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

by Debbie Viggiano

  ‘Babe, I’m home,’ yodelled Charlie.

  He came into the kitchen with a big grin on his handsome face.

  Charlie had given himself a pep talk and decided he had every reason to smile. After all, he’d engineered a month’s space from Kev. Throughout his day at work, with each passing hour, he’d become more confident that the time apart from Kev would transition to one of permanence. He’d reasoned that Kev was an attractive woman. She’d soon get chatted up by other guys. Also, as Kev was a borderline sex-addict, it likely wouldn’t take long for one of those guys to become a bed mate. And when that happened… bingo! Charlie would be completely free of the blasted woman.

  If Willow ever brought Kev home in the future, he’d be able to look her in the eye and say, “Heyyy! Willow tells me you have a new man. I’m so thrilled for you.” And he would genuinely mean it.

  Willow put down the chopping knife and let Charlie give her a brief hug.

  ‘I missed you,’ she said.

  ‘Me too,’ said Charlie automatically.

  It wasn’t true. Quite apart from being put through a sexual marathon with Kev, he’d also been too busy tying himself up in knots trying to end their relationship. During that final cappuccino in the pub’s lounge, he’d had to bargain hard for a month’s breathing space. Kev had almost defeated him. The landlord had definitely been giving the pair of them sidelong glances trying to work out their relationship. A flipping tiring one, Charlie told himself. God, even his nuts felt knackered.

  ‘Back in a sec,’ said Charlie. ‘Ben and I need to get out of these suits.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Willow.

  She caught Ben’s eye. He was standing in the kitchen doorway looking awkward.

  ‘Hi, Ben.’

  ‘Hey.’

  ‘Come on, matey,’ said Charlie, giving Ben a prod. ‘Stop hanging around like a spare part.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Ben, moving out the way.

  As he followed Charlie up the stairs, she heard him apologise again.

  ‘I feel like I’m third-wheeling with you and Willow.’

  She also heard Charlie’s reply.

  ‘Don’t be daft. Willow is absolutely fine with it.’

  But over dinner, Willow felt like she was the one third-wheeling. Charlie was only interested in talking to Ben. He wanted to speculate about Drummond’s new girlfriend, know the progress of the Carpenter account, and bitch about Mr Humphrey who – in Charlie’s opinion – was a five-star prat. When Charlie finally paused for breath, Ben turned to Willow and courteously asked if she was okay.

  ‘You look a bit pale,’ he said.

  ‘I did feel a bit peculiar earlier,’ she said. ‘In fact, I came home from work early.’

  She omitted saying exactly how early.

  Ben immediately looked concerned.

  ‘Are you feeling better now?’

  Charlie put down his knife and fork and peered at her.

  ‘You look fine to me, although’ – he gave a bark of laughter – ‘if anything I’d say you look guilty about something. Have you been up to no good?’ he teased.

  Willow instantly flushed to her roots.

  ‘No,’ she said hastily.

  Her body twitched. She looked like a person half expecting a tannoy to crackle into life announcing she’d frisked her boyfriend’s entire wardrobe and knew his bank balance to the exact decimal point.

  Both men were looking at her. Charlie speculatively. Ben uncomfortably.

  ‘You have been up to something,’ Charlie crowed. ‘Come on. Spit it out!’

  ‘I haven’t,’ Willow protested, but her face was now redder than a bottle of Merlot.

  ‘Course she hasn’t,’ said Ben, coming to the rescue.

  Ben was wrongly presuming that Willow had allowed Anna’s early morning call to get to her. That maybe Anna was the reason why she’d come home early, but that she didn’t want to tell Charlie about it. Poor Willow. She had absolutely nothing to hide. It was Charlie who was the guilty one with all his ducking and diving around Kev.

  Willow was desperate to get the spotlight of attention off her and change the subject, even if it was still work-related in order for Ben not to feel excluded.

  ‘Anyway, never mind me,’ she said brightly. ‘Tell me all about your business trip to Brighton and Cambridge, Charlie. How did you get on with the tetchy client?’

  There was a moment’s silence where neither Charlie nor Ben said anything.

