‘Curtains closed, a big bag of popcorn and a Harry Potter on here, lad, and it’ll be better than the pictures,’ said Eddie, which had Danny’s face lighting up like a Christmas tree. He was viewing all this as much of an adventure, as
Charlie Bucket did his trip to Willy Wonka’s Chocolate factory.
‘Or a Johnny Depp,’ said Catherine with a conspiratorial wink. She intended to take advantage of a couple of nights in here herself with a Blockbuster special and a bottle of vino, a cheesecake and two forks.
‘Can Gareth come and play in our new house?’ said Danny.
‘Course he can,’ said Stevie.
‘And Josh Parker?’
‘Er…we’ll see,’ said Stevie, exchanging horrified looks with Catherine, before moving swiftly on.
Catherine quickly made up Danny’s bed, whilst Stevie got him washed, pyjama-ed up and toothpasted. He was tired, little lamb, after all the excitement of his busy day. In his Superman pyjamas under his giant Superman fleecy blanket and cuddling his Superman doll, he was asleep in minutes.
‘So, are you sorted then?’ said Eddie, who had been finishing off a thank you bottle of lager from the Happy Shopper, whilst he relaxed in the reclining bit of the sofa that he had just discovered. He looked so comfortable, he could have been part of the furnishings.
‘I just need to clean over there tomorrow and that’s that,’ said Stevie, raising her own bottle of lager in thanks to him.
‘Clean?’ screeched Catherine.
‘I don’t care what you say, I’m not having Jo slagging me off because there’s a bit of dust where I’ve moved things,’ returned Stevie. Okay, this might be ‘acting to type’ but
there was no way she was going to let anyone call her a mucky sod. ‘There’s not all that much to do but I’m doing it. Then I’ll get on with the…other business.’
‘What other business?’ said Eddie.
‘Cancelling the wedding,’ said Stevie.
‘Oh sorry!’ said Eddie. ‘Me and my big mouth. Again.’
‘Don’t be daft, it’s got to be done. Better than him jilting me at the altar, I suppose.’ A cold shiver ran down her spine as she wondered how close she had come to that happening.
Catherine smiled kindly at her. ‘You look worn out. You should get to bed yourself.’
‘I don’t think I’ll sleep, to be honest.’
But Stevie did, and it was a sleep of far better quality than she had had for quite a long time. As if it was a gift to rest her soul for the ordeals in store for her the following day.
Danny was a little disorientated when he was awoken by his Spiderman alarm clock and found he was desperate for a wee. Stevie was in such a deep sleep that when she felt herself being shaken by the shoulder and a little voice saying, ‘Mummy, someone’s stolen the toilet,’ she actually believed it for a moment and sat up bolt upright with a rush of panic. Her eyes came into focus on soft tones of pale pink and old cream painted on uneven plaster walls rather than the familiar white woodchip wallpaper and that wonky black and red ‘boy’ border–so much nicer, gentler colours to wake up to. Then she realized where she was and that a toilet burglar probably had not targeted them after all.
Once the loo had been re-discovered, Stevie set about making breakfast. She caught sight of her former home through the window, which was an odd, almost out-of-body experience moment. She tore herself away and concentrated on pouring out Coco Pops for two, deciding that she could not afford to let emotion get in the way of the task in hand and ruin everything. Although if–
when
–she and Matthew got back together, she wasn’t sure she
could move into that house again. That would be too painful. She would insist they sell up and move on. A fresh start.
As soon as she had dropped Danny off at school, she headed across the road with her cleaning kit. She gave the place a quick dust, a vacuum, and a double extra going over in the kitchen, not that it really needed it, other than the dull square where the microwave had sat. Between the work-surface paraphernalia, the space it had occupied was as obvious as a missing front tooth. She did consider rearranging everything to make the gap less obvious, but decided why should she? If she didn’t make a hollow in his life, her stuff sure as hell would. Any little points of satisfaction that thought brought, though, were soon offset by the fact that Matt would probably miss the coffee percolator more than her. He had loved the post-dinner ritual of fancy coffees and all the fresh cream mints she used to buy in Thorntons.
