How Not to be a Bride
Portia MacIntosh
‘Delightfully romantic, light-hearted and charmingly entertaining.’ What’s Better Than Books?Definitely, maybe…yes?Mia Valentina gave up her high-flying life in LA to move back to Kent over four years ago. But it turns out that life in the slow lane isn’t all it’s cracked up to be!So when her boyfriend Leo proposes, she says yes, hoping it will bring some much needed sparkle back into her life. The trouble is, Mia never wanted a big white wedding, just the happy ever after…The laugh-out-loud, uplifting new book from Portia MacIntosh, author of It’s Not You, It’s Them. Perfect for fans of Rosie Blake and Sophie Kinsella.
Definitely, maybe… yes?
Mia Valentina gave up her high-flying life in LA to move back to Kent over four years ago. But it turns out life in the slow lane isn’t all it’s cracked up to be!
So, when her boyfriend, Leo, proposes, she says yes, hoping it will bring some much-needed sparkle back into her life. The trouble is, Mia never wanted a big white wedding, just the happy ever after…
The laugh-out-loud, uplifting new book from Portia MacIntosh, author of It’s Not You, It’s Them. Perfect for fans of Rosie Blake and Sophie Kinsella.
Also by Portia MacIntosh (#ulink_1f53c12f-6d57-57e7-bb49-f9464c3a59cf)
Between a Rockstar and a Hard Place
How Not to Be Starstruck
Bad Bridesmaid
Drive Me Crazy
Truth or Date
It’s Not You, It’s Them
The Accidental Honeymoon
How Not to Be a Bride
Portia MacIntosh
ONE PLACE. MANY STORIES
Contents
Cover (#u7cce0d8a-80a0-59c7-88a2-244831ed0ccb)
Blurb (#uc1408996-dbdb-532e-aa12-99d2c5629494)
Book List (#ulink_e615c7f3-becf-5cf9-aeb5-e4bd0a39898a)
Title Page (#u1a51821c-7de6-5c8e-8274-599c70a71a4e)
Author Bio (#u85e0afa6-84de-5367-a220-9c92888608af)
Acknowledgements (#u71be5c55-be5e-5d58-92f3-a57325fa51ab)
Dedication (#u69c36795-6ba2-5147-aac7-d1e35121ff80)
Chapter One (#ulink_d2c15cfb-c521-5e13-b7ef-d17f19cf1c4c)
Chapter Two (#ulink_d3d040e9-d576-5e2e-96bf-220351acedc9)
Chapter Three (#ulink_bbf3e7a0-98f8-559d-902a-b4eca1299235)
Chapter Four (#ulink_dcb46611-5a9f-5592-96f1-04c343aa6910)
Chapter Five (#ulink_527d2267-ad4b-5085-bb96-4449ec754b33)
Chapter Six (#ulink_f59b786a-f111-5d61-8131-275a45262c4b)
Chapter Seven (#ulink_39e5bfa7-4721-5270-94a3-c6a8eeb828d8)
Chapter Eight (#ulink_085e0c3e-871e-553d-9980-1ff75543614c)
Chapter Nine (#ulink_c2f5ca94-d63e-507c-b841-306e366f3e27)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)
Endpages (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
PORTIA MACINTOSH has been ‘making stuff up’ for as long as she can remember – or so she says. Whether it was blaming her siblings for that broken vase when she was growing up, blagging her way backstage during her rock-chick phase or, most recently, whatever justification she can fabricate to explain away those lunchtime cocktails, Portia just loves telling tales. After years working as a music journalist, Portia decided it was time to use her powers for good and started writing novels. Taking inspiration from her experiences on tour with bands, the real struggle of dating in your twenties, and just trying to survive as an adult human female generally, Portia writes about what it’s really like for women who don’t find this life stuff as easy as it seems. You can follow her on Twitter at: @PortiaMacIntosh (https://twitter.com/PortiaMacIntosh)
Thank you to my editor, Charlotte, for all of her hard work – as always. I’m so fortunate to work with such a great team at HQ.
To be publishing my eighth book feels unreal. I am so grateful for the constant support from my fellow authors, reviewers and readers. Thank you to each and every one of you who take the time to read and review my books.
