A Beginner's Guide To Saying I Do: A laugh-out-loud romantic comedy

by Jennifer Joyce

  A piercing noise jolted me awake and it took me a moment to figure out what was going on. I remembered sitting down with Trina’s wedding file after …

  ‘Cripes!’ Leaping to my feet, not caring when the file flipped through the air and landed in a heap on the carpet, I scuttled towards the kitchen and flung open the door. Thick smoke was snaking from the oven and starting to fill the room, which was causing the smoke detector to screech its warning.

  ‘Shit, shit, shit.’ I didn’t know what to tend to first – the cakes or the alarm. ‘Shit, shit, shit.’ Frantically waving my hands in front of me to try to dispel the smoke, I stepped into the kitchen and turned the oven off before opening the door, coughing and spluttering as I was met with a cloud of smoke. The cakes were black. No amount of wafting was going to change that (although I did give it a go with a tea towel). I opened the window as wide as I could before standing on a chair to reset the smoke detector. Why had I allowed myself to fall asleep?

  ‘Oh no.’ I returned to the cakes and gave them a prod. There was no way to save them. Silver Spoon couldn’t produce enough icing sugar to mask the lumps of charcoal before me. I would have to start again. For the third time.

  ‘Sod it.’ Who had I been kidding? I couldn’t bake! I’d have to scrap the cupcake idea and come up with something else. Something that wasn’t a fire or health hazard. Piling the dishes in the sink – I would do it later, honestly – I settled down on the sofa with a bar of chocolate (I needed the sugar after my shock) and my Beginner’s Guide box set. I’d watched two and a half episodes and the chocolate was long gone by the time Jared got home.

  ‘How did the cake testing go at Mum’s?’ Jared flopped down next to me on the sofa and pulled me close for a cuddle. I nestled into his body, relaxing into its familiar contours.

  ‘Great. We’ve settled on a three-tiered cake of Victoria sponge, lemon drizzle and orange sponge.’

  ‘Sounds good.’

  ‘How did the stag night plans go?’ While I’d been sampling cake, Jared had been at the pub with his brother-in-law, who was also his best man, discussing Jared’s final night as a single man.

  ‘Good, I think. I’ve told Gavin I just want a quiet night in the pub. A few drinks, a game or two of pool. Nothing tacky like strippers.’

  ‘Theo will be disappointed.’

  ‘I don’t care. I don’t want to turn up at my wedding with a raging hangover. I want to enjoy the best day of my life.’

  I shifted my position so that I could kiss Jared, partly hoping he was saying such sweet things just to get into my pants.

  ‘Ruth?’ Jared pulled away and smoothed a stray strand of hair away from my forehead. ‘What is that smell?’

  ‘Oh. That.’ I cringed. I’d been hoping the smoke would have dissipated enough to go unnoticed, but it looked like I would have to explain.

  ‘I feel like such a failure,’ I said once I’d told him about my baking disaster. I expected Jared to laugh when I told him about the burned-to-smithereens cakes but he simply gave me another squeeze.

  ‘Let’s order a takeaway and, while we wait, we’ll have a look on the internet for something else to make. All this favour-making business needs is a bit of teamwork.’

  This was why I was marrying the man.

  Thirty-One

  Erin

  Erin loved her flat. It was small, but light and airy, and everything in it was hers. She’d chosen everything from the wallpaper to the bathroom suite, the cushions on the sofa to the rug on the hardwood floor. It was her space, the place she could shut out the world and truly relax.

  But there was one place she loved more than her little flat, and that was her mother’s house. Erin had been almost ten when they’d moved to the small terraced house, and the memory of finally feeling safe as she stepped through the doors was still fresh in her memory. They were starting again – Erin and her mum – and the bruises from their former life were already healing. Erin still felt that same sense of relief and security as she stepped over the threshold now, over two decades later.