  Both men did a quick, guarded eye-meet. Ben then began attacking his dinner like a stray dog going through restaurant bins, while Charlie’s expression morphed into a replica of how Willow had been looking only seconds ago. He immediately stuffed an enormous potato in his mouth, rendering him incapable of speaking.

  Peculiar, thought Willow as her eyes flit from Ben to Charlie, then back to Ben again.

  ‘Do you know this client?’ she asked, when Charlie didn’t reply.

  ‘No,’ said Ben quietly.

  Charlie swallowed down the potato and put his knife and fork together.

  ‘No more talk about work,’ he said firmly. ‘Let’s just say that my client meeting was successful. All I want to do now is relax.’

  He turned to Ben.

  ‘Come on, matey. Let’s grab a beer from the fridge and watch some footie.’

  ‘Ah, but shouldn’t we first help Willow with–?’

  ‘No, she’s a big girl. She doesn’t need any help.’

  Charlie was almost dragging Ben away from the table in order to avoid further questions from his girlfriend.

  Willow remained seated, her meal not quite finished. She wondered if she’d imagined the undercurrent when Ben and Charlie had exchanged looks. Everybody seemed to be behaving a bit… well, oddly. First Anna… then Emma… now Ben and Charlie.

  Moments later she heard Charlie applaud the ref blowing the whistle before issuing a red card. Sighing, she stood up and flicked on the little telly in the kitchen. She’d watch a bit of soap nonsense whilst clearing away the dishes. Scraping some dried-up potato off a pan, she tried not to feel resentful at Charlie clearing off with Ben and not sticking around to chat to her. Hopefully they would catch up with each other when they were in bed.

  Charlie was still glued to the television long after Willow had cleared up the kitchen, watched Coronation Street and then three back-to-back episodes of Friends. She’d also munched her way through an entire packet of Jaffa cakes. Feeling slightly sick from overdosing on orange jelly and dark chocolate, she made her way upstairs and decided to have a bath. Perhaps it would be better to have a soak at night rather than a shower in the morning in order to reduce bathroom congestion.

  When Charlie finally came into their bedroom, it was getting on for midnight.

  ‘Still awake?’ he said in surprise.

  Willow put down her kindle.

  ‘Of course. I’ve been waiting for you.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Charlie, trying not to look horrified. ‘Not tonight. I’m bushed.’

  The last thing he needed was a sexy romp. His willy might drop off from exhaustion.

  ‘I haven’t had a chance to talk to you all evening,’ Willow complained. ‘I wanted to tell you about my day. Well, specifically, my morning. It wasn’t exactly run-of-the-mill.’

  ‘Sorry, darling,’ said Charlie, sounding far more contrite than he felt.

  He didn’t mind what his girlfriend wittered on about so long as it didn’t involve twenty questions regarding a fictitious trip to Brighton and Cambridge.

  ‘Let me quickly clean my teeth and then you can chat to me in bed.’

  Willow picked up her kindle again and read another two pages against a backdrop of spitting, rinsing and gargling, and then Charlie loudly peeing.

  ‘That’s better.’

  He slid under the duvet and flopped back against the pillows.

  ‘What did you want to talk about?’

  Willow set aside the kindle and lay back too.

  ‘I want to te
ll you the real reason why I came home early from work,’ she said.

  In the background Willow could now hear Ben spitting, rinsing, gargling and then loudly peeing. Was this what she was going to have to listen to every night?

  She ploughed on, keeping her voice low so that Ben couldn’t overhear, and quickly told Charlie all about Anna’s weird phone call.

  ‘But you must promise not to discuss it with Ben. I don’t want him thinking it’s his responsibility about how his mixed-up ex-girlfriend behaves.’

  Without waiting for Charlie to reply, Willow swiftly moved on to the anonymous phone call at the library.

  ‘It was a woman, and she told me to leave you,’ Willow gasped. ‘So what do you make of all that?’

  She stared up at the shadows on the ceiling.

  ‘Crazy or what?’

  But Charlie didn’t reply. He was fast asleep.

  Thirty-Three

  ‘Morning,’ said Ben cheerfully, as he passed Willow on the landing.

  He was waiting for Charlie to come out of the bathroom, and Willow was very glad she’d opted to have a bath the previous night.

