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?
Showing posts with label jilted. Show all posts
Showing posts with label jilted. Show all posts
Monday, December 7, 2009
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
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
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
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Week 2 - A Text From The Bride
Heather came from Bakewell near Manchester, but she denied this made her a ‘Bakewell Tart’. We started to chat as mates, but the more I looked into her green eyes the more I began to think that perhaps I would like to get to know Heather better. Heather had a smile that was slightly naughty and by 1am that night I just wanted to kiss her. One month later and six ‘sort of dates’ I finally did kiss that lovely fellow student. There were earlier chances but our friendship was becoming more important every day so I was scared of making a fool of myself. It was Valentines Day 1988 when we finally admitted to each other that we were ‘boyfriend’ and ‘girlfriend’. This was probably my first serious relationship and I even took Heather home to meet my parents and my friends. Heather showed me the joys of Bakewell and we discussed the names that we would give our children. It seems strange looking back but the two of us never argued about anything. Heather was a bit of a Tom Boy and in some ways the relationship was more mates than lovers. Sex often was a bit of a giggle and perhaps lacked passion, but this was Heather and she had become my best friend and companion. We helped each other through our degrees and I think we were both completely faithful. Until I met Becky I thought this was the perfect relationship. We started getting Christmas cards to ‘Heather and Jonathan’ even though we lived over 50 miles apart. At the end of the course we had to decide what was going to happen next. We were both only twenty-three and not really ready to make big commitments so we couldn’t decide where we wanted to live. I wasn’t ready to finally leave the joys of Sutton Coldfield and Heather wanted to stay near her mum. We decided that it was time to put things on hold but stay as mates for the time being. It didn’t really work because we kept getting back together, but eventually we started to see less of each other and then Heather accepted a marketing position in Paris for a year and we drifted further apart. Heather was special and I had seriously tried to get Becky to allow me to invite Heather and her new boyfriend Jean Pierre to the wedding, but Becky had made it quite clear that no former shags should be allowed at the wedding. As this meant she couldn’t invite the smarmy Michael I happily agreed, although Heather said she was disappointed not to see her mate get hitched. Surely she would have shred a few tears at the sight of her ‘ex’ getting married. I certainly wouldn’t want to see her getting married to Jean Pierre, although Becky might like the idea of a weekend in Paris. Becky is the Manageress of a Travel Agency in Lichfield and is multi-lingual. She could happily hold a conversation with Jean Pierre in French and also speaks fluent Spanish.
For the past three months Becky has spent Wednesday evenings studying Vocational Italian. As a surprise for Becky at the wedding reception I have also been learning Italian via a CD supplied in the Sunday Times. It isn’t my normal read but they had sold out of both ‘The People’ and ‘The Mail on Sunday’ that particular Sunday morning. I intend saying part of my thank you speech in Italian. With my lack of linguistic ability this is ambitious and I hope that Becky will recognise it as Italian.
