Evie’s Little Black Book

by Hannah Pearl

  About the Book

  Evie's Little Black Book

  Hannah Pearl

  Synopsis:

  Is hunting down every man you’ve kissed the answer to finding Mr Right?

  When Evie is invited to the wedding of the guy she’d fancied throughout her teens, it’s the final straw. What’s wrong with her and why can’t she keep a man?

  In between consoling herself with ice cream and chocolate, and sobbing her heart out to her cousin Chamaine, Evie has a brainwave – and it all centres around her ‘little black book’ (well, more floral patterned notebook really) – which contains the details of every man she’s ever kissed or dated. Perhaps the cure for her disastrous love life has been nestled within its pages all along …

  Does Evie’s little black book really hold the answers, or will learn she learn that exes are exes for a reason?

  Stories that inspire emotions!

  www.rubyfiction.com

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Thank You

  About the Author

  Introducing Ruby Fiction

  More from Ruby Fiction

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Copyright information

  Chapter One

  The small ivory card had landed on my doorstep that Saturday morning. It looked so innocent, nestled amongst a handful of late birthday cards, but in fact it had been a bomb more potent even than the massive credit card bill and the summons for my annual dentist visit.

  I crumpled up yet another tissue and threw it at the bin. It hit the tower of soggy hankies that were already in there and tumbled to the floor. I let out a plaintive wail and collapsed on the sofa. I cried until my eyes were red and puffy and my breath was coming in deep, hitching gasps.

  Dragging myself to the cupboard, I opened a new slab of chocolate. Ten minutes later I was holding an empty wrapper and my stomach was feeling as delicate as my emotions. This called for desperate measures. I picked up my mobile and rang the first number on its speed dial.

  ‘Hi, cuz,’ Charmaine said. ‘I was wondering when I’d hear from you.’

  ‘Did you get one too?’ I asked.

  ‘This morning. I’ve called another chef in to cover my shift and I’m at the shop buying ice cream now. I’ll be with you in ten minutes.’ She hung up before I could tell her I was already feeling sick. Switching on my blues playlist on my iPod, I prepared to immerse myself entirely in my misery.

  Charmaine let herself in with her key, walked up the stairs to my flat and looked at me with a mixture of concern and humour. Her hair was styled in braids, held loosely at the back with a black scrunchy band. Her lips were coloured red to coordinate with her tight top, which displayed an amount of cleavage I could never match. She leant over, unzipped her knee high boots, kicked them off and came and sat next to me on the sofa.

  My flat was small, basically just the living room which was big enough for my two person sofa, an armchair – which had been there when I had moved in and which clashed with everything else, including modern fashion – a coffee table and TV. The three doors lined up along the back wall led to a tiny bathroom, functional kitchen, and a bedroom, which I called ‘cosy’ because calling it ‘miniscule’ might have been accurate, but felt depressing. It had all I’d been able to afford to rent after my hasty departure from my ex-fiancé’s house, and life. It wasn’t a lot to show for my twenty-six years on the planet, but it was my name on the lease, just mine, and I loved it.

  Sitting down squashed together on my sofa, it was hard to tell that Charmaine towered over me by a good six inches. She put her arm around me, and I began crying again. She handed over the pot of my favourite cookies and cream ice cream and a spoon. My stomach churned at the thought of more sugar, but I dug in anyway.

  ‘Are you going to go?’ she asked.

  ‘My parents will, they’re coming back from their Spain trip especially, and Matt is George’s best man, of course, being his best friend. It’ll look really odd if I don’t go. Plus, it’s only a few miles up the road. They’ve rented that big hotel out in Stratford, you know, the one by the Olympic Stadium. I can’t think of any plausible reason that will get me out of it. Are you going?’

  ‘I wouldn’t leave you there on your own,’ she said, giving me a light squeeze. Charmaine was only born six months before me but it seemed that yet again my big cousin would be there to help me pick up the pieces of my life.

  ‘You’re the best.’

  ‘I know,’ she replied. ‘Also, I want to be there to watch in case you try to stop the wedding when they ask if anyone has any objections.’

  I shuddered at the thought. ‘I still can’t believe he’s really getting married. This is the man who strung me along for years without ever even asking me out properly.’

  ‘I still can’t believe you were fooling around with your brother’s best mate.’

  ‘Ugh,’ I groaned. ‘That makes it sound so sordid. Besides, Matt went mad when he found out, as I’m sure you remember. It might have been okay for him and George to have a reputation, but heaven forbid his sister was one of the girls who got involved. I’m dreading his best man’s speech.’

  I handed Charmaine the half-eaten pot of ice cream and she dug in too.

  ‘So what are you going to do?’ she asked.

  ‘Show up looking fabulous so that he can see what he missed, and cry in the toilets when it’s over,’ I told her.

  ‘You might need to think about how you’re going to accessorise your outfit to match your red eyes.’ She handed me the small make-up mirror from her handbag. I looked and saw how swollen and blotchy my face was. This set me off weeping again. ‘I was just kidding,’ she said, handing me back the spoon. ‘Let’s turn this depressing music off for a start.’ She reached over for my iPod and changed the playlist.

