The Break Up: The perfect heartwarming romantic comedy

by Tilly Tennant

  It needed a few new shingles on the roof, a lick of paint and a good clean, but it was a steal, and they had even put her in touch with someone who could install it for her and hook her up to every amenity she would need to work from there. She’d painted it a beautiful sea blue and kitted it out with furniture and heaters. It was breezy in the summer and cosy in the winter and had everything she might need.

  Taking into account the great commute in the morning, where the most taxing delay would be dodging a dozy bee on the way through the rose trellis, it was the most perfect, heavenly place, and almost too nice to work in. But then she’d close the door behind her and take a seat at her antique waxed desk on the reclaimed swivel chair she’d reupholstered in a red gingham, turn her face to the huge windows looking out onto the garden, take a breath of contentment and start another day that would hopefully bring in enough money to keep this dream lifestyle afloat.

  She was so lucky, she’d once said to her mum, but then her mum had reminded her that she’d fought and worked and saved hard for all she had right now so luck didn’t really come into it, and Lara had to agree.

  But working from her own home also meant that she would have to trust the assistant she’d eventually found she needed to come and go freely, and know they would never snoop where they weren’t supposed to.

  If luck hadn’t come into setting up her business, it had definitely played a part in finding Betsy. Lara had been hurrying to the gym for a spin class one day as Betsy was leaving, and they’d almost knocked each other over. The next few times Lara went to a class, Betsy had been there, and eventually they’d started to chat whenever they saw each other. Lara had soon learned that Betsy had almost finished her travel and tourism course and didn’t really know what to do with herself after that, and as soon as Lara had mentioned that she’d been thinking about getting help, Betsy had been only too happy to offer her services.

  She’d started as an intern but had quickly become indispensable, and Lara had taken the financial gamble and put her on the payroll. It was another fated decision, as if karma had decided that perhaps Lara needed a break after what had happened with Lucien, because she loved working with Betsy and life was good now. The only thing missing was a man, but you couldn’t have it all.

  She’d always been a romantic at heart and, despite the disaster of her last relationship, had believed fervently that a perfect someone was out there for everyone. But these days she wondered if things were really that simple. They might be out there, but that didn’t mean you’d ever cross paths with them. Maybe a happy life on her own was the best she could hope for, and what she had now was pretty good, even without that perfect someone to share it.

  As Betsy disappeared from sight, Lara wandered over and picked up the Millington file she’d been complaining so vocally about. There were magazine clippings littering the desk but yet more stuffed into the file. Betsy was right about one thing – this couple really didn’t know what they wanted. By the looks of things, the bride, at least, had been scouring wedding magazines since she was a little girl.

  Lara smiled as she went through them. A couple who were this excited about their upcoming wedding was a lovely thing to see, but it could make the planning more difficult because they often found it hard to focus on any kind of cohesive vision for their big day. That was where Lara and Betsy came in, of course, and Lara liked to think that she was good at helping couples realise a vision they might not even have been aware they’d had all along.

  Looking at the scraps of images spilling out of this file though, Lara could see why Betsy was struggling. This bride didn’t know what she wanted and simultaneously seemed to want everything. There was no trend, no single style or aesthetic to pick out, just a mad, eclectic set of photos that showed everything from decorated barns to stately homes. The themes for flowers, food and décor weren’t much better, ranging from shabby chic to country living to millionaire decadence. Figuring out what would turn this couple’s wedding day into a dream come true was going to take some creative thinking. Often she could look at a collection of ideas and quickly get a sense of what that client was trying to achieve, but not this time. This time she was as much in the dark as Betsy.

  Going over to the window, she stood, gazing out at the garden, turning over the problem in her mind as she did. The flowerbeds were bursting with colour; all the pruning, weeding and attention she paid to them had certainly rewarded her with swathes of fragrant lavender, delicate jasmine, fire-red poppies and sugar-pink roses.

