Back at Stephen’s now. And even though we argued about Danielle all the way here, the fact that he took me to his place means there’s hope. So there’s going to be no more excuses. I was rude. End of. I’ll tell him that I’m sorry.
12.30 a.m.
Wow. Possibly the best making up ever. We’re all loved-up again now. And I should really be sleeping, like he is, but something’s bugging me. Stephen said I’d mocked Danielle in the players’ lounge AND the salon. How could he know about the salon? Apart from Kellie, the only people who were there were Courtney, Lara and … ISABEL!
1 a.m.
I hate my life! It’s like the worst episode of EastEnders. Only twice as miserable.
I know it’s wrong but I checked Stephen’s phone again. Had to take a deep breath first to prepare myself, then I clicked the text message icon on his BlackBerry. His messages weren’t deleted this time. And I’ve seen the evidence: I think we’re made for each other. Love Courtney xxx
What a bitch!
2.30 a.m.
I properly lost it. Literally launched his phone at him, barely missing his head – that woke him up all right.
“Of all the people – Courtney!” I screamed.
“She’s been texting me like a mad woman. And I’ve told her a hundred times I’m not interested.”
“Yeah, right,” I barked. I’d had enough of playing the fool.
“Before yer accuse me – did yer see what I wrote back?”
“Don’t need to. Been there, done that, with Robbie.”
“I’m not Robbie.”
“Do you think I don’t know you’ve been deleting text messages? And as for your little poker excuse – bullshit! You must think I’m an idiot. You’re exactly like Robbie. You’re actually worse because at least he didn’t pretend to be a good guy.”
Stephen grabbed the phone off the bed, marched up to me and growled, “Now read my replies,” as he pushed it into my hand. I’ve never seen anyone so angry.
I scrolled through his messages and read what he’d written back to her:
Ur a nice girl but I’m taken.
I’m not the one 4 u. But I’m sure he’s out there somewhere.
I’m with Remy. You know that don’t u?
Please stop phoning me. There’s nothing more 2 say.
“She got my number that time Angus called her a cab. Started texting me from then.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’m a big boy from Glasgow – I’ve dealt with much greater problems. Besides, yer can get a bit jealous and take things the wrong way – like when I look at a Post-it note.”
“On a barmaid’s bum.”
“See what I mean? And you’ve been checking my text messages.”
“Huh?”
“Yer said I’d deleted text messages. Well, people tend ter do that if their inboxes are full. And for the record, Remy, I was playing poker.”
Maybe that was the time to say sorry. But I was still weighing up whether or not he was telling the truth.
“Yer know what?” he went on, still fuming. “A relationship is built on trust. So if yer can’t trust me, maybe we should take a break.”
I quickly apologized, said it was a misunderstanding and tried to change his mind, but it didn’t work. So I took a cab home.
I am such an idiot!
Thursday 12 March – 8.20 a.m.
Showered. Dressed. And ready to rip into Courtney!
11 a.m.
On a much-needed coffee break. I bought a triple-choc muffin too, as will probably need some extra energy – looks like I’ll have to work through lunch now we don’t have Courtney.
She got it as soon as I walked through the door this morning.
“I know all about your texts to Stephen, you cow! Now give me the keys. Get your things. And don’t you ever step foot in this salon again.”
“Sure. My perleasure,” she said. And this wasn’t the normal, apple-pie girl we were used to seeing. This was Courtney on bitch pills!
Lara and Isabel watched open-mouthed as she stormed over to the kitchenette to get her bag. She stormed back, took the keys out of it, and as she handed them over said, “You don’t deserve to be a WAG. You don’t even like football. And there’s nothing Zoe Westwick can do to help that.”
“Have you been reading my diary?”
“And I might have had a toddler haircut – but God knows what he sees in a farting, paranoid fatty like you!”
When Courtney walked out, Lara said, “If something seems too good to be true – it probably is.”
“Yeah.” I sighed. Can’t believe she was playing me along like that. That’s a new breed of WAG wannabe – the mutant kind.
Lara and Isabel have been stars. They both know beauticians who they think can replace Courtney, and they said I should go home early and they’d tell my clients I was ill. Lara even offered to lock up! But I decided to stay. Courtney might have lost me a boyfriend but I wasn’t about to let her make me lose business as well.
7.45 p.m.
Home, shattered. So confused about what to do next with Stephen. But really sure about one thing: the dresses, shoes, bags and anything else that Robbie bought are getting packed away. RIGHT NOW. Dumping them in the morning.
8.15 p.m.
Not going to lie. It hurt to shove my leopard print Vivienne Westwood into a plastic bag but told myself I’ll be able to buy even better on my own credit card one day.
Now lying on my bed wondering, if we’re on a break, does that mean I have to wait for Stephen to call me, and I can’t phone him? Because not speaking all day has been hard enough for me.
Will check what Malibu thinks.
9 p.m.
That’s it. The Bennets are cursed.
Called Mal, ready to sound off about Courtney, but she answered the phone crying.
