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

by Debbie Viggiano

  ‘Sure,’ said Willow, taking the mail. ‘Was there anything else? Only we were on our way out.’

  She wanted Anna to know her visit wasn’t going to be turned into a social occasion. There would be no invitation for coffee.

  ‘No, nothing else’ – Anna gave a brittle smile – ‘other than reminding you of what I said in the phone call that I did make. See you.’

  She turned on her heel and walked off leaving Willow gaping after her.

  ‘Flaming cheek,’ she spluttered. ‘Did you hear that, Ems?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Emma, finally tearing her eyes away from the hall floor.

  She watched Anna walking along the pavement, before turning a corner and disappearing out of sight.

  ‘If you ask me, she’s a bit of a cow.’

  ‘That’s an understatement,’ Willow seethed. ‘And in her telephone call she had the cheek to say she was fond of me. I mean, really?’

  ‘Ignore her,’ said Emma stoically. ‘I liked her tattoo. Did you notice it?’

  ‘Yes. It must be new. She never had it when she was with Ben. Maybe it’s symbolic. You know, marking her break from Ben. Freedom. Transformation. That sort of thing.’

  ‘Mm,’ said Emma thoughtfully. ‘Think I’m going to nick it. After all, I’m on a break from my man – if he was ever my man,’ she added sadly. ‘But for now I’m a free agent, and I shall express it. Just like Anna. C’mon, let’s go. I’m going to get a butterfly tattoo.’

  Thirty-Seven

  Emma spotted an empty parking space directly outside the tattoo parlour. Whizzing into it, she cut the engine, then took a deep breath.

  ‘Wow,’ she murmured, peering up at the shop’s boutique-styled window. ‘Seems like a cool place.’

  She was doing her best not to sound fazed, but the quiver in her voice indicated otherwise.

  ‘Are you nervous?’ asked Willow, following her friend’s gaze.

  ‘No,’ Emma lied.

  The glass-and-steel frontage permitted a clear view to the interior within. It appeared to be devoid of both staff and customers. The girls could see a cosy waiting area furnished with oversized comfortable chairs. To the right was a chiller stocked with complimentary drinks. A chrome coffee table, smothered in glossy mags, rested upon a deliberately scuffed-up floor. Centre stage was a vast reception desk-cum-display-cabinet, the inside of which was brightly lit with tiny spotlights. From their vantage point they could see beams of light cleverly showcasing jewellery, from barbells and body spirals to ear shields and navel gems.

  Willow tried to imagine someone putting a needle through her tongue and suddenly felt a bit odd. She hoped she didn’t go woozy when the artist was poised over Emma’s chosen body part. The last thing she wanted was to make a fool of herself.

  Emma unfastened her seat belt. Disguising her nerves with briskness, she gathered up her handbag.

  ‘Today is my birthday. The number ends in a zero, so it’s considered a landmark. Therefore, I’m celebrating with a matching life event.’

  Willow didn’t know if Emma was saying this as an observation or an affirmation. She watched her friend push open the passenger door and get out. She was definitely unsteady on her feet.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Willow called anxiously.

  ‘Yes.’

  Which wasn’t quite true. Emma decided her legs were indeed a little wobbly.

  Willow unhooked her own seatbelt and joined Emma on the pavement.

  ‘Never mind me,’ said Emma, clocking Willow’s pallor. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Yeah, I just feel a bit… you know… strange.’

  ‘Oh for goodness sake, what are we like?’

  Emma grabbed Willow by the arm and propelled her towards the studio door.

  ‘It’s me having a tattoo. Not you. Let’s get inside and then you can sit down.’

  An old-fashioned bell jangled overhead announcing their arrival. Willow immediately tottered over to one of the huge leather chairs. Flopping down, she leant forward and lowered her head between her ankles. She was feeling seriously strange. Willow heard the light thwacking noise of Emma setting down her handbag on the glass desk-cum-cabinet, followed by the sound of an internal door opening. The pad of footsteps signalled a member of staff had joined them.

  ‘Hey,’ said a male voice.

  ‘Hiya,’ said Emma. ‘We’re here for–’

  ‘A tattoo. Yup. I’ve got a lady called Emma Everest in the diary.’

