The Perfect Family
“Oh, I’m nervous,” Alice paused outside the building.
“What of? My parents?” George asked, taking her hand.
“That they won’t like me,” Alice admitted, looking up at him with guilty apprehension.
“Don’t worry. You’ll see, it’ll be fine. I love you. And it’s me you’re marrying, not my parents. Come on.” George gently pulled her toward the entrance.
“Mum’s name is Victoria Henrietta. Remember that,” he instructed.
Alice repeated it hesitantly.
“I’ll forget or mix it up, I’m so nervous,” she confessed.
“And Father’s—”
“James William,” Alice blurted happily. “At least your father’s name is simple. But your mother’s middle name—is her grandfather German?”
“What makes you think that?”
They stepped into the lift, and George pressed the button.
“Her father named her after his wife. He said she was a radiant soul. An actress. Pity I never met her—she died young. Her family had English roots.”
The lift stopped, its doors sliding open invitingly. They stepped inside.
“Relax. I’m with you,” George murmured, drawing her close.
A petite, slender woman with a short bob opened the door. Alice thought she looked too young to be George’s mother. She smiled warmly and gestured them in.
She wore flowing beige silk trousers and a crisp white blouse. Under the bright hallway light, Alice noticed the faint lines on her face, betraying her age.
“Hello,” Alice said, glancing at George for guidance. He stayed silent, leaving her to it. Afraid of misspeaking, Alice avoided using his mother’s name and lowered her gaze.
“Come in, Alice dear. Don’t be shy. No one gets my name right the first time,” she said knowingly, and Alice smiled gratefully.
“Don’t bother with shoes. Come through. James! Where are you?” Victoria called.
Soon, a broad-shouldered, handsome man entered. He reminded Alice of Cary Grant, though not in appearance. Beside him, Victoria seemed like a delicate girl. “He must’ve been striking in his youth,” Alice thought.
“James William,” the man introduced himself, offering his hand. Alice placed her slender fingers in his palm. His grip was firm yet warm.
“Come, before the food gets cold,” Victoria directed.
“George, take care of Alice,” James said, pouring wine from an already open bottle.
Victoria asked polite, careful questions, never prying, and soon shared stories of their family. Whether it was the wine or the peaceful atmosphere, Alice felt her tension melt away.
“Tell your parents not to worry about a thing. We’ll handle the wedding,” Victoria said kindly.
George’s family seemed perfect to Alice. Her own parents were nothing like them. Her mother fussed over feeding everyone, while her father drank too much, pouring himself wine without waiting, growing loud and lecturing anyone within earshot. He’d snap at her mother, embarrassing her in front of guests when she tried to calm him.
Alice always felt ashamed of him. Part of her didn’t even want to invite them to the wedding. But they’d be hurt. If only her parents were like George’s. Why had she agreed to marry him? They were from different worlds—
“You’re miles away,” George nudged her.
“What?”
“I said they like you.”
“Your parents are wonderful. I wish we could have what they do. You can see the love between them. And for you. But mine… I dread how they’ll behave at the wedding.”
“Don’t fret. They won’t let you down. We have our rows too—just quieter. By the way, have you picked your dress? I want you to be the most beautiful bride.” He stopped and kissed her.
Alice didn’t want to go dress shopping alone, and George couldn’t see the gown beforehand. Her mother was too practical, always pinching pennies. No, she wouldn’t invite her. That left only her friend Maisie. At home, Alice called her at once.
Maisie chattered excitedly, barely letting Alice speak before launching into her own news. Finally, she paused.
“Why’d you call?”
“I need help choosing a wedding dress.”
“You’re getting married? Brilliant! Of course!” Maisie gushed before diving into gossip about an old university friend’s wedding. Alice barely listened.
“Will you come?” she interrupted.
“Obviously. When?”
They agreed to meet the next day at a café near the bridal shop.
“So loud,” Alice sighed after hanging up. But she had no one else to ask.
She arrived early. A waiter handed her a menu.
“Later, please. I’m waiting for someone.”