The radio-alarm clock that used to wake me up with Simon Mayo in my 6th form days often with his First Love slot was now showing 03:08 so the time until I get to see Becky in her wedding attire is now less than eight hours. Less than a normal working day. The recommended amount of sleep you should have each night. Although with my alarm set for quarter to eight I wouldn’t be getting my full quota tonight. Going through previous relationships had kept my mind off thinking about the things I need to do at the wedding. Check Pete has got the rings, put a pack of polo mints in my pocket to make my breath fresher, make sure everyone has a lift to the reception at Moor Hall Hotel in Sutton Coldfield. I could see the outline of my suit hanging on the door of the wardrobe opposite. At least Becky will like this as she was with me when I, or was it we, or was it Becky, chose it. To be honest I thought it was a bit too trendy for me, but Becky liked it straight away and said it would go perfectly with her dress. There was a definite hint of green to it and the lapel was quite narrow. Pete had been impressed when he first saw them although he had talked about us wearing claret and blue suits. All my previous suits had come from Burtons or Fosters so it was a first for me to go to Marks and Spencers, a shop I had always associated with my Nan and Sunday afternoon scotch pancakes that we ate watching the ‘Goldenshot’. Hope my Nan behaves herself at the wedding. At my sister Karen’s wedding she was trying to dance to Bad Manners’ ‘Can Can’ and ended up accidentally banging the vicar on his head with her stick. It could be worse this time because her mind isn’t quite as good as it was and she has started to get confused. At the Carol Service last Christmas she sang ‘O Little Town of Bethlehem’ superbly and very loudly – just a pity everybody else was singing ‘In the bleak mid-winter’. My Granddad died seven years ago and after grieving for a year my Nan decided that life was for living and went on a world cruise where she met another lady in her seventies called Jessie. The two of them then became a trouble-some twosome going to lots of Tea Dances in the hope of meeting men. My Dad found it very difficult to cope with and was appalled when my Nan asked if she could bring her latest boyfriend to Karen’s wedding. He was more taken aback to find he was black and twenty years younger than my Nan. In the end Nan agreed to bring Jessie instead and ended up with the two of them drinking more than everybody else put together. With my Nan’s blood pressure tablets this wasn’t advisable, but she is quite a large woman and can be scary especially when armed with her stick. Of course, the real side is a very caring lady who totally adores her four grandchildren who can do no wrong. Even when Karen left her husband Toby last year my Nan took Karen’s side and said that Toby didn’t do enough to satisfy her. She said he couldn’t even manage to give her a great-grandchild so he probably wasn’t any good in the bedroom department. This is the same lady who until she met Jessie wouldn’t have her telly tuned into Channel Four because it was too raunchy. Jessie died two years ago whilst the two of them were holidaying in Crete. She was eighty-three and doctor believed she died of exhaustion. My Nan was never quite the same since and her mind started to go soon afterwards. It’s sad but she decided to put herself into a home about six months ago and the first thing my Dad knew about it was when he received a change of address card from her. It really upset him, but my Nan knew that it was a decision he would never have made for her. I go to the home about once a week and generally love talking to my Nan. Yes, we often have the same conversation six times in an hour, but she still cares about things passionately. Only last week she was saying what she wanted to do with her stick to Gareth Southgate after he missed that penalty for England in the semi-final. She still watches her football but gets confused as to which players are still playing. She says that Nobby Stiles should have taken that penalty. Becky loves my Nan and often comes with me. All of her grandparents died before she was ten and this always upsets her. Nan told Becky she could adopt her as her Gran. Becky had taken Nan out last week to buy an outfit for the wedding and had to persuade her that a pale coloured trouser suit was probably better than the little black strapless dress she was looking at. Nan had spent an hour a few weeks ago repeatedly telling me that Becky was keen on me and that I should get her married as soon as possible before some hunky bloke might come along and showed her a good time. I am glad my Nan is going to be there on my big day.
My thoughts were distracted by the bleep of my mobile phone. I had only had it a month and still it took me unaware. Becky had decided that since we were living together we needed to be in touch so she had bought us each these mobile phones. I seem to spend all my time looking for it or walking around with a large bulge in my left-hand trouser pocket. As very few people had my number and very few of my friends have mobile phones it must be text message off my bride or the signal that my battery was going flat. I felt around on the floor where the jeans I took off last night were lying. Eventually I located the phone and the screen said ‘Message Received’. The thought of a message off Becky was exciting. Obviously she couldn’t sleep either because she was too excited. I tried to imagine her lying in our bed with her wedding dress hanging by the side of her. The image also included her sister Jenny lying beside her in the bed in a rather unflattering long nylon flowered nightie. This was an image I did not want to focus on. I am sure Jenny doesn’t think I am good enough for her baby sister. Jenny has a first class degree in History and doesn’t really consider a 2:1 in Business Studies to count as a proper degree. Jenny and her husband Gareth have six year old identical twin daughters called Beatrice and Lorna, but I can never tell which one is which. They are going to be Becky’s two small bridesmaids that will follow the beautiful Becky and plain Jenny up the aisle.
