Week 18 - I Don't Believe It !

The next week was strange with frequent visits from the police, a very tearful visit from Becky’s parents and a rather threatening call from Shirley. All of this whilst I was trying to come to terms with Carol’s revelation about Becky’s infidelity. I decided not to tell my family about the latest Becky twist as my Dad had become very anti-Becky since the non-wedding day and mum was just too busy popping back the Prozac pills.

The Shirley call was the oddest and she seemed to be implying that it I didn’t take her out again then she would tell her police colleagues about how bad I had treated her and that would make them consider me as a suspect in the Becky disappearance. I have never been the kind of chap that can be threatened though and often at school I would take unnecessary beatings instead of doing something somebody was trying to force me to do. Mind you Pete would often take revenge for me at a later date and always without me needing to ask him. This did mean that I felt guilty because as a pacifist I never used violence, but people who crossed me used to feel the force of Pete’s forehead. Pete’s head-butts were legendary and after a couple of years less people picked on me and my wiry frame because they knew how Pete protected me. Maybe I should send Pete round to sort out Shirley. But of course Pete would never lay a finger on a woman. He was a perfect gentleman around the opposite sex. No, I had better deal with Shirley myself and just tell her that I was still in love with my missing bride and unable to start a relationship with anybody else.

So where was Becky? I was now getting really worried about her and annoyed with myself for not worrying earlier. Ok Becky might have been unfaithful, but I would have forgiven her anything as I loved her so much. I mean it happens at Hen Do’s and as I probably didn’t know the fellow involved would it really have mattered. But why did it mean she couldn’t marry me? Was it because his sexual prowess was superior to mine? Perhaps she realised that I was never going to fulfil her sexual needs? I thought I had been doing ok. I mean I did everything it said in that women’s health magazine I read last year. Becky always seemed to enjoy it, even when I made her wait until after Match of the Day. She always made the right noises at the key moments, but maybe the mysterious guy pushed some extra buttons that I hadn’t discovered. But that wasn’t important now the important thing was to find Becky. She had to be safe, but where the hell was she and why had she not contacted her parents? Maybe she had gone off with this mystery man?

It was a Friday evening and I was sitting down to read the Express & Star and listen to the football phone in on the local radio. As always I started with the back page of the paper to see the Sports news and see if Ian Taylor would be fit to face Coventry tomorrow. I worked my way towards the front of the paper and then was hit by the story on page seven. It was not a big story but the title rocked me. It read “Jilted John’s Missing Bride”. As feared the story was about Becky and John, even with the extra ‘H’ in Jon it was me. They spelt my surname wrong as well, added four years to my age and said I lived in Burntwood, but it was definitely me. The story didn’t suggest any foul play but tried to add a bit of mystery. Mind you, there was a mystery as to where my Becky was. The story hit a nerve with me and tears started to trickle down my face. For the first time I started to think about the possible bad things that could have happened to Becky. Maybe it had all been too much for her? Surely she knew I would forgive her anything?

Over the next hour the phone rang repeatedly as it became clear that many of my relatives read every inch of the Express & Star. My mum was first who decided to just ring to sob openly on the phone and I was only able to catch the odd word. Many of which seemed to be ‘poor Becky’. I decided against mentioning her extra sexual activity. This was simply between me and Carol. Although, I was thinking should I be telling the police? I mean what if she had bonked a mad axe-man who had not taken the news that she didn’t want him well and he now had different parts of my bride in the different compartments of his freezer. Next caller was Pete who said he read the story and was going to come and take me out for a beer. Nan also called and told me not to worry as she had had a word with her dead friend Jessie and Becky hadn’t turned up there.

A few hours later I was sitting with Pete in a pub called ‘The Drakes Drum’. It was away from our usual haunts but had been mentioned as a place where a lot of Villa fans went so Pete thought we should try it. Pete didn’t seem his usual self and kept looking around as if he was waiting for somebody to appear. I asked him about this but he said I was imagining it. In all the years I had known Pete he had never been this nervous before. He said he was just worried about the Villa at Coventry tomorrow. Understandable as he had ended up being chased down Coventry high street by abut forty Sky Blues fans. Even though I had hardly touched my pint Pete was back at the bar buying me another pint.

Repeatedly I tried to talk to Pete about the newspaper story and where Becky might be, but he didn’t want to talk about it. He seemed to think I needed to take my mind off it and maybe he was right, but this wasn’t the usual Pete. I decided that Pete was the one person I could trust so I made the decision to tell him about the visit from Carol. He still seemed to not be fully paying attention but he did manage to make an inappropriate comment about Carol’s legs. I then quietly blurted out the information that had being driving mad all week. That Becky had slept with somebody else just two weeks before our wedding day. Pete nearly spat his beer in my face but then quickly composed himself and labelled poor Becky as a ‘tart’. He decided it was time for another round of drinks. Now, something wasn’t right here because Pete had bought four straight round of drinks and that never happened. Normally we would have an odd number of rounds and I would always end up buying one more unless Pete didn’t do the ‘I have forgotten my wallet’ trick and then I would buy them all. But today he was buying drinks non-stop. Maybe he wasn’t well and was about to admit to a serious illness.

Pete returned from the bar surprisingly empty handed. At least I already had two pints lined up. He looked me straight in the eye and announced to my shock that he wasn’t going to Coventry tomorrow. This was just so unlike Pete. We always went to Coventry and usually won. Pete then stood up and then gave me a fiver for a taxi. He was looking as if he was about to cry and I could not understand what was going on. Even Pete is now behaving oddly. What is happening to my life? Pete took a step back and then said something that at first made no sense at all. It sounded like he said ‘it was me’. As Pete walked off I tried to make sense of these comments and then it hit me like a Pete head-butt. Pete had just confessed that he had slept with Becky.

Next Week : New Best Friend

Week 17 - Anyone Seen the Bride?

The two policemen repeatedly referred to it as mysterious and apparently Becky’s family had not heard from her since our sham wedding day. I tried to answer their questions but I hadn’t got a clue where she could be. It was quite a shock when the plumper of the two policemen asked if I suspected ‘foul play’. Why would there be ‘foul play’, I mean it seemed clear that Becky had decided that she could not marry this council worker and had gone in search of more excitement. Or was I been a little slow here and had I accepted things too quickly? I told the officers about the texts I had received in the early morning of the wedding. This just resulted in one of the officers quickly getting on his walkie-talkie as if relaying some vital new information. The other policeman then asked to see the phone and the message. Of course I had long since deleted the message as it wasn’t exactly a good memento of the day. The wording of the message was very clearly itched in my brain as it wasn’t exactly an everyday text. Although as I rarely used the phone I could probably remember most of the messages I had received. The attitudes of the officers to me appeared to change and it became apparent that they believed I was hiding something about Becky. Trying to make them less suspicious I showed them the unused wedding dress. This didn’t exactly help my case as they thought it was strange that it was unworn and said they would have to take it away for finger prints. I protested that it would be mainly full of my fingerprints and the plumb one just made more notes in his notebook.

Finally the policemen left me in peace, but made it clear that they would be continuing their enquiries in the morning.

Sleeping that night was almost impossible with my head full of thoughts of the horrible fate that might have befell my beloved Becky, thoughts of Heather’s call and more scary thoughts of date with Shirley. Finally at around six on the Sunday morning I fell asleep and was rather startled a couple of hours later with the sound of the phone ringing. In the hope it was Heather and not the police I ran to the phone and picked up the receiver. The female voice seemed vaguely familiar but I couldn’t place it at first. After a few seconds the caller who seemed quite distressed revealed she was Carol, Becky’s best friend. She explained that she really had to talk to me as something terrible had happened. I was thinking that after I had been jilted and had to endure a date with Shirley surely things couldn’t get much more terrible. Carol made it quite clear that she had to see me and she had to see me today. So I gave her directions and told her to come around to the flat and we could talk about it.


Carol was a friend of Becky’s I only saw from a distance and never really got to know her. She always smiled nicely and I know she was some kind of social worker. She had met Becky when they attended some conference together. It was just after mid-day when Carol finally arrived and she was almost shaking. I wasn’t quite sure how to welcome her so I just smiled and pointed into the lounge. Carol seemed thinner and maybe taller than I had recalled but surely she hadn’t grown. All she seemed to be saying was that she had made a really big mistake. To try and calm her down I offered her sweet tea or something stronger. She opted for the sweet tea which was a problem as I had run out of sugar over a month ago. I looked in the kitchen cupboard for something sweet and noticed some golden syrup. Ok it was past its use by date, but I thought a dollop in the tea might make it sweet. It didn’t seem very keen to dissolve, but when I returned to the lounge it was the least of my worries. Carol was now sobbing uncontrollably. She just kept telling me she was sorry. So very very sorry.

I had the horrible feeling I was about to find out something nasty. My mind was working at triple it’s normal speed. The theories going through my mind could have come straight out of Miss Marple’s head. Had Carol killed Becky or maybe she was having a lesbian affair with her. I must stop watching those late night films on Channel Four.

Eventually Carol composed herself just enough to tell me she had no idea where Becky was and was really worried. Well, that was a great help. She had not seen her since the night before the wedding. Well, the day that was supposed to be our wedding. Since then she had not seen or heard from Becky. She then cried even more and her nose began to stream as well. It was at this point I remembered that I was out of tissues as well as sugar. I handed Carol two sheets of Paddington Bear kitchen roll, but even with it being super absorbent it was struggling to keep up with the stream of tears and snot.

So what would Miss Marble or Hetty Wainthorpp do now? The only new information it seemed Carol could provide was what happened the night before the murder, sorry jilting. I tried to look intimidating as I asked Carol what exactly Becky had said to her the night before. Carol just kept apologising and then gave me the news that I really hadn’t been expecting. She said that Becky had been so broken hearted because she knew she couldn’t possibly marry me. The reason was that she had slept with another man just two weeks before our wedding day. I was stunned by this news, but who was he and perhaps more importantly where was Becky now.

