Big Sexy Love: The laugh out loud romantic comedy that everyone's raving about!

by Kirsty Greenwood

  ‘And you stay indoors so much, at least by working here you got to natter with us or the customers day to day.’

  I feel a little spark of anger in my chest that, what, I’ve been a pity hire? They should have told me! I’d have been fine!

  But then I think back to me before New York. Obsessed with my routine, living firmly within my snug little comfort zone. They’re right. I would have freaked out. I would have gotten another job that I didn’t want for security’s sake. I would maybe have had a panic attack, even.

  ‘Oh!’ I say, quietly. ‘Wow.’

  ‘You look different today, love,’ Taller Joan says, squinting her eyes.

  ‘Have you changed your hair?’ Tall Joan adds.

  ‘No,’ I say, pulling them both in for long hugs.

  ‘Well something’s different about you,’ they say, looking me up and down.

  Everything, I think. Everything is different.

  I hurry back to the hospital, picking up a bunch of wildflowers on the way.

  Outside Birdie’s room, I take a deep breath, preparing myself for the gut-wrenching sight of her still, comatose body just lying there, so quietly.

  I slowly push open the door and get the fright of my life to find Birdie not only sitting up in the bed fully awake, but being tended to by a gigantically muscled doctor who I assume is the infamous Dr BJ.

  ‘What the fuuuuck?’ I yell, running over and pulling Birdie in a hug.

  ‘Watch the tubes!’ the huge man warns, with a chuckle.

  I jump back, not wanting to tangle the wires or hurt her in anyway. Then I lean forward again, more gently, and wrap my arms around my friend.

  ‘Brewster,’ she whispers.

  ‘Bird!’ I choke out.

  The pair of us burst immediately into tears, clinging onto each other for dear life.

  ‘Well, I will tell you something. That was a nap and a half,’ Birdie quips, her voice croaky and dry.

  ‘Too soon.’ I lean back and take her in. Her face is white and her eyes are half closed. But she’s here. She’s here.

  Once Dr BJ has checked all of Birdie’s vitals, assuring us that she’s doing really well considering, he leaves the room, giving me an odd sort of look as he does.

  Birdie giggles lightly. ‘You know he thinks you have a crush on him, right? I told him it was you who fancied him after he heard us on FaceTime that day, remember?’

  ‘Yeah, you turd. I’ve got a good mind to go out there and tell him the truth. That it is in fact you who wants to bestow Dr BJ with a pleasant BJ.’

  Birdie shakes her head, snickering with gentle laughter. ‘You wouldn’t do that to such a sick woman.’

  I take hold of her hands. ‘Thank you for my letter,’ I whisper tears spilling out of my eyes and rolling speedily down my face. ‘For what you did for me.’

  Birdie looks at me. ‘Anytime, Brewster.’

  Laughing, and crying and snotting and shaking, we embrace each other once more.

  And I don’t plan to ever let go.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Birdie Lively Funeral Order of Service:

  Piano performance of ‘You’re my Best Friend’ by Queen

  Reading of ‘Funeral Blues’ by W. H. Auden

  Eulogy by Olive Brewster

  Acknowledgements

  Piano performance of ‘Ain’t No Sunshine’ by Bill Withers

  I wrap my coat more tightly around me to shield off the icy wind that blows my hair into my face, where it sticks to the lip gloss I put on because Birdie warned me I had ‘better make a damn effort at the memorial’.

  ‘I don’t want to bloody leave,’ I say to Birdie’s headstone. Everyone else left an hour ago. But I haven’t been able to bring myself to do it quite yet.

  ‘You’ll freeze to death,’ I hear her answer in my head. ‘That would be a dick move and you know it.’

  I look up at the sky. It’s mostly grey, but right over there, the sun is trying its utmost to get a turn in, bolshily elbowing a few dark clouds out of the way.

  After her heart attack, Birdie got another six months before it happened again and stole her away for good. It was more time than either of us expected to have and we both agreed, just last week, that it was the best six months of both of our lives. But it wasn’t enough time. Another six years, another sixty years wouldn’t have been enough time.