Without the love and support of my family, I wouldn’t be writing books. My parents – especially my mum – have always done everything they can to nurture my talent and support me through the rough and the smooth. My brothers have also played a huge part in my success – they are both just so uniquely brilliant, and will always be my best friends. My amazing gran has always been there for me, helping me through long writing sessions back when I first started out and I’ll never forget her for that. Even my dogs, who will happily pile on top of me while I write, seal the deal on this being my dream job. I still can’t believe I get to do this.
And then there’s my boyfriend… Often people read my books and ask me about the inspiration behind my dreamy leading men. Handsome, intelligent, hilarious and supportive – the Prince Charmings in my book might seem like the stuff of fairy tales, but guys like this do exist, and I’m so lucky to have found one. So when people ask me: where can I find one of these guys? I just apologise, and tell them that I have the only one I know of. For everything he’s done for me over the past couple of years, everything he does for me today, and all the things we still have to look forward to in the future – I can’t thank him enough.
For my boy, my family and my dogs.
Chapter One (#ulink_eadeac6f-f1ba-5956-b78e-54bba8fdcd2b)
I don’t know what hits me first: the smell of meatballs or the fist of an impatient child who, having clearly spent too much time in Ikea, is flailing around like a maniac in the hope his embarrassed parents will get a move on and take him to Toys R Us. I wonder, only for a second, whether adopting a similar tactic might work on my boyfriend, except I’ve probably done much worse to embarrass him in the past.
Trips to Ikea are a regular event for us since we bought our house – partly because we just spent most of our money buying a house and this is now our number-one social activity, but mostly because said house is what you’d euphemistically call a ‘fixer upper’. What I call it is a building site, but it was cheap, and my boyfriend, Leo, loves doing DIY, so it’s perfect for him. To be perfectly honest, I’d go as far as to say he loves Ikea too. Why else would we be here, dashing in through the exit door (something that is highly frowned upon, but is undoubtedly the most efficient way to work the place), the day before we’re set to go on holiday? Like, I don’t know what it is, but something about flat pack furniture just makes him come alive – get yourself a man who looks at you the way my boyfriend looks at the instructions for an Ikea coffee table.
‘OK, let’s split up to save some time,’ Leo suggests. I pull a face, because even I know you never leave a man behind in Ikea, especially when you’re going against the tide. Ikea is a signal dead zone so, if we separate, it will be hard to find each other. ‘I’ll get most of the things we need, all you need to do is grab a trolley and get a white SÄVEDAL door, 60x40.’
I feel my face contort with pure confusion.
‘Seve…’
‘SÄVEDAL,’ he repeats himself. ‘Make a note in your phone.’
‘Leo, I’m not an idiot. That… word you just said… 40x60.’
‘60x40, Mia,’ he corrects me. ‘Just grab one of the little pencils and write it down.’
‘Yeah, fine, go, go,’ I babble.
I watch Leo disappear into the crowd before turning my attention to the task at hand. I need a seve… seve… dal? I’ll just use one of the little computers dotted around to tell me where they are.
As I walk past the showrooms, I feel like I’m walking down the street, peeping in people’s living-room windows. Couples are sitting on the sofas, chatting like they would in the comfort of their own homes, as they deliberate which lamp to buy. There’s even a couple arguing in one of the dummy rooms, who both shoot me a filthy look for looking inside – the very thing the fake room is here for. In one of the dummy kitchens there’s a kid sitting under a worktop, visibly contemplating whether or not to take a bite out of a plastic apple, like a less bright Sir Isaac Newton. He decides it’s a good idea and raises it to his mouth, but his dad stops him just in time, scooping him up and planting him on his shoulders, six feet in the air where he can’t get in too much trouble.
I patiently wait my turn to use the computer, because Ikea is expert-level busy today. I mean, it’s always busy, but today it is bank holiday busy, and everyone and their spouse and 2.5 kids are here to get their hands on furniture and pieces of Daim cake. The only problem is, by the time my turn comes around, I’ve completely forgotten what I’m looking for. I type S E V, hoping it will suggest something. He said it was a door, right? And we’re shopping for things to build the kitchen. There’s no way he’d send me for an actual door, so it must be for a cupboard or something.
I glance behind me, only to see the queue growing longer, and increasingly more impatient. I try again, typing S A V, but I’m still not getting any hits. Defeated, I give up and try to find a yellow-and-blue-striped employee to help me out.
