Marrying Mr Valentine

by Laura Barnard

  ‘Thanks, Anna,’ he smiles. So, Anna’s her name.

  We go to follow her out when I pull him back by his arm. ‘Sorry for just losing my shit like that. It must have been cabin fever or something. You won’t tell anyone, will you?’

  The last thing I need is for it to get back to Hugh.

  ‘Of course not. Your secret's safe with me.’

  Tuesday 9th January

  The girls and I have decided to go out tonight. Kelly has Wednesday’s off work, so we always get talked into cheap drink Tuesday. It’s supposed to just be for students, but we take full advantage of it. I’m lucky enough that I can make sure I don't schedule any important meetings on a Wednesday. Not that I tell Hugh that.

  I meet them at a Wetherspoons in town, the girls having already taken advantage of the two-for-one cocktails. I get myself one and settle down for our weekly gossip.

  ‘So, what I want to know,’ Florence says leaning in eagerly over the mayhem of uni students, ‘is what is going on between Mia and Troy?’

  Mia rolls her eyes, but her cheeks flush scarlet.

  ‘You’re blushing.’ Kelly says, bashing shoulders with Mia. ‘Come on. Spill.’

  ‘There’s nothing going on,’ she protests, trying desperately to hide her smile. ‘We’re just friends.’

  ‘Friends my arse,’ I scoff. ‘You must be having sex at the very least.’

  ‘We’re not,’ she insists, her heavily black eye-lined eyes glaring back at me. ‘Neither of us are ready for a relationship, so we’re just friends.’

  ‘Friends that fuck?’ Flo asks, grinning from ear to ear.

  ‘No! Jesus. You guys. We’re just good mates. We’ve agreed that we’d hate to sleep with each other and ruin what we have right now. So instead we’re just the best of friends.’

  ‘Wait,’ Flo says with a scowl. ‘Are you serious? You really are just mates?’

  ‘Yes. Jesus, it’s not my fault all you dirty bitches assume I’m getting serviced by him.’

  ‘Serviced?’ I crease over laughing.

  ‘But seriously,’ Kelly says, her eyes creased in confusion. ‘If you’re best mates and there’s a sexual attraction there, then why not just become a couple?’

  ‘Because we don’t want that,’ she explains with an eye roll. ‘We’re not ready to settle down. We both want to play the field a bit.’

  ‘So, what you’re saying,’ I interrupt, ‘is that you both know you’re perfect for one another; you just plan to have a good play around before settling down together.’

  ‘Well, we haven’t actually said that to each other,’ she admits, twisting her hands in her lap. ‘But yeah, kind of, I suppose.’

  We all burst out laughing.

  Florence raises her cocktail. ‘Well, here’s to Mia and Troy and their future wedding.’

  We all cheer to that. All apart from Mia.

  Four hours later and I’m a little bit shit-faced. Those Prosecco cocktails from the club we’ve moved onto were a bit of a mistake, but my God, do they taste delicious. I excuse myself and queue up with uni students for the toilet.

  I go in, do my business and then leave. I’m almost at the sink when I feel a fart slip out. Only... the feeling down my leg tells me it wasn’t just a fart. Shit! Literally.

  Shoving the girl headed for my toilet cubicle out of the way, I run in, locking the door behind me. I take down my playsuit and find to my absolute horror that I’ve shit my pants. I’m thirty-two years old and I’ve just shit my pants. What the fuck!

  Its liquid diarrhoea and its run all down my legs. How the hell could this have happened? I haven’t eaten anything dodgy. Well, I suppose we did have those kebabs on the way here, but still. You think you’re safe with a drunken kebab, then the next thing you know you’re shitting yourself.

  I get toilet tissue and quickly clean myself up the best I can. I take off my knickers and throw them away in the sanitary bin, cursing myself that I wore my favourite ones. The worst thing is that my jumpsuit is the same material as a swimming costume, so it seems to have absorbed some of it.

  Ugh, I’m gonna have to go straight home. I get my phone out and order an Uber. Next, I text the girls and tell them there’s been an emergency and that I’m going straight home. I watch as my Uber comes around the corner. I scrub my hands as best as I can, hoping to God I don’t stink of shit.

  I run out front and spot the car listed. I go to the driver window, wanting to double check it’s an Uber, when I nearly jump out of my skin. Why the hell is Hartley here?