  As she took stock of her handiwork, her face lit with an amused smile. Fluffy was skulking around, patrolling his kingdom, and he’d just taken a swipe at a sparrow that had been silly enough to fly too low. Not quite low enough though, as it turned out, which was lucky for the sparrow but not quite so lucky for Fluffy. He didn’t look too perturbed at his miss and, not to be beaten, had turned his attention to the little wooden bug hotel Lara had attached to the wall of the main house. It currently housed a bumblebee nest, and a few of the furry residents were circling the entrance in a lazy landing queue. Fluffy watched them now, his keen stare fixed on their movements.

  Lara perhaps should have been more worried than she was, but she’d had the foresight to fix the box far too high for Fluffy to reach – at least she was as certain as she could be that she had. She’d never yet seen him leap that high anyway. And Lara didn’t think that he’d be daft enough to try and grab one either, although as Fluffy could be a spontaneous and unpredictable creature, you could never be quite sure. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d got himself into a pickle since arriving on Lara’s doorstep that fateful stormy night.

  Of course, being spoilt rotten had ensured he wouldn’t want to leave, and he looked a lot sleeker and fatter than he had that first night. Betsy said he ate better than Lara did – certainly he fussed over his food bowl almost as much as many of Lara’s clients did over their catering. But then, he was the true love of her life, the only male she’d ever been able to rely on – though a procession of useless boyfriends and a dad who’d deserted the family while Lara had still been a baby hadn’t provided much in the way of competition.

  Perhaps her theory about there being the perfect someone for everyone wasn’t so far off the mark – she’d just forgotten to include cats in the equation. If she looked at it that way, she’d already found hers. Which perhaps wasn’t saying a lot, because sometimes Fluffy was as fickle and secretive as any man who might be trying to have his cake and eat it. She didn’t know where he went on his night-time forays, and perhaps it was better that way. If she found herself shaking a pack of biscuits and calling his name at the front door later that night, or walking the streets to see where he’d got to, it wouldn’t be the first time.

  It was a relatively recent thing that had started to happen over the last six months or so, and Lara could only attribute it to the fact that he was far healthier and happier than he had been when he’d first arrived, and perhaps that had made him more confident to wander too. If she looked at it that way, she ought to see it as a good thing; she only wished that she could. The fact was, whenever he was missing for too long, she hated it. She worried too much – everyone said so – but she couldn’t help it. Somehow, because of the manner and the exact moment he’d arrived in her life, she felt as if they were fundamentally bound in a way she couldn’t explain, but in a way that mattered, like she and this ordinary little cat were two lost souls who’d found each other for a reason.

  Fluffy made a sudden leap for a low-flying bee. He only just missed and Lara decided that it was time she stepped in before he got himself in real trouble. Crossing the garden in sunshine that would soon be too strong to sit out in, Lara gathered Fluffy into her arms. Despite immediate purring as she scratched behind an ear, she could tell that he was vaguely annoyed that she’d ruined his morning’s fun.

  ‘Tough, mister,’ she crooned as she nuzzled the soft fur of his neck. ‘It’s for your own good. I don’t think chomping on a bee
is particularly good for your health.’

  While he wriggled, she carried him across the garden, back to the summer house, closing the door behind her before letting him down. As he stalked the room with an air of mild vexation, she produced a bag of cat treats from her desk drawer.

  ‘Here you go,’ she said, sprinkling a handful onto the desk. Fluffy leapt up and began to nibble, this scene obviously well rehearsed and all thoughts of hunting entirely inappropriate prey seemingly forgotten. Lara smiled. ‘It’ll keep you good for ten minutes at least, you daft cat.’

  Fluffy took no notice. It seemed that cat treats drove all thoughts of hunting from his mind – and all thoughts of the person who’d provided them. Lara didn’t mind. He was an ungrateful little monster, but he was her ungrateful little monster and she loved him.

  Leaving him to his treats with a last fond smile, she took up the Millington file again to have another look before Betsy returned from her lunch break.