Next Week : The guilty party revealed

Week 13 - Naked Lady

The party had been planned by Pete and another mate called Jason which explained the high percentage of pretty girls. A number of them I don’t think I had ever seen before. Pete seemed to know them all. My parents were there sitting discretely in the corner, Dave ‘the bluenose', from work was spinning round in his wheelchair, Karen was dancing with a man who looked old enough to start lining up at the Post Office. Then to my delight I caught sight of a third person dancing in the group. It was Nan. I then realised that it was in fact Nan the man in his sixties was with. It was great to see my Nan looking so happy even if I don’t think her ankle was designed for that type of angle. With ‘Come On Eileen’ blasting out everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. If Becky had been by my side it would have been great. She used to do a brilliant striptease dance to this song. Only in private of course! I loved to see her body and feel the top of her naked thighs gyrate against me.
“Here is somebody who has come a long way to see you”, Pete said hiding a girl behind his back. Could it be Becky? Would my day be complete? Slowly the small blonde girl came into view and I recognised her instantly. It was my own Bakewell Tart, Heather Shaw.
Heather looked terrific dressed in a little black dress that didn’t even cover her knees. She had lost the slight chubbiness she had had and looked in exceptionally good nick. Pete quickly retreated to leave the two of us alone. Well, alone apart from the fact that I could feel the eyes of my whole family on us. Things were slightly awkward, but Heather soon took charge saying “Bonjour”, holding my hands and giving me a small kiss on my left cheek. I leant down slightly remembering how the height difference had sometimes made kissing difficult.
For the next half an hour I ignored all my other guests and chatted to Heather. We talked about so many things that had gone on in the past and she smelt lovely. The perfume, which I thought was probably French, was really pleasant. We talked mostly about uni days. More like old pals than ex’s. There was no mention of Becky or Jean Pierre. For the first time in months I was having a conversation with a woman and it felt so relaxed. Heather’s smile always put me at ease.
The party went well, I mingled, talked to Heather, cut the cake, talked to Heather, did the Birdie song and talked to Heather. Nan pulled me to one side and asked me in her normal to-the-point way “Has she dumped the Frenchie?”. I had no idea, but she seemed happy so I assumed they were still together. I must admit she had got me through a very difficult party. Yes, I was grateful to Pete for organising it and especially for getting Heather there but I didn’t really feel in the mood to celebrate my move to my fourth decade, by the time it was half past ten I had actually had enough of socialising. I decided to tell Pete, thank you, but I am going to call it a night. The only problem with this was that Pete was currently playing tonsil hockey with a girl I had never seen before. I tapped him on the back and indicated I was going. I think he heard me but his mouth was still being sucked like a vacuum by this unknown redhead.
Outside I looked for clues to where I could get a taxi from. It was now starting to rain and I wasn’t really dressed for being outside too long.

“Tryng to sneak off, birthday boy”, a familiar voice appeared from a few metres back. It was Heather who was standing under a Pink Panther umbrella, which was very very pink. She came closer and tried to lift the umbrella over my head but her arms were too small. I ducked down and actually managed to avoid being poked in the eye by the umbrella. Heather didn’t say anything and we just stood there for a few minutes exchanging a few uneasy smiles. Eventually Heather enquired what I was waiting for. I said I was after a taxi but was unsure which way to go to find one. After a few more minutes Heather offered to drive me home in her car as she hadn’t been drinking and didn’t know anybody else at the party. We had got on quite well so I decided to accept the invitation even though I remember her driving was always erratic. She led me to the pub carpark at the back and then I knew straight away which car I would be taken home in. There it was a bright pink Beetle parked over two parking spaces. It certainly wasn’t a car for somebody who didn’t want to be noticed. The new Heather certainly was very confident and seemingly not short of a few quid as the car seemed quite new. Confusion then happened as Heather tried to let me in the right-hand side. I protested that I wasn’t going to drive and I would be way over the limit. Then Heather pointed out that it was a left-hand drive car as she had got it in France.
The journey back to my house reminded me totally why I always like to drive when we were together. I must remember to tell her that you are supposed to stop at islands if there is traffic coming from the right and should not really just put your foot down and go. Being in the right-hand side with no steering wheel was very strange and my feet were frequently hitting an imaginary brake. Heather was now in ultra talk mode and the unnerving part was that she frequently turned her whole head to the right to look at me when she was talking. I had also forgot her strange habit of driving with one bare foot. She had a high heal shoe on her left foot and her right foot was shoeless. This is how she had always liked it.

“So where is Becky then?”, Heather suddenly shocked me by mentioning my missing bride.

I told her that I hadn’t heard from her and Heather looked really confused.

”You haven’t heard from your wife since when…..?”, Heather was just staring at me and I had to nudge her to get her eyes back on the road. It suddenly occurred to me that Pete had invited her to my party and totally failed to mention the minor detail that I had been jilted.

“How can she miss your birthday? Is she ill?, the Heather interrogation was now well under way. Luckily we soon arrived at my flat. I had finally started to call it my flat. So I decided to invite Heather in and explain everything to her.

“Will Becky mind?”, Heather was either being deliberately thick or was totally bewildered.

Inside Heather commented straight away on how minimalistic everything was. She then clicked that I lived alone and that Becky had left me. She thought it must have been a record breakingly short marriage, but I think suggesting it was probably my morning breath that scared Becky away was unfair. I was forced to explain exactly what had happened on my wedding day. Heather just sat silent with the only comment she made being to enquire if I had any decaf coffee. It was obvious that the Jon Stadler story had not crossed the Channel and was all new news to Heather. She didn’t give me the pity vote that I normally get from people when I tell this story. She was more surprised and maybe a bit put out that I hadn’t told her before.

“But, why did she decide she couldn’t marry you?”, still it didn’t make sense to the lady from France.

The next half an hour saw Heather asking me lots of personal question to try and find out why Becky left but still she felt there was something that I wasn’t telling her. Some information that I was holding back. I had told her everything though including the honeymoon plans and the disagreement we had had in June over if ‘O Jesus I have promised’ should be the first or second hymn. Heather wasn’t convinced though she even asked if Becky had financial problems or had ever expressed any feelings towards women. I showed my horror at this but it was dismissed by Heather who said that most women had had a lesbian fantasy at some point in their life mainly because they knew how to make their bodies tingle a lot better than men did. This was a slight distraction and I was left thinking about what Heather had been doing in France and were any French ladies involved. The conversation had been totally about me for the last hour and I felt it was about time I mentioned Jean Pierre to find out if he was still keeping Heather’s bed warm. Heather had changed this was certainly not the slightly shy lady I had known at uni who didn’t even like to be called a ‘Bakewell Tart’.
We discussed the infamous Jean Pierre and I was reasonably pleased to find that he was now shacked up with a lawyer named Louisa. Heather seemed ok with this and said that in the end she encouraged him to go. Apparently, the sex was sensational but they were never friends like we were and she wanted more. So we were both suddenly single maybe the future wasn’t as bleak as I thought. Very soon Heather was back interrogating me on why Becky had decided to leave. I couldn’t tell if Heather was pleased to hear that I was still single or not. Okay, I wasn’t looking my best and I had let myself go a bit lately, but maybe there was a chance of romance. Although I had to admit that Heather’s beauty value had changed from a middle of the table League One team to a Premier League club chasing a European place. She looked very pretty and if I couldn’t have Becky on my birthday then Heather was a good substitute.
It was now nearly one in the morning and Heather was checking out the different rooms in the flat making the occasional comment about my lack of cleaning. In the kitchen she picked up a bottle of champagne which had been ready for our return from honeymoon.

“Let’s celebrate your birthday in style then. Where are you champagne glasses?”, Heather asked as she searched the kitchen cupboard. Two minutes later there was the pop of the cork and Heather poured the bubbling champagne into a Villa 1977 League Cup winners mug and a ‘Watch Out there’s a Humphrey about’ Unigate Dairies mug. Heather smiled and handed me the Villa mug.

“Cheers to absent friends. Happy Birthday Jon”, she then kissed me on my right cheek and sat up against me on the floor in the lounge. After a few sips of the warm champagne I thought it best to enquire where Heater was staying. Surely she wasn’t travelling back to gay Pari at this time of night. She was staying at her mum’s in Bakewell, but didn’t want to drive back tonight as it was too late and she was planning on drinking a few glasses of champagne. In other words, she was asking if she could stay here tonight. There was only the one double bed so I offered to sleep on the couch even though it was only a two seater one and with my long legs would be absolutely impossible to sleep on.

“Don’t be silly. We know each other so well surely we can share a bed without any embarrassment”, Heather put forward an idea that surprised me. I suppose we could, but what was she suggesting? Was this a share a bed in the sleeping sense or in the ‘Mills and Boon’ sense. I tried to recall how it used to be like at university and importantly what I used to wear in the bedroom then. Normally at the moment it was just the boxers that I had been wearing that day but I had got a couple of pairs of pyjamas. The one pair were the Aston Villa ones that perhaps weren’t appropriate and the other pair were the slightly naughty ones that Becky had bought me last Christmas that perhaps also were not quite right. I guess it would have to be boxers but maybe not the ones I was wearing now. I would have to sneak a clean pair on when I got the chance.
Heather almost single handedly finished off the bottle of champagne and was starting to get very giggly. I began to think that maybe this wasn’t going to be such a good idea. How was I going to play this? Yes, I wouldn’t mind a bit of birthday nookie and it wasn’t like anybody I hadn’t slept with before. Problem was I kept recalling what she had said about good old Monsieur JP before “the sex was sensational”. How could I compare? Obviously my previous effort hadn’t reached those heights and I don’t think my technique has really improved much over the last nine years. Anyway, am I getting too far a head of myself here? Perhaps hanky-panky isn’t on the agenda for Heather tonight. She looks brilliant though, slightly tanned in her little black figure hugging dress and big white pearls around her neck. With the bottle empty Heather suggested, rather wickedly that it was time for bed. I tried not to read too much into the term ‘Big Boy’ as Heather took my hand and led me to my bedroom.
Sitting on the bed I watched in wonder as Heather unzipped her dress and pulled it over her head. I actually felt slightly uncomfortable that Heather was doing this all in full view of me. Was I supposed to look? I decided that it was probably more polite to avert my gaze and look the other way. So I watched the reflection of Heather undressing in the mirror.

