Week 21 - Sad Times

It had now been three days since we heard about the death of Elsie Gloria Stadler and it really had hit us all hard. Nan had just always been there for both me and Karen especially at times when our parents had found it easier to bury their heads in the sand. Yes, in the end Nan was barking mad. Which probably explains why she was trying to climb down the drain pipe from her bedroom window in her slippers when she fell? It was easy to blame the Home for not having better locks on the windows but it was never possible to stop Nan doing anything she put her mind to. At least now she would be on her way to be reunited with my Granddad unless of course Jessie got to her first. No, she would be in Heaven with Granddad because I am sure that Saint Peter would never let Jessie in even if she did flash her petticoat at him.

The four of us Stadler family members sat with the vicar discussing the funeral arrangements. It all seemed far too serious and every time I gazed past the vicar I could just see Nan pointing and laughing at his hairstyle. This was the same vicar who Nan took quite a fancy to at my nearly wedding. The vicar that Becky and I sat down with to plan our wedding service. The vicar who had enjoyed a ride in my Best Man’s sports car. It is amazing what can happen in three months. My whole life has changed. Probably the three most important people in my life have now all left me for various reasons. If there is a God he has obviously got it in for Jon Sadler.

On the fireplace was a photograph that I hadn’t seen before of Nan and my Granddad eating ice creams at the seaside. My Granddad with trousers rolled up and knotted hanky on his head. My Nan with her long dress tucked into some rather big pants. She was wearing a sunhat that I am guessing was blue as it was a black and white picture. The two seemed so happy and content. It was only now that I realised how much the two just belonged together. I had somehow in seven years started to think as Nan as separate to ‘Nan and Granddad’, but now I could see how wrong this was. So much of my Granddad’s spirit had made my Nan who she was. For the first time since Dad had told us the news I started to cry. Uncontrollable tears ran down my face and everyone in the room could see my distress but decided to leave me to it. I felt completely alone even the image I had before of my Nan joking behind the vicar had gone. It really was just me now and my world felt so empty. I wanted to turn back the clock. I wanted to be a small boy sitting in my grandparent’s front parlour eating scotch pancakes with the smell of Camp coffee and watching the ‘Goldenshot’. I didn’t want to be planning my Nan’s funeral. I am just not grown up enough for this. As the vicar tried to explain to my mum that it was not traditional to have the coffin leave the Church to the ‘Birdie Song’ even if it was Nan’s favourite I quietly slipped out the house.


Waiting back at my flat parked outside was a police car. I really didn’t need this now so I tried to creep in without them noticing. It didn’t work and within seconds the two policemen were getting out of their panda and running towards my door. Surely the Starsky style leap over the bonnet by the younger one was a little over the top. I invited them in because I just wanted to sit down.

The two policemen were by now quite familiar to me, but still seemed to believe that I knew a lot more about Becky’s disappearance than I was letting on. Every time they came they asked the same questions. It always started with them asking if I had seen Becky before asking if I knew if anybody else had seen her. I decided, perhaps wrongly, to mention that Nan had claimed to see her. They looked puzzled but then the older one with surprisingly pointed ears nodded and said his old Nan was totally mad as well. They didn’t seem to believe me but finally agreed that they would go and ask Nan for a statement. For just a few moments I had forgotten that I no longer had a Nan. I was just giving the officers the address of the home when I started to cry again. The Mr. Spock lookalike actually was sympathetic and put his arm around me when I mumbled that my Nan had died. The other policeman just looked up from his notepad and said, “Convenient”.


For the next two days I just stayed in my flat and didn’t answer the phone or door to anybody. I just wanted the world to leave me alone. Occasionally I would see cameramen outside trying to take snaps of me. I didn’t shave, ate only a packet of plain biscuits and just felt more alone than I ever had before. Just as I was trying to decide whether I should ring my Dad to see if they had fixed a date for Nan’s funeral I heard a crash from just outside my door. I looked through the kitchen window to see a hooded youth taking something out of my dustbin. Without thinking I ran out to confront the young bloke. He was taking an empty plastic bottle of woodpecker cider from my bin. He was very surprised to see me!


“Sorry mister just wanted a souvenir. I mean you are quite a celebrity. You don’t get many murderers in Lichfield”, the youth offered me his hand to shake. I felt like thumping him but that is more Pete’s department so I just shook his hand. Then I heard the now familiar sound of clicking lenses. Yes, I can just see the photograph in the paper tomorrow of suspected bride killer shaking hand of a mysterious shaded hooded character on his doorstep.