‘Excuse me,’ I say to a man sitting at a computer. ‘I wonder if you can help me? I’m after a door, for a kitchen, I think.’
‘Sure, what’s the product name?’ he replies helpfully.
‘Sev… sav… something, I don’t know, sorry,’ I reply apologetically.
A few punches of the keyboard and a quick look through their products and the employee knows exactly what I’m after.
‘SÄVEDAL?’
‘Yes,’ I reply, a little too excitedly. ‘I need a white one, please.’
‘What size?’ he asks.
Shit. Leo was right, I should have written this down.
‘Erm… So, I think it’s 60x40 or 40x60. So, whichever one of those is a real size.’
‘We actually do both of those sizes, miss,’ the employee points out.
Double shit.
‘Erm…’
Come on, Mia. You’ve got this. Just think about what numbers he said – he even said them twice.
‘40x60?’ I tell him, although it sounds more like a question than an answer.
‘Are you sure?’ he laughs.
‘Positive,’ I reply.
With an unconvinced laugh, he tells me where to find what I need and, as I walk there, I can’t help but think about how much my life has changed since I moved back to the UK. If you’d told me four years ago, when I was living in the Hollywood Hills, hanging out with movie stars, and playing the dating game to the best of my ability, that I’d be living in Canterbury, in a house that needs a lot of work, spending my days procrastinating and my nights watching Netflix, I would have laughed in your face – and probably threatened to do something drastic to save myself from such a life. Don’t get me wrong. I love Leo so much, and I’m so lucky to have him, but my life has changed so much and I’m really starting to feel it. My day-to-day life has changed, my hobbies have changed – even my looks have changed, which I can’t help but notice, standing here in front of this full-length ISFJORDEN mirror. Gone are the days I’d spend hours at the gym, eating clean and tanning regularly to maintain my toned, LA body, and since I stopped dropping triple digits on my long, blonde locks at a swanky salon, instead going to a cheaper, local place, I’ve had what’s known in the trade as a chemical cut, which basically means they’ve been using such strong peroxide on my hair that it has broken off, leaving me with much shorter locks. As superficial as it sounds, I took such confidence from these things, and now I feel kind of unremarkable by comparison. I don’t look bad, I just don’t look like me.
Finally through the checkout, I spy Leo standing over by the door, finishing up a hotdog. It took me all this time to find one item and here he is, his trolley piled high with things, finishing up his dinner. This is further proof that he’s some kind of Ikea wizard. He just seems to know how to manipulate the place, to bend it to his will, whether he’s modifying furniture or taking the little shortcuts he knows to get from sofas to plates in a matter of minutes.
‘There you are,’ he says as I approach him. ‘I was just about to come looking for you – I half expected to find you curled up in a bed somewhere.’
‘What would you have done then?’ I ask, adopting a more flirtatious tone.
‘Probably napped with you,’ he replies. ‘Maybe.’
I see that little glimmer in his eye that I love so much.
I laugh to myself. Sex in an Ikea bed, in Ikea, is probably Leo’s number-one fantasy. It would probably make his day to find me in one of the fake bedrooms, whispering sweet Swedish nothings into his ear before some post-coital meatballs.
‘OK, we need to go if you’re going to get to Boots before they close,’ Leo says with a clap of his hands.
I absolutely need to get to Boots before they close. It might feel like it’s been a really long time since we had sex, but there’s no time for flirting if I’m going to get the things I need for my trip tomorrow. Plus, we’re not going to have sex in Ikea, are we? Our naughty days are a thing of the past. Well, when you’ve been together for four years you don’t really do wild any more, do you?
‘Here, I got you one,’ Leo says, handing me a hotdog.
‘I’m OK, thanks,’ I reply. ‘I need to watch what I eat.’
‘No, you don’t. You’re as sexy as the day I met you,’ he insists sincerely.
I smile.
‘I’m not really hungry,’ I reply, giving his arm a squeeze.
Leo shrugs his shoulders before eating it himself.
I know it’s easy to put on a little weight when you’re comfortable in a relationship, but my super-sexy boyfriend is just as hot as the day we first met. I suppose being a fireman helps with that. He has to keep fit, and the uniform still lights a fire in my downstairs. I, on the other hand, work from home, so I’m not as active as I used to be. I’m a healthy-ish weight; I’m just nowhere near as toned as I used to be.