“I can see you peeking. Do you like what you see?”, Heather taunted me and then blow me a kiss. It was all so confusing. I expect that she was happy to show off her new figure and what a figure it was. Her black lacy bra and matching briefs certainly grabbed my attention and my manhood was staring to show. I decided to retreat to the bathroom to try to calm down and change my boxers. Everything was going too fast for me and I didn’t know what I really wanted to happen. I had got used to the idea that I was never going to sleep with any other girl apart from Becky, but then Becky had left me. Now I had the chance of revisiting a former sexual partner.
Returning from the bathroom I nearly trod on Heather’s discarded black bra. It was a designer one with what looked like a French name. As I reached the bed I was shocked on two counts. Firstly, Heather was on the right side of the bed. This was wrong because it was my side and Becky always slept on the left. Secondly on the floor were a pair of black matching knickers. Heather was in the bed and unless she had kept any items of nightwear in her pink handbag then she was totally naked. Unfortunately she was also snoring and fast asleep. I slipped into the bed and could smell the French perfume and even when I turned off the light I could see the shine of Heather’s bare back. She looked sensational. It was a shame she was lying with her back facing me but I still allowed myself a smile and thought about how glad I was Pete had invited Heather.
Trying to sleep was difficult as Heather although looking angelic was making some very unfeminine noises. Her snores were filling the room and I was wide a wake. It was like the night before my supposed wedding day all over again. My mind was full of images of Becky and of old girlfriends, but the difference now was that this old girlfriend was lying NAKED only six inches from me. I moved closer desperately wanting to touch her warm soft body. Knowing she was in a deep sleep I knew that I could probably get away with Heather thinking I am a sleep if she suddenly wakes up and finds my arm around her. Perhaps she would like a cuddle anyway. I mean let's remember that it was Heather herself who got into my bed without her sexy undies. It was Heather herself who suggested she stayed the night. Yes, I was the innocent party here. I moved myself until my chest was touching her back and I could feel every movement she made as she breathed heavily. We were now so close that Heather’s blonde hair at the back was resting on my face. She smelt brilliant even allowing for the slight cigarette smell in her hair from the time spent in the pub. Her skin was just so soft and smooth and I couldn’t stop myself from stroking her all the way round from her shoulders with the back of my hand. It then continued down Heather’s back and then felt the joy of touching the cheek of her silky bottom. For the next five minutes I slowly stroked her back and bum checking that she wasn’t waking, but aware that the snoring was starting to become less frequent. The snores were also sounding more like a purr as Heather sounded like a really content pussy cat. My strokes seemed to be well received. Then my bed companion this birthday night wearing her birthday suit turned herself over one hundred and eighty degrees to face me. She seemed to still be asleep but I could make out a smile on her face. My eyes were quite accustomed to the light now and I lay there watching her closely. Her nose was quite small and definitely pointed slightly up. The duvet, still minus it’s duvet cover, was just covering Heather’s chest. Although part of me knew it was wrong and being disloyal to my fiancée I desperately wanted to see Heather’s hidden assets. I slowly pulled down the duvet that was covering Heather. The smile on her face widen and she gripped the duvet edge tightly to prevent it moving. Perhaps I had missed my chance. Then to my surprise Heather slowly lowered the duvet down to her waist. She looked super lying there with her breasts facing me and her nipples looking firm. I so wanted to touch them but would this be taking things too far? The moment went because Heather then rolled over the other way and pulled the duvet tightly around her. Leaving me now exposed and unable to retrieve the covers.

Next Week - The Day After

Week 12 - Birthday Surprise

Today I was thirty and woke up alone. Part of me wanted to by-pass the day, but Pete was not thinking the same as that part of me. He had informed me last night that he had organised a big night out for me and in his words “We are going to Party like its 1999”. Did I feel like partying? Would it matter if I didn’t?
My parents had left a pile of presents for me to open when I woke up and there were a pile of cards by the door the postman had delivered but I just couldn’t be bothered. All I wanted to do was turn over and hide under my duvet that Becky had bought from C&A. The plan was never to turn 30 a single man everything had gone wrong. I should be living in Alrewas with my beautiful wife Becky. Maybe she is thinking of me now on my birthday. Maybe she’ll realise what a mistake she has made and turn up. Or maybe more realistically she will send me a card. For that reason alone I went to pick my cards off the floor. The noise of them hitting the floor when the postman pushed them through about twenty minutes ago seemed quite loud, but I only found four items of post on the floor waiting for me. Of those four items only two looked like birthday cards. The others were a solicitor’s letter reminding me that they wanted paying even though we have pulled out the sale and an invite to a Bridal Fair sponsored by Cosmopolitan. The first card was my Auntie Janet’s handwriting the second was harder to decipher. In fact I was very impressed by the postman that it found me at all. Both cards had decided to remind me, in case I hadn’t realised that I was thirty. My Aunt’s card was an attempt at knowing me because it had a football picture on the front. Admittedly it was Liverpool playing what looked like Rochdale, but it is the thought that counts. I was even called a ‘Special Nephew’. My Uncle Cyril had written his name and my Auntie her’s for some reason. Then for an even stranger reason there was a paw print underneath that must belong to a small pet. I vaguely recall them having a rabbit but it might have been a small cat. The second card gave no clues as to who it was from because they had forgotten to sign it. However inside was a cheque that had been signed with my Nan’s name on. It had the correct date on. This biggest surprise was the amount on the cheque… It was for ten thousand pounds. I was in total shock and just held it in my hands. I didn’t know my Nan had this sort of money. Maybe she is just confused and it will bounce as soon as I try to pay it in. What could I do with ten thousand pounds? New car maybe. With my old car as trade-in I could get a really sporty one to rival Pete’s. I could go on a big holiday? Perhaps Florida or Australia. I could even give up my Council job and travel around the world for a year. Or use it to pay for my season for the next twenty years.

My sister Karen decided to take me out for a birthday lunch to a pub near Wall. Karen was in the middle of a voluntary counselling course at Wolverhampton Poly and I could tell straight away that I was going to be her client for the next hour. Since splitting with Toby, Karen had become quite hippy like and I was relieved to see that the pub wasn’t a vegetarian one and that I could get a large meaty burger with curly fries. We had never really mentioned the split with Toby but as Karen kept trying to find how I really was about ‘The Becky Thing’ then I mirrored most of her questions by asking about Toby. Karen was obviously hiding something and I was in the mood to find out what it was. Like a careful game of chess both of us tried to make our move trying to extract information from the other. If I am honest we were never that close. The four year gap meant that we never really played together and Karen was nearly always one school ahead of me. I had always liked my sister and respected her, but had no idea what made her tick. Why were there no children? Why had things not worked with Toby? What had she spent the last year doing? Karen seemed happy and kept touching my leg as if to comfort me.
I decided not to mention the money, or possible money, off Nan to Karen because she might feel as if I was her favourite.

“Did you get your cheque off Nan this morning?”, Karen surprisingly enquired. I nodded and looked surprised.

“I had the same four years ago when I was thirty. It probably cost me my marriage”, Karen continued to shock me.

It was my turn to listen as Karen explained all the things that had gone wrong since she received the ten thousand pounds. It seems that she had spent most of it within six months on new clothes and jewellery. She had stopped buying her normal clothes from BHS and instead bought clothes that were previously out of her range. She became selfish and wouldn’t let Toby see any of the money. When it had all gone she continued to spend and buy even fancier clothes. All her money then went and soon all of their joint account. Credit card bills mounted and other bills were not paid. Her store cards remained unpaid and everything was putting a strain on the relationship. Toby tried to take all he cards away but by then she was a shopaholic. Every week she bought new outfits and wore them just once. Toby took out a loan to try and clear her debts but still she wanted more clothes. In the end Toby could take it no more so he told her she had to leave. Wow this was a bigger confession than I was expecting.
My sister was now leaning on my shoulder crying uncontrollably as I tried to fit the large burger in my mouth. This was all a little too emotional and it was drawing attention to us. The barman came and asked if everything was alright with our meals and I nodded at him. What a way to spend your thirtieth birthday.
What should I do with the money then, as now it seems as if it was real? My sister could may be do with a bit more to pay her debts off or should I just give it to charity. It was quite a responsibility and one that I wasn’t going to face until I really had to. I certainly wouldn’t be telling Pete because he would probably have some big plan for it.
After lunch with my sister and her revelations I was hoping that a evening with Pete would not be quite as surprising. I was wrong. Pete picked me up at five to eight as he had said he would. Pete had decided that he should drive us into Lichfield and then leave his car there and we would get taxis back. In the past we had arranged to do this then Pete would forget that he had drunk nine points and try and drive home, so this time I was going to take charge of his car keys. I didn’t really feel like going out and I hadn’t made any effort. Even my armpits hadn’t received there daily squirt of Rightguard. Really I just couldn’t be bothered and was in no mood for celebration. Pete didn’t seem his usual laid back self and I began to think that all is not well in his world. He looked quite smart with for once an unripped pair of jeans on and quite a baggy black shirt. He also gave me a card for the first time ever and then surprised me more by pointing to a neatly wrapped present on the backseat. Well, more of a rear shelf in his small car. This was a very rare event a present from Pete. There was even a tag that seemed to have nicked a line from the ‘Golden Girls’ theme tune. It said ‘thank you for being a friend’. The card was also quite serious and telling me how special I was and how I was always there. This was all far too serious if we didn’t watch it we would end up in an embarrassing matey hug. As we drove I opened the present which was far too well wrapped even with a red bow. Either Pete had got somebody else to wrap this or he had hidden feminine side. Inside was a shoe box and inside was an amazing work of art. It stopped me totally in my tracks. It was a wooden model of the Villa Trinity Road stand complete with all the Victorian hoardings. It was fantastic and match from matchsticks. I had to ask Pete where he had managed to get this from as I thought I knew all the Villa official merchandise. Pete then casually revealed that he had spent the last four months making it. This left me not knowing what to say. Was he having me on or had he really done this for me. The detail was amazing and everything looked the perfect scale. I could tell by his modest reaction that this was Pete’s handy work.

“It’s bloody brilliant, isn’t it”, Pete’s modesty didn’t last long.

