Chapter 5 Approaching Thirty
It had now been forty-nine days since the day my bride failed to show and I was surviving. Pete was great and my parents seemed to take it in turns phoning to check I was still alive. Frequent offers of dinners also came from my parents and generally everything was alright. I decided to pull out of buying the house in Alrewas much to the annoyance of Mr. Williams who was in the middle of buying this flat. Becky hadn’t been in touch and I had no idea where she was, but I wasn’t going to go looking. If she wanted payment for the flat I would deal with that when it happened. The mortgage was in my name and the payments going from my account so at the moment I didn’t need to act on this.
In three weeks time it will be my thirtieth birthday and I was slightly depressed about this. Trying to think about where my life was going. Two months ago I was going to be married by the time I reached the big three O. Now I was single and my future was very undecided. Would I ever marry? Would I ever hear the patter of tiny feet? Would I ever be called Granddad? I wasn’t feeling sorry for myself just unsure about what I was supposed to do. Pete advised celebrating my birthday in a big way to show the world that Jonathan Sadler was back. That didn’t seem like a good idea. I mean a party full of couples and me and Pete. Perhaps I could send Becky an invite, but as she didn’t turn up to our wedding I doubt she would turn up to my party. In the last few days I had started to feel some resentment towards Becky. It wasn’t the jilting me that hurt it was the not saying exactly what was wrong. Was it something I had done? Or was something else going on in her life that I had not been involved in?
If your partner dies how long is it acceptable to grieve before going back out on the pull? This is how I was feeling. Part of me wanted to try and find a woman because I didn’t want to be completely single when I entered the fourth decade of my life. I did miss the flirting and the seducing even before Becky left. The thrill of the chase has always been the best part for me. Which is probably why I had always turned down offers of one night stands. To me, taking four months to completely seduce an attractive lady to a state where she wanted me more than anything else was much more satisfying than just meeting.
I had been summoned to my Nan’s Old People’s home and told to arrive at seven o’clock exactly. Nan had said that I could then see her for half an hour and be off by the time Coronation Street started. It wasn't really a convenient time to go as I wanted to see the end of the football on Sky, but it was Nan and she said it was important. The home was quite deep in the countryside and had hairy cows in the field behind the back. Nan had chosen well and it was quite an upmarket home. My Granddad had owned four houses so his death left my Nan surprisingly well off. She must have spent quite a large portion of this wealth during her Jessy years though, but still could afford to stay at this top of the range Old People’s Home. The staff all wore pink uniforms which looked quite good on some of the girls but this was perhaps a touch camp for the male nurses. It was quite a pleasant environment in the Lounge, though, because most of the household were quite compos-mentis and it wasn’t like the usual home. They tended to sit in small groups instead of being spread around the room. When I arrived Nan was holding court with three gentlemen and blatantly flirting with two of them. One of the carers, Jenny, asked me if she could have a word. The conversation started with Jenny saying she was sorry to hear about me being jilted, but she wouldn’t be able to go out with me next Tuesday because she went dancing with her boyfriend every Tuesday. Obviously Nan had been trying to set me up. At least she had good taste because Jenny was particularly nice with a smile that always caught my eyes. I tried to apologise for my Nan’s forwardness, but Jenny laughed and said she understood totally. Jenny had something she needed to discuss with me or my Dad the next time he came. She said it was a sensitive matter about Nan’s recent behaviour. I decided that I was ready to represent the family on this issue. Jenny explained, rather apologetically, that things could not go on as they are. I asked what my Nan had done now. She said that it was just that some of the other families had complained. This didn’t sound good and I don’t think Jenny, even with her warm smile, was finding this easy to say. Eventually we got to the point. Nan had been leading some late night strip poker sessions and old Mrs. Gidman had told her son how she was left braless after a session last Thursday. The thought of the ninety-five year old, teethless Mrs. Gidman topless was an image I needed to quickly lose from my mind, but try as I could it was still there as wrinkly as a tortoise’s neck.