  I plonk myself down on the ground in front of the headstone and cross my legs. I’m vaguely aware that the ground is cold. And that the wet grass is seeping into my skirt. But I don’t really care.

  After Birdie recovered from her surgery, she was allowed to leave hospital for a few days each week. And while I took on an evening job as a bartender at a Manchester Comedy club, I was free to spend my days with her. So we took a trip to London, because I’ve never been and Birdie said that if I was to continue to shine and not get stuck back in my boring old ways then I was to keep on trying new things. So we did it together.

  We also went Segwaying in the Lake District, we ate Japanese food and Korean food and the spiciest Indian food we could find. We laughed and squealed our way through a Chippendales performance, did an overnight stay in an observatory and fell asleep looking at the stars. We sang karaoke in a private pod, went for massages and spa treatments in Cheshire, spent a day at Stonehenge and declared it ‘incredibly boring’. And when Birdie had her hospital stays we embarked on major Harry Potter Marathons, flirted with Dr BJ until he got so embarrassed his eye would start twitching, and even once did a jigsaw (much to Birdie’s annoyance).

  If Birdie had a period of illness, then she would pick something bonkers for me to do and make me film the whole thing so she could laugh at my inevitable messing up. And that is why there is now a video on the internet, showcasing one Olive Brewster dramatically puking while on an Alton Towers rollercoaster.

  I clutch my arms around myself, my bum starting to freeze on the floor. I can’t believe my friend has gone. We both knew it was coming. We’ve known for a long time. But now it’s here, I don’t quite believe it. My chest feels empty. It aches and swirls with a pain I know I will always carry with me.

  Above me, in a gnarly old oak tree, I notice a dark little bird peering down at me, it’s head cocked to one side. And for a brief moment I wonder if…

  Then I hear Birdie’s giggly voice in my head. ‘Nope. Not me. Of course I’m not a bird, you geek! If I was going to come back as something do you think it would be something so on the freakin’ nose as a bird? Olive!’

  I laugh. And it turns into a cry. But not in a bad way. Just in a way that’s needed.

  I slouch there, before Birdie’s headstone and chat to her until the sky gets dark and the chapel park-keeper tells me that it’s time to go.

  I touch my fingers to the headstone, my eyes blurry with tears, my throat aching with the words I never wanted to say.

  ‘Goodbye, Birdie.’

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Olive’s phone reminders:

  Send cheque to storage company

  Find a new counsellor

  Buy one of Donna’s candles because no one else is buying them

  Take flowers to Birdie

  Double-check course registration details

  Start level 3 of Still Minds app

  ‘The planes are so big up close! How do they even stay in the air? I know it sounds dumb, but it doesn’t make logical sense!’

  ‘Alex, relax! I promise you it will be fine.’ I pat my big brother’s shoulder and hand him the pint I bought him, watching as he takes a nervous sip. ‘You’re going first-class too. It’s great. They have pod seats and flat-screen TVs and everything.’

  Alex nods, patting his coat pockets for the millionth time to check he’s still got his passport and tickets to Japan. He’s taken a year’s sabbatical at work and some of the money we got from the house sale to travel Asia. It’s been a long time in the planning and I couldn’t be prouder of him for having the courage to embark on a new adventure.
/>   ‘Told you you should wear a bumbag,’ I say, stroking mine lovingly.

  ‘Nah.’ Alex laughs. ‘I’m not a total nerd.’

  I look pointedly at his hand luggage – a briefcase, and the book he’s taking onto the plane called The Visual Display of Quantitive Information.

  ‘I beg to differ.’

  As we sit in the airport bar, nursing our pints, Alex keeps looking worriedly out of the huge windows. ‘It’s definitely going to snow.’

  ‘It might,’ I agree. ‘It is Christmas. Snow tends to occur.’

  ‘But will it affect the plane?’

  ‘If it does, they’ll just cancel it. Show some chill!’

  Alex laughs. ‘I never thought I’d hear Olive Brewster instructing someone to “Show some chill!”.’

  I grin thoughtfully. ‘Me either. I like it. I like saying it.’

  ‘It suits you.’

  The airport speaker blares out, announcing boarding for Alex’s flight. As we head to the gate, I notice that his hands are trembling. I stop him and grab them.