“Ahh. Don’t, Mal. It’s just pre-wedding nerves,” I told her.
“No, it’s not,” she answered. “The wedding’s off.”
It took ages to get it out of her, she was sobbing so much, but Mal has told Gary everything.
“I couldn’t keep lying any more,” she said. “I love him too much for that.”
“What did he say?”
“He’s so hurt, Rem. He’s left the house and he wants me gone by the time he comes back.”
“Wait there,” I told her. “I’m coming round.”
So I’m about to phone Dad so he can drive me there now.
11.30 p.m.
Malibu’s in her old room, sleeping like a baby.
Dad was a legend tonight. End of. He was having dinner with Elizabeth and told her he’d have to go as soon as I said Mal was in trouble.
“And why exactly has the wedding been called off?” he asked a couple of times in the car on the way there.
“Um … not sure,” I replied, because it’s up to Malibu if she wants Dad to know.
We got there and helped pack as many of Mal’s things as we could – enough to fill two huge suitcases – then drove home in silence. I opened the front door and watched her waddle in as Dad hauled each suitcase up to the front door.
Mum was in the kitchen waiting for her. “Oh Mal,” she sighed.
I hoped at least one good thing would come out of it. “Come in for a cup of tea, Dad,” I said.
“No, love. I’d better get off,” he replied.
Friday 13 March – 11.30 a.m.
Used my coffee break to go to Oxfam and gave them the stuff from Robbie. Best feeling ever!
Now just going to concentrate on two things:
1. Work.
2. Getting Malibu back on her feet.
As think I’ve blown it with Stephen.
Saturday 14 March – 8 a.m.
If anything, Malibu’s got worse. I don’t even want to go to work in case she needs me, but Mum says I have to and that she’ll make sure Mal’s all right.
Sunday 15 March – 3 a.m.
Spent the night by Malibu’s side. She’s been crying non-st
op and wailing that her baby won’t have a father – never seen anything like it. She’s finally fallen asleep. Gutted for her.
10 a.m.
After a decent night’s sleep, Malibu has developed titanium strength. This morning she walked into the kitchen and said she was tired of staying in her room and wanted to have breakfast with us.
“You know what,” Mal said as Mum started scrambling eggs, “the only thing that matters is the baby is healthy. Everything else can work itself out. Or … probably not, in my case.” Even though Mal followed her words with a laugh, I could tell that Mum, like me, didn’t know if we were supposed to laugh too.
“It’s OK, you know,” Mal told us. “It’s all about making the most of it. Cos I’m so over tears.”
Now she’s asked me to watch Titanic with her, “like the old days”.
4 p.m.
Mal’s incredible. Gary’s had nothing to do with her since she left his house and instead of moaning about it, within ten minutes of Titanic starting she asked whether I’d like to be her birthing partner.
“Wow. I’d love to,” I said.
And then she went into her birth plan.
“Ideally, I don’t want any drugs. So I’m going to use a TENS machine.”
“A what?”
Apparently a TENS machine will deliver electrical pulses to some pads that have to be placed on her back – for some reason that eases pain.
“Will it work for a broken heart?” I sighed.
“Let’s make that two,” she answered.
“We’re a right pair. All that talk about the husbands we were going to have and the houses we’d love to live in, and we’re both here – single, living with Mum.”
“You’ve still got a chance. So bloody get off your ass and phone Stephen.”
“But he said he wants a break.”
“You’re not going to take any notice of that, are you? Have you listened to anything I’ve taught you over the years? Call him. Don’t give up. Ever.”
So… Here goes…
4.30 p.m.
“Hi. It’s Remy. How are you?”
Stephen was monosyllabic at first. “Fine.”
“And Angus?”
“Good.”
“Saw you scored another goal yesterday. Congrats.”
“Ta.”
“I miss you,” I blurted out. “Can we please meet to morrow? Just for a chat.”
“Aw, Boss Lady,” he said. “What took yer so long?”
We arranged to meet after work. It doesn’t mean we’re back together. And there’s still a lot of humble pie for me to eat, but in the meantime – woo-hoo!
6 p.m.
Intend to be the best birthing partner on the planet, so been online searching for books. Decided to order one called Lamaze Breathing Techniques. (It has four stars.)
Bring it on!
Monday 16 March – 8.25 a.m.
Showered.
Make-up: Glam.
Hair: Glam.
Dressed: Double-glam.
Mind: Set on winning back my man!
10 a.m.
Yippee! The Tah-dah! loyalty cards have arrived. They look the business.
Also seeing two possible replacements for Courtney today.
11.20 a.m.
“Have you spoken to him yet?” This is how Kellie has started every phone call with me since I broke up with Stephen. This time I was happy to report, “Yep. Meeting him later.”
“Yay! What a result.”
Our conversations have been a lot shorter lately. I think we’ve both been trying to avoid bringing up the humongous white elephant in the room, but for some reason today I couldn’t hold it in any more.
“So, how’s it going with David Joseph?”
I didn’t mean it to sound as bitchy as it ended up coming out.