Nan introduced me to Neville, Len and Clive. She said, “it’s like that film, Three men and an old lady”. For once Nan was dressed like a real Nan with a long skirt and a shawl around her shoulders. She had quite a lot of clothes on for this time of year. Perhaps she was planning another game of strip poker. Very suddenly Nan instructed the gentlemen to disperse. Len took the opportunity to give Nan a peck on the lips. It wasn’t a pleasant sight but I suppose you don’t get many chances of a snog when you get to that age. Clive was the least mobile of the three old men and even with his zimmer frame it took him several minutes to get back to the other side of the room. Nan was quite agitated and obviously had some news to tell me. If it was about the midnight geriatric games I already knew. There seemed to be something else on her mind and I started to have the worrying feeling that my lovelife was involved. Very quickly my worries were proved correct as it became apparent that my Nan was on operation ‘find Jonathan a woman’. Jenny had just been the start of it. The real plan soon became known. Nan introduced me to Mr. Singh or Ally as she had started to refer to him as. She pointed to an elderly man in the far left of the room who was wearing a very bright orange turban and had quite a bushy grey beard that I appeared to have in a hairnet. Mr. Singh gave us a little wave to acknowledge he had seen us. Nan started to wave back an even blew him a kiss. It was obvious that these two had been talking about me and the lack of romance in my life. “Good news”, Nan said quite sharply.
Why did I sense that this was not going to be good news for me? “I have found you a replacement wife”, was the dreaded words that were to follow. Soon things became painfully clear and my worse fears were all coming home. My Nan and Mr. Singh had setup an arranged marriage for me. Mr. Singh had an unmarried Grand-daughter who was supposed to marrying the son of a doctor until the doctor’s son was caught kerb crawling in Aldridge. I was being setup for an Arranged Marriage. Nan informed me that Mr. Singh’s grand-daughter, Hasmir, wasn’t a minger and was in fact pretty hot. She would be here soon and Nan informed me she was looking forward to meeting me. At least we were going to be allowed to meet prior to our wedding day.
“Nan I am not a Sikh and I am quite able to organise my own lovelife”, I shouted rather too loud given the number of people in the room.
“Well, you’ve made a crap job of it so far”, Nan snapped back. “Where is Becky again?”
I could tell that Nan was in one of those stubborn moods and I would just have to lump it for a bit. But Nan was right about one thing Hasmir certainly wasn’t ‘a minger’. She entered the room looking completely radiant and kissed her grandfather on the cheek. She looked beautiful and reminded me of the Princess on the Aladdin cartoon. Maybe it was worth a go after all. My Nan gave me a nudge to indicate that she thought Hasmir was, in her words, ‘a bit of alright’. Hasmir was dressed very European with jeans and quite a figure hugging white top in fact quite a trendy. Should I go over and introduce myself?
As I started to walk towards Hasmir and her Grandfather I felt myself being pulled back by a strange force. It was Nan’s stick which she had used like a fishing rod to hook around my jeans and prevent me from escaping.
“Slow down tiger, you don’t want to seem to keen”, Nan said unusually quiet for her.
“I was just going to be a gentlemen and introduce myself”, I protested.
“We don’t want you ruining things yet. Ally and me still haven’t agreed on the price.”, Nan informed me.
Any hope of having Hasmir as my birthday date faded fast when she started arguing with Mr. Singh. I couldn’t hear all she was saying but it seemed to roughly translate to, ”I wouldn’t be seen dead with that lanky git”. Oh well it was probably for the best.
Showing posts with label nan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label nan. Show all posts
Monday, December 28, 2009
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Week 7 - Nan To The Rescue
Chapter 4 Back To Normal
During the next six days I managed to avoid everyone even pretending to be out when Pete called round. My parents left me alone, but did send two letters and both times I put them unopened in the drawer under the sink. The phone rang continually for the first few days, but this stopped when I cut the wire with a pair of scissors. I made sure every day I opened the curtains so nobody thought I had died. All the neighbours obviously knew that I had been jilted and I occasionally caught them looking or pointing at my window. I did also receive a visit from the vicar but after he had been knocking for five minutes and then said a little prayer to my front door he left me alone. I didn’t go out at all and not only because I hadn’t got a key to get back in. It just felt safest inside my flat. The comfort of daytime television and the endless cookery programmes kept me going. Things weren’t good because not only was I watching ‘Eastenders’, ‘Coronation Street’ and ‘Brookside’ most evenings, but also the repeat showing in the mornings. Oh, and the episodes from ten years ago on the cable.
