Week 16 - Handcuffs or Thong

It had now been a week since the rather pleasant if incomplete late night phone call with Heather and during that time Heather had called me five times. Twice she claimed she wanted to just apologise for the other night, once to see if I wanted to continue from where we had left off, once because she pressed redial by mistake and once to invite herself round for tea Saturday night. It was all very flattering and I really wanted to see her this Saturday evening, but I had already made plans. Well, perhaps the term 'made plans' is misleading. It was more a case that Shirley had insisted we meet in a country pub called 'The Albion' somewhere on the A38 at seven thirty sharp. She seemed very definite about the ‘sharp’ bit. Lots of things made me uneasy about this night and it wasn’t just that as a Villa fan I felt uneasy about going to a pub called ‘The Albion’. Shirley had on the last two phone calls frequently flipped from sweet and flirty to very scary and dominating in the flick of a finger. So I felt I couldn’t turn the offer down. The final question of ‘do you want me with or without the blue thong?’ was also causing me concern.

As I like to be punctual I was parked outside ‘The Albion’ pub by ten past seven. Far too early but at least I could listen to Danny Baker on 606 with Villa fans ringing to moan about today’s disappointing defeat. Now I had listened a few times to Shirley on the phone and I am pretty sure she described herself, but I just couldn’t remember any details. I had no idea what she looked liked. She had said I had potential so maybe I had described myself to her. Surely I mentioned that I was tall? Maybe not. What had I let myself in for? It was going to be like Blind Date without ‘Our Graham’ and I wasn’t going to get a choice of three to choose from. Now I could feel myself starting to shake and really wish I was having tea with Heather. I mean I even know Heather’s body pretty well naked and could probably recognise it by touch alone. Yet I have no idea to size, shape or texture of Shirley.

It got to nearly half past seven and I started to think that maybe my date might not show. Although, as I wouldn’t recognise her she could have walked straight passed me and I wouldn’t have realised. I decided to go inside and take a look round. Inside it was a very large pub with lots of big wooden tables and not many people. Looking around there were only really two possible ladies. One was quite a pretty blonde girl with glasses that seemed too small to be any use at all. She was nice though but I feared she wasn’t the one. On the other side was a quite enormous woman with dark hair in a bun and she appeared from the angle I was standing to be trying to pick her left ear with a beer-mat. Maybe this was the time to run. That would be unfair and I am not one to go on looks, although the ear-picking was a worry.


I foolishly walked over to the large woman and introduced myself. She just looked at me without giving any hint of recognition. Now on the phone I do remember we had discussed how we would greet each other as I can be awkward the first time. I had suggested a hand shake but Shirley had told me that she would expect a peck on the cheek. So without much communicating going on I gave her a slight peck on her right cheek. Then to my surprise/horror she grabbed hold of me and planted her lips on to mine. Realising that breathing was going to be out of the question for a few seconds I just closed my eyes waiting for it to be all over. Then bang it hit me. Unsure what had hit me first I opened my eyes to see a bloke as large as the woman who kissed me standing by my side. He looked very cross and was it seemed ready to punch me, again. It appeared that this was his wife and not Shirley at all. At that point a woman walked into the bar and from the sound of her voice I could tell she was my date.

Shirley was a redhead and actually quite sweet looking. Maybe a little more toned than I had expected, but still quite hot. I think she thought I looked a little weedy by comparison. Conversation did not flow easily and I felt like all the questions were aimed at me. Shirley then shocked me by stating at least I hadn’t got a police record. I told her she was wrong and I had got their greatest hits LP, but it was apparent she wasn’t joking. Then I discovered why. Shirley was in fact a policewoman and it seemed that before she came out she ran a full police check on me. She then proceeded to interrogate me to see if any of my friends, or family, were known to the police. I didn’t mention nan’s run in with the law over those illegal substances three years ago. I felt so uncomfortable and even Shirley’s joking comment about taking the handcuffs home at weekends did not improve things. It was all wrong. She looked pretty but the things she said did not match this. She swore, she smoked and generally behaved like an aggressive lout. The night didn’t improve when she challenged me to an arm wrestle and telling me if I won she would show me her blue thong. I don’t which of these two things were scaring me the most. It was now ten past eight, was that too early to suggest I was tired and needed an early night.....ALONE?