There was an empty, echoey feel to the house that was inexplicable because Matthew’s stuff was still there. In fact, apart from being a lot cleaner and shinier, it looked just as it did the day she moved in at New Year. It was as if she had never been there and part of his house, part of his life.
Stevie wound the cord around her Dyson, ready to take it across the road. Matthew would just have to cope with his ancient cylinder in the under-stairs cupboard, which had been hard-wired into believing its primary function was to blow out more dust than it sucked in. Tough, but necessary because she
knew
that he would expect her to leave behind all this stuff, because that’s what good-hearted
old Stevie would do. She might beg, plead, cry or hang around his workplace desperate to talk to him and change his mind, but she was incapable of thinking of her own needs before his. Nice Stevie could not bear to see him surviving on sandpapery towels and incompetent electrical equipment.
Well, he had a little shock coming then!
Twisting the engagement ring off her finger, Stevie put it on the work surface. Then, remembering that she herself had paid for the flaming thing, she snatched it back up and stuck it in her pocket. Not that she would ever wear it again, but she could all too easily visualize Matthew flogging it and then taking Jo out for dinner on the proceeds.
She took one last look at Matthew’s house, which she had kept warm and full of treats and comforts. Matthew’s house, which she had intended to share with him as Mrs Stevie Finch. Then she forced herself to leave it, locked the door behind her and posted the key back through the letterbox. That one small action was huge in its implications. She tried to see it as a comma in their relationship, but it felt more like a big fat full stop.
The first thing she did on entering Humbleby Cottage was to pick up her mobile. Taking a big breath, as if she was about to dive underwater, she rang Matthew’s number. It clicked onto answerphone and she noticed how the recorded message was slightly different to his usual one. He sounded chirpier, cocky as a greedy cat in a cream factory. She wondered if he really was too busy to answer or was just ignoring her. She prepared herself for the long beep to end.
‘Hi, it’s Stevie,’ she said, pitching it neither too up nor down. ‘Just to let you know that I’ve fully vacated the
house now and posted the key back through the letterbox, so it’s all yours. Take care, bye.’ Then she hung up and let all the air out of her lungs before taking up her notebook to make the first of all the other dreaded calls.
‘Hello, “Kiss the Bride”,’ answered a jolly voice.
‘Is that Ros?’
‘Yes, this is Ros, who’s speaking, please?’
‘It’s Stevie Honeywell. I bought one of your wedding dresses, I don’t know if you remember me. It was long, to the floor, white silk, criss-cross breast panel.’ She had brought the dress and accessories home from the shop so that she could show them to Jo, if that wasn’t a kick in the teeth.
‘Ah yes, I remember, we had to have it considerably shortened.’
‘…And a pink bridesmaid dress, size ten, and a pageboy outfit. You’ve still got those in the shop.’
‘Yes, I’ve just altered those too for you.’
‘Er…yes. Well, the thing is, there isn’t going to be a wedding any more, so I wondered if I could have a refund.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Ros, ‘I am so sorry. Is there no chance that maybe in the future…?’
Stevie didn’t answer either way, just in case she would influence some self-fulfilling prophecy that happened to be lurking about in the cosmos. She merely shook her head slightly whilst thinking, Even if there were, I couldn’t wear that dress now with all its bad memories.
‘Oh dear,’ said Ros again in a not too encouraging way. ‘Well, the thing is, we did have to have a lot taken off the hem.’
God, I’m five foot two, not Jimmy Krankie, thought Stevie.
‘I haven’t worn it at all. Isn’t there anything you can do? The shoes haven’t even been out of the box and the veil is still wrapped up.’
Surely, other short people get married?
‘Well, I did say that I would buy everything back for forty per cent if you wanted to sell it after the ceremony. That’s the best I can do, I’m afraid. I’ve had to alter everything so much, you see.’
