Over the years Emma had reluctantly declined invitations to visit Australia and stay with her father and brother. Karen had discouraged Emma in getting to know her Oz family. Karen didn’t like being reminded she’d messed up in her teens and had struggled with motherhood because she’d still been a child herself. She tried not to think about the little boy she’d given up to a teenaged ex-husband’s family. Karen’s parents had featured heavily in raising Emma. Consequently, she tended to treat Emma like a kid sister rather than a daughter.
‘Do you know what Mum did?’ said Emma, sounding outraged.
‘Tell me.’
‘I bought a fantastic pair of shoes for work. This morning I went to put them on, and there was no sign of them.’
‘Ah.’
Willow had a feeling what was coming next.
‘Mum had already left for work at the pub, and I was running late. So I rammed my feet into a pair of old flatties and belted off to the station. Once on the train, I texted her asking if she’d seen my new shoes. She replied almost immediately. “Oh darling, I couldn’t resist borrowing them. Aren’t they gorgeous! Do you mind if I wear them this weekend? I might have a date.” I was livid. No doubt the shoes will be returned covered in beer slop.’
‘That is naughty of her,’ Willow agreed. ‘But, on the upside, it must be fun having a mum who’s young enough to share your stuff.’
Willow couldn’t imagine sharing anything with her own mother. Anita, at sixty-two, had lost her waistline completely, and whilst she might have once had lovely legs, these days they were criss-crossed with purple veins. Willow had never seen her mother in high heels. In summer, Anita wore open-toed Birkenstocks and, in winter, sensible pumps. She was the opposite of Karen in every way, from her short unvarnished nails and pepper-grey hair, to her make-up-free face. Despite not bothering with herself, Willow could see her mother had once been a beauty, whereas Emma’s mum bought her glamour. Karen’s wavy brown hair was highlighted with expensive golden streaks. Her polished nails were immaculate thanks to the nail bar in Mosley, and she never ventured out of the house without make-up. Willow hoped she would look as good as Emma’s mum when she one day turned forty-six. She wouldn’t mind her figure either. Karen had a silhouette that most twenty-year-olds would envy.
‘Make sure you reclaim your shoes this evening, then hide them,’ Willow suggested.
‘Flipping right,’ Emma tutted. ‘And stuff Mum’s date this weekend because I have one myself.’
‘Really? You kept that quiet. What’s he like?’
‘I’m not telling you.’
‘What?’ Willow was taken aback. ‘Why ever not?’
‘Because you won’t approve.’
‘Oh no. Not another guy who is twenty years older than you. I know you like these father-figure types, Ems, but don’t saddle yourself with another Jon.’
‘No, no, no. He’s nothing like that. Actually, he’s–’
‘Don’t tell me. He’s loads younger. Is that it? You’ve gone the other way and now you’re cradle snatching.’
‘No!’
‘What is it then?’
‘Just, well, um…’
Willow sighed as the penny dropped.
‘He’s been round the block six million times. Am I right or am I right?’
‘No, nothing like that. He’s okay.’
‘So what’s the issue? Come on. Spit it out.’
‘Look, leave it. Nothing will likely come of it. It’s just a bit of fun.’
‘He’s not married, is he?’
When Emma didn’t reply, Willow tutted.
‘I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into.’
‘He’s not married,’ said Emma miserably. ‘He’s just not, you know, entirely free.’
‘So he’s living with someone.’
Another silence.
‘Okay, let’s change the subject.’
Willow didn’t wish to upset her friend with a lecture.
‘Good idea,’ said Emma.
She was keen to get off the topic of her never-straightforward love life.
‘Anyway, the reason I phoned was to see if you had a lovely birthday.’
Willow wanted to tell Emma about how she’d wrecked her own celebration because of the M word, but decided against it. If Emma wasn’t keen to confide about her new boyfriend, then Willow didn’t feel obliged in talking about her botched proposal. And anyway, Emma often made little digs about Charlie being a commitment-phobe, so even if Willow did mention it, Emma would probably roll her eyes and say, “Well, what did you expect?”.