  ‘Richard not with you?’ Ann asked as she led her daughter into the sitting room. The room was warm and filled with memories: hot chocolates as Erin and Ann snuggled under a blanket to watch a video, games of Monopoly, Frustration and Mouse Trap, dancing and giggles and good advice and gossip. This home was full of love. It had been their fresh start after the divorce, just Ann and Erin and a lifetime of goodness ahead of them to erase the bad that had gone before.

  ‘He’s with LuLu and Ralph.’ Amanda had been quite clear that her children shouldn’t mix with Erin’s family as it ‘may confuse them’. Everybody knew that it was nothing more than another ploy to keep some control over her ex-husband, but Richard went along with her rule as it was easier that way.

  ‘You really shouldn’t let that woman push you around,’ Ann said. ‘They’re Richard’s children too, and you’re part of his life now. Stand up for yourself, Erin. Always.’

  Erin smiled at her mum. Ann was the strongest woman Erin knew, but that hadn’t always been the case. Once upon a time Ann had been meek and timid, crushed under her husband’s rule, but Ann had finally escaped and forged a new life for herself and her daughter, and she would never stop encouraging Erin to be herself, no matter what.

  ‘I know, but anything for a quiet life, eh?’

  ‘Quiet? You?’ Ann gave a hoot. When had her daughter ever kept her mouth shut about anything she believed in? Ann couldn’t have been prouder of the woman she had raised.

  ‘New partners are important.’

  ‘I know that, Mum. But you know what Amanda’s like. It’s nothing personal against me – she’d be like this with whoever Richard was with.’

  ‘I wasn’t actually talking about you and Richard.’ Ann fidgeted with the hem of her cardigan, inspecting it for bits of fluff. ‘I was talking about me.’

  ‘You?’

  ‘Yes, me.’ Ann plucked a piece of imaginary lint from her cardigan and searched for more. ‘And Alistair.’

  ‘Who?’

  Ann gave up the lint charade and finally looked at her daughter, although she didn’t quite make eye contact. ‘You know Jacqui?’

  Jacqui was Ann’s best friend. They’d worked together eons ago, when Erin was little and they’d lived in their old house. It had been Jacqui who’d finally convinced Ann to leave her abusive husband, Jacqui who’d provided them with a bed to sleep in until they’d sorted themselves out. She’d phoned the police when Erin’s dad had turned up at the house and tried to kick the front door in, had held Erin and Ann as they shook with fear as he was taken away. She’d been there for Ann and Erin over the years and neither of them dared to imagine where they’d be without her.

  Ann took Erin’s hand, unintentionally squeezing it a bit too hard. ‘Jacqui has a brother. I don’t know if you remember him?’

  Erin shook her head while Ann took a fortifying breath.

  ‘Anyway, I always thought Alistair was rather dishy.’

  Erin couldn’t help the giggle that escaped. Dishy? Her mum thought a man was dishy? Nobody used that term any more for a start and, besides, her mother had sworn off men after she’d divorced Erin’s father. She’d said that her relationship with him had been enough to last her a lifetime – and as far as Erin was aware, she hadn’t been on one date since.

  Ann decided to ignore the giggle, however hurtful the sound was. Ann was still a woman, no matter how out of practice she was at romance. ‘We met again at Jacqui’s grandson’s christening last year and got chatting. He asked to see me again and I said yes.’

  Erin’s eyes widened. ‘You went on a date? An actual date?’

  ‘More than one. We’ve been seeing each other for a few months.’ Ann cleared her throat. ‘Just over a year, actually.’

  ‘A year?’ Erin was about to rise with indignation and ask how her mother could keep such information to herself, but then she realised she hadn’t been completely honest about her relationship with Rich
ard in the beginning. It had been new and scary and Erin had to be sure she was comfortable about it all herself before she shared it with anybody else. ‘Wow, Mum. That’s great.’

  ‘Do you really think so?’

  ‘Yes, as long as you’re being careful.’

  Ann gave Erin’s hand a pat. ‘Oh, I am. Don’t worry about that. Alistair is nothing like your father. He’s about as threatening as a stick of celery.’