It was brilliant and probably the best present I have ever had. Even better than ten thousand pounds. Pete was a very special friend and also a very talented one. I just wish he had given me this before we left the house because the speed he was taking the corners at and the fragility of the model was worrying me. The next worry was why we were hurtling past Lichfield and showing no signs of stopping. The Meatloaf CD playing ‘Bat out of Hell’ seemed very appropriate.
It was exactly half past eight when we pulled into a carpark of a pub come hotel just outside of Burton called inappropriately ‘The Albion’. This wasn’t a normal haunt but Pete seemed to know exactly where he was going. Oh dear, I suddenly started to think of those dreaded words ‘SURPRISE PARTY’. Was this all a setup? Would I be greeted by darkness and party poppers? I had never had a surprise party and yes, I had always fancied one but not now, please. Pete led me to a door on the right of the building and then into a room that I think I saw labelled ‘Function Room’. Inside the room we were greeted by a DJ shouting those dreaded words, “Here comes the birthday boy” and the sound of clapping. No party poppers but this certainly was a party.

Next Week : A Naked Birthday Surprise

Week 11 - Blind Date Surprise

The next hour went quite slow with Denise and Lyn spending a considerable time in the toilets together. It seemed that almost after every conversation the two had to disappear to compare notes on their dates. Pete seemed more interested in the girl with the stubbled faced skinhead by the bar than his own date. I actually found Lyn quite interesting although her insincere laugh was a bit off putting. Denise might be attractive but she could make Nigel Mansell seem a gripping conversationalist. When she wasn’t dragging Lyn to the Ladies she was checking her reflection in a mirror that was positioned to the left of us. Lyn started to show more interest in me as Pete was obviously being distracted by the girl at the bar to the annoyance of the skinhead who was trying to show that this was his girlfriend by holding her close to him. I am sure I even detected a snarl across his face, but this just encouraged Pete to give his companion a cheeky grin.


Denise was taking her time making a glass a dry medium white wine last and rather annoyingly was running her finger around the rim to make an irritating noise. She seemed lost in her own world with her eyes focused only on her own reflection. Lyn had finished her third half a lager and was beginning to get annoyed with the lack of attention Pete was showing her. Pete had no idea though and just kept smiling at the girl at the bar. What was he playing at? This was going to either end with Pete being slapped by Lyn or the Skinhead coming and trying to deck him. I hoped it would be the first because I think Pete would be less likely to retaliate if it was Lyn.

“So you were jilted then, Jon”, Denise suddenly addressed me for the first time all night.

“Look, he doesn’t want to talk about it”, Pete quickly burst in.

“It must have been awful for you”, Lyn caringly joined in, “Did you have to give all the presents back?”

Pete was right I didn’t really want to talk about it, but not because it was painful. Now it was just something that I had moved on from and I was ready to become Jonathan Stadler again and not ‘jilted Jon’. I didn’t need Lyn feeling sorry for me because I wasn’t a charity case and hadn’t been scarred for life. Yes, it had been a difficult couple of months, but I was only twenty-nine and hopeful had two thirds of my life ahead. This was now my time to be the real me again and not half of Jon and Becky. Or as it appeared more often than not ‘Becky and Jon’. It took a few more comments from Pete before the ladies finally realised that this was not a topic for conversation. Unfortunately this then meant we all sat silent for the next five minutes. All of us probably just trying to think of what we could talk about now. I am sure this used to be easier when I was younger. What did I used to talk about with dates before Becky? With Becky it was quite easy because she was always talking and all I had to do really was listen. She even claimed that she fell for me because I was such a great listener. I must admit though, that a few times I didn’t listen to all the conversations but seemed to have the knack of smiling or saying ‘oh dear’ at just the right moment. The thing was, that me and Becky worked and it was easy, but was that the problem? Had I taken my foot off the pedal and stopped really trying with Becky. When you are first interested in a girl and trying to seduce her you work so hard. You spend hours in the bathroom and make sure that all your spots are covered up, you even blow in your hands to check that you haven’t got smelly breath, but how quickly that all disappears once you are together. I suppose girls keep trying and still take hours getting ready, but that is probably for other girls benefit not the boyfriend. Perhaps I have let myself go. Perhaps I did enter the comfort zone where you can break wind in bed and it doesn’t really matter. I enjoyed the comfort zone, though. Coming home to Becky and just collapsing together on the settee watching ‘Brookside’ was just ‘cosy’. Now I was going to have to start dating again and being presentable. Could I do it? Have I forgotten how to talk to women?
The next time that Lyn and Denise returned from the toilets with newly applied lippy they surprised me by sitting the opposite way around. Denise moved next to Pete and Lyn came and sat by me. Was this deliberate or had they just not thought about it. Pete was no longer staring at he girl at the bar mainly because his view was now obscured by a very large bloke who had a leather jacket that was even too big for his wide body. It was now my chance to talk to Lyn and be my ‘real’ charming self. I have to avoid the obvious questions like ‘what do you do?’, but I need to sound interested in what she has to say. It was actually Lyn who started the conversation.

“Has there been anybody since the one we can’t mention”, Lyn came straight to the point.

I told her that I hadn’t really been out, but couldn’t think of a reason why. I decided to go right for it and ask if she had been in a relationship recently.

“I am sort of engaged to a bloke in the army”, she surprisingly informed me. I tried to play it cool, but began to wish that the two girls hadn’t changed places. I enquired what ‘sort of engaged’ meant. Lyn then told me about how she had been a penpal for a soldier serving in Bosnia for two years now and that she had only spent one weekend with him but he had mentioned in his last letter that he would like to marry her. This was my chance to let Lyn speak and I could just be a good listener. Also a reminder not to pursue any romantic involvement with Lyn just in case he has any Leave due.
The rest of the evening went well and I ended up walking Lyn home, which was admittedly considerably further than I had anticipated when I made the offer. Pete had left with Denise twenty minutes earlier giving me one of his famous winks as he left. I must ask Pete next time I see him if he still keeps count of how many conquests he has had. Knowing Pete he has probably compiled a top ten of Pete’s Shags. Despite Pete’s obvious hunky attributes I don’t think I have ever been jealous of him. Pete always has just been my best mate. Pete doesn’t let his emotions really show and I have never really seen him cry, although he came very close when the beat Trammere in the 1994 League Cup semi-final. As for serious relationships Pete had not really had one. Yes, there was Caroline Randall in the third year at secondary school. Pete spent the whole year chasing after ever and copying her taste in music. It was strange because Caroline really liked him but for some reason neither had the nerve to ask the other one out. Caroline actually ended up as our year’s first gymslip mother at the end of the fourth year. The father was a Sixth Former name Darren Woodward who was mysteriously beat up the week after the pregnancy was revealed. The gossip was that it was Caroline’s Dad who inflicted the damage, but Pete never spoke about it. Perhaps it is wrong but a part of me always assumed that Darren had received a legendary Pete headbut.
Lyn chatted the whole way home and insisted on us walking with our arms linked. I was frequently on the lookout for hidden army men armed with sniper guns. Lyn was very easy going and had a smile that was relaxing. Was this turning into a date and if so would she be expecting a goodnight kiss? One thing was for sure I was not going to give her anything else. I am not that kind of boy. I usually have to know at least a girl’s next of kin's star sign and a list of all previous lovers postcodes before they get to see my dangly thing. Maybe, though, that was the old me perhaps the new post ‘Jilted Jon’ should be a bit more easy and perhaps even more Pete like. The problem is I think too much about things. I mean what happens afterwards. I haven’t got any protection or any clean pants to put on. Yes, I could just put my jeans back on and go pantless. But the last time I did this when I forgot to take a pair of pants when I went swimming, having worn my blue trunks to go in, I nearly had a nasty accident with my zip. Perhaps I am thinking too much already because just because Lyn was leaning against me closely and blowing in my ear doesn’t mean she is looking for anything else. After about forty minutes of walking we reached a street called Bell Road, which I think I had heard Lyn say earlier in the night is where she lived. It was now gone midnight and I was just deciding that I was going to have to ask if I could use Lyn’s bathroom.

”I am ok from here on Jon. Thank you for walking me home”, Lyn rather hurriedly said. She then kissed me on the cheek and then ran off through a gully-way. In no time she was gone and I was left to think about two different things. Firstly, where I was going to be able to spend a penny and secondly, ‘where the hell am I?’

Next week : Thirty and  party not to foget

Week 9 - Nan's Dating Agency

Chapter 5 Approaching Thirty

It had now been forty-nine days since the day my bride failed to show and I was surviving. Pete was great and my parents seemed to take it in turns phoning to check I was still alive. Frequent offers of dinners also came from my parents and generally everything was alright. I decided to pull out of buying the house in Alrewas much to the annoyance of Mr. Williams who was in the middle of buying this flat. Becky hadn’t been in touch and I had no idea where she was, but I wasn’t going to go looking. If she wanted payment for the flat I would deal with that when it happened. The mortgage was in my name and the payments going from my account so at the moment I didn’t need to act on this.

In three weeks time it will be my thirtieth birthday and I was slightly depressed about this. Trying to think about where my life was going. Two months ago I was going to be married by the time I reached the big three O. Now I was single and my future was very undecided. Would I ever marry? Would I ever hear the patter of tiny feet? Would I ever be called Granddad? I wasn’t feeling sorry for myself just unsure about what I was supposed to do. Pete advised celebrating my birthday in a big way to show the world that Jonathan Sadler was back. That didn’t seem like a good idea. I mean a party full of couples and me and Pete. Perhaps I could send Becky an invite, but as she didn’t turn up to our wedding I doubt she would turn up to my party. In the last few days I had started to feel some resentment towards Becky. It wasn’t the jilting me that hurt it was the not saying exactly what was wrong. Was it something I had done? Or was something else going on in her life that I had not been involved in?

If your partner dies how long is it acceptable to grieve before going back out on the pull? This is how I was feeling. Part of me wanted to try and find a woman because I didn’t want to be completely single when I entered the fourth decade of my life. I did miss the flirting and the seducing even before Becky left. The thrill of the chase has always been the best part for me. Which is probably why I had always turned down offers of one night stands. To me, taking four months to completely seduce an attractive lady to a state where she wanted me more than anything else was much more satisfying than just meeting.