The force of Shirley’s stare was making me so uneasy. I tried the arm wrestle, but my hand went down even quicker than Shirley’s pint did. She was on her fifth pint already. Surely she wasn’t planning to drive home. I glanced at the car park to see if there was a police car there. Shirley noted this and told me a colleague had dropped her off and that I would be taking her home. I hoped she meant to her home. I was feeling so uncomfortable and refused to give too much detail away as I had no intention of meeting this lady again. Maybe I should just tell her that. I mean she couldn’t be interested in a feeble man like me. Things became even more uncomfortable when she moved in closer to me and decided to grip my leg firmly with her hand. I was starting to understand how Kenneth Williams felt with Hattie Jacques in the Carry On films now. At every opportunity I moved further to my right, but Shirley just followed until I fell off the seat completely. Instead of helping me up my date then slipped off her right shoe and proceeded to press her foot against my private parts area as I lay on the floor. I was being sexually harassed by a police woman. Many men might like this but I certainly didn’t. Quickly I got to my feet and suggested to Shirley that this wasn’t working. She accused me of being like Julian Clary, tipped the remainder of her pint over me and stormed out. I was so relieved the ordeal was over. I wiped the beer from my glasses and the waited for twenty minutes until I thought it was safe to go to my car.

Back at home I reflected on what had been a dreadful day with Villa losing and then all the problems in the pub. At least I was back in time for ‘Match of The Day’. Just as I sat down the phone rang. At first I let it ring, but in the end answered it, ready to put the phone down if it was Shirley. The familiar voice of Heather said, ‘Now Big Boy, where did we get to?’


Heather seemed to have a special voice that she used only for moments like this and I couldn’t believe how quickly she was seducing me. She must have started quite early in the evening because she seemed even more turned on than last time. She was even starting to distract me from Match of The Day and the appalling defending by Ugo Ehiogu. I was now naked on my couch and Heather was making noises that made Meg Ryan’s orgasm in Harry Met Sally sound like an episode of Mr. Bean. I wouldn’t be surprised if Alan Hansen could hear it. I wonder how he would summarise that. Then just at the vital moment I was stopped in my tracks by a very loud knock at my door. Who could that be at this time of night? Surely Shirley hadn’t followed me home. I tried to be quiet and pretend to be out but again a knock came at the door. I had to apologise to Heather, who seemed to be in a world of her own and quickly put my trousers back on. At this point I was unaware that they were inside out but this explained why the zip wouldn’t pull up. I looked through the kitchen window and to my horror it was a police car. Oh my god surely Shirley was going to arrest me for resisting seduction.


As I opened the door I was met by two well built policeman who made even me look shorter than average. At least Shirley wasn’t with them.


“Mr Jon Sadler?” enquired the PC on the left. I was shaking but just nodded for fear I was going to be arrested.


“Can we come in please, we are investigating the mysterious disappearance of Rebecca Holloway?” said the other policeman.

Next Week : Where is Becky?

Week 11 - Blind Date Surprise

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Next week : Thirty and  party not to foget

Week 8 - Another Day at Work

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

Next week :  Approaching Thirty

Week 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

Week 5 - Up The Villa

Chapter 3 Reception and Honeymoon
Only a handful of guests decided to go to the reception after the shambolic wedding service. The Vicar seemed totally unsure what to do in the Church and admitted it was the first time he had had a groom jilted. Pete was desperately trying to keep me smiling, although I think his rendition of ‘Always look on the bright side of life’ was going too far. I felt really embarrassed for Becky’s parents. Her mum was trying to hide the tears that were running down her face and her Dad was just shaking everyone’s hands and saying, ‘It’s not like our Becky’. The photographer was still taking pictures of everyone. I told him he wouldn’t be getting any money for them, but he said we’d signed the contract so we had to pay the full amount. He also gloated that Fleet Street would buy these pictures. So I was going become a public laughing stock, ‘Jilted Jon’. Becky what have you done? Where do we go from here? The wedding cake was perched proudly on display at the far end of the room. Nan had wanted to strike the figure of the bride off the cake with her stick, but my Dad had convinced her not too.