Back inside I then decided it was time to open the last packet of slightly soft biscuits. Soon there was a knock at the door. So deciding that I couldn’t hide forever I opened the front door.

“Sorry mate. Have you got a pen? Thought you could sign this bottle”, the hooded chap had returned and I came so close to punching him. Quickly I slammed the door shut and just dropped down on the floor.

Again my quiet moment was broken by a knocking on the door. This time I had had enough and opened it to the hooded character. I was about to strike him when I realised he had shrunk and his hoodie top had changed from blue to pink.

“Well, aren’t you going to let your favourite girl in?” whispered a familiar sweet voice.

Next week : Who is this mystery girl?

Week 19 - Doorstep Sleeper

Chapter Nine – Doorstep Sleeper

Sitting in a packed end of Villa supporters at Highfield Road it was significant that the only empty seat was the one to my right. I don’t know if I had wanted Pete to turn up or not, but I had decided that as I had don’t nothing wrong I wasn’t going to miss this game. The game went well for the Villa with us winning by two goals to one, but my head was just not really there. I was very cross and for the first time since I was eleven I really wanted to hit someone. That just wasn’t me and I was angry that my ‘former’ friend Pete had made me feel like this.

Despite the Villa winning I didn’t watch ‘Match of the Day’ that Saturday night and just sat on my bed trying to make sense of the Pete-Becky news. I thought we had an unwritten rule that we never went after the same girls. Mind you I didn’t usually get the type of girls Pete fell for. I especially didn’t get the Tracey Taylor thing even if they did share a passion for Gary Numan. For Pete there were always two types of women. Firstly, the one you just bonked and then didn’t see again, or secondly the ones you worshipped and ended up making a complete fool over. This was the Tracey Taylor case. So how did I really feel about Pete now? Had Pete been the ‘best man’ for both me and Becky? No, I didn’t want to think about any of this. The thought of them together is something my brain could not cope with.

To the left of my bed was my birthday present off Pete. It was the brilliant matchstick model of the old Villa Trinity Road stand. All Pete’s own handy work. He probably built it to help him to deal with his own guilt over screwing his best mate’s fiancée. I was feeling so full of rage and hatred. The easy thing to do was to smash the model into hundreds of pieces. Inside my wardrobe was my prized cricket bat signed by Ian Botham and Bob Willis at that famous Headingly 1981 test match. So I picked the bat up with both hands and raised it above the wooden model. All it would take was one blow and I could destroy weeks of Pete’s hard work. No, I couldn’t do it. This just wasn’t me and how could I even think of causing damage to the sacred Trinity Road stand even if it was only a model. I decided to go for a midnight stroll.

As I was walking I began to think about a fact that I had overlooked all day. I had been focusing too much on not thinking about Becky and Pete together that I had forgotten that Becky was still missing. Where could she be? Maybe Pete has seen her since the wedding fiasco. I certainly wasn’t ready to confront Pete though. So I just walked and walked knowing that there would be nobody worrying about me.

It was nearly half past three in morning when I actually arrived back at home. I was shocked to see a pretty young lady sleeping on my door-step. She was covered by her coat to keep her warm and for a few seconds I thought it was Becky but then realised it was the delightful Heather. I decided not to wake her and unlocked the door before lifting the sleeping beauty up in my arms and carrying her inside. Still she didn’t wake so I took her to the bedroom and placed her on the bed. I was tempted to undress her and stroke her back again but it didn’t seem appropriate. As I was thinking about covering her up Heather half-woke up and just quietly told me she had been worried about me. This was sweet and then she surprised me even more by saying that Pete had rung her and told her the two of us had had a big falling out. Now this really shocked me. Firstly that Pete had been so concerned about me that he had rung Heather, or was he just trying to get inside her knickers as well. No, that was unfair. Secondly, that he had described it as ‘a big fallout’. I mean he had just told me something and then left the pub. Heather then closed her eyes and within seconds was snoring and grunting like a little pig.

I spent the next four hours just sitting on the bed with Heather’s sleeping head on my lap. Things actually felt right and the position seemed comfortable and natural. The world didn’t seem quite as scary with Heather smiling in her sleep. I did kiss her forehead several times and stroked her lips with my middle fingers.