Finally at our car, Leo begins loading things into the boot as I plonk myself down in the passenger seat, exhaling deeply, relieved to have survived another trip to Ikea.
‘Erm, Mia,’ Leo calls from behind me.
‘Yeah?’
‘You’ve got the wrong size,’ he tells me.
I massage my temples.
‘Can’t you make it work?’
‘I mean, it would be better to just have the right one. Shall I run back in?’
‘Leo, I need to get to Boots,’ I tell him.
‘I know, I know,’ he calls back. ‘I just really wanted to do some work on the kitchen today. Aren’t you sick of eating microwave food and takeaways?’
‘Well, yeah, but we’re going away tomorrow,’ I reply.
‘To Cornwall,’ he reminds me. ‘Where they have plenty of Boots… I’ll make sure we stop at one on the way to the beach house and you can even give me a list of what you want and I’ll get it… and I’ll buy you some Daim chocolate.’
‘OK, fine, go,’ I tell him. ‘I’ll stay here.’
Leo gives me a kiss on the cheek before dashing off back inside, leaving me sitting in the car. I know he just wants to get the house finished so that we can get on with living a happy life in it. I guess I’m just impatient and growing tired of the constant DIY.
Perhaps the kid with the helicopter arms was on to something. That’s why he’s probably in Toys R Us right now getting whatever toy he wants, and I’m still stuck here, in Ikea purgatory, waiting for a kitchen door.
Chapter Two (#ulink_4cecd7e2-cfbf-5060-a054-73ca91b4bd51)
Isn’t it weird how, when you visit somewhere you haven’t been for a while, it seems so familiar and yet so alien. Like it’s something you saw in a movie once.
Being back in Cornwall, back at the beach house where my sister got married, is making me feel exactly that. I want to say it hasn’t changed at all, because it hasn’t, but what happened here during her wedding week feels like something that happened to someone else.
My sister, Belle, and her husband, Dan, tied the knot here four years ago and thought it might be nice to celebrate their wedding anniversary here, with the family and friends who were there on their special day.
It was at Belle and Dan’s wedding that I met Leo. I was a bridesmaid, he was the best man – it sounds like something fresh out of romantic comedy, right? Of course we were supposed to end up together. It took me a while to realise this, though, and so the path to true love wasn’t a smooth one.
You wouldn’t think it, meeting me now, but back then I had a real problem with commitment. I arrived at the beach house for Belle’s wedding expecting to have a terrible time, but then Leo showed up.
I remember the first time I met him like it was yesterday. The entire wedding party went out for lunch, except Dan, the groom, who was laid up in bed with a bad back, so I wound up staying behind to look after him. There had been mention of a best man who was showing up at some point, but I completely forgot about that. That’s why, on my way back to my room, I didn’t think it would be a problem when my bikini top fell off… but then I heard this voice behind me. We spoke for a moment before I turned around, and when I finally saw him, I couldn’t get over how sexy he was. Sure, he was big and buff, but his swept-back dark hair, and sexy green eyes, and dimples… my God, those dimples!
Of course, at the time I didn’t know it was love at first sight. I thought it was just lust. To protect my modesty I was using my hands as a bra. I remember Leo introducing himself to me and offering me a hand to shake so that I’d remove one of my own from my chest. I loved how cheeky he was, and then he kissed me.
The kiss knocked me for six, so much so that I didn’t know what to say afterwards. I think I blurted something along the lines of: ‘I’ve never kissed a fireman before.’
‘Neither have I,’ he replied.
I assumed he was like me, just after a good time, but he later confessed than he wasn’t the ladies’ man I thought he was, and that he just wanted me. It took me a little longer to realise this, but I got there in the end.
It’s weird, to think that, before, when we met, I thought of his job as the ultimate sexy-man job. I just thought of his big, strong arms and his stripper uniform. These days, all I think about is how dangerous his job is, and how I don’t know what I’d do if I lost him.
The beach house is just as beautiful as I remember it: brilliant-white walls, contemporary architecture, with big windows, multiple balconies and an entire beach for a back garden. Thanks to our detour to Boots, judging by all the cars parked on the driveway, I’d say we were the last ones to arrive.