When I am feeling depressed I tend to eat lots of food, but this time I really couldn’t be bothered and I tended to forget to eat. The flat was lacking in-date food anyway so as I wasn’t ready to face the outside world yet I would have to starve. One thing I do excessively when I am feeling sorry for myself is make a cup of tea. The one day I must have made twenty all in the same Villa 1975 League Cup Winners mug. By day three of my hideaway I did run out of milk though, so the tea became black. I did try some condensed milk from a tin the one day but that tasted disgusting.
It was now Saturday around half past twelve I think because Football Focus had just started. Last night was the first night I had really slept since Becky’s failure to show. In fact I think this morning is the first morning that I have had where I haven’t been really thinking about Becky. Perhaps I am ready to return to normal maybe even ready to go out and buy some milk. By my calculations my parents would pay me a visit today. They would have thought that after two letters and one week it would be time to check that I was still breathing. I decided for only the second time in the week to have a shave. So as I watched the remainder of Football Focus at the same time as pointing my electric shaver at my face. My face was now quite hairy and the shaver got stuck on the hairs under my chin at one point. Then I think I sliced through a pimple and had to quickly check in the mirror above the fireplace to see if it was bleeding. It was not a pretty sight but at least it gave me a chance to look for the first time for a week at the shelf above the fireplace. There I saw Becky’s door key and sadly her engagement ring. This second discovery was a body-blow and suddenly things seemed even worse. Not only was Becky saying she didn’t want to marry me but she was also saying that she didn’t even want to be engaged to me. My mind then drifted to last New Year’s Eve night in the Edinburgh hotel when I asked Becky to marry me. I had planned everything so carefully and had the ring ready. In fact I had been planning the proposal since October when I decided I wanted to spend the rest of my life with this sensational lady. Spending New Year in Edinburgh was all arranged so I could pop the question. I must have been confident of her saying ‘yes’. The ring had been partly chosen by Becky from a jewellers window in the Jewellery Quarter in Birmingham. She said how lovely it looked so I managed to nip back the next day and buy it. The only problem was that I had no idea what size finger Becky had. I told the Jeweller that it was average thickness so I recommended I go for an M. The idea in Scotland was to put the ring inside a fancy handmade cracker and then get Becky to pull it with me just after midnight. Everything went very well, until Becky pulled the cracker a bit too hard and the ring, party hat and typed message went flying around the room. It took me a few minutes to locate the two most important parts of the cracker. The solitaire diamond ring and the message/joke saying ‘Question : What did Jonathan say to Rebecca on New Year’s Eve?. Answer : Will you marry me’. It was truly romantic and Becky loved it. She said “yes” immediately and then kissed me for the next five minutes pushing me to the floor. Now nine months later she was giving me back my engagement ring. This hurt me and I stopped my shaving with my left cheek still full of bristles and went back to bed for the rest of the day.
At ten past seven in the evening I was woken from sleep by a loud banging at the door and what sounded like an old lady shouting. I wasn’t ready for company yet so I put my head under the pillow and hoped they would go away. Things went quiet for a few minutes and it seemed they had given up. Suddenly from the kitchen came a crashing noise. It sounded like glass breaking. I had better go and investigate.
The kitchen floor was covered with small pieces of broken glass and looking in through the window was an old lady holding a stick. My Nan had obviously been very keen to see me. I let the well-built old lady into the flat and greeted her with her kiss. For once my chin was probably more bristly than Nan’s.