What does the message say then? I’d better check and then maybe I could get some sleep. It said the message was off ‘Future Wife’ I had recently changed her name on my phone from ‘Naughty Rebecca’ because Becky thought people might get the wrong idea if they saw it. I clicked to read the message. I noticed there was no kiss which was unusual for a Becky message. It read just ‘Are you asleep’. There wasn’t even a question mark. Of course I wasn’t asleep or how would I be reading this message. Even if I had woken up at 8am and read the message I still would not have been asleep. As it was a very special day I avoided my usual sarcasm and just replied back ‘No, are you xxxx’. It was now 03:42 and within seconds came another beep from my phone. Quickly I check the message and it shocked me. It read ‘Sorry I can’t go through with it x’. Well at least I had got a kiss this time but it wasn’t really the message I wanted at this time on my wedding day. Something seemed wrong, what had happened? How should I play this? Surprisingly for me I was very calm and texted Becky back, ‘Are you sure? x’. I just lay there trying to make sense of everything. The birds were starting to sing now but it felt like the world had suddenly stopped turning and I was about to be pushed off. The radio alarm clock clicked around to 03:48 and then the dreaded bleep came. It was like I felt when I opened the envelope with my A Level results in or when I rang the vets to see if my cat ‘Silvester’ had come through the operation and also how I felt when Gareth Southgate stepped up to take that penalty. The waiting was over the text said simply ,‘Yes’.
Next Week : The wedding day drama
For the past three months Becky has spent Wednesday evenings studying Vocational Italian. As a surprise for Becky at the wedding reception I have also been learning Italian via a CD supplied in the Sunday Times. It isn’t my normal read but they had sold out of both ‘The People’ and ‘The Mail on Sunday’ that particular Sunday morning. I intend saying part of my thank you speech in Italian. With my lack of linguistic ability this is ambitious and I hope that Becky will recognise it as Italian.
The radio-alarm clock that used to wake me up with Simon Mayo in my 6th form days often with his First Love slot was now showing 03:08 so the time until I get to see Becky in her wedding attire is now less than eight hours. Less than a normal working day. The recommended amount of sleep you should have each night. Although with my alarm set for quarter to eight I wouldn’t be getting my full quota tonight. Going through previous relationships had kept my mind off thinking about the things I need to do at the wedding. Check Pete has got the rings, put a pack of polo mints in my pocket to make my breath fresher, make sure everyone has a lift to the reception at Moor Hall Hotel in Sutton Coldfield. I could see the outline of my suit hanging on the door of the wardrobe opposite. At least Becky will like this as she was with me when I, or was it we, or was it Becky, chose it. To be honest I thought it was a bit too trendy for me, but Becky liked it straight away and said it would go perfectly with her dress. There was a definite hint of green to it and the lapel was quite narrow. Pete had been impressed when he first saw them although he had talked about us wearing claret and blue suits. All my previous suits had come from Burtons or Fosters so it was a first for me to go to Marks and Spencers, a shop I had always associated with my Nan and Sunday afternoon scotch pancakes that we ate watching the ‘Goldenshot’. Hope my Nan behaves herself at the wedding. At my sister Karen’s wedding she was trying to dance to Bad Manners’ ‘Can Can’ and ended up accidentally banging the vicar on his head with her stick. It could be worse this time because her mind isn’t quite as good as it was and she has started to get confused. At the Carol Service last Christmas she sang ‘O Little Town of Bethlehem’ superbly and very loudly – just a pity everybody else was singing ‘In the bleak mid-winter’. My Granddad died seven years ago and after grieving for a year my Nan decided that life was for living and went on a world cruise where she met another lady in her seventies called Jessie. The two of them then became a trouble-some twosome going to lots of Tea Dances in the hope of meeting men. My Dad found it very difficult to cope with and was appalled when my Nan asked if she could bring her latest boyfriend to Karen’s wedding. He was more taken aback to find he was black and twenty years younger than my Nan. In the end Nan agreed to bring Jessie instead and ended up with the two of them drinking more than everybody else put together. With my Nan’s blood pressure tablets this wasn’t advisable, but she is quite a large woman and can be scary especially when armed with her stick. Of course, the real side is a very caring lady who totally adores her four grandchildren who can do no wrong. Even when Karen left her husband Toby last year my Nan took Karen’s side and said that Toby didn’t do