At quarter to eight Heather woke with a jolt and announced she had to catch the train to London at ten o’clock as she was heading back to Paris to meet Jean Pierre. This surprised and disappointed me but I decided not to question it. So I just offered to drive Heather to the station in my new Golf convertible car. Well, I second-hand but new to me and even had a six track CD multi-changer in it.

At the station I was thinking about Heather’s lack of luggage. She had reassured me that she was only going for two days at most and just had to give Jean Pierre something. Maybe I was supposed to ask what, but I wasn’t in the mood for any games. Heather did tell me that I was taking her out to the new Italian restaurant on Thursday evening at eight o’clock so at least another meeting was planned. I leant over to kiss Heather’s left cheek, but she grabbed my face in her hands and pulled our mouths together. It turned into quite a passionate snog and I just started thinking how ace she smelt. Even without a shower and in the same clothes she arrived in last night Heather smelt as sweet as a garden centre. The kiss was stopped short though by a loud clicking sound. I looked around to see a person with a rather large camera walking away. This was strange but I just returned to the kiss before waving Heather goodbye. For a few moments I had completely forgotten both my missing bride and my two-faced Best Man.

Leaving the station I decided that as I had been distracted last night and not even checked the Villa’s league position that I should buy a Sunday newspaper. My normal choice was ‘The People’, but it was the headline on the front of the ‘News of the World’ that caught my eyes. ‘JILTED JOHN DENIES BRIDE KILLING’. Oh, no this day was not going to improve. I had to buy a paper.

“He’s a local bloke as well, you know. I bet he done her in”, said the paper seller.

I returned home with not only the ‘New of the World’ but also ‘Sunday Mirror’ and ‘The People’. All contained at least two pages on the missing bride from Lichfield. The number of inaccuracies in the stories and the total disregard for the truth were shocking. One called me ‘’A loner” and another claimed “John, aged 34, had a history of violent behaviour”. Well, I am just thirty and the last person I hit was when I was eleven. ‘The People’ had lots of lovely sweet pictures of Becky that made her look like the gil nextdoor. Actually I really liked the one and cut it out. But the ones of me were horrible. One was from my Council Identity Card and I looked like I had just been released from Broadmoor. The fact that it was taken the week that I had been suffering with conjunctivitis did not help. All the newspaper stories seemed to now be suggesting that soon Becky’s body would be discovered and that there was only one suspect. Where was this going to end? I would probably end up as the lead story on ‘Crime Watch’. Oh, Becky where are you? I didn’t care about being public enemy number one I just wanted to know Becky was safe.


Just as I was really starting to think about the possibility of Pete being involved in Becky’s disappearance the phone rang. I picked up the phone but didn’t say anything in case it was a journalist. Maybe I needed a lawyer.

“Is that Mr Jon Stadler? The mad-axeman of Lichfield”, said the croaky voice. I replied by just saying “yes Nan”.

Nan was very excited and not only because she had managed to get an outside line on the phone in the main staff office without anybody knowing. She was delighted that her grandson was national news. She was apparently enjoying her new title in the home as “Jilted Jon’s Nan”. Mr Patel was currently in the process of making her a badge. Nan was being her totally mad self. At least some things don’t change. I told Nan that I was in fact not a murder.

“Oh, I know that, I mean if you killed Becky who was that girl who came to visit me last Tuesday”, Nan then broke into an uncontrollable fit of giggles followed by “Oh blast, I have wet my pants. They were clean on last Thursday as well”. The phone went dead.

Next Week : A shocking trip to Nan's home

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 10 - The Double Date

The next two weeks went quite quickly and although I raced home from work each day in the hope that there might be a letter from Becky waiting for me I began to think about her less and less. Yes, there were times when my head would be full of thoughts like, are we still engaged, did my smelly feet put her off and should I have reacted differently when I received the text on that fateful night. The way I had reacted was of course so typical of me and the way I bury my head in the sand just hoping things will go away. Perhaps I should have taken the text message as a sign that things were not good and gone straight around to see Becky. To hell with it being bad luck to see the bride the night before the wedding. It is more unlucky not to see her on the wedding day. It also seems now that other people are beginning to forget about what happened and are starting to treat me without the cotton gloves. My mum will now even mention the ‘B’ word Becky when I am around.