  Willow thought the man’s voice sounded very smiley and pleasant. She sensed him looking in her direction.

  ‘Hey, don’t worry, Emma.’ He addressed the crown of Willow’s head. ‘It’s quite normal for you to feel like this, especially if it’s the first time.’

  ‘Oh, but she’s not…’

  Emma trailed off as the man hastened over to the chiller.

  Willow heard its door open, then items within being selected. A moment later and footsteps were hastening over to Willow. She eyeballed a pair of feet clad in desert boots.

  ‘Get this in you,’ said the boots. ‘You need to get those sugar levels up.’

  A chocolate bar and can of cola were thrust into her hands. Willow clutched the goodies and gently eased herself upright. Suddenly she was looking into a pair of amused grey eyes.

  ‘Sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t know what came over me.’

  She broke into the chocolate and put a chunk in her mouth.

  ‘It’s just nerves,’ the man smiled. ‘I’m Jezz. Your artist.’

  ‘No, you’re not,’ said Emma, sounding peeved. ‘You’re my artist. I’m Emma Everest. The swooning damsel here is Willow. My bestie. She’s come along to give me support, but somehow the roles have been reversed.’

  Jezz looked from Willow to Emma and then back to Willow again.

  ‘You’re not the one having a tattoo?’

  Willow shoved another lump of chocolate in her mouth before shaking her head vehemently.

  ‘No. And any thoughts I ever had of maybe getting one have now slipped straight through that narrow gap under your shop door and legged it up the high street.’

  Jezz laughed.

  ‘Fair enough. Are you feeling better?’

  ‘Much.’

  Willow popped the ring on the can of cola and took a swig.

  ‘I didn’t think you looked familiar’ – Jezz peered at her – ‘although, to be fair, I don’t remember you either,’ he said, glancing back at Emma.

  ‘My initial appointment was with Tash,’ said Emma. ‘I think it was your day off when I visited the shop. I looked at various portfolios, but it was yours I liked best.’

  ‘Good to hear,’ he said, walking back to the desk. ‘Did you find a design you liked?’

  He regarded Emma from the other side of the counter.

  ‘Well, initially I was thinking of something in black and grey, but this morning I saw someone with a butterfly and it just…’ – Emma shrugged – ‘spoke to me. If that makes sense.’

  Jezz stooped to reach for something under the desk. When he straightened up, he was clutching a large portfolio.

  ‘Here.’ He flipped the folder open. ‘This section shows the tattoos that I particularly love. They’re drenched in spiritual symbolism. Your butterfly certainly falls within that category.’

  Emma began turning the pages, her eyes greedily devouring the designs. And there it was. A blue lacy butterfly. The very one that had danced across Anna’s thigh. Her fingers tremulously traced its outline.

  ‘This is the one,’ she said reverently.

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Never been more certain. I want it here.’

  She touched the top of her leg.

  ‘Come on then.’ He snapped the portfolio shut. ‘Let’s take you through to the studio.’

  At that moment the shop’s old-fashioned bell jangled again, and everyone automatically looked to see who it was.

  ‘Oh no,’ Emma muttered. ‘What’s she doing here?’

  Jezz
’s grey eyes flickered with interest as a slim brunette entered. She waved at Willow before walking over to join Emma. Jezz treated the woman to a dazzling smile.

  ‘You are so like my client’ – he addressed the newcomer – ‘you simply must be Emma’s sister.’

  ‘No,’ said an irked Emma, cutting across him. ‘This is my mum.’

  ‘Your mother?’ said Jezz, clearly astonished. ‘Well, it’s lovely to meet you, Mrs Everest. I was about to take Emma through to the studio.’

  ‘Please, do call me Karen,’ she said coquettishly.

  She stuck out a hand which Jezz shook, holding on to it slightly longer than was necessary.

  ‘I’ve never met a tattoo artist before,’ Karen simpered. ‘Delighted to meet you.’

  ‘I’m Jezz, and the pleasure’s all mine,’ he said huskily.

  Emma rolled her eyes. Here we go. Just when she thought her rather sexy tattoo artist might be up for a bit of flirty banter throughout her inking, along came her mother all set to steal the show.