I had been summoned to my Nan’s Old People’s home and told to arrive at seven o’clock exactly. Nan had said that I could then see her for half an hour and be off by the time Coronation Street started. It wasn't really a convenient time to go as I wanted to see the end of the football on Sky, but it was Nan and she said it was important. The home was quite deep in the countryside and had hairy cows in the field behind the back. Nan had chosen well and it was quite an upmarket home. My Granddad had owned four houses so his death left my Nan surprisingly well off. She must have spent quite a large portion of this wealth during her Jessy years though, but still could afford to stay at this top of the range Old People’s Home. The staff all wore pink uniforms which looked quite good on some of the girls but this was perhaps a touch camp for the male nurses. It was quite a pleasant environment in the Lounge, though, because most of the household were quite compos-mentis and it wasn’t like the usual home. They tended to sit in small groups instead of being spread around the room. When I arrived Nan was holding court with three gentlemen and blatantly flirting with two of them. One of the carers, Jenny, asked me if she could have a word. The conversation started with Jenny saying she was sorry to hear about me being jilted, but she wouldn’t be able to go out with me next Tuesday because she went dancing with her boyfriend every Tuesday. Obviously Nan had been trying to set me up. At least she had good taste because Jenny was particularly nice with a smile that always caught my eyes. I tried to apologise for my Nan’s forwardness, but Jenny laughed and said she understood totally. Jenny had something she needed to discuss with me or my Dad the next time he came. She said it was a sensitive matter about Nan’s recent behaviour. I decided that I was ready to represent the family on this issue. Jenny explained, rather apologetically, that things could not go on as they are. I asked what my Nan had done now. She said that it was just that some of the other families had complained. This didn’t sound good and I don’t think Jenny, even with her warm smile, was finding this easy to say. Eventually we got to the point. Nan had been leading some late night strip poker sessions and old Mrs. Gidman had told her son how she was left braless after a session last Thursday. The thought of the ninety-five year old, teethless Mrs. Gidman topless was an image I needed to quickly lose from my mind, but try as I could it was still there as wrinkly as a tortoise’s neck.

Nan introduced me to Neville, Len and Clive. She said, “it’s like that film, Three men and an old lady”. For once Nan was dressed like a real Nan with a long skirt and a shawl around her shoulders. She had quite a lot of clothes on for this time of year. Perhaps she was planning another game of strip poker. Very suddenly Nan instructed the gentlemen to disperse. Len took the opportunity to give Nan a peck on the lips. It wasn’t a pleasant sight but I suppose you don’t get many chances of a snog when you get to that age. Clive was the least mobile of the three old men and even with his zimmer frame it took him several minutes to get back to the other side of the room. Nan was quite agitated and obviously had some news to tell me. If it was about the midnight geriatric games I already knew. There seemed to be something else on her mind and I started to have the worrying feeling that my lovelife was involved. Very quickly my worries were proved correct as it became apparent that my Nan was on operation ‘find Jonathan a woman’. Jenny had just been the start of it. The real plan soon became known. Nan introduced me to Mr. Singh or Ally as she had started to refer to him as. She pointed to an elderly man in the far left of the room who was wearing a very bright orange turban and had quite a bushy grey beard that I appeared to have in a hairnet. Mr. Singh gave us a little wave to acknowledge he had seen us. Nan started to wave back an even blew him a kiss. It was obvious that these two had been talking about me and the lack of romance in my life. “Good news”, Nan said quite sharply.

Why did I sense that this was not going to be good news for me? “I have found you a replacement wife”, was the dreaded words that were to follow. Soon things became painfully clear and my worse fears were all coming home. My Nan and Mr. Singh had setup an arranged marriage for me. Mr. Singh had an unmarried Grand-daughter who was supposed to marrying the son of a doctor until the doctor’s son was caught kerb crawling in Aldridge. I was being setup for an Arranged Marriage. Nan informed me that Mr. Singh’s grand-daughter, Hasmir, wasn’t a minger and was in fact pretty hot. She would be here soon and Nan informed me she was looking forward to meeting me. At least we were going to be allowed to meet prior to our wedding day.

“Nan I am not a Sikh and I am quite able to organise my own lovelife”, I shouted rather too loud given the number of people in the room.

“Well, you’ve made a crap job of it so far”, Nan snapped back. “Where is Becky again?”

I could tell that Nan was in one of those stubborn moods and I would just have to lump it for a bit. But Nan was right about one thing Hasmir certainly wasn’t ‘a minger’. She entered the room looking completely radiant and kissed her grandfather on the cheek. She looked beautiful and reminded me of the Princess on the Aladdin cartoon. Maybe it was worth a go after all. My Nan gave me a nudge to indicate that she thought Hasmir was, in her words, ‘a bit of alright’. Hasmir was dressed very European with jeans and quite a figure hugging white top in fact quite a trendy. Should I go over and introduce myself?
As I started to walk towards Hasmir and her Grandfather I felt myself being pulled back by a strange force. It was Nan’s stick which she had used like a fishing rod to hook around my jeans and prevent me from escaping.

“Slow down tiger, you don’t want to seem to keen”, Nan said unusually quiet for her.

“I was just going to be a gentlemen and introduce myself”, I protested.

“We don’t want you ruining things yet. Ally and me still haven’t agreed on the price.”, Nan informed me.

Any hope of having Hasmir as my birthday date faded fast when she started arguing with Mr. Singh. I couldn’t hear all she was saying but it seemed to roughly translate to, ”I wouldn’t be seen dead with that lanky git”. Oh well it was probably for the best.

Week 8 - Another Day at Work

By Monday morning I was ready to get back to work after what was supposed to be my leave for my honeymoon. For the last three years I had worked for Walsall Council in the Leisure and Recreations Department. It was a strange job that I actually quite enjoyed and I felt benefited the people from the Walsall area by helping them to get fit and have places to relax. They are trying to change the Department name to ‘Leisure and Culture’ so I am not quite sure if my job will change. Anyway, I work in an office with three other people. There is Dave who is in a wheelchair and constantly runs over everyone’s feet. Dave is a very ‘politically correct’ person who spends hours checking that all leaflets and documents are completely ‘PC’. I like Dave even though he is a Bluenose, Birmingham City fan, but it is very easy to upset him and his sulks are legendary. He once didn’t speak to a colleague for eight months because they used the word ‘handicapped’. The second person in the office is Hasmita who is probably the Department manager but believes we are a team made up of equal parts and nobody is in charge. Hasmita is quite pretty but her legs, which Pete believes would be her best part, are always covered up. When Pete joined us last year at our office Christmas party he tried really hard to ‘get off’ with Hasmita and did manage a long kiss under the mistletoe. Hasmita was quite taken and suggested they could meet up, but her boyfriend could get quite jealous and had got a rather large knife. Pete quickly moved on to Hayley. Hayley is our newest recruit and answers all telephone calls to our department. She is short with brown hair and very rounded breasts with nipples that often poke through her clothing. She is only just twenty and tries hard to please everyone. Every ten minutes she will offer to make us drinks and is willing to do all the tasks that everybody else hates. She could photocopy for England. Hayley actually asked me if it was alright for her to go out on a date with Pete. This surprised me and it was only later that I found out it was because she thought that Pete and I were an item. It wasn’t that she thought I was camp though, more that she thought all council departments had a disabled person, an ethnic minority person and homosexual one. For the next week I exaggerated my butchness in front of Hayley. Of course, Pete thought it was really funny and just joked about how I didn’t love him any more.
When I arrived in the old office that Monday morning, I hadn’t bargained on the fact that no one had told the three work colleagues that things didn’t quite go to plan on my wedding day. Hayley had tried so hard. My desk was covered in confetti and a big sign made up of A4 letters hung across the office. It read ‘Just Married’. As I walked in three of them rose and applauded me. Well, only Hayley and Hasmita rose, Dave just lifted his shoulders and back up a few inches. This was a nice touch and I decided that I didn’t want to go into detail now about my failure. I just said I had had a lovely week. This was mistake as it was followed by questions about the new Mrs. Stadler and requests to see some pictures. For some reason I bluffed it all even saying that the day was all a bit of a daze. I should have been honest, but I wasn’t ready to explain what had happened. It would have been much simpler to say I was jilted, but I felt they had gone to so much effort they deserved more. Perhaps I could keep the pretence going for the next few years. I mean we never meet outside work and Becky never called me at work before. They would probably stop asking to see the photographs after a couple of weeks.
It was a nice change to finally concentrate on work and issues like;- why youths are climbing over Mr Mortimer’s fence to get into Aldridge Park at night. My emails contained lots of good luck messages but I just ignored them. Dave said that he was glad to see I hadn’t followed the modern tradition of male wedding rings. At about half past eleven, just as I was thinking which chocolate should I get from the vending machine next, Tracey from Human Resources came into see me. She was beaming all over and gave me a hug and a big kiss on my now clean shaven cheek. Tracey was prone to big gestures and everything was always ‘supa’ or ‘brill’. She seemed to skip instead of walk and was probably the most irritating person in the company. She was extra excited today and was humming a tune which may well have been the bridal march. She claimed she had, “a little present for our groomy”. I assumed she meant me. She handed me an envelope addressed to Mr & Mrs. J. Sadler. It contained a cheque from the company for one hundred pounds. The letter explained that this was a gift from the company to mark the occasion of my wedding. At this point it might have been advisable to come clean but when I am in a hole I tend to keep digging. I decided to accept the gift but I wouldn’t pay the cheque in. Hopefully they wouldn’t notice.
The rest of the day was full of lies from me and people wishing me well. How long could I keep up this pretence? Perhaps in a few days time I could announce that Becky has left me. At least it was nearly half past five and I had survived my first day back. Just as I am leaving my desk phone rings. I can’t be bothered to get it so I look at Hayley. She says don’t worry I will tell them you have left. Hayley answers the phone and I wait for a few seconds in case it is important. I hear Hayley say the slightly worrying words of, “Oh, hello Mrs. Sadler..”. After a while she puts the phone down and looks at me slightly perplexed. Then in a loud voice, so the whole office can hear, says, “Jonathan, that was your mother asking how you are after Becky left you at the Church”. So that was it the truth was out and the pretence over. Thanks mum.
To be fair Hasmita and Hayley were very understanding and seemed to think I warranted a hug. Dave was less understanding and used some quite colourful language to show his angered at my deceit. It seems that he had never trusted me and wasn’t surprised that a woman would do a runner instead of marrying me. I explained that I had had no intention of paying in the cheque from Human Resources. Dave then enquired when he would be getting back the two quid that he put in my collection. Feeling slightly perturbed by Dave’s reaction I took two pounds fifty out of my pocket and gave it him. Saying here it is back with twenty-five percent interest. Dave was not happy and wheeled his wheelchair round and then pushed off away from me. It was then that Hasmita asked me if I wanted to talk about it. No, of course I didn’t. I had been denying it all day and now I just wanted to get back to my flat and lock myself in.
The flat was now feeling quite empty with all of Becky’s things gone and although I felt safe there I knew that I was going to have to start thinking where I was going to live. The new house in Alrewas would soon be ready but this would be far too big for just me and I would struggle to pay the mortgage on my single wage now. I was going to have to pull out and lose the deposit, but do I pull out of selling the flat as well? Do I need a total restart or do I need some stability in my life? I really need someone like Becky to discuss this with, but I haven’t a clue where Becky is. Should I try and find her? It wouldn’t be difficult as I know where her family live and where she works. Would it be fair on Becky to look for her? She knows where I live so when she wants me she’ll find me. Unless of course I do move.
Later that night Pete came round. He was in a very jolly mood so I was surprised that he had wanted to be with me. Pete had been brilliant through out the whole Becky thing, or ‘Beckygate’ as he had now named it. He seemed able to know when to joke about it and when to just listen. There was definitely a softer side to Pete that at lot of people did not see. Certainly Mark Deacy didn’t back in 1982 when Pete broke his nose because Mark suggested Villa should be banned from the European Cup after a fan ran on the pitch in the semi-final. Pete was lucky not be expelled over that incident and I think the fact that the Head of Year Mr Rimmer was a Villa fan as well helped his case. I think Mark was unlucky to get a detention though. Pete had calmed down a lot since then and I can only really remember him losing his temper twice in the last couple of years. The first was at my twenty-fifth birthday party and a girl Pete had been dating until recently, called Davina, was there. The two had split up and I didn’t really understand why. Pete had claimed that it was an ‘artistic’ difference and Davina claimed it was because Pete was an ‘arse’. Even to this day I don’t know the real story. At the party, held at a pub near Walsall Arboretum, Pete was getting through the pints even quicker than normal. He was very loud and I could tell something was wrong. Things weren’t helped by the fact that Davina was at that very pub with a bloke who she seemed to be getting on with quite well. Comments were passed between Pete and this guy and an atmosphere was starting to build. After about an hour of this uneasy atmosphere Pete pushed a table over, punched his fist against the juke box and stormed out. Pete then went missing for nearly a week with nobody seeing or hearing from him. Of course, this was never mentioned later.
The last time that Pete’s temper surfaced was at a Villa game at the start of last season. It was really strange because with new players in the team including Southgate, Draper and Savo we had totally destroyed Man United. It was the day that Alan Hansen said of United ‘you never win anything with kids’. Then nine months later they had won the double. But that Saturday in August the Villa were brilliant and United second best so why was Pete so wound up. He really hates United but still that doesn’t explain why he was so heated. The blood vessels in his neck looked as if they would pop. The first half saw the Villa three up and still if any decision went against us Pete was on his feet giving the referee a mouthful. Had he been drinking or was it just hate. Three seats down from Pete was a small lad with his dad who was probably about twelve. Second half started and David Beckham scored a consolation goal for them. It was his first ever goal. The little lad jumped up to celebrate and show that he was obviously a United fan. The Dad a Villa fan tried to settle him down and most of us saw the funny side. Except that was for Pete who just exploded. He went straight towards the man and accused him of being a disgrace to let his son support this scum. I couldn’t believe his reaction, especially as the game was won and we were looking at the best Villa side for years. As I had done at school a few times I held Pete back, but he took a lot of holding back and his resembled a wound up Stuart Pearce. Just as the steward started coming towards us the little boy burst into tears and his dad led him out. Moving down the row away from us. The steward, of course, knew Pete and just said, ‘Alright Pete’. It was a good ten minutes before Pete was finally back to being vaguely normal. Never quite understood what happened that day.
Pete had brought with him the new Fifa 1996 game and his Playstation so he had planned our nights activities. His plans has gone further because he announced that the pizza should be here in about twenty minutes and produced four cans of carling out of nowhere. The worry now was what type of pizza Pete had ordered. His tonsils could cope with very very hot tastes a lot better than mine could. Within minutes Pete had attached his Playstation and was handing me a controller. Just then the doorbell rang and the pizza delivery boy, well a man who looked in his late forties with multiple tattoos was standing at the door. It was very kind of Pete, but I was surprised to be charged eight pounds forty-nine and then the stare from the delivery man suggested that it was good practice to give him a tenner and call it quits. With pizza box in my hand to returned to the living room half hoping that Pete might offer to reimburse me. Alas this wasn’t so. The pizza was an ultimate hot and spicy, which Pete almost gobbled whole. Pete then informed me I was Crystal Palace and I was two-nil down to the Villa. Normally I would beat Pete even though it was his game, but he knew that I always hated trying to score against my beloved Villa team. I tried to think of them as West Ham but Pete’s added commentary, naming all the Villa players, prevented this working. In the end we played for over three hours and I lost every game. I tried to blame my poor performance on my recent jilting, but Pete was having none of this. His chanting of ‘Loser, loser’ was taken in good spirit. This was really what I needed after my first day back at work. It seemed to show me that life was really just the same and I still had my best mate here. Yes, he wasn’t Becky – in anyway at all, but he cared and he was there for me.

