Willow's Wedding Vows: a laugh out loud romantic comedy with a twist!

by Debbie Viggiano

Willow’s face was still flaming.

  ‘Um, no. No, Charlie hasn’t mentioned marriage.’

  ‘That’s a shame,’ said Ben, looking disappointed. ‘So how do you know he’s not keen? Oh… wait…’

  He trailed off as realisation dawned.

  Willow was now so red from embarrassment she was making a tomato look anaemic.

  ‘Got it in one,’ she murmured. ‘I broached the M word with him.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘And made a prize prat of myself.’

  ‘Bad reaction?’

  Willow screwed up her nose.

  ‘Let’s just say that Charlie’s response was like asking the Pope if he’d ever consider converting to atheism.’

  ‘So Charlie turned you down.’

  ‘Yup. I felt beyond foolish for mentioning it,’ said Willow miserably.

  Her mouth drooped like an upside-down moon crescent, and Ben’s heart squeezed. He reached across the small divide, folding one of her hands into his.

  ‘You mustn’t feel foolish,’ he said, squeezing her fingers absent-mindedly. ‘It’s only natural to think about making your commitment a formality. After all, you’ve been together long enough.’

  Willow glanced down at her hand enveloped in Ben’s. An onlooker would have been forgiven for thinking they were having a romantic moment. His touch was firm. Reassuring. She liked him even more for his kindness, and wanting to lessen her obvious embarrassment.

  ‘The question I would ask is…’ – Ben gave her a frank look – ‘do you believe Charlie is the right man for you?’

  Her response was immediate.

  ‘Definitely.’

  Ben looked at Willow’s expression. She’d lit up like the shops along Oxford Street at Christmastime. She really didn’t have a clue about her boyfriend’s shenanigans.

  ‘Charlie is my world,’ she added.

  ‘You’ve never stopped and thought you could… well… do better?’

  Ben knew he was wandering down a perilous path. One where Charlie might rapidly become a tricky topic. He didn’t want to diss his best mate, but he felt duty-bound to drop Willow some gentle hints. She needed to know that Charlie wasn’t a gorgeous golden god, even if the lucky bastard did physically resemble one.

  ‘Do better?’ said Willow, looking amused. ‘You mean, why didn’t I bag Prince Harry before Meghan Markle wowed him?’

  ‘Well why not?’ said Ben seriously.

  ‘I’m nothing special. No prize catch. Just an ordinary girl with an average IQ working at the local library and living her boring life. I can’t pore over spreadsheets full of figures like you and Charlie, or raise finance from investors, nor oversee mergers and acquisitions whilst juggling a management buy-out. You and Charlie are brainy, brawny and total babe magnets.’

  Now it was Ben’s turn to blush. Anna had never called him a “babe magnet”.

  ‘Well thanks for all those compliments, but actually Charlie and I just happen to be good at what we do. Just like you are good at what you do. And no way are you ordinary. My mother would be thrilled to bits if I turned up on her doorstep with a girl like you.’

  ‘Like me? Why?’

  ‘Because you’re steady.’

  ‘Which also translates as dull,’ she countered. ‘Whereas you and Charlie are what my mum would call “a good catch”.’

  ‘You’re doing yourself down, plus you clearly have no idea how attractive you are.’

  Ben quickly let go of her hand, just in case Willow thought… well, he didn’t know what Willow might think.

  ‘I think you’re too good for Charlie,’ he blurted.

  He needed to shut up. Before this line of conversation took a dangerous turn and became a thorny subject revealing Charlie for what he was. Not quite a thorn, but definitely a prick.

  Willow was flattered that Ben thought her both attractive and too good for Charlie. Nonetheless she couldn’t take his words seriously. He was just being kind. It was women like Anna who were life’s beauties with success stamped all over their on-trend power suits. She could see Anna in the board room, her tumbling hair full of salon-highlights, lips enhanced to bee-stung perfection as she addressed the directors.

  Willow sighed.

  ‘On the plus side, one advantage of having such a middle-of-the-road job is that I never have to go away overnight or massage the egos of irate clients. I feel tremendously sorry for Charlie. He works so hard.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Suddenly Ben couldn’t look Willow in the eye.

  ‘Is this client really so awful?’ she persisted.