  ‘You are going to be fine. You are going to be absolutely fine. If I can do it, lord knows you can.’

  Alex takes a deep breath. ‘Thanks, Sis.’

  ‘Have fun, okay. And keep me updated with absolutely everything. But not, like, sex stuff, obviously.’ A nearby couple give us an odd look. ‘He’s my brother,’ I explain. To which they make a horrified sort of noise.

  ‘And you too!’ Alex calls, as he hands his tickets, boarding pass and passport to the pretty young flight attendant. ‘Okay! Here I go!’

  ‘There you go!’ I yell back. ‘Go Alex go!’

  As he disappears through the gate, off on an adventure that will change him in ways he can’t even fathom yet, I find myself smiling thoughtfully into mid-air. The pair of us are firmly back on a good footing with each other. I’m not saying it had anything to do with Donna leaving but… oh heck, I suppose I am saying that. She was pretty terrible. Living with Alex while we spruced up and sold the house turned out not to be the awkward tedium it was before I went to New York, but a sweet, comfortable time, full of long conversations, laughs and the watching of anything other than The Big Bang Theory.

  My phone alarm yanks me out of my thoughts, buzzing incessantly from inside my bumbag.

  Ooh! That’s my reminder! Shit! I best get a move on.

  I have my own flight to catch!

  Nine hours later, I step out into the arrivals lounge wibbly-legged from a tumultuous flight. This time I didn’t need alcohol or Rescue Remedy or Xanax to get through it – I just used every anxiety-reducing trick in my newly equipped mental arsenal. And it worked. Mostly. Hence the wibbly legs.

  My cases have already been couriered over from Saddleworth and so the only luggage I have is my beautiful pink bumbag, wrapped snugly around my waist.

  I walk through the melee of chauffeurs and reuniting families to a soundtrack of Christmas carols playing over the tannoy system. My eyes flick from left to right searching for…

  ‘Olive!’ I hear his thin, reedy drawl before I see him. I peek up and Anders is there, looking insane and a bit terrifying in tight white jeans, a tight white jumper and ginormous grey scarf, his icy hair in a quiff, his pale eyes super wide with excitement. He’s holding a home-made cardboard sign that says ‘Welcome (back) to NYC, Darling.’

  Beside him, dressed in a rainbow-striped dress and with a very sleek new silvery bob is Mrs Ramirez. She waves madly as I approach, a big smile stretching her wrinkled cheeks smooth.

  It’s been over eight months since I’ve seen them. I can’t believe I’m back here!

  ‘Anders!’ I yell as they embrace me. ‘Mrs Ramirez!’

  ‘You’re here, Chica! You are finally here!’

  ‘I love your bob. It looks great, Mrs Rami—’

  ‘For goodness sake, call me Glorita.’

  ‘Sorry! Glorita. Your bob looks beautiful!’

  ‘That’s not just any old bob, darling, that’s a perfectly trimmed graduated bob with hand-painted babylights. We learned it last week during salon training. I got top marks, of course.’ Anders beams. He’s two months into his hairdressing course and seems to love every minute of it! He’s already asked if he can practise on me when I live with him. Of course I said yes. Except for unicorn horns. I said a firm no to having any kind of horn on my head ever again.

  ‘Well, it looks brilliant.’

  Mrs Ramirez pats her head proudly. Anders reaches out to stop her. ‘Careful!’

  I laugh at these two bonkers ex-strangers, who are now the most unlikeliest of friends. I’m so excited to be back here with them, part of their oddball gang. If it wasn’t for Birdie I never would have met them. The things that woman did for me.

  After Birdie’s funeral, and with Alex deciding to head off on his Asian adventure, I made the decision to use my share of the house sale money to come back to Manhattan and enrol into an improv course at the Upright Citizen’s Brigade Theatre. I’ve been doing comedy-writing classes in Manchester for the last four months and the absolute heart-lifting, joyful feeling I got from it made the decision to take this bigger, scarier step much easier.