He nodded and vanished. Maisie was late, as usual. Alice scanned the room—then froze. James sat a few tables away, eyes locked on a young blonde who smiled coyly at him.
Alice turned away. “Where is Maisie? A few more minutes, then I’ll leave.” But her gaze kept drifting back. James held the woman’s hands, speaking intently. That wasn’t how a man looked at a mere acquaintance.
Then he kissed her. “A mistress?” Alice wondered. Did George know? Did Victoria? She should leave before he spotted her—she was practically spying.
“Alice! Over here!” Maisie’s voice rang out as she wove between tables, fiery-haired and impossible to miss.
James could’ve noticed her—and Alice by extension. But she didn’t dare check.
“Sorry! Traffic! Then I nearly broke my heel!” Maisie announced loudly.
“Lower your voice. Everyone’s staring,” Alice muttered.
“Let them!”
“I have to go. Let’s reschedule.” Alice stood abruptly, avoiding James’s direction.
Maisie caught her outside. “You invite me, then bolt? Explain!”
“A headache. I forgot an errand. Sorry.” She hurried off, ignoring Maisie’s offer of a lift.
Later, she called George for Victoria’s number.
“Sent. Mum’s got excellent taste,” he approved.
“Alice dear, what’s wrong?” Victoria answered promptly.
“Victoria Henrietta,” Alice stumbled slightly. “Could you help me choose a dress?”
“Of course. Tomorrow?”
Victoria had an eye for style. The shop assistants deferred to her, sensing authority. She selected three gowns, sending Alice to try them on, dismissing each until the perfect one emerged. Shoes followed. Two hours later, they left laden with bags.
“Exhausted. Let’s have coffee,” Victoria suggested, stowing their purchases in her car.
They returned to the café where Alice had seen James. Scanning the room, she relaxed when she found no sign of him.
“Victoria Henrietta… how have you stayed married to a man like James? I’d have died of jealousy by now.”
Victoria smiled indulgently.
“Because I love him. It’s amusing watching women flirt. Of course, I used to be jealous. But one learns. Many think I’m not right for him. Do you?”
“No, not at all!” Alice rushed.
“Handsome as he is, he’s hopeless at home. Doesn’t know where his socks are. At work, he’s a charmer, but here, he’s a child. Every morning, I lay out his clothes where he’ll ‘find’ them himself.”
“Remember this, dear. A wise woman never lets her husband know she’s cleverer. Advice must seem his own idea. That’s the secret.”
“Yet he chose a mistress on his own. Should I say something?” Alice wondered. She decided against it. Maybe it hadn’t gone beyond a kiss.
But soon, she saw them again—leaving a jeweller’s. Unable to bear it, she hinted to George his family wasn’t so perfect.
“What do you mean?”
Alice confessed what she’d seen.
“You must be mistaken. Father adores Mother,” George said tightly. They nearly argued—a first. Alice claimed she might’ve been wrong.
As James’s birthday neared, Victoria invited them to discuss gifts. George stepped out, leaving Alice with her.
“You’ve been fidgeting. Something to say?” Victoria asked.
Alice hesitated. “I think I saw your husband… with a blonde.”
Victoria’s expression didn’t falter, though her eyes dimmed.
“I shouldn’t have told you.”
“You think I don’t know about his affairs?”
“You knew?”
“He’s been unfaithful for years. Women sense these things.”
“And you’ve forgiven him?”
“I love him,” Victoria sighed. “A scandal would achieve nothing. I grew up in a tiny town, in a cramped flat. Father drank, Mother aged before her time. I dreamed of escape. James fell for my looks. Then George came. Where would I go? Back to that life? One grows accustomed to comfort. I thought of my child. A woman relies on a man, financially.”
“I told myself I’d leave once George was grown. But he idolised his father. I couldn’t take that from him. We kept up appearances—the perfect family.Years later, when Alice found herself in Victoria’s shoes, she finally understood that perfection was never the truth—only love, in all its messy forms, ever really was.
