Even so, Charlie couldn’t relax. He hardly dared breathe in case the slightest movement gave him away. A part of him half-expected Sophie’s face to appear at the windscreen, her nose squashed up against the glass, features distorted like a nightmare character from a horror movie.
Charlie began to tremble, partly from nerves, and partly from the cold. He longed to start the engine and get the heating on, but he didn’t dare do that just yet. Fear was paralysing him. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and focussed on listening. The fire door had been heavy. After he’d stumbled through it, the door had slammed after him with a crash loud enough to light up reception’s switchboard with complaints. Therefore, if Sophie did dare to venture into the car park, surely he’d hear her coming?
His ears strained to catch any alien sounds. An empty can bounced across the tarmac causing Charlie’s heart to shoot into his oesophagus. Had someone kicked it? Had that someone been Sophie? Had she exited the hotel via the front door, and crept round the building’s perimeter to now search the car park? Perhaps she had tracked down her girlfriends and enlisted their help. Maybe they were arriving right now, en masse, ready to search together? After all, there was safety in numbers.
He heard the tin can roll again, and this time his heart relocated to his eardrums. Oh God, was that a voice he could hear? Or was his imagination playing tricks? A gust of wind whooshed against the vehicle, causing the chassis to sway. Charlie concentrated on breathing. In… out… in… that’s better… and out.
He wondered what the time was. Reaching carefully for his mobile, Charlie held it low to the car’s floor. The last thing he wanted was the screen lighting up the interior. He was surprised to see that it was only a little after ten o’clock. From his awkward position, he eyeballed the car’s gearstick and pushed some stray hair out of his eyes. He couldn’t stay like this for much longer. The handbrake was digging into his side. Apart from anything else, he was getting a backache.
Charlie pondered whether to start the car and make his getaway. Was he still over the limit? The more he thought about it, the more he decided it was okay to drive. There had been that earlier beer with Ben, but that was hours ago. He’d drunk some wine with Sophie, but considerable time had passed since his last glass, and he’d eaten a good meal. There had been plenty of “blotting paper”, so to speak. So… his mind whirred… surely he was good to go? He’d chance it. He had to. Getting out of Birmingham was a priority.
Slowly inching himself upright, Charlie cautiously peered over the steering wheel. The car park was still empty. No marauding female gang was racing between parked vehicles baying for blood or, in this instance, Charlie’s balls. The knot in his stomach eased slightly as he fully straightened up and snapped the seatbelt around his torso.
He stuck the key in the ignition. The engine coughed but didn’t fire. Oh Lord, please don’t let the car choose this moment to mess him about. Not now. Not in this crisis. Charlie applied pressure to the accelerator, and this time the engine turned over. He gave it a couple of revs, quietly appalled at the lack of strength in his legs. They felt like they’d been hijacked and replaced with cake mixture.
Charlie stared through the windscreen and, as he did so, a strangled cry escaped his lips. The fire escape door had flown back on its hinges. There, caught in his headlights and looking like an avenging angel, was Sophie. The wind swept her hair upwards where it rippled out like Medusa’s snakes. Her lips peeled back as she snarled with rage.
‘Come back here, you coward!’ she cried.
Charlie was reminded of a joke Ben had told him earlier that evening. Good heavens. It seemed light years away. That had been when life was normal. Not this living nightmare. Ben had told him about a man who’d bought a book called Cowards in History, but all the pages had fallen out. Annoyed, he’d returned it to the shop only to be told, “Cowards in History is a spineless book.”
As Charlie gunned the engine and the car lurched forward, in that moment he knew exactly what it felt like to be spineless.
Forty-Six
Kev was snuggled under her duvet, alone. Despite feeling tired, sleep was evading her.
She scratched her thigh absentmindedly, then winced. Her tattoo looked amazing, but it wouldn’t stop itching. Trying to keep her fingers off it was proving challenging. She wished there was something to distract her. Kev’s thoughts instantly flew to Charlie. If he was here right now, her attention would be instantly diverted.