  Thirty-Eight

  ‘Come on through, girls,’ said Jezz.

  He opened a door which led into a large studio. The room was bathed in bright light spilling through large sash windows. In the background, two other artists were busy at work.

  ‘Why are you here, Mum?’ Emma hissed.

  ‘Because I was feeling fed up,’ Karen whispered back. ‘I simply had to get out the house or I’d have gone bonkers.’

  ‘I thought you were seeing your fella today?’

  ‘Huh,’ Karen tutted. ‘Chance would be a fine thing. I’m being messed about.’

  ‘I know that feeling,’ Emma muttered.

  ‘Why, what’s going on with your boyfriend?’ Karen asked.

  ‘Not a lot,’ said Emma snippily.

  ‘When am I going to meet him?’

  ‘You’re not. What about yours?’

  ‘Ditto,’ said Karen, pursing her lips.

  ‘Don’t do that.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That thing with your mouth. Makes it look like a cat’s bum.’

  Jezz stifled a snort. He was clearly ear-wigging.

  ‘Emma, if you’d like to go in there’ – he pointed to a cubicle – ‘and remove your jeans. Help yourself to a clean towel. Pop it around your hips, and then I’ll see you over there.’

  He pointed to a couch that resembled a dentist’s chair.

  A netful of butterflies immediately took off in Emma’s stomach. She tried to ignore the sensation and instead concentrate on the butterfly that she did want… two lacy blue wings. But she was struggling to hold the picture. Emma glanced at the lookalike dentist’s chair. It reminded her of Mosley Dental Practice which she didn’t like visiting at the best of times. The numbing injection always made her flinch. And here she was about to have a tattoo gun with up to seven needles pierce her flesh again and again and again and–

  For a moment the room swam.

  ‘Ah, not you too,’ said Jezz, grabbing hold of Emma’s arm. ‘Lie down.’

  He bundled her over to the lookalike dentist’s chair. Suddenly Emma’s head was reclining backwards whilst her lower body was elevating, so that her ankles were now higher than her stomach.

  ‘That’s better,’ said Jezz. ‘Now we’re getting some blood to your head.’

  ‘I just need distracting,’ Emma whimpered. ‘Tell me why you became a tattoo artist.’

  ‘Well, I started my career as a photographer and, despite hugely enjoying it, there was a feeling that something was missing. Whenever I was travelling about, I found myself doodling on anything and everything, so much so that it became a bit of an obsession. To cut a long story short, those hundreds of squiggly sketches lead me to explore the world of tattooing. It’s taken years to perfect a fusion of realism, sacred geometry, mandalas and dot work.’

  ‘Fascinating,’ said Karen, crowbarring her way into the conversation.

  ‘Thanks,’ he smiled at her. ‘But I also love anything that nods at magical or uplifting imagery – like Emma’s butterfly for instance.’

  ‘Do you know any tattoo jokes?’ asked Karen.

  Jezz chuckled.

  ‘None that are repeatable.’

  ‘Oh don’t be shy’ – Karen swiped him playfully on the arm – ‘after all, everyone here is over eighteen.’

  ‘Some of us more than others,’ muttered Emma.

  ‘Aw, c’mon, Jezz,’ Karen wheedled.

  ‘Okay, don’t say I didn’t warn you,’ he twinkled. ‘Well, a young American guy, madly in love with his girl, decided to get her name tattooed on his private parts. Her name was Wendy. The tattoo had to be done while his you-know-what was erect but, when it wasn’t hard, all you could see was the W and Y. Shortly after having this tattoo, the guy married his girl and they honeymooned in Jamaica. One evening the man was using a public toilet and, standing next to him, was a Jamaican guy who also had the letters W and Y on his whatsit. The American said, “Hey, is your girl called Wendy too?”, and the Jamaican laughed and said, “No. That says: Welcome to Jamaica and Have a Nice Day”.’

  Karen immediately creased up with laughter. Emma regarded her mother sourly. Her mum had been here for all of ten minutes but had somehow instigated a situation where it was perfectly acceptable to talk about the size of men’s todgers.

  ‘Are you feeling better now?’ Jezz asked Emma.

  ‘Not particularly,’ she growled.