  A moment later, Beyonce was singing to us about independent women, and I’d been sent off to splash my face with cold water and get dressed. ‘Come on, Evie,’ my cousin yelled. ‘You need to get out and take your mind off him.’

  ‘Shoe shopping?’ I asked.

  She nodded. ‘Best therapy known to women. You’ve had your pity party, Evie O’Reilly, and now we’re moving on’

  We took a bus into town and started at my favourite shoe shop in the world. It was tiny, with only two seats in the entire shop. Boxes were crammed floor to ceiling, and the scent of leather was strong and comforting.

  ‘We haven’t come to buy school shoes,’ Charmaine said, wrinkling her nose at the sensible black sandals I was admiring. She closed the box, put it back on the stack and led me out
. We walked a few doors further down the high street and went into a clothes shop that I never dared enter on my own. The music was loud and the shop assistants looked like models. I felt intimidated and held on to my cousin’s arm.

  She laughed, and led me towards the back where the shoes were. Picking up a pair of gladiator style sandals, she slipped her boots off and tried them on. Shaking her head, she slipped them off and tried on some silver sandals with strappy heels.

  ‘If you buy those I’ll need a stepladder to stand next to you,’ I pointed out.

  She laughed and handed me a pair of stilettos to try on.

  ‘I might find something a little more subtle, and a little less neon pink,’ I said, handing them back un-tested. ‘They clash with my hair – and the red eyes I have from crying!’

  ‘Then it’s a good job I’m here to distract you,’ she said, trying on a pair of green sparkly shoes which she, of course, looked gorgeous in.

  We moved on to the shoe section of the giant department store that was at the front of the mall. Charmaine picked up some gold sequin ballet shoes, and I found a pair of strappy black shoes with a kitten heel. Happy with our purchases, we celebrated with some lunch in the brasserie on the top floor.

  ‘So why are you so upset?’ Charmaine asked as she tucked into her fries. They were golden and crispy, and I was already regretting not ordering some myself but my stomach still felt delicate after its breakfast of sugar and sorrowful reminiscences.

  ‘It’s not that I was expecting to marry him myself,’ I said, helping myself to a chip from her plate. ‘I guess I just didn’t expect him to ever get married. And certainly not before I did. He never showed any inclination to settle down whilst I was seeing him.’

  ‘Seeing him? Is that what you’re calling it?’ she said, with a loud snort.

  ‘It sounds a bit less trampy than sleeping with repeatedly without ever actually going on a date,’ I said, picking at my sandwich.

  ‘Which I never really understood,’ Charmaine continued. ‘That wasn’t your usual style.’

  ‘I don’t think I was successful enough with men to have a usual style.’

  We finished our lunch. Well, Charmaine finished hers and I picked at a bit more of mine, and she stood up. ‘What you need next,’ she declared, ‘is new underwear. I always feel better when I’m wearing really sexy knickers.’

  She pulled the top of her pants up over her trousers to show me. I could see what looked like a piece of leopard print string, and I presumed her taste in underwear was a little skimpier than mine. An elderly gentleman on the next table choked on his tea. His wife slapped him on the back a little harder than she probably needed to and shot dirty looks at us. He was still looking red in the face and guilty by the time we had paid the bill.

  Back out in the mall, I started heading to the shop where I usually bought my sensible cotton knickers, but again my cousin had other ideas. She dragged me into a brightly lit store filled with mannequins wearing what looked to me to be either see through netting or dental floss.

  I searched and eventually found some women’s boxer shorts, but Charmaine took them out of my basket and handed me something red and lacy. ‘These will make you feel more confident,’ she assured me. ‘You don’t need to dress like a schoolteacher all the time. It’s been years since I saw you in anything sexy.’

  I tried to get into the spirit of the trip and selected a few more pairs, though I wasn’t convinced that I’d ever wear them. Handing over my credit card, I did feel a tiny thrill watching the sales assistant wrapping them in tissue paper and sealing them into a box. I had to admit it felt more luxurious than buying my usual multipack in a plastic bag.

  Over a glass of wine back at my flat, I found myself getting maudlin again.

  ‘Are you upset that you didn’t get married first? Because if you ask me you had a lucky escape,’ Charmaine asked. She had never liked Ryan. At first I’d put it down to their strong personalities competing with each other. Now I knew better. It wasn’t simply a case of mutual distrust. He’d had a problem with anyone he couldn’t boss around, and especially if they were female.

  ‘You’re right,’ I said, topping up our glasses. ‘Marrying Ryan would have been a huge mistake. I think he felt pressured into getting engaged because we’d been dating for a year and his mum kept asking about grandkids. He certainly let his grumpy side show more honestly once I had the ring on my finger.’ That was putting it mildly, but I hadn’t told Charmaine the worst of it. I was too embarrassed.

  ‘Do you still miss him?’ she asked.