enough to satisfy her. She said he couldn’t even manage to give her a great-grandchild so he probably wasn’t any good in the bedroom department. This is the same lady who until she met Jessie wouldn’t have her telly tuned into Channel Four because it was too raunchy. Jessie died two years ago whilst the two of them were holidaying in Crete. She was eighty-three and doctor believed she died of exhaustion. My Nan was never quite the same since and her mind started to go soon afterwards. It’s sad but she decided to put herself into a home about six months ago and the first thing my Dad knew about it was when he received a change of address card from her. It really upset him, but my Nan knew that it was a decision he would never have made for her. I go to the home about once a week and generally love talking to my Nan. Yes, we often have the same conversation six times in an hour, but she still cares about things passionately. Only last week she was saying what she wanted to do with her stick to Gareth Southgate after he missed that penalty for England in the semi-final. She still watches her football but gets confused as to which players are still playing. She says that Nobby Stiles should have taken that penalty. Becky loves my Nan and often comes with me. All of her grandparents died before she was ten and this always upsets her. Nan told Becky she could adopt her as her Gran. Becky had taken Nan out last week to buy an outfit for the wedding and had to persuade her that a pale coloured trouser suit was probably better than the little black strapless dress she was looking at. Nan had spent an hour a few weeks ago repeatedly telling me that Becky was keen on me and that I should get her married as soon as possible before some hunky bloke might come along and showed her a good time. I am glad my Nan is going to be there on my big day.
My thoughts were distracted by the bleep of my mobile phone. I had only had it a month and still it took me unaware. Becky had decided that since we were living together we needed to be in touch so she had bought us each these mobile phones. I seem to spend all my time looking for it or walking around with a large bulge in my left-hand trouser pocket. As very few people had my number and very few of my friends have mobile phones it must be text message off my bride or the signal that my battery was going flat. I felt around on the floor where the jeans I took off last night were lying. Eventually I located the phone and the screen said ‘Message Received’. The thought of a message off Becky was exciting. Obviously she couldn’t sleep either because she was too excited. I tried to imagine her lying in our bed with her wedding dress hanging by the side of her. The image also included her sister Jenny lying beside her in the bed in a rather unflattering long nylon flowered nightie. This was an image I did not want to focus on. I am sure Jenny doesn’t think I am good enough for her baby sister. Jenny has a first class degree in History and doesn’t really consider a 2:1 in Business Studies to count as a proper degree. Jenny and her husband Gareth have six year old identical twin daughters called Beatrice and Lorna, but I can never tell which one is which. They are going to be Becky’s two small bridesmaids that will follow the beautiful Becky and plain Jenny up the aisle.
What does the message say then? I’d better check and then maybe I could get some sleep. It said the message was off ‘Future Wife’ I had recently changed her name on my phone from ‘Naughty Rebecca’ because Becky thought people might get the wrong idea if they saw it. I clicked to read the message. I noticed there was no kiss which was unusual for a Becky message. It read just ‘Are you asleep’. There wasn’t even a question mark. Of course I wasn’t asleep or how would I be reading this message. Even if I had woken up at 8am and read the message I still would not have been asleep. As it was a very special day I avoided my usual sarcasm and just replied back ‘No, are you xxxx’. It was now 03:42 and within seconds came another beep from my phone. Quickly I check the message and it shocked me. It read ‘Sorry I can’t go through with it x’. Well at least I had got a kiss this time but it wasn’t really the message I wanted at this time on my wedding day. Something seemed wrong, what had happened? How should I play this? Surprisingly for me I was very calm and texted Becky back, ‘Are you sure? x’. I just lay there trying to make sense of everything. The birds were starting to sing now but it felt like the world had suddenly stopped turning and I was about to be pushed off. The radio alarm clock clicked around to 03:48 and then the dreaded bleep came. It was like I felt when I opened the envelope with my A Level results in or when I rang the vets to see if my cat ‘Silvester’ had come through the operation and also how I felt when Gareth Southgate stepped up to take that penalty. The waiting was over the text said simply ,‘Yes’.
Next Week : The wedding day drama
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