Sighing, she flicked on the bedside lamp. The clock beside her showed the time as twenty past midnight. Earlier on, Kev had been reading a book. She’d borrowed it from Willow’s library. It was one of those New Age reads about cosmic ordering. It had appealed to her partly out of curiosity and partly amusement. It now lay face down beside the clock. Perhaps she’d make herself a cup of tea and return to that last chapter. The one about manifesting your heart’s desires. Huh! What a load of claptrap.
Five minutes later Kev was propped up in bed, sipping her tea and snorting with contempt at the advice within the pages.
Ask the universe to change your life. Begin with little things. For example, instead of requesting that the cosmos deliver a million-pound win on your Lotto ticket, start small. Focus on achieving, say, three numbers.
Kev tutted. Absolute rubbish. Although, hang on a minute, she hadn’t checked last week’s Lotto ticket. Okay, before she did that, how about doing what the book said? Right! Forget about hoping for the jackpot. Instead, concentrate on three numbers coming up trumps.
She closed her eyes and visualised the Lotto ticket. Now what? Wasn’t there a magic word to utter? Abracadabra, or some such silliness? She opened her eyes again, skim-reading the page for advice.
One way of successfully ordering your heart’s desire is to write it down in a letter. Address your letter to the universe and be very clear.
Oh, for goodness sake.
She rummaged in her bedside drawer for a bit of paper and a pen. Ah, there was her shopping list. She wondered where she’d put it. Kev smoothed out the creases, then turned the paper over. The other side was blank. Returning to the drawer, she found half a dozen defunct biros but – yay! – amidst the jumble was a reasonably sharp pencil.
Kev settled back against the pillows and drew her legs up to her chest. Using her knees as a table, she began to write:
Dear Universe.
That sounded very formal. She crossed it out and tried again.
Dearest Universe.
Hm. Should she perhaps make it more ingratiating? Would it curry her better favour and leapfrog over all the other cosmic requests that were possibly being offered up to the heavens from locations all around the world? For the second time her pencil scratched out the words.
Beloved Universe.
Better. Now to make her desire both precise and concise.
Give me three winning numbers on last week’s Lotto ticket.
Well, you couldn’t get clearer than that. Okay, now to imagine posting this note into a letterbox that had an uninterrupted connection to a celestial sorting office.
Kev folded the note in half once, then twice. She focused on the small space between her knees. In her mind’s eye, she imagined this space was the mouth of a cosmic mailbox. Without hesitating, Kev pushed the note through the gap. As the paper fluttered down to the mattress, she imagined it flying through zillions of miles of interplanetary space before being intercepted by a giant glowing hand. She visualised long fingers unfolding her note, and unseen eyes reading her request.
Right. Job done. Now to check that Lotto ticket.
Swinging her legs out of bed, Kev padded across the bedroom and grabbed her handbag from the dressing table. The Lotto ticket was in her purse. Not for one moment did she believe that three of its numbers would yield any financial reward, but it was an amusing experiment.
Extracting the ticket along with her mobile, she hopped back into bed. Now to go on the website and check last week’s numbers.
Seconds lat
er, Kev let out a gasp. Good heavens. She’d only gone and bagged thirty quid! Wow, how about that? She stared at the numbers in bemusement. Had she really just done her first bit of successful cosmic ordering?
Oh don’t be absurd. It’s a coincidence, that’s all. You don’t truly believe this book’s bunkum, do you?
Kev blew out her cheeks. No. She didn’t believe it. It was simply a happy fluke. On the upside, she was now thirty pounds better off. But her mind was already darting off and starting to play the “what if” game.
What if her command to the universe hadn’t been a coincidence? What if she really had tapped into some sort of divine energy that had delivered those three lottery numbers? What if she could tap into it again? But this time with a different request. Something more challenging. Just to prove to herself that the mini lottery win was nothing more than one of life’s freaky moments.
Kev took another sip of tea and cogitated. Okay. Time to up the stakes.
Setting her drink down on the bedside table, Kev retrieved both the shopping list and pencil, and once again set to work. Okay, cosmos. Try this for size!
Beloved Universe. Have Charlie ring my doorbell in the next sixty seconds.