Next week :  Approaching Thirty

Week 6 - A Flat For A Single Bloke

I told Pete that I needed to go back to the flat and see what was happening. He wasn’t convinced that this was a good idea, but he said it was my call. Sometime I was going to have to go back there so now was as good a time as any.
In no time at all we were entering the private Court Yard and I was looking towards my flat. Becky always called it an apartment but to me it was a flat. Although a very nice flat. The only reason we were leaving was because we had outgrown it. Well, Becky’s collection of shoes had outgrown it. What kind of state was I going to find the flat in? Would Becky be lying on the bed in tears? Would she be wearing her wedding undies? I told Pete to go and eventually he got the message that this was something I had to do alone. I stood as he drove off before walking towards the door of our ground floor flat.
For once I was unsure whether or not to knock or use my key. Normally I would use the key and shout “I am home dear” so that Becky would know it was me and it was quite safe. I expect mad axemen shout “I am home dear” when they break in.
Slight set back in my attempt to get in my flat because I realise that my key is actually still at my parent’s house. I was going to have to knock the door and see if Becky was inside. Do I want her to be inside? Yes, I do. I knock gently on the door and wait and wait and wait. Then I knock a bit louder and still there is no movement inside. The place looks deserted but I notice one of the windows is just slightly open with a two inch gap. I can open it completely and then possibly climb through into the kitchen but no idea what I might find in the sink the other side. At least I am very skinny so I manage to manoeuvre myself through the small window and get the top half of me through the gap. With my waist stuck in the window frame and my legs dangling outside I just hope nobody is passing by. It suddenly strikes me how tidy the kitchen looks. Is this really our kitchen even the kitchen roll dispenser looks neat and the tea towels are hanging straight from the rail on the door. Now Becky is not the kind of lady to keep the kitchen spotless. I considered the possibility that this wasn’t our flat, but soon worked out it was because of the deluxe unused dark green Kenwood Waffle Maker that I was just about to hit my head on. All too sudden my legs followed my body on to the pine fresh smelling stainless steel draining board. My hips twisted in a fashion that hips shouldn’t twist and a sharp pain shot down my left leg. Luckily a neatly folded pile of washing gave me a soft landing and I had successfully broken in to my own flat. Becky was nowhere to be seen. In fact there was no trace of Becky at all.
Walking around the flat everything was so tidy and everything that belonged to Becky, including the ornamental shoe rack that her aunt left her when she died two years ago, had disappeared. For once the floor was not full of shoes and the dining chairs not draped with handbags. There was no sign that a lady lived or ever had lived in that house. The bedroom looked totally bare with its lack of cosmetic potions. In fact the only item Becky had left was on the bed. Now I was ready for a real good cry because on the bed in a large clear polythene bag was a very lovely pure white wedding dress. On it was placed a note. It read “Jon, this is for you. I will never stop loving you xx”. I fell down on the bed and the tears just flooded out. I held the dress resisting the temptation to try it on as I cried and cried. As always my nose started to run and I could feel the snot running from my nose to my lips and then circulating my lips before dropping on my chin. I couldn’t stop the flood from both my eyes and my nose, but at least the wedding dress was protected by the polythene. As I lay on the bed I realised that Becky had obviously taken ownership of the duvet set as well as the duvet and pillows were bare. How I just wished Becky was inside this special dress. At least if I do find a new bride in the next six months I will have a dress for her and fifty pounds off the honeymoon.
For the next six and a half hours I laid on that bed clutching the white dress. The bed was soaked with my tears and my shirt was very very creased. The room was in darkness with only the reflection of the moon through the window offering any light. So what do I do now at 1am in the morning when I should be in bed with ‘my new wife’ in a four-poster bed in the Scottish capital? Life would go on and I know I will get over this, but what is the correct thing to do next? Should I contact my parents? Should I try and find Becky? Or should I just go to bed and try and sleep until things seem better? I think I will try the latter.

Next Week :  Back to normal?

Week 4 - Here Comes the Bride?

All too soon we arrived at St. Chad’s in Lichfield. There already was the vicar in his white gown and he was very pleased to see us. I start to think about his wedding history and how many wedding he has taken where the groom has been jilted. What was his success rate? Can you count it as a wedding if the bride doesn’t show, at what point does it become a wedding? With the arms of his gown flapping the vicar directed us to a parking spot and then followed us looking as if he was meeting a long lost relative. I suppose a wedding is a good little earner for him. However, it was actually the car that he was more excited about. Apparently he used to have a spitfire before he became a man of the cloth. Pete offered to take him for a spin and the vicar, who was name Brian, jumped at the chance. Soon I was standing alone as Pete and the vicar went off on a little tour. Maybe this was a sign of things to come. Was there any need for that wheel spin and hand-brake turn?

For the first time today I was feeling scared at what was going to happen. Even if Becky turned up my life was about to change completely. I was committing myself to one person for the rest of my life. The sun was quite bright now and it really was ‘a nice day for a white wedding’.