  ‘That isn’t what I meant. I mean be careful.’ Erin sighed when it was clear her mother wasn’t getting it. ‘I hope you’re using protection, Mum, because there’s all sorts going around and you don’t want to find yourself riddled with nasties.’

  Ann’s cheeks burned bright at the implication. ‘Well, yes. Thank you for the advice.’ Ann cleared her throat. She was mortified at the way the conversation had turned out. ‘Shall I put the kettle on?’

  ‘The kettle? A moment like this calls for champagne, surely.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know about that.’ Ann resurrected her lint-hunt. ‘It’s not like he’s proposed. Yet.’

  ‘You think he’s going to ask you to marry him?’ Blimey. Five minutes ago, Erin had been under the impression her mother was happily, permanently single. Now she was talking about the possibility of getting hitched to a man Erin couldn’t recall ever meeting.

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe.’ Ann smiled shyly at her daughter. ‘We’ve talked about … you know … the future.’

  ‘And you’d marry him?’

  ‘Yes, love. I would.’ Ann took Erin’s hand once more. ‘I let your father rule my life for far too long, even after I’d left him. I’ve wasted so much time. But not any more. Alistair makes me happy, and I think I deserve to be.’

  ‘You do, Mum. Of course you do.’ Erin pulled her mum into a hug, like the many they’d shared in that very sitting room over the years. ‘But before you marry him, do you think I could meet him?’

  Ann laughed. ‘He’d like that very much. And so would I.’

  Thirty-Two

  Trina

  ‘Am I overreacting?’ Trina looked down at the giant mug of hot chocolate topped with whipped cream, marshmallows and chocolate sprinkles, sitting proudly next to a huge slab of sticky ginger cake with lemon frosting. Overloading on sugar in one of her favourite independent coffee shops was usually her favourite way to indulge on a rainy afternoon, but her heart just wasn’t in it today. Her heart hadn’t been in anything but turmoil since she’d discovered that Rory had a travelling companion. But she trusted Aidan to tell her the truth about the situation, even if she couldn’t look him in the eye as he delivered it.

  ‘I don’t know, Trina. I really don’t. I mean, it is pretty shitty of him to be playing tour guide to this girl when he told you he’d be too busy to hang out with you over there, but that doesn’t mean he’s cheating on you.’

  Trina’s eyes snapped away from the hot chocolate. ‘You think he could be cheating on me?’ The thought had – fleetingly – crossed her mind, but Rory wouldn’t do that to her. He may have been a bit of a pig about the whole New York thing but he wouldn’t be unfaithful, would he? They’d only been married for five minutes!

  ‘No!’ Aidan reached across the table to take Trina’s hand in his. His sudden outburst earned him a few curious glances from the other patrons of the coffee shop, but Aidan didn’t notice. ‘I thought that was what you were thinking. I was trying to put your mind at rest. I clearly suck at it.’

  Trina managed a small smile, which was a major feat. She hadn’t felt like smiling since her latest phone call with Rory, where she’d ranted and raved like a mad woman while Rory sighed and tutted and told her to calm down. Which she hadn’t, of course. His words had only riled her further.

  ‘That’s better. I don’t like to see you looking so sad.’ Aidan gave Trina’s hand a squeeze before he released it. ‘You should always be smiling and I hate to say it but Rory is a prick for making you feel like this. Has he been in contact since?’

  Trina nodded as she swiped a finger into the hot chocolate’s cream and licked it off. ‘He’s phoned a couple of times, but I haven’t answered. Do you think I should have?’

  ‘That’s up to you.’

  Trina groaned. ‘Don’t do that. Tell me what to do. Please! Because I haven’t got a clue.’

  ‘I can’t make these decisions for you.’

  ‘But you know me so well. You know what’s best for me.’

  Aidan observed Trina for a moment, watching her intently as he gathered his thoughts. She started to feel quite warm under his gaze and squirmed in her seat. She still wasn’t really in the mood for her hot chocolate, but she picked it up and took a sip anyway to break the intense eye contact.

  ‘I think you should talk to Rory.’

  ‘I should?’ Trina’s shoulders drooped. She wasn’t quite sure what she’d been expecting Aidan to say, but his advice felt a little flat.