  When I called Anders to tell him I was coming for a whole year, he insisted I stay with him. He’s already taken Mrs Ramirez in. The two of them have become firm friends in the last year and when her studio apartment building announced that they were selling up in order to get rid of the rent-controlled tenants, it was a given that she would live with Anders in his big old house. They’re an odd pair. They bicker a lot, they’re completely different, but they love each other fiercely and in a city so big, they’re each other’s family. That I introduced them to each other will forever be one of the best accomplishments of my life.

  In the snowy cab to Gramercy, the three of us catch up, although to be honest, with the daily texting and FaceTime sessions we’re pretty much up to date on each other’s news.

  ‘Ah, turn this one up, please!’ Mrs Ramirez yells at the cab driver. ‘It is my favourite!’

  The driver does as requested, and Andy Williams’ Most Wonderful Time of The Year rings out around the car.

  Anders turns to me from his seat in the front and rolls his eyes. But I can tell he loves it just as much as I do.

  As the Manhattan skyline comes into view, my eyes brim with tears. I knew I missed it here. I knew it as soon as I got on the plane back. But seeing the magnificent buildings in the sky ahead of me, all of the new possibilities the city holds, a million experiences good and bad that I’m going to have, experiences I never would have had the guts to go for without my dear Birdie, overwhelms me.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Anders asks, his head cocked to the side. ‘Are you crying? Is it the saccharine music?’

  ‘Ay, she’s happy, silly,’ Mrs Ramirez says, handing me an embroidered handkerchief to dry my tears and then grabbing my hand between hers. ‘She’s just glad to be back home.’

  I swallow hard and nod. She’s absolutely right.

  The house at Gramercy is lovely and warm when we get in. The fires have been lit, the smell of mulled wine wafts through from the kitchen and in the hall is a huge pine Christmas tree twinkling with hundreds of minuscule lights.

  ‘All of your belongings are up in your room,’ Anders says as he takes my coat. I pull my bobble hat off and he grimaces at my hair. ‘Those ends! Don’t worry, you’re in safe hands now.’

  I laugh as Mrs Ramirez hands me a glass of mulled wine and we all stand there in the hallway by the tree, thrilled to be seeing each other again, happy as heck that we’re about to be the weirdest most mismatched group of roommates anyone ever saw.

  ‘We got you a surprise!’ Mrs Ramirez says, her eyes flicking secretively up to Anders who gives a little nod.

  ‘A Christmas surprise,’ he adds.

  I press a hand to my chest. ‘Lucky me! Well, what is it? Don’t leave a girl hanging!’

  Anders takes one of my arms and Mrs Ramirez takes the other. The p
air of them lead me into Anders’ grand, ostentatious living room.

  Holy shit.

  There, standing in front of the crackling fire, looking gorgeous and ridiculous in equal measure, is Seth.

  I stare at him, taking in every inch of the face I’ve been trying not to picture in my head every night for the last eight months.

  After I came back to Manchester, Seth and I kept up with a few polite ‘how are things going?’ texts, which pretty quickly petered out. For me, it hurt too much to think of him, of the fact that I would never see him again, that I had developed real feelings for what could only ever be a ‘fling’. Plus, the fact that he clearly wasn’t as into it as I was, having sent me packing the day after we slept together, kept me well away.

  Not to mention that all of my heart was taken up with Birdie. I didn’t want anyone else to steal even a tiny bit of that space. She was my priority. But that didn’t mean I didn’t sneakily watch Seth’s show each week, under the covers in my bed. Smiling proudly as he went from strength to strength, being named one of the year’s rising comedy stars. I imagined calling him at that point. Just to offer my congratulations. Whereupon he would declare that he couldn’t stop thinking about me and was going to fly to Manchester, just so he could kiss me again.

  And then, when I saw a picture of Seth on a US gossip site, kissing one of the other Sunday Night Live cast members in Central Park, I quietly deleted his number from my phone and tried my hardest to not let it hurt. I didn’t have room for that.

  Now he’s here. Wearing… a Christmas jumper? And a set of antlers?

  I peer at Anders and Mrs Ramirez who are looking from me to Seth and back again, mega-intense smiles on their faces.

  ‘They made me wear this jumper and antlers,’ Seth says, awkwardly pushing his glasses up his nose. ‘If it were up to me, I’d be looking much cooler right now.’