Pete was great at handling the remaining guests and flatly refused to give any presents back. It’s funny being given cards for a wedding that didn’t happen. Seeing the name Mrs. Rebecca Sadler written on an envelope was also very unnerving. Just wish I could escape this and every awkward conversation. All this pity was too much. I wasn’t ill and no one had died. Whenever someone slagged Becky off I had to defend her. After all she was the lady I loved. Carol came up to me and gave me a hug and a little kiss. It was strange because Carol was the only person not dressed up for a wedding. She had come in a grey vest top that revealed her black bra straps and black jeans. Her hair was tied back to show that she hadn’t been getting dressed up for a special occasion. Of course, Carol, had known the wedding wasn’t going to take place. She probably even knew before me. It would be easy to ask Carol lots of questions about what had been going through Becky’s mind, but this wasn’t the time. I just wanted to get out of there.

What do I do next? Do I make a speech to the dozen remaining people, or should I just creep off. It was then that Pete showed me that I was right to choose him as my Bestman as he made an announcement that even made me smile. He said, ‘Look everyone it has been a difficult day so please can you all bugger off now so I can get the groom to Villa Park ready for kickoff’. Within minutes all the hangers on had gone and Pete was pushing Becky’s parents into a complete stranger’s car. My parents were trying to convince my Nan that Becky wouldn’t turn up now and my Nan was just saying ‘I told our Jonathan he should have given her more oral sex, girls like that kind of thing these days’. It just seemed that I was no longer in control of what I was doing and was almost watching from above as Pete took total control. He even retrieved Nan’s stick from the large bowl of trifle. Almost without me being aware Pete had now fastened me into the driver’s seat of his precious sport’s car. Pete claimed he had had far too much to drink so I would have to drive. In a way this was Pete’s attempt at reverse psychology. He hoped by driving I would have less time to think. What was the plan now though? Pete said that as the wedding had been postponed due to unforeseen circumstances that we could go to the game after all. He was trying so hard and even tried to make me laugh, but I didn’t know how I was feeling. Interestingly Pete revealed that he had his season ticket with him in case he had been able to escape from the wedding reception in time for the game. The only problem now was that I hadn’t been so forward thinking and as I had planned to be going straight to the airport after my reception I hadn’t had the foresight to pack my season ticket. It was still in my drawer by the side of my bed in the Lichfield flat I shared with Becky. Now is that the flat I ‘share with Becky’ or the flat ‘I shared with Becky’? The second question was what to do about my season ticket. We had time to get back to the flat and get the season ticket, but was that a good idea? Obviously not because I don’t think I am ready to have the big talk with Becky. Pete, of course, was well ahead in thinking here and said that we would just have to pop into the Villa ticket office and explain that I have forgotten my season ticket. It was impressive how Pete was handling this, although maybe he was avoiding mentioning what was really happening. Yes, it was important to discuss whether Tommy Johnson should play up front or not, but maybe a mention of my jilted state would have been helpful. Pete though had no idea how to deal with this. He had bought a book from WH Smiths on the role of the Best Man, but I doubt this mentioned anything about, ‘In the event of the Bride doing a Runner’.