  ‘Hartley?’

  ‘Oh, Nadine.’ His cheeks redden. ‘I didn’t realise it was you I was collecting.’

  ‘Wait, are you telling me you’re an Uber driver?’

  He nods, pressing his lips together. ‘Three evenings a week. Trying to make a bit of extra money for our honeymoon. I don’t earn the same as Clara.’

  ‘I doubt anyone does,’ I blurt out in my drunken stupor.

  I open the back seat, but then realise I don’t want to put my shitty arse on his car seats. What if it seeps into the seat and smells for days, even weeks later? I could be his last pick up of the night. He’ll know it was me. God, I’d never be able to look at him again.

  I only have one option. I jump in, face first so my arse doesn’t touch the seats.

  ‘Are you okay there?’ he asks, looking back at me with amusement in his eyes.

  ‘Yeah, I’m just feeling sleepy,’ I say pretending to be more drunk than I am.

  He raises his eyebrows, nodding, clearly completely unconvinced. ‘Right... Whatever you say. Just the address you put into the app, right?’

  ‘Yep, that’s it.’

  God, I must look insane. I lift my head up with my hand, to try to look like I’m more relaxed.

  He rolls the window down. Can he smell me?

  ‘God, I hate the smell of manure around here,’ he says, as if to himself.

  Oh God. He can. I roll down my window too. ‘Yeah, terrible.’

  ‘So, good night, was it?’ he asks, glancing back at me in his rearview mirror.

  ‘Yeah. Had a few too many I think,’ I admit on a giggle. You know, ended up shitting myself. The usual Tuesday night shenanigans.

  ‘Well, then it sounds like a great night. Bit of a random night to go out though isn’t it?’

  ‘Two-for-one Tuesday,’ I explain.

  ‘Ah,’ he nods. ‘Girl after my own heart.’

  He pulls up outside my parents’ house. ‘This is me. Thanks.’

  He turns around to face me. ‘No probs. Listen...’ he licks his lips, as if nervous. ‘You won’t mention this to Clara, will you?’

  I frown, my drunk mind catching up slowly. ‘Wait, your fiancée doesn’t know about your extra job? Isn’t that kind of weird?’

  He sighs. ‘Look, it’s just easier. If I say I’m doing it for extra money, she’ll just lay on the pressure to go and work for her dad.’

  I shrug. ‘Okay.’

  ‘Look, I don’t need your judgement, okay?’ he snaps, his jovial mood gone.

  ‘Fine,’ I snort, sliding out backwards from the car. ‘Bye!’

  I slam the car of the door far harder than I ought to. But I don’t care. Right now, I’m angry and I just want a shower.

  Chapter Four

  Thursday 11th January

  I’m still embarrassed two days later when I hand over the sheets to both Clara and Hartley at their food tasting. I can’t look Hartley in the eye. Aside from him possibly being suspicious of me shitting myself, I was rude to him. I’m never normally drunk around clients, but then I suppose it’s not my fault he’s also a part-time Uber driver. I was off duty and allowed to let my hair down, surely?

  ‘These are so you can score your meals and write down any comments or suggestions you have. You’d be surprised how overwhelming it can be.’ I smile professionally.

  ‘We are just trying food, right?’ Hartley asks, an amused smirk appearing.

  I glare back at him before q
uickly covering it with a professional smile. ‘Like I say, you’d be surprised.’ What a dick.

  ‘Yes, Ley,’ Clara whines. ‘This is important.’

  She calls him Ley? Ugh, why on earth would you shorten a gorgeous name like Hartley to Ley? Monster.

  She flicks her hair over her shoulder. ‘I for one am not going to serve a sub-standard meal to my guests.’

  God, she’s annoying.

  ‘I can assure you that what you’re about to try will be delicious. All our meat and vegetables are sourced locally, and our chef has been with us over a year. He actually used to own the pub before we took over and was here for twelve years.’

  ‘So, he knows the place,’ Clara smiles with an understanding nod.

  ‘Yep. He definitely knows his way around the kitchen.’ God, I sound cheesy sometimes.