I am driving with Pete back from seeing the Villa draw when he announces that we have a double date that night with a couple of crackers. This certainly takes me by surprise, but perhaps it is just what I need. Even Pete is taken aback by my cool response to this news. He explains that I would be doing him a favour because he has been trying to spend time with a girl called Lyn for a few weeks, but she always has her friend Denise in tow. Even though I expect that the term ‘cracker’ was perhaps more apt for Lyn than this Denise I was excited by the chance to have date on a Saturday night. Yes, it was good to be able to veg out on a Saturday night with the pink football papers and watch ‘Match of the Day’, but this Saturday night I was going to be out on a date. Pete dropped me off and informed me that we were meeting at the Craven Arms at eight o’clock. This gave me about ninety minutes to get ready. I decided to go the whole way and even had a bath using some bubble bath that Becky had left behind. It was a bit girly smelling, but I thought it would make me smell nice. Having not used bubble bath since the days of the blue sailor one called ‘Matey’, which promised clean kids and a clean bath, I was not exactly sure how much foam to put in. Perhaps if I use this flower scented pink one again I will use about a quarter of the amount because not only would the bubbles I had created not seem to want to disappear from my body but I smelt like an exhibit at the Chelsea Flower Show. It was too much and I was sure that Pete would make a comment so I tried to hide the smell with some aftershave. Unfortunately the only bottle that I had that was half decent was one that Becky’s mum gave me last Christmas. I had only tried it once and didn’t really care for the smell but I desperately needed something to hide the scent of flowers.


I tried on my favourite black button fly jeans which Becky always said showed my bottom off well. I only wore them on special occasions because I found the button fly very difficult if I had a few drinks and had to go for a wee. Standing by a urinal spending minutes trying to correctly fasten all the stiff buttons always made me worry that somebody would think I was dong something dodgy with my private bits. I was going to go for it tonight and hopefully avoid having to empty my bladder during the evening. The only problem was that over the last couple of months since joining the jilted club I hadn’t really been eating very much, mainly because I couldn’t be bothered to go shopping. So even for my usual skinny self I was looking very thin. The jeans almost fell right down with the lack of waist. Even with a belt with the buckle in the last hole they were still not secure. Time was running out so with the aid of a Phillips screwdriver I added an extra hole to my belt. Perhaps if I had taken the belt off first I wouldn’t have stabbed myself in the leg with the screwdriver, but it didn’t bleed too much and apart from having to change my white shirt no harm was done. I put my black shirt on instead and couldn’t really tell if I looked fashionable or as if I was going to a funeral. My hair was desperately in need of a visit to the hairdressers with a number of added curls appearing in unexpected places. Also I noticed an unwanted grey hair on the left-hand side which I am sure was not there when I was preparing for the wedding. Was it stress or the first real signs of aging? At 29 had I peaked? Would it be all downhill from now with hair going grey and then dropping out? Would I have to start taking a change of pants out with me to stop me smelling of wee because I dribble after I have been for a pee? There was no time to get depressed now though as I had to be ready for my date. With a quick yank I pulled out the offending grey hair. Maybe I could start dying my hair if it got any worse.


As always I was very punctual and reached the Craven Arms at five to eight. Normally I would arrive ten minutes early but decided I didn’t want to appear too keen. Pete wasn’t there yet, but Pete was often late so I looked around to see if I could see two ‘crackers’ inside. For some reason I hadn’t asked Pete anything about what Denise was like. Perhaps I didn’t really want to know so I didn’t have any preconceived ideas. I mean if Pete had said she had a great personality knowing Pete it would have meant ‘she is not much to look at’. I didn’t care what she was like it was just a relief to be out on a Saturday night. The Craven Arms was not one of our usual pubs so I assume Pete had chosen it because it would have the least number of his ex’s there. It wasn’t bad little pub though and I had taken Becky there once and we had had quite a romantic night at the table to the right of the log fire sharing a bag of dry-roasted peanuts and making one round of drinks last all night.


It is nearly ten past eight before Pete walks in with two girls. One of them was a quite stunning brunette with a tight silver top on and a short black skirt. She was maybe lacking a few pounds in the vital areas but oozed confidence in her designer mirror sunglasses even though it was pitch black outside. Behind Pete and this attractive lady was another girl who wasn’t really in the same league but had a cute look about her. She was quite short and dumpy with blonde highlights in her short brownish hair and a West Bromwich Albion scarf round her neck. This I thought must be the friend Denise. Apart from the scarf and the considerable height difference to me I was quite intrigued by this stranger. To my surprise Pete introduced the woman in the Albion scarf to me first as Lyn. It seemed that my date Denise was actually the more glamorous of the two girls with Pete. This was certainly a turn-up.

Next Week : Denise or Lyn?

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 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