Another car pulled up in the car park and it was someone I really didn’t want to see. It was the dreaded wedding photographer and he was carrying three cameras with extra long lenses. He introduced himself and told me that I must be the groom. Perhaps I should have denied it. Will I ever be a groom again? The photographer started to take pictures of me and I was grateful when the red sports car came hurtling back into the car park with the Vicar still safely in one piece, but with his Bobby Charlton style haircut now looking very wild. He had enjoyed his little adventure and although he tripped up over his robe trying to get out of the car he was beaming from one ear to the other. The photographer was annoyed he had missed that shot and could not persuade the Vicar to repeat the gymnastics display. Pete was now posing for the camera and we had to pose shaking hands. In eighteen years of friendship I can’t recall us ever to have shaken hands. The only times we have held hands were probably the times that Pete had murdered me at arm wrestling. Pete has very big hands and even on this posed shake I felt quite intimidated by them.

The next car to arrive was my Dad’s familiar car which must have been nearly ten minutes after we arrived it was now 10:32 and I knew that soon the moment I had been putting off and hoping was not going to happen would soon be here. My parents looked very smart in their wedding outfits and my Nan was looking like the kind of sophisticated jam making Nan that she certainly wasn’t. She then asked the Vicar, loudly, if he was into older women. The poor man’s face went the same colour as Pete’s car. Was this a sign that he had got a thing for the more mature lady, or was he just embarrassed by the antics of this mad old dear?

Time now for more damn photographs. With Dad, with Dad and Mum and with Nan. I am sure my Nan pouted her lips on the one picture.

Slowly guests were arriving and I began to feel worse and worse. My stomach felt like it was a tumble dryer drying a pair of large trainers. This was going to be very unpleasant, but maybe just maybe Becky might turn up and save the day. Guests from Becky’s side were also starting to arrive including an Uncle Alistair, who marched right up to me and introduced himself. He looked like a sergeant major type and was a dead ringer for Windsor Davis. He grabbed my hand so firmly to shake it that it took me a few seconds afterwards to get any feeling back. His wife Maggie, who was Becky’s mum’s sister was a very small and a delicate looking woman. I couldn’t help but think how they managed sexually without Alistair snapping the poor lady in two. I hope she goes on top. The two of them seemed to have no idea at all that there might not be a wedding today.

The weather was really pleasant and although the sun was out it wasn’t too hot. Probably best as my head does have a habit of sweating which is not really something that enhances my appearance. Why do all the guests look so old? We seem to have a church carpark full of over sixties. Perhaps it was time for me and my Best Man to enter the Sanctuary. I pulled Pete away from polishing his car and guided him into the Church. Pete seemed uneasy which was probably because he hadn’t been in a church for well over ten years. In fact I don’t think I have heard him mention going in to church since he lost his virginity to Vicky Southall when he was sixteen. Apparently it was on the back pew of St. Mary’s during a thunder storm. When he tells the story he makes it seem quite wild, but the truth is he had been with Vicky for five months and it was Vicky who was desperate to consummate the relationship. They had tried to be alone at each of their homes and in the school Store Room before finally ending up in a deserted church. Well, they thought it was deserted and were generally surprised when they were disturbed by the flower-arrangers. The fact that one of the old dears lived in the same street as Vicky did not help. As Pete tells it though, he had started so he would finish. Losing his virginity was quickly followed by being chased out of a church by a mad lady with a blue rinse whacking him with a broom. It wasn’t until he was a quarter of mile down the road before he could pull up his trousers. Vicky had to hide in the church for the over an hour before it was safe to leave. Maybe this explains why Pete has a slight church phobia.

We sat on the front pew on the right-hand side sucking polos and clutching our professionally designed Order of Services. Everything seemed so unreal. It reminded me of watching Lofty get jilted by Michelle in ‘Eastenders’ ten years a go. Pete wasn’t talkative and looked miles away. My parents were now sat behind me with my Nan to their right. The church was filling up and it seemed like a normal wedding. Then I heard a loud slightly common voice which was obviously Becky’s mother. Although Becky’s sister, Jenny, was slightly posh her mum was just like Marleen off ‘Only Fools and Horses’. She looked the same as the character and definitely had the same voice. I had decided it was best not to ever mention this similarity to Becky though because she can be quite defensive about her family. Becky’s mum, Sarah, was nice though and told me she was looking forward to having me as a Son-in-Law. Her husband Tom was not quite so easy to get to know. He was pleasant enough, but not known for being talkative. I had tried a few conversations without success. Tom was quite anti-sport and was happiest watching a wildlife documentary. He was an Accountant and had done pretty well for himself and had insisted on paying for the whole wedding. In a way I resented this because I felt we were having the wedding that Becky’s parents wanted. It all seemed very old fashioned. The Bride’s father came over to me and shook my hand and said ‘good luck’. That was it, not even a ‘good luck Jonathan’. Becky’s parents were now going to wait outside for Becky and her bridesmaids to hopefully arrive. It was now nearly five to eleven.

Nan was now asking where Jessie was going to sit. My Dad I think was a bit tense and not his usual refined self because he told her quite abruptly, ‘She’s dead!’. Nan just said ‘more men for me then’. I now became aware of the organ playing and the head of the organist bobbing up and down to my left. From the back he resembles the Vicar slightly perhaps they are brothers. Although the church was now more than half full I was feeling very alone and started to regret not being more honest earlier with my parents. How long would I have to wait if Becky didn’t show? What was the normal time a groom should wait for? Pete was still looking even more nervous than me, did he know something? Maybe he could tell that I was not my normal self. After a few seconds Pete gave a nervous cough and then said, ‘I can’t hold it in no more. I am going to have to go for a jimmy’. Then he was off in search of the gents. It was just me alone on that front pew just praying that Becky would turn up. At least I was in the right place for a prayer. My watch now said eleven o’clock exactly and a silence was coming over the church now that the organ had stopped playing. Now I felt very tense not only was I short of a bride but now a best man as well. It was all so quiet and it reminded me of when they have a minutes silence before a big football match because somebody has died. Any second now the whistle would blow and the place would be filled with noise. I glanced out of the stain-glass window and could see the wedding car and a glimpse of one of the twin bridesmaids. Yes, it was on. I was about to be married to one of the most beautiful girls in the world. I suddenly felt warm inside, the kind of warm feeling that they say Ready Break gives you. Then Pete returned and sat down beside me saying the words, ‘oh, that’s better’, I replied with a smile ‘yes it is’. My Princess was here.

The organ started to play the famous wedding march so we all stand up. Pete, sings the obvious, ‘All fat and wide…’ line. Yes, results in a whack in the back from my Nan’s stick. Amazingly he hardly flinched, but I think deep down he was in pain. Should I look down the aisle and see my bride or wait until she is by my side.

Then something strange happens. The organist stops playing the wedding march and starts looking through his collection of music manuscripts. Pete looked round and I stayed focused on the front. Then I heard the voice of Becky’s mother shouting, ‘Vicar, can I have a word in private’. The silence had now been replaced by whispering and the organist was playing some very sombre music. My Dad then placed his hand firmly on my shoulder and I everything suddenly felt so wrong. Pete said he would go and see what the holdup was, but it seemed obvious to me that we were lacking an important character in the marriage ceremony.

We all slowly sat down and waited for the official announcement. Nothing really made sense because I could see the bridemaids carrying their bouquets. Actually the two twins seem to be having a mini fight and striking each other with their poseys. Becky’s Dad is now holding them apart. Surely Jenny had known what Becky was planning, but then why was she all dressed up? Dad, decided to state the bleeding obvious, ‘We’re running a bit late’. Nan, said ‘Are you sure it was today?’.

The Vicar arrived by my side and asked if I would like to go into the Vestry. I decided to politely decline this request as I wanted to be with my family when I heard the news. Pete and Jenny then joined us. The Vicar started to try and say what had happened, but Pete dived in, ‘She’s done a runner, mate’. Jenny then explained that she hadn’t seen her since yesterday evening when Becky said she wanted some time on her own. Becky’s mum was furious with Jenny and couldn’t believe that she hadn’t told them that her sister had gone awol. Jenny told us that Becky said she would meet her at the church. When she had arrived at the church Becky best friend Carol had told Jenny that Becky had decided to call off the wedding. So that was it this wasn’t to be my wedding day.



Next Week : The Reception and the Honeymoon minus the Bride

Week 3 - Nice Day For A White Wedding

Chapter 2 - The Wedding Day


Somehow I slept through my alarm going off and Heart FM blaring out. When my Dad walked in carrying a tray, my old Aston Villa European Cup Winners Commemorative tray, with a cup of tea and two bacon sandwiches with tomato sauce on - it was nearly quarter to nine. My Dad was not one of life’s big thinkers, but he always had a smile and a habit of getting things right. Dad was a chef by trade who had retired last year. Even his bacon sandwiches were a delight to taste and could not be beaten. The crispiness of the bacon was always perfect. The cup of tea though was dreadful as he always made it far too week. He used a teabag in the mug instead of a teapot and insisted on using the same teabag to make at least four cups. Still I had no complaints and felt in need this morning of being treated like a child. Dad hinted that I would need to be getting up soon to prepare for my big day. He was going to pick up my Nan from the home at 9am and Mum was ironing my white shirt. Worrying, as ironing had never been her strong point but she liked to play the proper mother role although she was usually happiest when she was doing her voluntary work mucking out the donkeys at the local Donkey Sanctuary. It will make a change seeing her without her wellies on today and that silly plastic blue rain-hat on.

As I ate my breakfast I read the paper. My parents take ‘The Guardian’ and I was very disappointed about the Sport section in it. Should really be getting a move on, but knowing that a key member of the wedding party was going to be missing made me lack enthusiasm. My Mum started to push by saying, ‘the bathroom is free’. I suddenly realised that I had forgotten my Rightguard Double Protection aerosol spray. Perhaps my Dad had a deodorant I could use and hopefully it wouldn’t be Old Spice. Saturday 24th August 1996 was supposed to be one of the biggest days of my life when I married the most perfect girl I have ever met, but the chances of it being a happy day seemed remote. I check my phone for further messages but the last one simply said ‘Yes’. I wasn’t cross, but I just could tell that this one little word was going to ruin my day. Perhaps it was just nerves and Becky is at the moment putting on her sexy wedding undies. All I could do was act normally, well as normal as a Groom acts on his wedding day. Pete was due at 10am and the car would be coming at ten past. I could cancel the cars, but as I didn’t think I would get a refund what would the point be and anyway Becky might turn up. Her sister Jenny might force her up the aisle to prevent her twins being heartbroken at not being Bridesmaids. Perhaps it was Jenny who had put the idea of not marrying a Council Worker in her sister’s head.