‘Of course we’re late,’ I laugh to myself.
‘It’ll be fine,’ Leo assures me, trapping me in a bear hug before lifting me up off the floor and spinning around a few times. He always knows how to make me feel better. ‘Come on, let’s go inside.’
I take a moment to glance around the garden. It really is such a beautiful summer’s day. The house sits right on the beachfront and, right now, all I want to do is take a walk along the coast. Unfortunately, I’ve got a family inside waiting for me – probably an angry family, because even though I am consistently late, they’re always surprised and offended by it.
‘Hello,’ I call out as we walk through the large front door. ‘Anyone home?’
My voice echoes through the large living room.
‘Mia!’ my sister squeaks as she charges towards me, seemingly from out of nowhere.
‘Hello,’ I reply, unable to muster up my sister’s level of enthusiasm. ‘How’s it going?’
‘Amazing,’ she replies. ‘We were just about to eat without you. Come on.’
Belle grabs me by the wrist, ready to drag me along, sort of like the way an excited child would drag you downstairs on Christmas morning.
‘Who’s here?’ I ask, wiggling free of her grasp.
My sister greets Leo with a kiss on each cheek and a lingering hug before turning her attention back to me.
‘Me, Dan, Mum, Dad, Mike and Rosie, Gran – Granddad wasn’t feeling up to it. That’s everyone. We thought we’d keep it at close family only, so parents, siblings and their significant others,’ Belle explains.
‘Cool,’ I reply, a little too unenthusiastically for my sister’s liking. Belle pulls a face.
‘I’ve put you two in your old room, the one you shared back when you met,’ she beams. ‘My gosh, doesn’t it feel like a long time ago?’
‘It does and it doesn’t,’ Leo replies with a smile. ‘I mean, sometimes it feels like we met just yesterday, but I feel like I’ve known you my whole life.’
As I watch my sister visibly melt, I wonder how I’ll clean her off the floor. To be fair, even though I’m not really a mushy person, even I thought that was pretty sweet. Leo is always saying cute little things, reminding me how much he loves me – it’s nice.
‘Right, dinner,’ Belle says with a clap of her hands. ‘This way.’
The dining room is just as we left it, right down to the large, carbohydrate-heavy meal on the table. The only difference this time is that there are fewer of us, so I don’t have to sit at the kids’ table.
‘Hello, Mia,’ my mum says. Her words aren’t delivered with the kind of warmth you’d expect from a mother speaking to her firstborn. It feels more like they’re uttered out of a combination of obligation and manners. ‘Hello, Leo.’
A nice, frosty Harrison family reception, just as I expected. When I made the decision to give up life in LA and move back to Kent, it felt like an opportunity to reconnect with the family I’d spent four years avoiding. Instead, I still avoid them, only now it’s much harder because I only live down the road. Leo and I stop by for Sunday dinner every now and then, and then there are obligatory family gatherings like this one. Leo lives for family life so he loves visiting our families, but for me it’s something I endure as best I can. Today, being back here at this beach house where so much went on is really going to test my endurance.
We all exchange pleasantries before Leo and I take our seats at the table.
‘So, what are we having?’ Leo asks excitedly, rubbing his hands.
‘Pasta with meatballs,’ Belle announces – probably an attempt to appeal to Leo’s Italian side and it works. He sits down and grabs a plate, serving himself a generous portion.
I take a seat and serve myself a smaller helping. Mia from four years ago wouldn’t have touched a dish so high in carbs, but Mia from four years ago had abs you could crack a tooth on – things change.
‘We were just talking about how quickly these four years have gone by,’ my mum says, filling us in.
‘Yeah, I suppose they have,’ I reply. Sometimes it feels like much longer, though.
‘It was a great wedding,’ Mike, Dan’s brother, pipes up. ‘It’s a shame you missed it,’ he tells his fiancée, Rosie, who smiles sweetly.
‘It’s a miracle it even happened at all,’ Belle says.
‘How so?’ Rosie asks curiously.
‘Oh, just, you know, wedding stuff,’ Belle backtracks. Well, we did say we’d never talk about it again.
It’s fair to say that, even though Belle’s wedding turned out great in the end, things were a little bit disastrous. I feel like she still holds me responsible for a lot of what happened, which is probably why my relationship with my sister isn’t great.