  ‘In which case’ – he turned to Karen – ‘can you fetch me some chocolate from the chiller?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Karen. ‘Um, is it okay if I have some too? I can never say no to chocolate.’

  ‘Help yourself,’ said Jezz. ‘And while you’re out there, would you mind checking on your friend Willow too? I don’t want a shop full of fainting females.’

  ‘Certainly,’ said Karen, flashing Jezz a smile. ‘Thankfully I’m made of tougher stuff. I won’t be fainting when you do my tattoo.’

  ‘Your tattoo?’ said Emma, frowning at her mother.

  What was her mum playing at?

  ‘Since when were you getting a tattoo?’

  ‘Since now. If you must know, I came out today to avoid the landline ringing. First it was your father calling from Australia, and then your brother. And not just once. Several times over. Noah is hassling about staying in December. He’s even talking about spending Christmas in England.’

  ‘And what’s wrong with that?’ said Emma.

  ‘Everything,’ said Karen in annoyance. ‘I don’t need any additional reminders about the past. Seeing all this body art’ – she waved a hand at the other two artists on the far side of the studio – ‘has made me realise that something substantial has been missing from my life.’

  ‘What, like a gigantic tattoo?’ said Emma sarcastically.

  ‘Yes, maybe,’ Karen cried. ‘Perhaps I’ll have a butterfly on my thigh too.’

  ‘Oh don’t copy me, Mum,’ said Emma in exasperation.

  ‘Can I suggest’ – Jezz said to Karen – ‘that you put some thought into this. After all, it’s a momentous occasion. And anyway, I don’t have time to do you as well today. You need an appointment.’

  ‘Okay, that’s a date,’ said Karen winking at him. ‘I’ll come back and let you give me lots of pricks another day.’

  ‘Great,’ said Emma, determined to break up her mother’s flirtatious innuendo once and for all. ‘So, back to me. Let’s get this done.’

  Thirty-Nine

  Charlie let out a gusty sigh that earned him a curious look from Ben.

  ‘That sounds like a man breathing out a shedload of stress.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Charlie nodded. ‘Something like that.’

  The two men were seated at a small table in a pub next door to their hotel. They were having a pre-dinner drink before meeting up with some colleagues who’d also been at the work convention.

  Earlier, when they’d all filed out of the business auditorium, there had been an almost carnival mood. Ch
arlie knew he wasn’t the only one looking forward to a night of unwinding without wives, girlfriends, or secret mistresses keeping tabs on their men’s whereabouts.

  ‘Do you mind me asking’ – Ben leant in close to avoid being overheard by anyone – ‘what the heck is going on in your private life?’

  ‘I could ask the same of you,’ said Charlie, dodging Ben’s question. ‘You told me you’d met someone but won’t tell me anything about her.’

  ‘Touché,’ said Ben. ‘But, unlike you, I’m now a single guy.’

  ‘I’m single too,’ Charlie protested.

  ‘No, you’re not. You have a partner. Her name is Willow. Ring any bells?’ he said sarcastically.

  ‘It’s certainly not dinging any wedding bells, because she hasn’t got a ring on it.’

  ‘Bloody hell, mate,’ Ben spluttered. ‘Don’t you have a conscience? Willow is a sweet girl. An absolute diamond. You’ve been playing away, and even if you won’t give me all the details, nothing can change the truth of the matter. How do you imagine Willow would feel if she discovered what you get up to behind her back?’

  ‘Look,’ said Charlie, spreading his palms wide. A gesture of coming clean. ‘Believe it or not, this week has been a defining one for me.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ said Ben, looking confused.

  ‘It means – and don’t ridicule me when I say this – I’m actually thinking of settling down.’

  ‘Mate, you already are “settled down”,’ Ben pointed out. ‘You have a joint mortgage with a beautiful lady who’s been sharing not just your bed these past few years, but also your life.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah’ – Charlie waved one hand dismissively – ‘but when I say “settle down” I really do mean that I’m seriously considering foregoing anyone else.’

  Charlie momentarily contemplated his pint of lager.

  ‘I think I might have finally grown up.’

  Ben snorted.

  ‘About flipping time. After all, it’s well over a decade since you left your teens behind.’