Nan was her usual abrupt self, but she seemed to be less confused than she had been of late. She told me to put the kettle on and she would have her tea black as she doubted the milk in my fridge would be fit to eat. Oh, and not to forget the four heaped spoons of sugar. Nan had got odd shoes on but I decided it was best not to mention this as she had obviously decided to come to ‘sort me out’. As we sat down to our black tea Nan produced a cake she had baked from somewhere. I was confused because there had been no sign of a bag. Apparently the cake was a Brandy Victoria Sponge. You could certainly taste the brandy. I think it was poured on afterwards. Nan also pulled out her chequebook from a pocket in her large coat and quickly wrote me a cheque for one hundred pounds. She said, “That’ll pay for the window”. She forgot to sign it though and the date was 1986, but I accepted it anyway. My Nan is brilliant and she cares so much about all her Grandchildren. She always says at last count there are seven, but with Uncle Charlie’s famous exploits there could be more.
For over an hour we just talked about every topic except Becky. We discussed football, wheelie bins, my dad’s choice in trousers and which Spice Girl looks most like Nan. She made me laugh and for once didn’t keep repeating herself. This was the Nan from when Jessie was still alive. She had Nan Power and began to remind me that life is fun. Somehow at about 9pm Nan challenged me to a game of subbuteo football. The old lady with the plastic hip and dodgy knee was challenging me, the Sutton Coldfield Junior Under 10’s champion of 1976 to a game. Within a few minutes we were both kneeling on the floor with our plastic men positioned ready to start. It was a bad idea. I played with the Villa away strip team and Nan was England in their red. As she said “They won the world cup in red”. She partnered Alan Shearer up front with Geoff Hurst. Unfortunately things did not go so well for my Villa team despite me scoring two goals in the first three minutes. Problems started when my Nan lost her balance and landed on my goalkeeper and two defenders. All three snapped straight away with the top half of goalkeeper Bosnich then caught in one of Nan’s surgical stockings. After just five minutes we had to abandon the game as Nan’s stick had decapitated my left back and then broke my crossbar in half. We just laughed and I somehow managed to lift Nan back on to the armchair. She claimed a draw and out of fear for my remaining seven men I accepted the draw.
After I put the Subbuteo away and we had another slice of cake each Nan announced that it was time for me to drive her back to the home before they realised she was missing. It was now that I realised that not only had Nan managed to find a flat she had never been to before, but she had got here all on her own. It must have been a three bus journey. I hadn’t been out the house for a week and hadn’t driven my car for even longer. Strangely Nan was now starting to get confused and get some words mixed up. She started to refer to Jessy being still alive and kept saying she had to be at work in the morning. It didn’t make sense because for the last two hours she had made perfect sense. Was she now putting on an act of the old lady losing her marbles. I could tell she was tired but still it shocked me the sudden change. She told me it was just the tablets wearing off and they would soon pump her with more at the home. This was followed by saying that perhaps Jessy would give her one of those funny fags later.
I drove Nan back to the home and she sang along to all the songs on the radio including ‘Wannabe’ by the Spice Girls. She was great and I loved every minute of it. We even wound down the windows at one set of traffic lights and sang really loudly to a bloke on his bike. The wolf-whistle to the Asian gentleman at the bus-stop was perhaps going too far, but that’s my Nan. When we got there the owners were really worried because apparently Nan had left at just before four o’clock promising that she would be back by six pm. It was now nearly eleven. I apologised to them repeatedly and they said they would have to compile a report. Nan jokingly said, “That’ll be no digestive biscuit for me for the next week”. Well, I think she was joking. It wasn’t easy to tell and I don’t think her little Hitler salute to the matron really helped. Luckily I caught her before she fell over. Nan’s last words to me before I went knocked me back though. She called out, “Next time we will talk about what happened with Becky”. I just smiled and told her to take care.