  Florence comes walking out from the back dressed in her black trousers and a white shirt I asked her to wear. Thank God. My usual waitress let me down, so I called her in last minute. I wasn’t sure if she was going to show, what with Hugh being so overbearingly overprotective, but I saw her walking round the back at the same time as Clara and Hartley arrived.

  ‘Ah, and here is our waitress for the day, Florence.’

  ‘Hi,’ she waves, the smile not meeting her eyes.

  Now I look closer at her she looks a bit grey. There are dark rings around her eyes too. I need to corner her as soon as this is over. Something's going on. With the way Hugh reacted the other day I wouldn’t be surprised if there was trouble in their marriage.

  ‘Hi, Florence,’ Clara says, standing up to air-kiss her. Hartley nods a hello.

  ‘They’re ready for the starter course, when you are, Flo,’ I say, then smile while asking with my eyes if she’s okay.

  She nods discreetly. ‘Of course. Coming right up.’ She disappears into the kitchen, an unsettling silence descending over us.

  I’m just about to ask how their week was when the front door bangs open and Emily, the sixty-year-old cleaner, comes in carrying her vacuum.

  ‘Oh, hi, Emily,’ I smile, standing up. What the hell is she doing here? ‘I thought I cancelled you this morning. We’re doing a tasting, you see.’

  ‘Oh, right,’ she says, her eyes falling in disappointment. Half of me thinks she just likes getting out of the house. Since her husband retired, she’ll find any excuse to be out and about.

  I feel bad letting her down like this. She doesn’t mean any harm.

  ‘Or... you could clean as long as you do it quietly? No vacuuming.’

  ‘Yes.’ She grins broadly, warming my heart. ‘Sounds good.’

  I look back to Clara. ‘Emily here has been cleaning this pub for the last twenty years.’

  ‘Really?’ Clara says, looking at her with her nose scrunched up, as if she’s a bit of dirt on her shoe. She was probably brought up to treat cleaners as staff. Stuck up cow.

  ‘Yep,’ Emily nods, completely oblivious to her disdain. ‘Oh, the things I’ve seen over the years in this place.’

  Oh God, I always forget how unpredictable she can be. We don’t want her telling them about all the vomit she’s scooped up over the years.

  ‘Thank you, Emily,’ I say with a tight smile, hoping she’ll get the hint to leave.

  ‘Especially over this last year,’ she continues. ‘Since the wedding business I’ve found all sorts. Used condoms are the worst. You’d think the dirty beggars would want to dispose of them after, but they never do.’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Emily!’ I almost shout. ‘We’d love to chat but we’re very busy tasting.’

  ‘Oh,’ she says, looking crestfallen. ‘Okay. I know where I’m not wanted.’ She flounces off to the other end of the bar with a humph. Jesus. I didn’t mean to upset the bitch.

  Florence comes out of the door holding two trays. Now her face looks kind of green.

  ‘You have a few options when it comes to the starter. We have our winter vegetable soup.’ Florence places the tray down in front of them containing the little pot with a fresh baked roll on the side. ‘The mozzarella salad. Or the pate.’

  ‘Ugh.’ We all turn to look at Florence, who I’m guessing made the noise. She covers her mouth quickly. ‘Excuse me.’ She runs off towards the toilet.

  I grimace. ‘Sorry about that.’

  It’s then that the sound of violent vomiting echoes around the room from the bathroom. The poor cow is really going for it. I frown back at them.

  Clara puts her fork down pointedly.

  ‘Maybe I’ll put on a bit of background music?’ I suggest, already running behind the bar and looking at the stereo system. I press play, glad for the music immediately blasting out loudly, covering the vomiting noise.

  Only then I notice the woman singing the lyrics. It’s My Neck, My Back by Khia. She starts singing about how she wants her man to lick and suck her pussy and then her crack. Dear God! What kind of wedding reception did we host if this is the last song played?

  I look over to find Hartley has burst out laughing and is currently holding his sides from chuckling so hard. Clara looks very unamused, her eyebrows raised as if expecting an explanation.

  ‘Sorry.’ I shout, trying to pause it. But the fucker won’t pause. Right, I’ll turn it off instead. I press the stop button but that’s sticking and doesn’t seem to work either. Why is this happening to me?

  I finally find the power cord and yank the whole thing out of the plug, but in the process also knock the system onto the floor. Oops.