‘The shoes and the veil haven’t been altered though,’ said Stevie bravely.
‘Yes, but they’ve still been sold to you. Oh dear, it is sad.’
Obviously not sad enough, though
.
‘Is that really your best offer?’ said Stevie, suspecting it probably was. ‘It’s cost me a small fortune.’
‘I’d make him pay for it,’ said Ros, still dreadfully sympathetic.
‘Alas, that isn’t an option,’ said Stevie stiffly. Matthew hadn’t contributed a penny towards the wedding and was swanning around in the seven hundred quid suit she had bought for him, not counting the shoes. Why hadn’t she made him stump up? Why was she so stupidly unsparing?
‘I’m afraid that really is my best offer,’ said Ros, as if it embarrassed her terribly to say so.
‘Okay,’ said Stevie resignedly. ‘Can I bring the dress and other stuff in today?’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Ros. ‘I totally understand how you’ll want it out of sight. Oh, it is such a shame, I am so
sorry,’ and she sounded it too. Sorry enough almost to cry, but not sorry enough to barter.
‘Thank you for your help then,’ said Stevie.
‘A pleasure,’ said Ros with a voice as soft and as sweet as June rose petals, belying a heart that was as soft and sweet as a concrete block.
Stevie decided not to make the other calls before getting rid of the dress and all the accessories that ‘Kiss the Bride’ supplied. She threw them all straight into the back of her car and headed into town, finding a parking space not too far away. There was an embarrassing walk through the arcade to the shop, as if everyone she passed knew she was taking the stuff back because she had been rejected for someone prettier with longer legs and who was no doubt better in bed as well.
Ros was dressing a dummy with a pageboy’s outfit when she walked in. A little Scots boy with a kilt, wouldn’t you just know it.
The ‘poor you’ look she gave Stevie when she entered the shop and set the bell tinkling, sent tears flooding up to her eyes.
‘Aw, my dear,’ said Ros. ‘Come and sit down, whilst I check the dress over.’
It was amazing how cold and warm someone could be at the same time.
Satisfied that the dress hadn’t been worn and that all the accessories were as perfect as Stevie had described, Ros wrote a cheque for exactly 40 per cent of the amount on the receipt. Right down to the twenty-four pence.
‘Well, if it’s any consolation, you’ll have all this
excitement of picking another dress one day, I’m sure of it, dear,’ said Ros with a big summery smile. ‘He’s a mad fool, but then they all are. Men.’
‘Thank you, Ros,’ said Stevie.
‘I’m sorry I couldn’t help more.’
‘It’s okay,’ said Stevie, who found she was actually so relieved to have the stuff out of the house that in the end, she would have taken less if pushed. Not that she would voice that to Ros. She would need all the money she could get to pay Adam MacLean for living in the cottage.
‘Have you had to cancel everything then?’
‘
No, I thought I’d keep the cake and flowers for a laugh
,’ she almost wanted to scream, but instead she answered calmly, ‘Well, no. I’ve got that delightful task in front of me. You were first on my list.’
‘Aw, I hope you have a friend there to help you. It’s not something you’d want to do without support, is it?’
‘No,’ said Stevie with a loaded sigh, wondering how much support she would get from her mother, who was next on her list to ring.
‘Good job I haven’t bought my outfit yet then,’ said Edna Honeywell with a big sniff. ‘Anyway, I never liked him.’
‘That’s a lie, Mum–you said he was nice.’
‘Too good-looking. You’d never have kept him.’
Thanks
.
‘He’s not gone for good, Mum. We’re just having a short break.’
‘So what’s
she
like?’ Edna went on, not hearing what Stevie was telling her. ‘I presume there is someone else.’
‘There’s no one else, Mum. We just want to be sure so we’re putting the wedding off for a bit,’ said Stevie, thrown off-kilter by her mother’s powers of perception. She didn’t want her parents knowing what the situation really was, because she knew this storm would blow over and she and Matthew
would
end up getting married later. Positive thoughts like this kept her spirits buoyant. It was crazy but somehow
she knew
he would come home to her heart again. This was merely a temporary glitch in the greater scheme of things, albeit a massive temporary glitch.