  ‘Yeah, yeah. Practically wants nursemaiding over everything.

  Please, God, don’t give me bad karma for telling lies. I’m just trying to protect the sweet lady sitting opposite me.

  ‘But Mr Montgomery is an important customer,’ he added.

  ‘I thought his name was Mr Humphrey?’ said Willow, looking puzzled.

  ‘Oh… er… yes, Mr Humphrey. Mr Montgomery is… um… Mr Humphrey’s sidekick.’

  Ben could feel himself getting flustered. The subject needed changing.

  ‘Tell you what. Let me help you clear up, and then I’ll make us both a cup of after-dinner coffee.’

  He stood up, desperate to busy himself. He didn’t want to think about Charlie or where the guy was right now.

  Willow stood up too, pleasantly surprised at Ben’s offer of help. She was ninety percent sure he wasn’t just being polite. She privately bet he never left the loo seat up either. Charlie never did anything domestic. Unless you included assuming a horizontal position on the sofa in front of the television.

  The two of them pottered about companionably. As Willow washed and Ben wiped, she allowed herself a little daydream. How nice would it be if it were Charlie beside her right now? She imagined that, instead of Ben in the kitchen, it was her boyfriend. Charlie was the one putting that clean plate into the overhead cupboard. Now he was reaching for two mugs. Spooning instant coffee into them. Adding boiling water. Then milk. Now turning to face her. Raising an enquiring eyebrow as he showed the colour of the coffee.

  ‘Strong enough?’

  ‘Lovely, darling,’ she sighed.

  Too late Willow realised this wasn’t Charlie handing her a drink. One glance at Ben revealed he was highly amused at the endearment.

  ‘I mean…’

  She trailed off, blushing furiously.

  ‘Slip of the tongue,’ Ben smiled. ‘I get it. Hopefully I won’t call you my pet name for Anna, or you might feel upset.’

  ‘Should I ask what it is, or is it too personal?’

  ‘I’m not sure she was even aware of it’ – Ben laughed – ‘because I didn’t dare say it to her face. But whenever she was stropping about – which was most nights – I used to mutter, “There she goes again… Anna Pir-anna.” A play on the word “piranha”.’

  Willow gave a snort of laughter.

  ‘I guess that pet name isn’t very flattering.’

  There was a pause as they both stood together in the kitchen, clutching their coffees.

  ‘Would you mind–?’ they said at exactly the same time.

  ‘Ladies first,’ said Ben.

  ‘Would you think me rude abandoning you? It’s only for a bit. Only I’d quite like to have a chat with my bestie.’

  ‘And by “chat” I suppose you mean an hour-long chin-wag,’ Ben laughed.

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Of course. Don’t feel you have to keep me company. I’m a fully-fledged grown-up. I can even cross the road without a chaperone,’ he joked.

  ‘Well, if you really don’t mind, then I’ll take my coffee upstairs with my phone. If you want to watch the telly then…’

  ‘Brilliant!’

  Grinning happily, he headed off to the lounge.

  Willow smiled. Cradling her coffee in one hand and her mobile in the other, she made her way up to her bedroom. Sighing happily at the anticipation of a long girly gossip with Emma, she san
k down on the bed and waited for the call to connect. Emma’s line started to ring. And ring. After the tenth ring, her voicemail clicked in.

  ‘Hi, I can’t take your call right now but if you’re ringing about PPI, my recent car crash, or failure to pay British Telecom, do yourself a favour and…’

  BEEEEEEP

  Willow cleared her throat.

  ‘Hey, Ems. I was hoping to have a natter. Charlie’s away tonight and… wait for this… there’s another man in my house,’ she giggled. ‘Call me back and I’ll tell all!’

  But Emma didn’t call back. It was only much later, when Willow was snuggling down under the duvet alone, that she found herself wondering why her bestie hadn’t breathlessly returned her call demanding to know what man – if not Charlie – was under Willow’s roof.

  As her eyes shuttered down, Willow decided it was out of character for Emma not to be around on a midweek evening. Before sleep claimed her, Willow’s last thought was puzzling where Emma could be.

  Twenty-Two

  Meanwhile, when Charlie had arrived at The Beagle and Bugle, he’d felt somewhat calmer and more positive about the evening ahead. He’d successfully fobbed off Willow’s questions regarding his short-notice fictitious business trip, and Ben had backed up Charlie’s whereabouts – albeit reluctantly.