‘I had a nice birthday,’ said Willow carefully.
After all, it had been perfectly pleasant until she’d put her knife and fork together and mentioned the unmentionable.
‘What did Charlie buy you?’
‘A handbag.’
‘Oooh, lovely. Was it that designer one you were recently salivating over?’
‘No. I changed my mind about that one after spotting a leather bag in M&S.’
‘Really?’ said Emma in surprise.
Willow had been nuts about the designer bag and dropped heavy hints to Charlie.
‘This one is far more practical. It has lots of zips and pockets.’
‘Oh, well, good. If you love it, that’s all that matters.’
‘Yes, I do,’ said Willow, feeling depressed.
Her mother would have been thrilled with the bag. Like Anita, it was very sensible.
‘Did Charlie buy you anything else?’
‘Mm. A really pretty pair of earrings.’
‘Oooh, lovely. Us girls like our baubles, eh! What did he surprise you with? Sapphires to match your eyes?’
‘Er, no. They’re cubic zirconia. But I love them,’ said Willow loyally.
She omitted mentioning that the earrings hadn’t come from a jeweller, but also been bought at Marks.
Willow had tried not to dwell upon Charlie’s choice of birthday presents. She suspected he’d left present buying until the last minute, then panicked and asked his mother to dash out on his behalf. Both gifts were exactly the sort of thing Grace would buy for herself.
‘Charlie also took me to a fabulous restaurant.’
There was a gasp at the other end of the line.
‘Omigod! Was it that fancy restaurant in Covent Garden? The one you couldn’t stop talking about? You lucky thing! What was it like?’
‘Er, no. We went to the local pub.’
‘Oh.’
‘The, er, restaurant in Covent Garden was booked solid. For the next six months.’
‘Ah.’
Willow stared through the windscreen at the traffic, aware that her mouth had turned down at the corners. Heavens, she mustn’t feel like this. She was soooo lucky having a boyfriend who’d made a fuss of her. The bag, whilst not designer, certainly wasn’t a cheapie, even though the earrings had probably cost no more than a fiver. And the pub grub had been delicious. She mustn’t feel short-changed.
Well, I think you SHOULD feel short-changed, said the little voice.
Willow rolled her eyes.
Oh, here we go.
Yes, here I go. You spent a fortune on HIS birthday. You put a lot of thought into it. Charlie was whisked off by high speed rail to the London Eye. You both had your own pod complete with champagne. Then on to The Shard for dinner. And let’s not forget that exquisite shirt you bought him. The price tag was two hundred pounds. You scrimped and scraped to pay for it all, and your salary is a FIFTH of his.
‘Anyway,’ – Willow was keen to get off the subject of her birthday – ‘you’re only a week younger than me. So how will you be celebrating this Saturday?’
‘Well, I’m keeping my fingers and toes tightly crossed I’ll be taken out, but, just in case he can’t get away–’
‘Oh, Ems, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to be insensitive asking that question.’
‘It’s all right.’
Willow could imagine Emma shrugging
at the other end of the line.
‘I’m sure he’ll leave his girlfriend eventually, with or without me in the equation. And anyway, it’s not like it’s serious between us. It’s still quite new.’
‘So, just in case your date night doesn’t happen, shall we celebrate together?’
‘Of course,’ Emma chirped. ‘I was hoping to spend Saturday with you anyway.’
‘Great! What have you got in mind? Some shopping?’
‘Noooo,’ Emma laughed. ‘I’m thinking of something far more fun than that.’
‘What?’
‘Visiting a tattoo parlour. I fancy getting inked.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah! What do you say we both have one?’
Willow blanched. Somehow, she didn’t see herself with tattoos.
‘I’m not sure it’s me.’
‘Of course it’s you! I can see you now sporting an explosion of stars across one shoulder.’
‘I-I’ll give it some thought,’ Willow stammered.
‘Or – I know – what about us having something small on the top of one leg? Then, if we don’t like it, it’s out of sight.’
‘I suppose.’