‘There will be another woman, mark my words,’ said Edna. ‘They don’t leave unless they’ve sniffed another bitch. Have you told
him
yet?’
‘I’m going to ring Dad next. Will you let Auntie Rita know?’
‘Yes I’ll let our Rita know but I’ll have to get off the phone soon, I was just on my way out.’
‘Oh, going anywhere nice?’ asked Stevie with a hopeful attempt at continuing the conversation for just a little longer.
‘I’ve got a Salsa class at half-past.’
Stevie might have known. Her mother always did have a class on the go. She had been doing Great Female Poets during pregnancy and fallen in love with Stevie Smith’s work, hence the choice of name for her daughter. Luckily the Greek Legends course had been cancelled otherwise Stevie would now be living life as Aphrodite Hera Honeywell.
‘Okay, mum, I won’t keep you.’
‘Well, anyway, I’m sorry for you, lass. It can’t be easy.’
‘It isn’t easy. Danny’s fine, by the way.’
‘I was just going to ask!’ snapped Edna. ‘I don’t know, you can cause an argument in an empty house, can’t you?’ she continued. ‘No wonder your fella buggered off.’
Stevie ended the call politely before it degenerated into all the other conversations they had, where she ended up feeling surplus to requirements. Edna Honeywell made Ros’s heart look like a goosedown pillow.
Stevie told her dad that she and Matthew had decided to take some time apart and re-think things through. She gave him her new address.
‘Nay, lass, never,’ said Jack Honeywell, strangely drawing the same conclusion as her mother. ‘He wants shooting. Can’t keep it in their trousers, some lads,’ which was rich, considering he had kept
it
well out of his trousers when he left her mum for Thick Neck. Then he cheated on Thick Neck for Cyclops, who lost her left eye in a fight years ago after being biffed in it with a bingo dabber. Neither woman had felt the slightest obligation to welcome Stevie into the step-family fold.
‘Are you all right? Are you coping?’ he asked solicitously.
‘I’m fine, Dad. I’ve moved out. Danny’s fine too by the way.’
‘Good, give him a big kiss from his granddad. I nearly called in last week. We were passing coming from Thelma’s (Cyclops’s) son’s house. Good job we didn’t, if you’d moved.’
‘I only moved last night.’
‘Oh.’
Stevie finished the conversation before it ended up like all the other calls to her dad, which made her feel insignificant and second-best to her step-family, and that if it weren’t for the connection of blood, there would be no connection at all.
Next was the cake woman.
‘I’ve already made the fruit cakes in the hexagonals you wanted. I’ll have to keep the deposit and just not charge you for the icing,’ she said grumpily.
‘Thank you,’ said Stevie, who didn’t feel up for a fight. Was she just being ultra-sensitive, or was the world really such a hard, bitter place, she wondered. Did people think she was doing this for a joke, organizing a wedding and then cancelling it because there was nothing good on the telly? The wedding world was far more cold hard cash than it was warm hearts and flowers. Talking of which, the florist was next call. Thank God for gay male florists.
‘Oh, you poor darling,’ said Donny Badger before spitting, ‘Bastard!’ like an irate cobra. If she had gone into the shop in person, she had no doubt he would have taken her in the back room and be plying her with biscuits and tissues by now, which might have been rather lovely because she so badly wanted someone to be nice to her. It was slightly disconcerting, the way everyone assumed she had been traded in for a better model. There seemed to be an awful lot of sceptics in the world. Maybe that’s why her
Midnight Moon
books did so well, because her heroes and heroines were honourable and faithful and didn’t hurt each other. True fantasy then. Stevie didn’t want to turn into a hard-bitten cynic who didn’t believe in love in real life any more.
However, it was looking more and more as if any love that existed out there was never going to be for her.