Next Week : Back to Work
During the next six days I managed to avoid everyone even pretending to be out when Pete called round. My parents left me alone, but did send two letters and both times I put them unopened in the drawer under the sink. The phone rang continually for the first few days, but this stopped when I cut the wire with a pair of scissors. I made sure every day I opened the curtains so nobody thought I had died. All the neighbours obviously knew that I had been jilted and I occasionally caught them looking or pointing at my window. I did also receive a visit from the vicar but after he had been knocking for five minutes and then said a little prayer to my front door he left me alone. I didn’t go out at all and not only because I hadn’t got a key to get back in. It just felt safest inside my flat. The comfort of daytime television and the endless cookery programmes kept me going. Things weren’t good because not only was I watching ‘Eastenders’, ‘Coronation Street’ and ‘Brookside’ most evenings, but also the repeat showing in the mornings. Oh, and the episodes from ten years ago on the cable.
When I am feeling depressed I tend to eat lots of food, but this time I really couldn’t be bothered and I tended to forget to eat. The flat was lacking in-date food anyway so as I wasn’t ready to face the outside world yet I would have to starve. One thing I do excessively when I am feeling sorry for myself is make a cup of tea. The one day I must have made twenty all in the same Villa 1975 League Cup Winners mug. By day three of my hideaway I did run out of milk though, so the tea became black. I did try some condensed milk from a tin the one day but that tasted disgusting.
It was now Saturday around half past twelve I think because Football Focus had just started. Last night was the first night I had really slept since Becky’s failure to show. In fact I think this morning is the first morning that I have had where I haven’t been really thinking about Becky. Perhaps I am ready to return to normal maybe even ready to go out and buy some milk. By my calculations my parents would pay me a visit today. They would have thought that after two letters and one week it would be time to check that I was still breathing. I decided for only the second time in the week to have a shave. So as I watched the remainder of Football Focus at the same time as pointing my electric shaver at my face. My face was now quite hairy and the shaver got stuck on the hairs under my chin at one point. Then I think I sliced through a pimple and had to quickly check in the mirror above the fireplace to see if it was bleeding. It was not a pretty sight but at least it gave me a chance to look for the first time for a week at the shelf above the fireplace. There I saw Becky’s door key and sadly her engagement ring. This second discovery was a body-blow and suddenly things seemed even worse. Not only was Becky saying she didn’t want to marry me but she was also saying that she didn’t even want to be engaged to me. My mind then drifted to last New Year’s Eve night in the Edinburgh hotel when I asked Becky to marry me. I had planned everything so carefully and had the ring ready. In fact I had been planning the proposal since October when I decided I wanted to spend the rest of my life with this sensational lady. Spending New Year in Edinburgh was all arranged so I could pop the question. I must have been confident of her saying ‘yes’. The ring had been partly chosen by Becky from a jewellers window in the Jewellery Quarter in Birmingham. She said how lovely it looked so I managed to nip back the next day and buy it. The only problem was that I had no idea what size finger Becky had. I told the Jeweller that it was average thickness so I recommended I go for an M. The idea in Scotland was to put the ring inside a fancy handmade cracker and then get Becky to pull it with me just after midnight. Everything went very well, until Becky pulled the cracker a bit too hard and the ring, party hat and typed message went flying around the room. It took me a few minutes to locate the two most important parts of the cracker. The solitaire diamond ring and the message/joke saying ‘Question : What did Jonathan say to Rebecca on New Year’s Eve?. Answer : Will you marry me’. It was truly romantic and Becky loved it. She said “yes” immediately and then kissed me for the next five minutes pushing me to the floor. Now nine months later she was giving me back my engagement ring. This hurt me and I stopped my shaving with my left cheek still full of bristles and went back to bed for the rest of the day.
At ten past seven in the evening I was woken from sleep by a loud banging at the door and what sounded like an old lady shouting. I wasn’t ready for company yet so I put my head under the pillow and hoped they would go away. Things went quiet for a few minutes and it seemed they had given up. Suddenly from the kitchen came a crashing noise. It sounded like glass breaking. I had better go and investigate.
