligatory family event. I sipped my own drink and glanced at Liam’s friends. Some of the faces were familiar, some not. Every now and then I encountered Liam with a group of his friends in town, but he never brought them back to the house. He must have felt that he spent enough time at home, that meeting his friends was one of the few valid reasons he had to get out. I also suspect that he got a kick out of there being a part of his life we knew little about, maintaining an air of mystery about where he went and who with. In his own way, he too strove for freedom, and at twenty-one all the legal boxes had been ticked. He was missing just one thing, one core ingredient in what would surely have been a perfect recipe for independence: a job. Liam was unemployed.

  Liam’s friends were a motley group: different heights, physiques and looks, age the only thing they had in common. Now that they each had a prop, a drink, they’d taken their hands out of their pockets and there was a bit of friendly pushing going on as they took the mick out of each other. But one of them was quieter than the others, more reserved, and maybe for this
reason my eyes were drawn to him. He was tall and there was something rather elegant about the way he held his head. His hair was dark and his eyes seemed like they would be too, though I couldn’t see their exact colour from where I stood. He caught me looking at him and smiled at me, making my cheeks burn. Disconcerted, I looked away and sipped some of my drink.

  ‘Maeve’s sneaking back the hard stuff, I see,’ Liam commented wryly, his eyes finding our sister.

  Maeve was in a far corner, screened from my parents by her friends and swigging from a bottle of cider. At sixteen she was two years younger than me and impatient to be at my stage – on the cusp of leaving home and starting university.

  I rolled my eyes. ‘Dad better not see her!’

  My father had rules for everything: no going into town alone until fifteen, no boyfriends or girlfriends until seventeen, no alcohol until eighteen or preferably never. Such rigidity had been frustrating for Liam and me, and we were both sympathetic to Maeve’s predicament.

  Furtively, I redirected my gaze from my sister to Liam’s friend. By now he stood a little apart, evidently not participating in any of the conversations around him. He wore a grey T-shirt and dark-blue jeans that sat nicely on his narrow hips. His body was slim but there was strength across his shoulders and in the curve of his upper arms. How did Liam know him? From school? From the tech?

  ‘Liam …’ I began, my mouth suddenly dry. I’d never had this sort of conversation with my brother before now. He was far too private about his friends for me to even get the chance. ‘Liam, who is –’ I stopped mid-sentence as I noticed the subject of my query coming towards us.

  Liam looked at me quizzically. ‘What?’

  ‘Never mind,’ I said hastily.

  In a matter of moments he was next to me, so close that one arm, both slender and muscular, was almost touching mine, his dark eyes looking expectantly at Liam as he waited to be introduced.

  Liam was slow to take the hint. I urged him on with a stare of my own. ‘Caitlin, this is Josh McKinstry,’ he said eventually.

  In those first few moments I was struck by two things. The first was that Josh was Protestant. I could tell this from his name alone. I noted his religion like a reflex but I wasn’t put off by it: Clonmegan was one of the few towns in Northern Ireland where Catholics and Protestants got on well together.

  The second thing I registered was the intense manner in which his eyes focused on my face. I sensed his concentration, his anticipation of whatever words would come out of my mouth. His intentness was so extreme that I became tongue-tied and didn’t say anything at all. He filled the awkward moment with a smile, a beautiful, unfaltering smile, which made the hesitation in his speech all the more evident.

  ‘Hello, Caitlin.’

  His voice was so indistinct that I hardly understood what he’d said. I immediately thought he must be drunk, really drunk, the kind of drunk when one can’t even manage to speak coherently, and I felt totally deflated.

  ‘Hi, Josh,’ I returned in an unimpressed tone.

  I became aware that Liam was looking at me, his eyes strangely watchful. I knew that look. Liam would use it as he waited for me to get the punchline to one of his jokes, or to realise that he had the winning hand of cards. Now he was waiting for me to realise something about Josh McKinstry.

  ‘Josh is deaf,’ he supplied when it became evident I wasn’t going to work it out of my own accord.

  I didn’t know what to say in response. None of us knew what to say. I gulped the last of my drink and noticed Liam doing the same with his. As the silence stretched out, I found myself wondering what it would be like to be enclosed in such never-ending quiet, what it would be like to have nothing at all to listen to, nothing but your own thoughts.

  ‘How do you know each other?’ I eventually asked Liam in a polite voice that was nothing like the cocky tones I would ordinarily use with him. Too late, I berated myself for not speaking more slowly, for not turning my head so Josh could have a clear view of my lips.

  ‘From football.’

  That made sense. The soccer team had every religious denomination: Catholic, Protestant, Methodist, Presbyterian, all united as they chased after a leather ball and endeavoured to embed it in the other team’s net. Liam was sports mad. He played Gaelic football and hurling as well as soccer and rugby – anything with a ball, anything to fill the long days.