  I shook my head. ‘Which tells me everything I need to know. Still, it would have been nice to have a plus one for George’s wedding.’ I started crying again. I took another huge swig of wine. Any more tears and I was at real risk of getting dehydrated. I’d never told Charmaine how unpleasant the last few months with Ryan had actually been. She was so strong and self-reliant, I hated to admit how downtrodden and crushed I’d become. She wouldn’t understand how much I had come to see as ‘normal’, and what I’d put up with for the sake of a quieter time with him. Now that I was safely away from him I could scarcely believe some of it myself.

  Charmaine stood up and guided me into my bedroom.

  ‘Go and try some of your new underwear on and see if it cheers you up,’ she suggested.

  I sorted through the box, holding up a pair of tiny blue knickers covered in sparkly crystals. I had no idea what had come over me when I’d bought those. Luckily, at the bottom of the bag was a pair made of black lace. They were larger than the others, and I wouldn’t be so worried about my unkempt bikini line in them. Slipping them on, I put the others away at the back of my drawer. It was then that the notebook caught my eye.

  My little black book was actually a rather pretty floral notebook that I’d been given for my thirteenth birthday. And it wasn’t filled with my conquests. Few as they were, that would have left an awful lot of blank pages. Instead it was filled with pages detailing every crush and every kiss I’d had since the first one I’d shared with Andy Brown in my friend’s back garden when I was fifteen. At least half of the handwritten notes detailed the rise and fall of my crush on George Cooper, my brother’s best friend, and the reason why I had spent the day in emotional turmoil.

  I put my jeans back on, and walked back into the living room brandishing the notebook to show my cousin. ‘In here,’ I declared, ‘are all my triumphs and mistakes.’ Charmaine reached for the book but I pulled it away. I sat down and started flicking through the pages. ‘Maybe if I look through this I can find out where I’ve been going wrong,’ I told her.

  ‘Is that your diary?’ she asked.

  ‘Almost,’ I replied. ‘This is a record of every guy I have ever fancied, kissed or more. If I read this, maybe I can work out why I’m still single and my commitment phobic ex is tying the knot.’ I wondered if it would also help me remember a time when I’d felt attractive, let alone interested in men.

  I drank more of my wine. ‘Let’s see,’ I mused, turning back to the first page. ‘Andy Brown, how did I mess that one up?’

  Chapter Two

  I woke up the next morning, sprawled on my sofa, empty pizza boxes on the floor, wine bottles on the table, and Charmaine asleep next to me. Her long legs dangled over the side. At some point she had changed into her new shoes, and the sequins glinted in the sunshine. I pulled my long ginger hair up into a bun and secured it out of the way.

  Yawning, I stretched and got up to make coffee. If my cousin felt as rough as I did this morning we would need plenty of caffeine to get us moving again. I cleared the debris from the previous night and set out the cups and a plate of buttered toast.

  ‘You’re a star,’ Charmaine mumbled, waking up and drinking from the mug I’d set next to her. ‘And I think I’ve pinpointed the cause of your troubles.’ She picked my floral notebook up from under her bottom and opened it. I reached for it before she could see just how pathetic I had been over the years, but she stood
up and held it above her head so that I couldn’t reach.

  I glared at her, but sat down and listened to what she had to say.

  ‘It’s quite clear,’ she continued, and I waited with baited breath for her answer to my problem, ‘that you are single because your taste in men up until this point has been awful.’

  I stuck my tongue out at her.

  ‘Also, you might need to grow up a bit,’ she said. ‘Seriously, Evie. It isn’t you. You’re pretty.’

  ‘I have wild hair and I’m short,’ I pointed out.

  ‘You have incredible, vibrant hair. And you’re not short, you’re petite,’ she responded.

  ‘I didn’t mean for you to read that,’ I said, pointing at the notebook.

  ‘Sorry, cuz,’ she said. ‘You did give it to me last night. Around the time you brought out the tequila. Look, right here from page one where it starts with Andy, he was never good enough for you. What do you remember about the night you snogged him?’

  I picked up a piece of toast and chewed as I thought back. ‘I was excited that I’d been asked to go to a party. You helped me pick my outfit, do you remember?’

  She nodded. ‘We both went in jeans and denim jackets. Double denim. Double tragic.’ She shuddered at the memory of some of our fashion disasters.

  ‘Andy hardly spoke to me all night, you were busy with that guy you fancied.’

  ‘Chris Ashling,’ she supplied, sitting back and closing her eyes and smiling. No doubt remembering that she’d disappeared upstairs with him for half an hour and come back down with her top on inside out.

  ‘I ended up stood in the kitchen drinking cider and listening to Penny complaining for hours about how her boyfriend wouldn’t take her out for a McDonald’s the night before. Eventually I went into the garden to get away from her, and when Andy came out for a smoke we got chatting.’

  ‘And you had your first kiss it says here.’ She pointed at a page. ‘Doesn’t sound like it was a very good one though.’ She read:

  ‘I had my first kiss last night! It was a bit weird, more sloppy than I was expecting. Is that normal?? It was with Andy Brown from school. I wonder if he really likes me. How do you tell? I’m going to see him in maths class later. I hope it isn’t awkward. I wonder if I’ll get to kiss him again. I’m glad we didn’t bash heads or knock teeth at least!!’