“Look,” said Kel, “I know this is going to come across as two-faced, after all I said about WAGs, but not only is he hotter than Jack – he’s tons more exciting than him as well.”
“But what are you gonna do about Jack?”
“Um… As of twenty minutes ago, we’re on a break.”
“Kel,” I sighed. “Who d’you think you are – Stephen?”
3.30 p.m.
Met the first possible Courtney replacement at two – Lara told her to come in. Liked her a lot. Her name’s Emily Winterflood and her specialities are nail art and vajazzles!
The next one, Charlie Sykes, came at three. Isabel used to work at a salon called Allure with her. She said I’d be impressed – and I am. Charlie’s confident without being arrogant and says she’s having difficulties with one of the girls at the salon so would love to start as soon as. Hmm… #Decisions
7.05 p.m.
Locking up and then going to meet Stephen. So–oo nervous.
Aaa–aaaaaargh!
11 p.m.
We met somewhere neutral. A small restaurant in Marylebone called Villandry. And I’m sure the food tastes as good as it looks but I didn’t get to eat it.
Stephen had got there before me, so the waitress showed me to the table, and seeing him again – his tousled brown hair and luscious lips – made my heart beat off the chart.
“You look beautiful,” he said.
Thought certain things would stop once I became an adult but, no, I was still blushing like a first year in infant school.
“No Angus?” I asked.
“Naw. He offered, but I told him to stay home.”
“Jeez, I hope he can cope.”
“Aye, so do I.”
It would have been nice to natter like that, but it would have been avoiding what needed to be said. And I was fed up with dodging facts. So I jumped straight in after the waitress took our order and left.
“OK. I’ll start,” I said. “This break has given me a chance to think things through, and you’re right, a relationship is built on trust. And I think I would have trusted you normally. To be honest, I don’t think it had anything to do with you. It was to do with Robbie and what he’d done.”
“But I’m nothing like him. Yer should have taken a second to remember that.”
“I know. But I didn’t take enough time to get over him. Well, not him – what he’d done. I was still hurting, and I let it seep over into our relationship. I’m sorry. And I won’t let it happen again.”
“Yer turned into someone I didn’t recognize. And if we do stay together, Remy, I want back the girl I fell in love with in Turkey.”
Love?
“Hang on a minute, did you just say … love?” I had to check.
“Aye. What’s wrong with that?” he asked when I started to giggle.
“Nothing. It’s just I love you too, ya big … haggis.”
“Aww, is that right?” he said, leaning towards me.
“Yes. Very, very, very right.” I moved my head forward to meet his. We started kissing just as the waitress arrived with our starters.
“If yer don’t mind, I think we’d like to get the bill,” Stephen told her, giving me a knowing smile.
We went back to his and everything was perfect, but I knew there was one more thing left to discuss. Because him loving me is great and all that, but I had to check that he’d fallen for the real Remy, and that meant I had a few confessions to make.
Star Wars disappointed him. Boxing, he said he sort of knew because I kept calling one of the boxers Floyd MOweather, instead of MAYweather. But the Kings of Leon… That hurt.
“You mean, you don’t like them very much?”
“No. I mean … they suck.”
“Naw way. You’re winding me up.”
“I’m serious, I can think of at least thirty better people off the top of my head.”
“Go on then.”
“David Guetta—”
“Woah. Remind me what instrument he plays.”
“The decks of course. Black Eyed Peas—”
“Pah!”
“Rihanna—”
“Cannae sing.”
&nb
sp; “Tinie Tempah—”
“Aw naw. This is gonna be a deal-breaker, I can tell,” he said with a big grin on his face.
I challenged him to a sound clash, so we got out our iPods. It took nineteen songs before we got to one that we both liked: Calvin Harris’ “I’m Not Alone”.
“Choooon!” I cried when it came on.
“Aye, he’s a good Scottish lad.”
And as we were clearing the slate, there was just one more thing I needed to know: “Baby, what do you think about Isabel?”
“Isabel – who’s that?”
“The girl who works in my salon. The Spanish one. And it’s fine for you to say she’s pretty, I won’t mind.”
“Aw, her. She’s very pretty, aye. But she’s not you.”
How can I not love him?
Tuesday 17 March – 7.30 a.m.
Showered? Check! Dressed? Check! Keys to salon? Check! A sleeping man who loves me? Double-check!!
Saturday 21 March – 10 p.m.
Malibu’s waters have broken! Twelve days early! Thank God I’ve spent every spare minute reading up on labour. Her contractions haven’t started yet and the general advice is to wait until they do before going to the hospital. But that’s for normal babies. If this little Bennet is anything like its mother, it probably tore up the rule book at conception! Now, must put what I’ve learnt into practice and be a v. together birthing partner.
TENS machine? Check!
Lamaze Breathing Techniques? Check!
Phone Dad? Check!
And Mum’s just shouted that the cab’s arrived (she’s coming with us). So, let’s go.
Say You Love Me, Stevie C Page 13