  Josh smiled again, pointed to my empty drink, and asked with a motion of his hand if I would like another.

  ‘No, thanks,’ I replied, and shook my head as an afterthought. ‘I’m okay for now.’

  I looked at Liam, trying to avert another silence before it happened, but he was gone, back to the fold of his other friends, and Josh and I were alone. After a few long moments I realised that what I thought was silence wasn’t that at all. There were voices all around me, and music belting from the speakers: Oasis, ‘Wonderwall’.

  ‘Have you always been deaf?’ I mouthed the words slowly, and touched my ear when I said ‘deaf’. Immediately I felt embarrassed, both by my crude signing and what might be perceived as a tactless question.

  ‘Born that way,’ he replied, again his voice thick and almost unintelligible.

  It was hard for me to comprehend that he’d never heard this song, or any other song for that matter. Did Josh mind that he couldn’t hear the music? Or that he couldn’t hear my voice? Or the rise and fall of conversation and laughter around us, combining with the music to form a rich and varied background tapestry. I tried to shut out the noise, to imagine real, pure silence, but I couldn’t. The noise was like a heartbeat, it kept the atmosphere alive, and even if it were gone the memory of it would continue to beat in my head. Maybe I would have more success at imagining real silence later on at home, when I was in bed thinking back to this moment.

  His gaze was all encompassing, as though he could tell exactly what I was grappling with in my head. My eyes shied away, dropping down to his sensual mouth, and then down again to his slender fingers. Of course, he would rely on his other senses all the more: I knew instinctively that his mouth would kiss tenderly and skilfully, and that his touch would be similarly refined and assured. By the time my eyes were drawn back to his, I had already fallen a little bit in love with my brother’s friend.

  I can remember the details of that night as though it was yesterday, but it was more than twelve years ago now. I remember being glad that the forecast rain had stayed away, that my ‘waterproof’ fake tan would not be put to the test. I remember my mum looking mildly stressed, fussing that the guests had enough to eat and somewhere to sit, if they wished. I remember my father, his disapproval of Liam broken by spells when he tried too hard to look like he was relaxed and enjoying himself; Maeve bright-eyed and unsteady and keeping well out of Dad’s line of sight; Mandy, Carly and Sinead, my closest friends, dancing and having the time of their lives, as yet unaware that I had met Josh McKinstry and seen my future in his eyes.

  At the end of the night, ‘Happy Birthday’ was played over the sound system and a circle formed around me. I swung from person to person, and was kissed, hugged and congratulated before being twirled to whomever was next. All the while I was aware of exactly where Josh was standing in the circle, and I counted down until, dizzy and exhilarated, I got to him. He hugged me and kissed me, his lips melting on mine and every bit as tender as I’d imagined them to be. I didn’t move on to the next person in the circle. I stayed with Josh for the rest of the night and, indeed, for much of the following year.

  Chapter 2

  September in Belfast was rainy, grey and disappointing. The city scared me, with its graffiti, armoured cars and simmering tension; it felt as though I was walking in on the end of an argument that could flare up again at any moment.

  Despite this, or maybe because of it, I was thrilled to start university, to further my education and pave the way for my future. I wanted to get the best qualifications possible because I had already decided that I was emigrating, leavin
g Belfast and Ireland. I didn’t plan on sticking around and being unemployed like Liam.

  I had the choice of commuting with my father to the city each day or staying in student accommodation. I chose to stay at Elms Village, only a fifteen-minute walk from the university – a relaxing start and end to the day, much nicer than sitting in a confined space with my father for over an hour each way. The Elms consisted of several beautiful red-brick buildings set amid grassy grounds. I had a wee second-floor room furnished simply with a single bed, desk and chest of drawers. It was south facing, and daylight streamed in the window even when the weather outside was dull, which was most of the time.

  As I began my Bachelor of Arts in English and sociology and life as a student, Josh and I were already established as a couple. We had become very close in the space of a few months, his deafness accelerating our closeness as we bypassed the coyness and game-playing of normal early-stage relationships, developing a rapport that was intimate and mature beyond our years. I settled into the compact room at the Elms with a sense of anticipation, keenly aware that a few nights of the week Josh would visit, that we finally had somewhere to be together without watching out for my parents or his. As a couple we couldn’t whisper sweet nothings – in fact any verbal communication was trying – and so our physical communication was enhanced. The slightest touch of his hand would cause me to shiver. His gaze was sometimes so profound that it was like a caress, a form of foreplay. At that stage in our relationship we weren’t having sex, but we were on the verge. In the narrow single bed in my room we took our physical relationship a step further, and a step further again.

  ‘I love you,’ he’d murmur, the words thick and garbled.

  ‘I love you too,’ I would reply. And I did love him. Wholly, without reservation.