Once again, Kev folded the paper upon itself and, closing her eyes tightly, posted the note through the gap between her legs. For the second time she heard the paper flutter briefly through the air whilst imagining her note zooming towards that glowing hand. There were those fingers again, opening her note, and those same unseen eyes were now scanning her request.
Kev flopped back against the pillows and stared at the ceiling. She felt wired and on edge. Perhaps she should’ve made herself cocoa instead of tea. Caffeine was a stimulant, not a sedative. She sighed. Ah well, there were all sorts of things she shouldn’t have done in her life. Drinking tea at gone midnight was just one of them. Kev reached for the cup but, as her fingers curled around the china, her body gave an involuntary jerk of shock.
The doorbell was emitting a series of shrill rings.
Forty-Seven
Kev crept along the landing towards the stairs, mobile in one hand just in case she needed to call the police. The doorbell let out another urgent volley of bing-bongs. Who the heck was visiting at this time of night?
Not for one moment did Kev truly believe she’d manifested Charlie on her doorstep. Okay, she might have just won thirty quid on last week’s Lotto ticket after writing a letter to the universe, but that was just a bit of quirkiness. No, the doorbell ringer must be some chancer out to rob her.
There had been a spate of burglaries in the village recently. One neighbour had forgotten to lock up before going to bed, and a prowler had simply strolled in and taken the keys to a brand-new BMW. And only last week, widower Mr Thompson had been victim to a scam. A well-spoken and presentable looking man had rattled Mr Thompson’s doorknocker late at night claiming he didn’t have a mobile and his car had broken down. Would Mr Thompson be a star and avail the use of his landline?
Poor Mr Thompson had let the stranger in, but then been manhandled and tied to a chair in his hallway while his house had been ransacked. Goodness knows how long Mr Thompson would have been in that pickle if his daughter hadn’t popped by the following morning.
Kev tip-toed to the front door trying to ignore her heart which was thudding like the base guitar in a heavy metal band. Pressing her head against the wood panels, she peered through the spy hole. She had to suppress the urge to scream as a man’s silhouette came into view. He was wearing a hoodie, but it completely shrouded his face.
The man raised his hand again, but this time made a fist which he hammered against the panels. When that didn’t get any response from within, he pulled a mobile from his pocket. The screen eerily lit up his hood, but a dark void remained where his face should have been. It made him look like a ghoul. A rash of goose bumps erupted over Kev’s arms. Who was the man phoning? Was he perhaps giving the thumbs-up to his gang?
“Harry? It’s me. There’s no one home. I’ve rung the bell umpteen times and bashed on the door too. Fetch the crowbar. We’re going in.”
Kev let out a squeak of fear. It was time to call the police. Better to be safe than sorry. Thank God she’d had the foresight to bring her mobile downstairs with her.
Shaking, she was about to tap out the number to Emergency Services when her phone exploded into life. Kev’s nerves were already stretched to breaking point. She was in fight-or-flight mode. Consequently, before she could even think about what was happening, her reflexes had sprung into action and lobbed the mobile along the hallway. Unfortunately, the jaunty ringtone of “Single Ladies” had been loud enough to alert Midnight Man to Kev’s presence. He immediately began thumping on the door with renewed vigour.
It was all too much for Kev. Adrenalin had been whizzing around her body for the last few minutes, but now it had run its course and her legs buckled. Groaning with dismay she sank to the floor until her head was in line with the letterbox. The brass flap lifted and suddenly she was staring into a pair of piercing blue eyes.
‘ARGHHH!’ she cried.
‘Kev!’
She stopped screaming. There was only one man who called her that. Charlie Goodman.
What the hell was going on here? First the lottery win. Now Charlie was on her doorstep when… hang on a minute… he was in Birmingham. At a work convention. He couldn’t possibly be here. Either she was hallucinating or her cosmic ordering had plucked him from his Brummie hotel and plonked him here, in Mosley, at silly o’clock in the morning.
‘Charlie?’ she croaked.
‘Open the door!’
‘Is it really you?’ she asked, staring hard at the eyes.
They were the same blue as Charlie’s but looked very wild. A bit… deranged. But then again, if she’d just been beamed-up from Birmingham, she’d probably be feeling a bit peculiar too.