As I stood in my parent’s shower, an extra feature that had been added since I moved out of the family home, I tried to have positive thoughts and tried to think that I was going to hear Becky say those vital words ‘I will’. My thoughts were interrupted by a shout from outside the Shower Room of an old lady. ‘Where is the blushing groom, I have got something for him?’, my Nan shouted out. I then heard my Mum say I was in the shower and then listened in fear as I could hear my Nan’s footsteps towards the door. Then my heart stopped as I heard the handle on the door being pulled down. It was with relief that I remembered I had put the latch across on the door. My Nan then banged loudly on the Shower Room door which what I thought must be her stick. Then shouted that she had a little something for me and that I hadn’t got anything she hadn’t seen before. Well, I think it has grown considerably since she last saw it. My Dad persuaded Nan that she needed to sit down and give me time to get ready.

After my long shower I managed to get back to my old bedroom to get ready for my big day. Still no more text messages so perhaps it was going to be alright. If she wasn’t going to turn up surely her sister would have been round gloating by now. I considered whether or not I should wear my lucky pants. They weren’t exactly sexy and were dark blue and could even be called Y-Fronts, but I had worn them at Wembley in March when the Villa had destroyed Leeds in the League Cup Final and then again to see England beat Scotland in June. Yes, I was wearing these pants when Gazza scored that goal. Of course, I conveniently forget that I also wore these pants when the Villa lost the FA Cup Semi Final to Liverpool, but they can’t always be lucky. To keep their lucky powers perhaps I won’t wear them today. Instead I will wear my brand new white jockey shorts purchased like my suit from M and S. My Mum had ironed a really nice crease down the back of my shirt. She’d tried so I thought I would just wear it. If I kept my jacket on nobody would see. It was just a pity about my lack of deodorant under the armpits. I gave them a sniff and they didn’t seem too unpleasant. Becky always smelt nice and the taste of her mouth was always lovely and slightly minty. With one black sock on I started to think more and more about Becky the lady who might just be my bride in ninety minutes time. Becky was just over five foot six and had a great body. Why she had fallen for me was a mystery. She had a very firm and shapely bottom that especially looked good in her black cycling shorts. Her legs are quite muscular and almost blemish free. The only imperfection, a two inch scar just below her left knee, where she fell on some glass in Brighton when she was eight. The base of her back was also a favourite part of mine as it is so smooth and soft. With my hand I could feel all the tiny soft hairs on it and it curved inwards. Becky has a brilliant figure, but if I am honest she has a bit of a wobbly stomach. You could pinch more than and inch but this was the only fat you would find on her perfectly toned body. She is beautiful and her breasts are the most magnificent I have ever had the pleasure of feeling. The day I first saw these boobs uncovered was Bonfire Night last year and it was a moment that I will never forget. They were just so round and perfectly sized. Many a time since I have wished that some of my fiends especially Pete could see Becky topless to show them how well I have done. Early in the year on holiday in Greece I was really disappointed that Becky had decided not to go topless, but I suppose it is also nice to think that only a few people have seen this magnificent chest and that I am one of them. Interestingly, my Nan had told me last Christmas that Becky had ‘great tits’. It was then that I began to think more about the future. What if Becky really didn’t show? Would I see those ‘great tits’ again? Would we still live together? Would we have to give back the presents? It was going to be a very difficult day and one I didn’t think I was ready to cope with. Had I really blown it with the lady I have been living with for the last four months and if so how was I ever going to win her back? Becky has quite a small neck and with her shoulder-length curly natural blonde hair it can be easily missed. She hates her chin and thinks it is a bit masculine. I never told her that Pete once called her ‘The daughter of Jimmy Hill’. She has lovely small lips that are great for kissing and a nose that just curls up a fraction. Becky’s blue eyes are now more enhanced because she wears tinted contact lenses an improvement on the old lady style small square glasses she used to wear.
Nan was looking very refined in her pale blue trouser suit with matching hat. My mum was trying to fasten a flower buttonhole on to my Nan but she seemed more interested in trying to find out where we were going for our honeymoon. She reminded me that she and my Granddad went to Matlock for their honeymoon. This surprised my Dad because she had always told him they couldn’t afford a honeymoon and didn’t go anywhere. A few minutes later Nan told my Mum that they had a brilliant honeymoon in Weston-Super-Mare, but hardly left the bedroom. I had booked for my honeymoon with Becky three nights at a five star hotel on Prince’s Street in Edinburgh. Being a true romantic I had arranged for a horse-driven carriage to take us from the airport to the hotel. Well, a taxi most of the way then horse driven carriage for the last mile. Edinburgh was special because that was where I proposed to Becky. We had been in Scotland and spent a day in the capital. Becky loved it and said that one day she would like to stay in one of those posh hotels in Princes Street. Perhaps if she knew what I was planning tonight she would change her mind and marry me. I thought it best not to tell my Nan the honeymoon location, or the fact that I might be jilted.
It felt funny wearing my suit. It was all a little bit too stiff and I couldn’t get comfortable. I had a look in the full-length mirror and when I stood about four foot away I could see all of me. Not bad, I looked quite smart and not as out of place in a suit as I thought. The creases were all in the right place and for once the trousers weren’t too short. During my school days I had spent most summer terms displaying bare legs as my trousers could not keep pace with my growing spurts. When I was fourteen I was thrown off the bus because I had a child’s bus-pass. The driver would not believe my age and I was upset at being called a liar. I was feeling slightly guilty now because may be I should suggest to my family that the day might not turn out quite like they expect. Am I lying to them? If they ask I’ll tell them the truth. I feel quite cheerful and still there was that small chance that Becky might turn up and the day might go really well. If she does turn up I think it is probably best never to mention the texts or any doubts she ever had unless she does.
Soon Pete arrived in a very cheerful and loud mood. He gave my Nan a great big smacking kiss on the lips. This provoked a ‘tut’ from my Dad and a , “that was worth putting my teeth in for” from my Nan. My mother just complimented Pete on looking handsome in his suit. He looked good but I felt he had deliberately left a few creases in his trousers so he didn’t look as smart as me. Pete was the automatic choice for best man because he had been my best mate since that first day at Secondary school. More than once he had come to my defence and ‘lamped’ somebody who had been unfair to me. There was so much more to Pete than his physique though because he was a really nice bloke. He could be caring and yet did the lad things so well. Like me he was football mad and since I had taken him to his first Villa game in 1982, a European Cup tie against FC Valor of Iceland when Peter Withe scored a hat-trick, he had been a Villa nut. He took to my Mum straight away as well calling her Mrs. S. My mum thought he was a really nice boy and told him he could always come round for tea. This was now eighteen years ago and it is difficult to remember a time when Pete wasn’t my best mate or round for his tea.
Pete asked me if there was anything he shouldn’t mention in his speech. I told him that there was nothing in my life I was really ashamed of so he could say what he wanted. So he said he could mention the incident with the Greek Belly Dancer in Amsterdam. Okay perhaps best not to mention that incident. Becky was aware of the part of my anatomy that flexible lady surprisingly grabbed during her dance when I was on Paul’s Stag Weekend in May, but I had forgotten to tell told her that we went back to see her again the next day. Perhaps Becky had now discovered this and that was why she wasn’t going to marry me. Pete asked if I was nervous and I had to say I wasn’t. This was true, why should I be nervous because I already knew what was going to happen. Pete admitted that he was very nervous and scared of messing things up. He asked me if I could keep the rings in my pocket because he would be scared about losing them. He also said he was worried about the chief bridesmaid because he didn’t think Jenny liked him. This was of course very true because Jenny had told Becky that she shouldn’t let Pete be my best man because he was so common and would mess it all up. Pete is one of the most honest people I know but Jenny doesn’t trust him and once was convinced when she mislaid her purse that Pete had taken it. This mistrust seems to stem from the fact that he wears an old denim jacket. Today, though, Pete was wearing a suit and looked smart, but still I don’t think Jenny is going to trust him. Pete then produced an unusual shaped object from his pocket wrapped in silver foil. He handed it to me and said that his mum had said he had to give it to me. Unwrapping it I was surprised to see it was a very old and rusty horse-shoe. It had a label attached to it saying, ‘Good luck, this was given to me at my second wedding’. A nice touch I thought even allowing for the fact she was now on marriage number four. In all of the years I have known Pete I have never met his mum or any of his step-fathers. Pete moved out of home when he was eighteen and has lived with his elder brother Adrian since then. So a gift from his mum was certainly unexpected. My parents thought it was a nice gesture but could we not put it down anywhere in their house. Perhaps it would bring me ‘good luck’ and the love of my life would meet me at the church today.

It was now time to leave the house of my birth and make the way with Pete to the church. We were going in Pete’s red Triumph Spitfire with the top off. My Dad, Mum and Nan were following in my Dad’s car behind. Pete had tried hard and put one claret and one blue ribbon across the bonnet. The sun was out so it was quite a pleasant drive although being so low down with long legs was not easy. Pete said he had got a spare comb so that I could tidy my hair up when we got there because it was going to get blown around. All the other drivers waved us by and gave us little smiles of encouragement on my big day. At one set of red traffic lights we stopped by a bus stop where there were two very pretty girls in surprisingly short skirts. Pete was visually flirting with them and they were blowing us kisses. For a moment I forgot I was on the way to my wedding. The lights turned to green but Pete was too busy smiling at the girls and didn’t notice. The moment was interrupted by my Dad papping his horn. The girls waved us off and Pete blew them a kiss. Radio One was playing, but in the open top car if was difficult to hear. I managed just to make out the DJ announcing a request from Pete to groom Jonathan in Lichfield. Pete shouts, ‘that’s for you Johno’. I had guessed and the song playing was not the most original choice, but it was a nice thought. We sang a long to those words ‘hey little sister, shotgun’. In the words of Billy Idol it was ‘a nice day for a white wedding..’. As the music blasted out Pete began to drive faster and faster. My Dad kept up for the first few minutes of the song but soon we lost him. It would be alright as he knew his way, but I knew he wouldn’t be pleased. Of course, he wouldn’t moan on my wedding day especially if I am going to be jilted.

Next Week - The big moment - will the groom be jilted