Everything starts to seem normal again. It’s difficult to explain but suddenly it is a normal Saturday afternoon with Pete and me on the way to the Villa. A day that started off as my Wedding Day is now another Villa Park match day. To many people this already was a Villa Park match day, but to me I had almost forgotten the importance of Aston Villa against Derby County. The only difference to normal as Pete and I walked through the grounds of Aston Hall towards the Trinity Road was that we were dressed in suits and wearing button holes. Nobody seemed to acknowledge this fact and even when passing familiar faces we just exchanged smiles, nods and the occasional ‘we need three points today’. Pete was talking away about what impact Sasa Curcic will have on his debut. I put my hand in my pocket to find some change for my programme and instead pulled out the box containing the two wedding rings. For the first time today a tear started to roll from my eye. Pete didn’t notice, but I was being hit by reality now. Yes, it was vital that the Villa win today, but it paled into insignificance to the fact that tonight was not going to be my wedding night. As the ground came into sight and we walked down from the grounds of Aston Hall I hurled the box with the rings in high into one of the trees. Why I don’t know. Was it a symbolic throw or just a show of anger. The box landed about twenty feet away from where we were walking and I decided to leave it there. Pete didn’t even stop talking about our new signing from Bolton and how he would be the final piece of the jigsaw and bring the best out of Savo, but casually walked over to where I had thrown the box, picked it up and placed it in his pocket. For once I was completely stunned and as I approached the turnstile forgot totally that I hadn’t got my season ticket. Pete again took control and led me to the ticket office. This was the Pete who I had taken control of so many times at school and kept us out of so much bother.

Just as the players are running on to the pitch we arrive at our Trinity Road Lower seats. We have had these season tickets for twelve years now and everybody around us knew us. We were Pete and Pete’s mate. Yes, as we walked in we were greeted by ‘Alright Pete’ from several rows. Sometimes I felt a bit miffed that they didn’t shout my name, but then I wasn’t a Pete. It was like nobody shouted ‘Cliff’ when Cliff enters the bar in ‘Cheers’, but they all greet ‘Norm’. I decided to hide my button hole to avoid any embarrassing questions. I had told a few people at the game the previous Wednesday that I was getting married on Saturday, but I don’t think anybody was really that interested. I mean, why should they be it doesn’t effect how I am at the match. All these people we only know what we see of them at the match. Their home-life is something we don’t need to know about. Joe who has sat to my left for the past six seasons may well be an alcoholic lollipop man who dresses up in women’s underwear during the week, but to me at 3pm, on a Saturday, he is just Joe who can sometimes be a bit smelly and always listens to the half time scores on his radio.
As the game starts I begin to get more involved in it and think less about Becky. Although Pete throws me back to reality with a joke that I feel is unnecessary. He says, ‘what is the difference between Tommy Johnson and you?’ I should have known better but I said I didn’t know. Then came the punch-line, “Tommy’s going to score today, you’re not!”

The game went well first Joachim scored and then Tommy Johnson did get his goal although it was a penalty. I had seen the Villa win for a second time in three days so that was an unexpected bonus from the day that was going to be my wedding Day. Should I ring Becky and see how she is? I am really worried about her and just wanted to hear her voice so I can tell her everything is ok and I still love her completely.

“Where to now?” I asked Pete as we tuned into Sports Report on his car radio humming along to the famous theme tune. Pete looked surprised at my question and then waved the plane tickets to Edinburgh at me. Surely Pete wasn’t expecting me to take him on my honeymoon and ride down in a romantic horse-drawn carriage with him. Part of me thought why not, but the other part thought my case is back at the flat and everything else I need. Possibly including the one thing I needed to make my honeymoon complete - a bride. Pete had been great but I really didn’t want to go any further with this pretence that everything was ok. Anyway, being a cautious chap I had taken out travel insurance so I could probably get my money back. After explaining to Pete why exactly it wasn’t a good idea to go and making it clear that it wasn’t him it was me I asked Pete to let the hotel know. The idea of sharing a four-poster bed with Pete was not something I had ever previously contemplated. The last time I had shared a bedroom with Pete he had kept me awake all night with the loudest and least tuneful nasal snores I have ever heard. I handed Pete my phone. Within seconds Pete was using his poshist ‘brummie’ accent to try and flirt with a Scottish receptionist. He told the lady, “My friend mister Sadler was using the honeymoon suite tonight but regrettably his bride has just been killed so they won’t be able to make it”. Perhaps he was going for the pity vote. After a few “yes”, “yes” and “thank you” comments Pete finished the call. He then told me it was good news because not only would they give me a complete refund but they are offering me a fifty pound voucher against any time in the next six months I wish to book the honeymoon suite. Perhaps if I could convince Becky still to marry me in the next six months we will be fifty pounds up on the deal. Of course, convincing them that she has risen from the death might be difficult.

Next Week : Back to the flat..

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