  ‘Sorry about that.’ I say, all in a fluster, deciding to just style it out. I can worry about the replacement stereo later.

  Florence’s vomiting echoes back around the room. God, how can the poor cow still be going at it?

  ‘Shall we perhaps move onto the mains?’ I ask, getting up and collecting the uneaten tray of food. I know I’m going to have to do it myself. There’s no way Flo’s in any fit state.

  I rush into the kitchen and grab the tray containing two roast dinners under the hot lamp.

  ‘Where’s Flo?’ Marty, the chef, asks.

  ‘Hungover,’ I answer with an eye roll. Except now I realise; she must be pregnant.

  I can’t believe I haven’t thought of it until now. She’s been tired, nearly passed out, and now she’s sick? That would also explain why Hugh went mad at me. I’m such an idiot. But then... she was drinking cocktails on Tuesday. Surely, she wouldn’t risk that? Thinking about it she insisted on buying. I bet hers were virgin cocktails and she pretended to be drunk.

  I walk out, struggling to hold the heavy plates. God, how do the waitresses do this? It’s hard bloody work just holding two, and I’m always snapping at them to go faster. They must hate me. No wonder my nickname is snow queen.

  I take a second to compose myself before walking back down the corridor towards Clara and Hartley. I’m nearly at the table when Florence comes barrelling out of the bathroom, crashing right into me.

  ‘Flo!’ I shout, as I try but fail to swerve right and miss her. I end up mis-stepping and come crashing down onto the floor, my face landing in a roast dinner. I pull my face up from it and wipe the mashed potato from my nose, while gravy drips down my cheeks.

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ Florence exclaims, trying to pull me up. I look over to see Clara looking on in revulsion.

  Strong hands are suddenly underneath my arms and I’m hoisted up to standing so quick I get a head rush. I steady myself against Hartley’s chest, shocked he’s rushed to my rescue.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he asks, attempting to wipe my face with his napkin. His worried forest-green eyes check over me, as if I’m made of glass.

  For a second, I forget how to talk completely.

  ‘Yeah, I’m...’ God. Mortified? Dying of embarrassment? Take your pick.

  ‘I think maybe we should reschedule this?’ he suggests. Is that a hint of amusement in the corners of his mouth? It better bloody not be. I’ll kill him.

  ‘Yes. I agree it would be best for us to res
chedule.’ I nod furiously, clinging onto the smallest hint of professionalism.

  Jesus, first I have a panic attack in front of him, then smell of shit in the back of his car, and now I’m throwing gravy dinners over myself. What a great impression he must have of me: a clumsy, mentally instable, poo smelling woman.

  They quickly leave, but not before Emily tells them how hard it is to get the smell of vomit out of a pub. Fantastic.

  ‘Nadine.’ I turn to see Florence looking a lot paler than a minute ago.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  I’ve barely finished the question before she vomits on my shoes. Just when you think it can’t get any worse...

  ‘I’m not okay,’ she utters, wiping her mouth. ‘I’m pregnant.’

  ‘I knew it!’

  I wait for the expected feelings of jealousy to overtake me. The same feelings I’ve felt whenever I’ve been invited to a baby shower, christening, or first birthday party. The crushing guilt that I couldn’t keep my baby. But it never comes. Instead a euphoria overtakes me, causing noticeable goosepimples on my arms.

  ‘Flo, I’m so happy for you.’ I fling her into my arms, not caring if she vomits down my back.

  She pulls away to look up at me, frowning. ‘Are you really?’

  ‘Yes! Of course, I am. Don’t let what happened with me ruin what’s happening with you. I’m so happy for you guys.’

  She finds a seat and sits down. ‘Thanks. But... ugh, I’m so ill. I’m not even sure if I’m going to make it to Lydia’s wedding.’

  I remember those days well. It’s insane to think I kind of miss it in a way. It was my body’s way of showing me I was still pregnant.

  ‘My sister’s wedding should be the last thing on your mind. Like she’d even notice. You know how bridezilla she’s become. I’ll drive you home and put you back to bed.’

  She smiles weakly back at me. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘So, I take it this is why Hugh went so mental at me for involving you in the bloody bride disaster the other day?’

  Her eyes widen. ‘He did not go mad at you. Did he?’ Her shoulders droop, as if she already knows the answer.