  Three

  It was a well-worn family joke but it never got old. At five feet five, Lara was no giant but she still towered over her mother. Everyone said it was because Lara’s mother, Fay, spent so much of her days racing around, finding it impossible to sit still for more than a second, that she must have simply worn her legs down.

  Fay was probably no more than five feet tall, though even that was an optimistic estimation, and she certainly didn’t have time to stand around long enough to be measured. She was slim too, that kind of slimness that comes from being constantly busy, her dark hair threaded with highlights of auburn that she went to the hairdressers to get topped up every month; an appointment that proved to be about the only time she ever sat still and the only appointment she could make without some kind of drama. As Lara watched her now, a set of tall ladders wobbling dangerously beneath her as she struggled to reach an ornate plaster ceiling rose that she’d insisted – despite Lara’s protestations – that she could reach, she’d never been more keenly aware of her mother’s diminutive stature.

  ‘She’s going to come off there,’ Betsy said in a low voice. Lara turned to see her assistant with an armful of ivory satin ribbon; she was watching Lara’s mum now too.

  ‘I know, but when my mum says she’s going to do something it’s hard to stop her,’ Lara said. ‘I told her no, but the minute I turned my back she was up there like a terrier up a pipe.’

  ‘Do terriers go up pipes?’ Betsy asked in a slightly bemused voice. Lara shrugged.

  ‘Mum!’ she called. ‘I think that’ll do it! You can come down now…’

  ‘It’s not quite straight,’ Fay replied.

  ‘Honestly, Mrs Nightingale—’ Betsy began.

  ‘I keep telling you it’s Fay!’ Lara’s mum interrupted. ‘There’s no need for all this formality, you— Oh!’

  The ladder swayed and Lara could only race across and try to grab it, heart in her mouth. But, by some miracle, it steadied before she got there.

  ‘Please, Mum,’ Lara insisted, now clinging to the bottom, ‘that’ll do. You’re going to give me a heart attack!’

  ‘And me,’ Betsy said. ‘And I’m too young to have heart attacks.’

  ‘So I’m not?’ Lara squeaked. ‘Cheeky mare!’

  Betsy grinned, and then both women turned back to Fay and watched with expressions of profound relief as she began to clamber down to the ground. Only Fay seemed oblivious to the palpable stress in the room – stress she’d caused. She simply looked up at the garland she’d secured with a satisfied smile.

  ‘There. Looks alright, doesn’t it? I might be knocking on a bit but there’s use in me yet.’

  ‘Yes,’ Lara said a little faintly. ‘It looks lovely, Mum. Do you know what though? I could really do with you starting on the table arrangements. I can’t get them right at all and I know your eye is better than mine on these things.’

  ‘Oh yes, it always has been,’ Fay said cheerfully, glancing over at the crates of creamy roses and blush peonies waiting to be put out onto the freshly laundered linen of the guest tables. ‘People have always said I ought to have been a florist or an interior designer or something. But I was so busy bringing up you and your brother and, well… it’s too late for that sort of thing now, isn’t it?’

  ‘Never too late, Mrs… Fay,’ Betsy said. ‘What are you, like forty or something?’

  ‘Oh, you!’ Fay laughed. ‘I can’t be forty, as well you know, otherwise, how could I have Lara’s brother, who’s thirty-two, and Lara, who’s twenty-nine?’

  ‘Well, you don’t look old enough to have a son who’s thirty-two,’ Betsy said. Fay shot her a look of faint disbelief but didn’t argue, clearly a bit pleased with the compliment even if she pretended not to buy it for a second.

  ‘I’d better get on,’ she said. ‘Those flowers won’t leap onto the tables by themselves.’

  ‘Nice segue,’ Betsy whispered, turning to Lara now with an impish grin. They watched as Fay bustled off, away from the ladder and out of danger. Lara didn’t grin though; she simply looked at Betsy as if hoping to find divine strength there. She needed it too, because a moment later there was an almighty crash and both women whipped their heads in Fay’s direction to see that she’d already managed to drop and smash a crystal vase full of flowers. Lara had ordered a couple extra for just such an eventuality, but she hoped now that she wouldn’t need more than that, otherwise she was going to be in trouble.