‘Yes, it’s really me,’ said Charlie. ‘Now please let me in.’
Wow, she’d have to keep reading that book. And she’d be sure to leave a five-star review on Amazon too.
Not only did I win some money on the lottery, but my lover was delivered to my doorstep by cloud courier.
Well, maybe she’d have to word it differently, otherwise Amazon might think she was a headcase.
‘Hurry up, Kev,’ Charlie urged. ‘It’s flipping freezing out here.’
His words galvanised her into action. Springing to her feet, she drew back the safety chain on the door and then released the catch.
Forty-Eight
‘Oh my g-goodness,’ Kev stammered. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I guess so,’ said Charlie, looking bewildered.
He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be okay again. Not after Sophie’s revelation.
‘But… what was the journey from Birmingham like?’
‘I can honestly say it was something of a blur.’
‘Yes, I can imagine,’ said Kev, her eyes huge.
‘In fact, tonight’s been totally surreal,’ said Charlie, shaking his head. ‘One minute I was relaxing in my hotel room, the next–’
Kev cut across him, her voice anxious.
‘But you’re okay, yes?’
‘I’m really not sure.’ Charlie shook his head. ‘It’s been a crazy night.’
‘You can say that again,’ said Kev, with a giggle.
The sound carried a note of hysteria.
Charlie stared at Kev. Properly. She was behaving oddly. As if she’d had a shock or been weirded out by something. Perhaps his surprise visit at an unearthly hour had frightened her.
‘Never mind me for a moment,’ said Charlie, in a rare moment of solicitousness. ‘What about you? You seem out of sorts.’
‘Ah ha ha ha,’ Kev laughed shrilly. ‘Yes. A bit. I mean–’
She broke off and launched into a rendition of the music from Dr Who.
‘Dum-da-dum, dum-da-dum, dum-da-dum, dum-da-dum…’
‘Eh?’
‘Waa-OOOOOOOOOOOO!’
‘Flaming Nora, my ears,’ said Charlie, clapping his hands to his head.
What the heck had got into Kev? Her eyes were shining like a religious zealot who’d had a vision but couldn’t put into words what she’d seen. She was eyeballing Charlie like he was some sort of supernatural entity.
‘Bizarre or what!’ she declared.
‘Er, cosmic,’ he agreed.
Charlie had no idea why Kev had wanted to sing Dr Who’s theme tune, but decided to humour her. Perhaps it was her time of the month and she was feeling a bit hormonal or something. Willow had been known to take Coronation Street way too seriously when she was due on. He’d once caught her emulating the mournful notes of that frigging trumpet as she’d stood in the kitchen prepping dinner.
‘But the main thing is’ – Kev’s face was wreathed in smiles – ‘you’re here!’
‘I am,’ said Charlie. And then an expression of horror came over his face. ‘Oh my goodness, I completely forgot to check. Are you alone?’
Help. He hadn’t stopped to properly think this through. What if Kev wasn’t alone? That would be the icing on the cake of this disastrous evening.
A sudden feeling of not being able to cope washed over him, and he rubbed the heels of his hands into his tired eyes. Was he having a nervous breakdown? Fancy not remembering to call Kev before turning up on her doorstep and ringing the life out of her doorbell.
‘It’s okay,’ said Kev, squeezing his arm in reassurance. ‘I’m alone.’
‘Thank God,’ Charlie whispered.
He really didn’t know what he would have done had another female made a surprise appearance tonight, least of all one who would have demanded to know why he was here and not home with Willow. He had a mental image of that female angrily standing before him, putting two and two together, and then spilling the beans to Willow. If that ever happened, then the whole precarious pack of cards that was currently Charlie’s world would come crashing down. As if he wasn’t in enough trouble already with Sophie. Although… no… no… he wasn’t in any trouble with Sophie… he’d done a runner on her. He was safe. Sophie hadn’t a clue where he lived. Charlie mentally sighed with relief. He could forget all about Sophie.
Willow's Wedding Vows: a laugh out loud romantic comedy with a twist! Page 20