‘Brilliant! Be sure to put it in your diary.’
‘Fab,’ said Willow weakly.
What had she committed to?
Five
Letting herself into their neat semi, Willow dumped her handbag in the hall, whizzed up the stairs and had a super-fast shower.
Towelling herself off, she sprayed perfume over her wrists before slipping into soft fleecy loungewear – perfect for chilling and, later, snuggling up to Charlie.
Dashing back downstairs, she went into the kitchen and began prepping dinner. Charlie loved spag bol. As she set about chopping onions and sprinkling herbs over sizzling meat, she hummed away to herself. Charlie might not want to marry her – yet – but he now knew he’d behaved like a moron and apologised too. Progress!
Leaving the mince to brown, Willow set about making a tomato and basil sauce, all the while contemplating her future with Charlie. She was quietly confident that the entire weekend fiasco was turning itself around. Firstly, she’d planted the seed of the M word. All she had to do now was water it. Making Charlie his favourite dinner after a hard day at work was the start of that little seed sprouting a root. Having make-up sex would provide a second root. Before long the seed would put out a shoot, hurtling upwards, seeking the light that would surely now dawn on Charlie. It just needed time.
If Willow had been a gambling person, she’d have bet a tenner that in another twelve months Charlie would have proposed. After all, he was five years older than her, and many of his mates had married. He’d been to more stag stitch-ups in the last two years than an events company. He surely had no bachelor friends left. Many were now busy helping wives prepare the spare room as a nursery. The days of Friday nights in trendy wine bars were over. Very occasionally one or two of Charlie’s friends were let off the marital leash for a pint at the local pub. Lately Charlie had lamented, “At this rate there will be no one left to have a drink with. They all rush home to have quality time bathing baby Bianca or little Logan.” Indeed, it was only colleague Ben who remained unmarried. Like Charlie, Ben lived with his girlfriend. However, Anna wasn’t bothered about marriage. She’d also told Ben she would never wreck her tummy muscles having his kids.
Willow transferred the sauce into the pan of browned mince. While she stirred, her thoughts remained on Anna. Willow didn’t like to admit it, but she didn’t resonate with Ben’s girlfriend. Whenever they occasionally made up a foursome for a Saturday night curry, it was always Ben and Charlie who did most of the talking. If Anna did make conversation, it would only ever be about her latest promotion or her next marketing campaign. Invariably such meetings took place in the boardrooms of glamorous European cities. On the one occasion Anna had thought to ask Willow how her job at the library was going, she’d stifled a yawn and then started scrolling through her mobile. Anna had made it obvious she wasn’t remotely interested in hearing about bossy Jean or how Willow sometimes had to stay late to finish cataloguing.
Shaking dried spaghetti into a saucepan, Willow decided not to boil it up just yet. She didn’t want the pasta to be a soggy mess by the time Charlie arrived home. Hopefully he’d only be another half hour or so. The commute from London was a swift one thanks to living fifteen minutes from Ebbsfleet International and its highspeed railway.
Suddenly there was the sound of a key in the door.
‘I’m home,’ yodelled a familiar voice.
‘Charlie!’
Willow abandoned her cooking and bounded into the hallway.
‘You’re early. How lovely.’
‘Come here,’ he said, kicking off his shoes and pulling her into his arms. ‘I couldn’t stand another moment at the office. Getting home to you suddenly seemed far more important.’
He kissed her full on the mouth, making her squirm with pleasure.
‘Am I forgiven?’
‘Of course.’
‘Good.’
He sniffed the air appreciatively.
‘Mm. Something smells good.’
‘Your favourite.’
‘Let me get out of this suit.’
‘I’ll go and put the pasta on.’
As Charlie took the stairs two at a time, Willow heard the faint ping of a text message on her boyfriend’s mobile. Seconds later he was in their bedroom and out of sight.