  Charlie was aware that Ben was an unwilling alibi but, following his split with Anna, the desperation to have a roof over his head made Ben malleable.

  The stage was now set for dealing with Kev. Charlie had googled the dos and don’ts of how to dump a woman, and so far his plan had ticked several appropriate boxes:

  DON’T do it on her birthday

  DON’T do it at Christmas

  DO do it to her face

  DO do it kindly

  He’d fulfilled the first three rules, but the last box still had to be dealt with. However, he would definitely do it kindly. Well, to the best of his ability. The question was… how? How to do it kindly? On the drive to Seal, Charlie had rehearsed aloud three versions of what he might say to Kev.

  Darling, you deserve so much better.

  If Kev demanded to know why she deserved so much better, than Charlie would take the next step:

  Babe, I’ve cheated on you.

  Okay, that wasn’t very kind. But he needed a trigger to make Kev dump him so that she took control which – by his reasoning – was kinder than him dumping her. However, there was always the possibility that Kev might cry but say she’d forgive him. In which case Charlie needed an absolute fail-safe reason for Kev to never want to see him again. The only excuse he’d managed to come up with so far was:

  Sweetie honey lollipops, I’m gay.

  Okay, playing the camp card did make Charlie slightly panicky. It would take some serious acting skills. He’d need to convince Kev that all the time she’d been naked apart from her sexy scarlet stilettos, he’d been privately fantasising about a strapping six-footer wearing nothing but a pair of rugby boots. Hm. He might have to wing it and see what mood she was in. Not long to find out either. He gulped. Ahead loomed The Beagle and Bugle.

  Indicating left, Charlie’s car bounced over the ramp into the pub’s private car park. Seconds later he’d reversed the BMW into the shadows of the far corner. The pub’s security light didn’t quite reach over there, rendering the number plate invisible. He wasn’t anticipating encountering anyone he knew in this part of Kent, but it was best to err on the side of caution. Sometimes the world was a small place, as he’d discovered so very recently when Ben had wandered into Kev’s road and spotted Charlie’s boxers flying at full mast off Kev’s curtain rail.

  The pub didn’t have a separate reception area. Instead, the main bar doubled as the check-in point for a booking. As Charlie ducked under a low beam, the landlord greeted him.

  ‘Good evening, sir.’

  ‘Hi,’ said Charlie, adopting a businesslike tone. ‘You have a room for me and my…’

  He trailed off. No way was he saying the “wife” word. Uh-uh.

  ‘Ah, yes. Here we are,’ said the landlord, tapping a pencil against an A4 book. ‘Mr and Mrs Kev.’

  Charlie almost groaned aloud as he recalled his flip remark to Kev about what name to use. He’d stopped at a cash machine en-route. When it came to check-out time, Charlie didn’t want to use his visa card. The last thing he needed was the landlord saying, “Mr Kev? Sorry, Sir, but this visa card belongs to Mr Charles Goodman. Whilst you were tucking into your bacon and eggs, I took the liberty of telephoning the Fraud Squad. They’re sitting over there on table two. But please, do finish your breakfast before they interrogate you.”

  ‘Here’s your key.’

  The landlord handed Charlie a brass fob.

  ‘I do believe the lovely Mrs Kev is over there’ – he pointed – ‘in our snug.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Charlie, pocketing the key and picking up his overnight bag.

  Kev was sitting next to a roaring fire. He could hear the cosy crackles and pops from here. She was holding a flute of pale gold bubbles. Champagne was chilling in an ice-bucket on a table beside her. Despite the warmth inside the pub, Kev hadn’t removed her overcoat. She was buttoned and belted in something that made her look like a sexy detective.

  Charlie felt a faint surge of hope. Perhaps Kev hadn’t taken off her coat because she wouldn’t be staying? Maybe she’d been sitting there, nursing her drink for the last ten minutes and rehearsing what she would say to him?

  “Charlie Bear. I’ve re-read your earlier text and come to two conclusions. Firstly, you’re a bastard. Secondly, you can go to hell. Have this on me.”