  ‘I could lock her in a cupboard?’ Betsy offered. ‘They’ve got plenty of massive ones in this place, and she might just think we’ve given her another room to decorate. By the time she figured it out we’d be done in here.’

  ‘Tempting as that is, I think not. Mum wants to help and I love that she does – God knows I need as much help as I can get – but sometimes…’

  ‘It’s more hindrance than help?’

  ‘Hmmm,’ was all Lara said in reply.

  Her gaze swept the room they were currently decorating, the stunning ballroom of a vast Georgian mansion out in the Cheshire countryside. Although Lara had to wonder, looking at the marble and gilt splendour of the furnishings, the sympathetic period colours of the paintwork and the ornate ceilings that seemed to reach into space, whether their efforts to dress it for tonight’s wedding celebration were really just a bit pointless. It was so magnificent, so beautiful just as it was, that she almost worried they were ruining it. But they were doing exactly what their clients had asked for, and that, of course, was what they were paid to do. They were a lovely young couple too, barely out of their teens. They’d told Lara that they’d been together since school and had always been convinced that one day they’d be married. They’d chosen this venue, the church, the flowers, the catering and the myriad other little details with very little fuss and extreme enthusiasm that it was hard not to be affected by. Lara had always looked forward to their consultations and had always been left with a smile on her face when they’d left, and she thought they might just be her favourite clients ever.

  ‘Abbie and Matt are going to love this,’ Betsy said, echoing just the thought Lara had been having.

  ‘I hope so,’ she said. ‘They’re so lovely. I want to get it right for them.’

  ‘I think they’re just happy to be getting married.’ Betsy looked wistful for a moment. ‘It must be amazing, being so in love, knowing that you’ve found the one, the person you were made to be with.’

  ‘It must be.’ Lara knew that Betsy was probably referring to her own lack of a boyfriend, but she wasn’t necessarily thinking about only Betsy’s status as a singleton.

  Betsy looked guilty now, perhaps realising this, and was just about to reply when Fay’s voice came from across the room.

  ‘I saw Mandy Squires at the post office yesterday,’ she called over. ‘Getting a new passport she was. Hasn’t been abroad since 1992, she says. I told her I hadn’t been abroad since 1990 and to see if she could beat that and she said she couldn’t. Told her it was down to being a single mother, of course, because how
could I afford it? I said that if it weren’t for school trips you would never have been anywhere at all.’

  ‘True,’ Lara acknowledged, though it had never bothered her in quite the same way it had her mum. She could understand why Fay might sometimes feel she’d missed out, though she never complained and Lara didn’t think she was quite as bothered by it as she made out. As for herself, she was perfectly old enough and capable enough to take herself on holiday if she really wanted to go. Not that she had time for holidays since she’d started Songbird Wedding Services.

  ‘She asked how you and your brother were getting on,’ Fay continued. ‘I told her you were both doing well. Her oldest is courting, she says – I told her to look you up if they decided to tie the knot, but she said she didn’t think that was likely. She says her nephew is marrying a man; I said I had no idea he was gay and she said neither did they until he brought this fella home. I didn’t offer your services for that because I’m not sure if they have normal weddings.’

  ‘Of course they do!’ Lara said, and she couldn’t help but laugh now. ‘A wedding is a wedding no matter who it’s for. I planned one for two women only last week. They’re tying the knot on Christmas Day.’

  ‘What are you going to do for them?’

  ‘What they’ve asked for, which is not a million miles away from what we’re doing today for Abbie and Matt.’

  ‘Oh…’ Fay was thoughtful for a moment. ‘Mandy asked if you were courting.’

  ‘Did she?’ Lara said, her good humour evaporating now. She had a feeling she might know what was coming and that she wouldn’t like it.

  ‘I think she was angling to fix you up with her Brandon but I wouldn’t if I were you – there’s something about him that’s a bit shifty.’