Upstairs, Charlie reached for the phone in his jacket pocket. A text. He smirked. Nice one. It was good to be wanted. But he really did need to cool it with the sender. This was never meant to have happened. Apart from anything else, the lady was getting a bit needy. Better to concentrate on Willow and mending bridges, especially before he went away this weekend. His work department had to go to a boring convention in Birmingham. Regrettably it was compulsory attendance. On the upside, if temptation should come his way, at least it wouldn’t be on his doorstep – unlike the sender of this text.
Charlie sighed. At some point he’d have to break things off. Gently of course. No doubt there would be tears. He would be a gentleman and let her cry on his shoulder. He’d pass her a tissue to dab her pretty eyes all the while murmuring it was better this way, and of course she wouldn’t want to hurt Willow by ever blurting out what they’d done, would she?
Charlie was fairly certain she wouldn’t let the cat out of the bag. After all, she said she loved Willow too. If she really meant that – and Charlie thought she did – then his secret was safe.
He chose to ignore the nagging voice in his head that, lately, had started to taunt him.
The truth will always out…
Six
Charlie had barely sat down at the kitchen table when he was on his feet again.
‘What’s the matter?’ Willow asked in alarm.
‘We’ve forgotten something.’
‘The Parmesan is on the table.’
‘No, not that.’
Charlie was now rummaging around in the cupboard under the sink. A moment later and he’d extracted a tealight from Willow’s emergency “power cut pack”.
‘There,’ he said, setting the candle down on the table between them.
Moments later a flaming match had been put to its wick.
‘That’s more like it.’
Willow nearly fell off her chair. What a romantic touch, and Charlie had done that with no prompting whatsoever.
‘Cheers,’ he said, clinking his glass of red against hers. ‘Now tell me all about your day at the library. I trust no members of the public upset anyone. The last thing Mosley needs is a sighting of Jean in a strop. Is she aware that anger makes her mammoth bosoms quiver like unset jelly?’
Willow gave a snort of laughter, then told Charlie all about the little old lady and her carrier bag of cucumbers. Charlie let her waffle on. It allowed him to eat without interruption and my goodness he was hungry. Ben had popped out at lunchtime to g
et himself a sandwich. Charlie had asked if he’d get him a couple too. He’d asked for a peanut butter and tuna. When Ben had dropped the paper bag in front of him, Charlie hadn’t bothered to check inside, instead taking a huge mouthful of wholemeal. Seconds later he’d nearly spat it across his keyboard.
‘What the hell is this?’ he’d spluttered, trying not to gag.
‘Peanut butter and tuna,’ Ben had said. ‘That’s what you asked for. That’s what you’ve got.’
‘Yes, but not together,’ Charlie had replied, rolling his eyes. ‘One peanut butter. One tuna.’
He’d chucked the disgusting sandwiches in the bin.
‘What’s the matter with you? Your concentration has been off all morning.’
‘Nothing,’ Ben had replied moodily.
But Charlie had known otherwise. Something was up. Ben would tell him in his own time. He always did. No doubt he’d confide what was wrong this weekend when they were in Birmingham, relaxing over a drink or two.
‘That reminds me,’ said Charlie, interrupting Willow’s flow about a display of courgettes.
What the hell was that all about?
‘Don’t forget I’m away this weekend.’
‘Oh,’ said Willow in disappointment. ‘Why’s that?’
‘Another boring work convention,’ said Charlie, winding spaghetti around his fork. ‘I’m sure I told you.’
‘I must have forgotten. What a shame. Ah well, in that case I might as well spend Saturday with Emma.’
Charlie’s fork froze mid-air.
‘Why?’
‘Why what?’
‘Why spend Saturday with Emma?’
‘Because it will be her thirtieth birthday.’
‘Oh yes, that’s right.’
‘Wow, you actually knew that?’
Willow looked at Charlie in amazement. Most of the time he couldn’t remember her own birthday, never mind her bestie’s.
‘Yeah’ – he shrugged casually – ‘I’m sure you mentioned it recently.’
‘Ðid I?’ Willow frowned. ‘Anyway, Emma wants me to go to a tattoo parlour with her.’
Willow's Wedding Vows: a laugh out loud romantic comedy with a twist! Page 3