  ‘Hi,’ she replied. ‘Do you want some breakfast, or will you grab something at the station café with Charlie?’

  ‘I’ll go to the café. Might as well live dangerously,’ Ben joked weakly.

  ‘Not too dangerously I hope’ – Willow bantered – ‘after all, today is Friday the thirteenth.’

  Ben suddenly looked anxious.

  ‘I wish you hadn’t said that. Something awful always happens when it’s Friday the thirteenth.’

  ‘I heard that,’ said Charlie, coming out of the bathroom with a towel slung around his hips. ‘I’ve never heard so much superstitious claptrap in my life. If something disastrous comes your way, it would have happened anyway. Bad luck doesn’t store itself up and wait for the calendar to roll around to Friday the thirteenth.’

  Willow was inclined to agree, but she gave Ben a sympathetic smile as he disappeared into the bathroom.

  ‘Shall we get a take-away tonight?’ she asked Charlie, following him back into their bedroom. ‘I quite fancy a chicken korma.’

  ‘I’d rather not,’ he said, vigorously rubbing down his body before dropping the wet towel on the floor.

  The last thing Charlie wanted was his pores oozing garlic when he arrived in Birmingham tomorrow. Willow regarded him in disappointment.

  ‘What about a Chinese then?’

  ‘No thanks.’

  Charlie had high hopes of pulling. No way could he kiss a girl through the night if his mouth still harboured traces of ginger, star anise and spices. Mouthwash was as good as useless after such meals.

  ‘Can I not have a night off from cooking’ – Willow stooped to pick up the towel –‘or am I perceived as some sort of housekeeper who trots out meals for you and unexpected house guests, along with being a personal wet-towel-picker-upper.’

  She balled up the offending towel and flung it at Charlie. It slapped him square in the face. Charlie stared at her in astonishment. Good heavens. What on earth had got into Willow? She was behaving in a very un-Willow-like way. He retrieved the wet towel and placed it on the bed instead.

  ‘Of course you can have a takeaway, sweetie,’ he said, adopting a pacifying tone. ‘What about a nice pizza?’

  A cheese and tomato jobbie wouldn’t wreck his breath, would it? He’d ask chef to leave out the onions. Just in case.

  ‘Okay,’ said Willow, but her expression told Charlie she hadn’t been placated.

  ‘Is something wrong?’

  He began putting on socks and boxers at lightning speed before rifling through his shirt rail.

  ‘Yes!’ Willow exclaimed, removing the wet towel off the duvet. ‘I was talking to you last night about something fairly monumental and–’

  There was a knock on their bedroom door.

  ‘Come in,’ said Charlie.

  Having speedily buttoned up his shirt and slung a tie round his neck, he was now zipping up his flies.

  ‘Am I interrupting?’ said Ben apologetically.

  ‘Of course not,’ said Charlie, grabbing his suit jacket. ‘Willow was just saying that she fancies a pizza later. We’ll grab some on the way back from the station tonight.’

  ‘Lovely,’ said Ben, smiling at Willow. ‘Good choice.’

  ‘See you later, babe,’ said Charlie.

  He gave her a fleeting kiss on the cheek. A second later and he was out of the bedroom and dashing down the stairs. Ben hovered for a moment.

  ‘I hope your day is better than yesterday.’

  ‘Thanks. Me too.’

  Ben lowered his voice.

  ‘What did Charlie say about–?’

  ‘Ben!’ Charlie shouted from the hallway. ‘Come on, matey, or we’ll miss the train.’

  ‘I’d better go,’ he said, giving a helpless shrug.

  ‘Have a good day, and don’t worry about it being Friday the thirteenth.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  He gave a rueful smile then made after Charlie, leaving Willow to go into the bathroom and hang her boyfriend’s wet towel over the heated rail. In that moment she felt more like Charlie’s mum than girlfriend and lover.

  As it happened, Willow did have a good day. Jean was courteous and polite. Theresa had made a cake and brought it in to share, and Fiona made everyone coffee to go with the Victoria sponge. No members of the public were rude or surly. Nor did the library receive any anonymous phone calls. By the time Willow was back home, she’d perked up hugely and was looking forward to the pizza takeaway. She had even convinced herself that she might be in for a little romance before Charlie went away for the weekend.