The kitchen floor was covered with small pieces of broken glass and looking in through the window was an old lady holding a stick. My Nan had obviously been very keen to see me. I let the well-built old lady into the flat and greeted her with her kiss. For once my chin was probably more bristly than Nan’s.
Nan was her usual abrupt self, but she seemed to be less confused than she had been of late. She told me to put the kettle on and she would have her tea black as she doubted the milk in my fridge would be fit to eat. Oh, and not to forget the four heaped spoons of sugar. Nan had got odd shoes on but I decided it was best not to mention this as she had obviously decided to come to ‘sort me out’. As we sat down to our black tea Nan produced a cake she had baked from somewhere. I was confused because there had been no sign of a bag. Apparently the cake was a Brandy Victoria Sponge. You could certainly taste the brandy. I think it was poured on afterwards. Nan also pulled out her chequebook from a pocket in her large coat and quickly wrote me a cheque for one hundred pounds. She said, “That’ll pay for the window”. She forgot to sign it though and the date was 1986, but I accepted it anyway. My Nan is brilliant and she cares so much about all her Grandchildren. She always says at last count there are seven, but with Uncle Charlie’s famous exploits there could be more.
For over an hour we just talked about every topic except Becky. We discussed football, wheelie bins, my dad’s choice in trousers and which Spice Girl looks most like Nan. She made me laugh and for once didn’t keep repeating herself. This was the Nan from when Jessie was still alive. She had Nan Power and began to remind me that life is fun. Somehow at about 9pm Nan challenged me to a game of subbuteo football. The old lady with the plastic hip and dodgy knee was challenging me, the Sutton Coldfield Junior Under 10’s champion of 1976 to a game. Within a few minutes we were both kneeling on the floor with our plastic men positioned ready to start. It was a bad idea. I played with the Villa away strip team and Nan was England in their red. As she said “They won the world cup in red”. She partnered Alan Shearer up front with Geoff Hurst. Unfortunately things did not go so well for my Villa team despite me scoring two goals in the first three minutes. Problems started when my Nan lost her balance and landed on my goalkeeper and two defenders. All three snapped straight away with the top half of goalkeeper Bosnich then caught in one of Nan’s surgical stockings. After just five minutes we had to abandon the game as Nan’s stick had decapitated my left back and then broke my crossbar in half. We just laughed and I somehow managed to lift Nan back on to the armchair. She claimed a draw and out of fear for my remaining seven men I accepted the draw.
After I put the Subbuteo away and we had another slice of cake each Nan announced that it was time for me to drive her back to the home before they realised she was missing. It was now that I realised that not only had Nan managed to find a flat she had never been to before, but she had got here all on her own. It must have been a three bus journey. I hadn’t been out the house for a week and hadn’t driven my car for even longer. Strangely Nan was now starting to get confused and get some words mixed up. She started to refer to Jessy being still alive and kept saying she had to be at work in the morning. It didn’t make sense because for the last two hours she had made perfect sense. Was she now putting on an act of the old lady losing her marbles. I could tell she was tired but still it shocked me the sudden change. She told me it was just the tablets wearing off and they would soon pump her with more at the home. This was followed by saying that perhaps Jessy would give her one of those funny fags later.
I drove Nan back to the home and she sang along to all the songs on the radio including ‘Wannabe’ by the Spice Girls. She was great and I loved every minute of it. We even wound down the windows at one set of traffic lights and sang really loudly to a bloke on his bike. The wolf-whistle to the Asian gentleman at the bus-stop was perhaps going too far, but that’s my Nan. When we got there the owners were really worried because apparently Nan had left at just before four o’clock promising that she would be back by six pm. It was now nearly eleven. I apologised to them repeatedly and they said they would have to compile a report. Nan jokingly said, “That’ll be no digestive biscuit for me for the next week”. Well, I think she was joking. It wasn’t easy to tell and I don’t think her little Hitler salute to the matron really helped. Luckily I caught her before she fell over. Nan’s last words to me before I went knocked me back though. She called out, “Next time we will talk about what happened with Becky”. I just smiled and told her to take care.
Next Week : Back to Work
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