  And then she’d go berserk, chucking champagne and ice-cubes about. It would cause that old boy shuffling past to slip over. He’d likely crack his head open on that hearth… causing instant death… the landlord would call the police… Kev would be arrested… go to prison for a hundred million years… leaving Charlie free to breathe without hyperventilating and…

  ‘Charlie,’ Kev yodelled. ‘Over here!’

  He took a deep breath and tried to steady himself.

  Come on, rally. You can do this. Square your shoulders. She’s just a woman, not a lion about to rip you apart. She might not like the outcome of tonight, but you’ve taken trouble to do the task thoughtfully… to her face… in a pleasant setting… spoiling her – that’s champagne she’s drinking! No doubt she’ll order the most expensive dish on the menu too. Just remember that you’re paying for it, matey – along with the sumptuous four-poster bed waiting upstairs. All this so she can have one last bitter-sweet good-bye to look back upon and cherish.

  Pep talk over, Charlie stuck up a hand and waved back.

  ‘Charlie Bear,’ Kev purred as she stood up to greet him.

  A lingering kiss was planted on his lips. Anyone looking would have been left in no doubt that the handsome blond guy by the fire belonged to the pretty brunette in the raincoat.

  ‘I’m so happy,’ said Kev as she sank back down in her chair.

  ‘That’s nice,’ said Charlie, mustering up a smile.

  ‘Nice?’ she queried. ‘Such a bland word, darling.’

  Charlie flopped down in a wing chair beside her.

  ‘I’m glad you’re happy,’ he said. ‘You deserve it.’

  ‘Let’s make a toast to our happiness.’

  Charlie visibly flinched at Kev’s words, but fortunately she was busy pouring his champagne and didn’t see.

  ‘Here you are,’ she said, passing him the glass. ‘To us.’

  Charlie smiled weakly.

  ‘To us.’

  Those two words hadn’t been in his script.

  Twenty-Three

  Charlie let the golden bubbles roll over his tongue before swallowing. Mm. Nice. He had an overwhelming urge to use alcohol as a crutch. Perhaps he could get bladdered and make a public disgrace of himself, so much so that Kev would be provoked into ending their relationship on the spot. Brilliant idea! And then he wouldn’t have to make up po
rkies about being gay.

  He necked the champagne, then held out his glass for a refill.

  ‘Steady, Charlie Bear,’ said Kev with a tinkle of laughter.

  ‘I’m thirsty,’ he said, allowing petulance to creep into his voice.

  Brilliant! He congratulated himself. Another superb touch, Charlie.

  Yes, maybe this was the way forward? Behave like a prat and irritate Kev and… yes, that was it!... create an argument. Why hadn’t he thought of this before? Fantastic idea.

  ‘Thirsty?’ Kev queried. ‘Shall I order some water?’

  ‘No. I want champagne.’

  That’s it! Demand. Be rude. Don’t say “please”.

  ‘Well in that case,’ she smiled, ‘I’ll join in too!’

  Kev set the two glasses down on the table, side by side, and refreshed them.

  ‘Awfully generous of you, Charlie Bear,’ she murmured, pausing to check the level in the bottle. ‘However, what’s left won’t last five minutes. I’ll order another.’

  Kev stuck up her hand, catching the eye of the passing landlord just as Charlie began to down his second glass.

  ‘Another one of these, please,’ Kev beamed, waggling the bottle.

  ‘Certainly, madam. Another Bolly coming up.’

  Charlie nearly choked. Bloody hell. He hadn’t bothered checking the label and failed to realise Kev had ordered Bollinger. No wonder it tasted good.

  ‘Perhaps we should cancel the champagne and go straight to dinner,’ he said, recovering himself.

  ‘Oh, but I’ve ordered it now,’ Kev protested.

  The landlord hovered.

  ‘Yes? No?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Kev firmly.

  ‘The lady says yes.’ The landlord gave Charlie a sympathetic smile. ‘I’ve learnt that if the lady gets what she wants, then the lady is always happy. Which means you’ll be happy too.’

  ‘Great,’ said Charlie, looking slightly sick.

  ‘Celebrating?’ asked the landlord chummily.

  ‘Yes,’ Kev beamed. ‘It’s our anniversary.’

  Charlie nearly dropped his glass. Anniversary? God, he couldn’t stand the word. It was almost as bad as “wedding”.