  ‘You can’t sort this mess out if you don’t talk to each other.’

  That made sense, and she had calmed down after the initial shock. She could talk to Rory and give him the chance to explain. Maybe Rory had been right and she was overreacting. So he’d met up with a friend while he was away. So what? It was hardly Rory’s fault that Ginny had turned up, and he was only being gentlemanly by taking her under his wing.

  ‘You’re right. I’ll phone him later.’ Trina gave Aidan’s foot a nudge under the table. ‘See, I told you you’d know what was best for me. What would I do without you?’

  Trina felt a tight knot of apprehension in her throat as she picked up the phone later that evening. Her finger hovered over the call button as the knot tightened further, seeming to squeeze the breath from her. Phoning her husband shouldn’t feel like this. This wasn’t how she’d imagined her life with Rory would be at all. She’d quickly fallen for his charm, agreeing to marry him after only a few months together, but did she really know him? And did he know her? It had only been a little over a year between the golf club’s dance and their wedding day, after all. They both seemed intent on moulding the other into their idea of the ideal spouse, but it shouldn’t be like that. Trina should be able to be herself. She shouldn’t have to tiptoe around her husband, quashing her own desires so that she wouldn’t disappoint him. And Rory wasn’t the only one to blame here; Trina had known how passionate Rory was about his work, yet she expected him to cut back now that they were married. It was about time they started to compromise. Trina would try to get her job back at Pooch Couture and if Rory could accept that – which she hoped he would once the whole New York fiasco had been sorted – then she would accept Rory’s workaholic tendencies. This marriage would work with a little bit of give and take – on both sides.

  Pressing the call button, Trina tried to relax into the sofa but her shoulders were still taut with tension. They tensed even more when Rory picked up.

  ‘I didn’t think you were ever going to speak to me again.’ Rory’s voice was guarded. ‘You know there’s nothing going on with Ginny, don’t you? She’s just my little sister’s best friend who happens to be here at the same time that I am.’

  ‘I know.’ Even still, Trina was glad to have that confirmed. ‘I was just upset that you were there with her, and not me.’

  ‘You were upset? What about me? I’ve been accused of getting up to all sorts.’

  ‘I didn’t actually accuse you of anything,’ Trina said but Rory wasn’t listening.

  ‘I am allowed female friends, you know. I don’t have a problem with you spending time with Aaron.’

  ‘It’s Aidan,’ Trina corrected but again, Rory wasn’t listening. He’d wanted to get all this sorted out immediately but Trina hadn’t had the decency to speak to him until now, so he had a lot of pent-up frustration to release.

  ‘You’re always with him, gossiping and giggling, and I don’t say a word. Mother says I should put my foot down and end your friendship now we’re married, in case people get the wrong idea. She was quite adamant until I poi
nted out he’s a poofter.’

  ‘Aidan isn’t gay!’ He certainly wasn’t a ‘poofter’. Trina’s lip curled at Rory’s choice of word. ‘Aidan’s straight.’ Very much so, judging by the kiss they’d once shared. It was still Trina’s most thrilling memory, although she would never admit it.

  ‘Come off it.’ Rory spluttered at the very idea. ‘He’s a hairdresser.’

  ‘He’s a hair stylist, actually. And he’s straight.’ An image of Aidan’s hands in her hair as they kissed popped into Trina’s mind. He was definitely straight.

  ‘Don’t be so naïve. The man’s a bender!’

  Had Rory always been so offensive? Had he kept it to himself or had she been blinded to it?

  ‘Why do you think I keep my distance when he’s around? You can’t be too careful with his sort. They’d have your underpants around your ankles before you could blink.’

  Where had her charming husband disappeared to? The sweet Rory who she’d often felt had stepped out of the pages of a fairy tale?

  ‘Believe me, you’re not his type at all,’ she told him.

  Rory snorted. ‘Likes the squeaky, mincing ones, does he?’

  ‘No, he likes women. In fact, Aidan and I were quite … close before we got together.’