  But later, as she snuggled into Charlie, he quickly let her know that he wasn’t up for any lovemaking or pillow talk.

  ‘I’m tired, babe,’ he said, turning over and flipping the cover over his head.

  And he genuinely was. The week had been mentally exhausting. Thankfully everything had worked out well for him. Kev hadn’t rung or bombarded him with texts. Ha! Friday the thirteenth hadn’t thrown any curved balls at him! He drifted off to sleep with a smile on his face.

  Charlie had certainly been right about one thing. Bad luck didn’t just happen on Friday the thirteenth. Sometimes – as in Charlie’s case – it came along on Saturday the fourteenth instead.

  Thirty-Four

  Charlie rolled out of bed on Saturday morning with a sense of anticipation.

  Hurrah! He was off to Birmingham for a work convention. Everybody knew those last two words were a code name for something that didn’t feature in the office manual. If you were one of the newbies fresh out of uni, a work convention also meant “getting juiced”. If you were of a similar age to Charlie, it was “getting tanked”. And if you were over fifty, it was “getting wasted”.

  Charlie’s good spirits continued to soar as he set about packing. Leaving his overnight bag open, he went to the wardrobe and selected his most expensive shirt. Once the boring business part was over and done with, there would be a formal gathering which was always very pleasant. But it was the bit that followed that Charlie liked best, namely heading out with a few mates for a night on the town.

  Charlie wondered if Ron would be joining them. Ron was one of the office oldies. Last time around he’d had his heart set on going to a club, but not made it due to drinking too much too soon. Off the marital leash, Ron had wasted no time ordering lime-coloured cocktails before drunkenly making eye contact with a female newbie by the name of Suzie. Looking not unlike the character Owen Newitt from The Vicar of Dibley, he’d complimented Suzie on her “splendid pair of knockers” and told her to visit his room if she fancied a performance that would leave her gasping.

  Unfortunately Ron had been the one left gasping when Drummond had tapped him on the shoulder and pointed out that Mrs Ron might not approve of such antics, and Drummond most definitely didn’t… because Suzie was his niece. Ron had turned as green as his cockt
ail.

  Charlie snorted with laughter at the memory, just as Willow came into the bedroom with cups of tea for them both.

  ‘Share the joke,’ she said, handing him one of the mugs.

  Charlie took a sip, then set the tea down so he could get on with folding his pristine white shirt.

  ‘I was just thinking about the time one of the guys made a dick of himself in front of the big boss.’

  ‘What did he do?’

  ‘Got spectacularly sozzled, then made an atrocious pass at a woman who turned out to be one of Drummond’s relations.’

  ‘Oh dear.’

  Charlie shrugged.

  ‘The guy’s an idiot. He’s always getting into trouble.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He can’t hold his drink and doesn’t know when to stop.’

  Ah, thought Willow, this must be the colleague that Ben had mentioned. The one who was a bad influence. What was his name? Trev? No, Kev.

  ‘He sounds like a liability.’

  ‘Oh he’s all right really.’

  ‘Well don’t let Kev lead you astray.’

  Charlie jerked and his head snapped up.

  ‘Wh-What did you just say?’

  Willow frowned. Her boyfriend had gone as white as the shirt he was clutching.

  ‘I said–’

  ‘Yes, I heard you,’ said Charlie abruptly. ‘What do you know of Kev?’

  The last thing Willow wanted was to land Ben in trouble for revealing the name of the work colleague who sometimes persuaded Charlie to go for a drink.

  Maybe it had been a blessing in disguise that Charlie had fallen asleep last night when she’d been moaning about Anna and the mysterious anonymous caller. It meant she could bend the truth. However, she didn’t want Charlie tackling Ben. The poor guy could hardly be blamed for mentioning this irresponsible Kev person, or prevent the actions of his mad-arse girlfriend. Correction, ex mad-arse girlfriend. Willow decided to madly improvise.

  ‘Okay, well, yesterday I had a peculiar phone call at the library.’

  ‘From whom?’