In fact, it would be fair to say that my relationship with my entire family isn’t great. Moving back here was the best decision I’ve ever made, because I have Leo now, but I still feel like an outcast sometimes. Perhaps it’s because I lived away from them for so many years, but as hard as I try to fit in, they still make me feel like a bit of an imposter sometimes. They don’t treat me like a black sheep, they treat me like a wolf.
My mum and dad, a middle-class couple in their early sixties, are exactly the kind of people you’d expect them to be. They’re so serious and stuffy – just like my grandparents before them, so I have no doubt my sister will end up a similar way. I’ve always tried so hard to be like anything but the kind of people who raised me, because, for such a tight-knit family, I feel like there’s a real emotional disconnect among us.
I’ve always struggled to remember life before my sister, Annabelle, came along. Beautiful, bouncing baby Belle, who burst onto the scene and immediately became the centre of attention. My only real memory of life before Belle was the night she was born. It was New Year’s Eve and we were all at a party when my mum’s waters broke sometime during the run-up to midnight. Belle was not only born quickly and relatively easily, but she was the first baby born after midnight, which saw her and my mum’s pictures plastered all over the local newspaper. I, on the other hand, came into the world after putting my mum through a gruelling three days of labour, so my mum rarely talks fondly about the day I was born, whereas she has a framed photo of her newspaper front cover with baby Belle on the wall in her living room.
I was five years old when Belle was born, so I don’t really remember being anything but second best. I feel like I was the starter child my parents practised on before Belle came along.
I think my mum gets her coldness from my gran – my Auntie June, my mum’s sister, is similar – so I can’t really blame her if that’s the kind of women she’s grown up around. My granddad, on the other hand, is a wonderful man who absolutely worships me. It doesn’t matter whether or not I’m in the right or the wrong, he is always on my side, always ready with a funny comment to cheer me up or a piece of helpful advice to help me sort my problems out. I actually really missed him while I was living in LA so I make sure to spend lots of time with him now.
‘It won’t be long before you two tie the knot, will it?’ Belle says to Mike and Rosie excitedly. I’ve never understood people’s hype for other people’s weddings, although I suspect she’s just trying to change the subject.
‘Just a few months to go,’ Rosie replies.
I first met Mike, Dan’s brother, four years ago in the run-up to the wedding. We had a lot in common back then; Mike was 30, with no interest in marriage, and had a job his family didn’t approve of. He was the Mia of his family, the let-down, the child who never quite lived up to his parents’ expectations. Sure, he was happy working in a video-game shop, just like I was happy writing movies in LA, but our parents didn’t think we should be doing what we loved. They thought we should be getting married and starting families. It’s interesting to see how we’ve both changed. Maybe everyone does eventually.
‘Are you excited?’ Belle asks.
‘So excited,’ Rosie replies. ‘All the plans are in place now, it’s just a matter of waiting. And the stag and hen parties are next week!’
Rosie squeals with excitement for a few seconds but then stops suddenly – I imagine it’s because she’s just remembered she hasn’t invited me.
‘Sorry for not inviting you,’ she says to me. ‘It’s just with your work and stuff, I didn’t think you’d be able to make it.’
‘You know I work from home, right?’ I reply.
‘Well, yeah, but I figured that meant you’re, like, always busy, busy, busy,’ she babbles with an awkward laugh.
I don’t care, to be honest. It’s not like we’re close and I can’t think of anything worse than going on a hen party with a bunch of sickly wedding types.
‘We’ll take you lots of pictures,’ my mum says kindly. I love that she’s invited my mum but not me.
‘Thanks,’ I reply.
‘Yeah and, er, Leo, buddy…’ Mike starts.
‘I’m working,’ Leo replies quickly.
‘You don’t even know when it is, mate,’ Dan replies.
Leo and Mike have never really liked each other. It’s a family wedding, so there was never any question whether or not Leo would go with me, but I can understand why he doesn’t want to attend the stag do. Still, it’s a relief to me, because if there’s one thing that fills me with dread, it’s stag dos. Mike is going to Magaluf for the weekend with his mates and, as much as I trust Leo as an individual male, I don’t trust gangs of lads, full of alcohol, the air around them thick with peer pressure, in stag mode – especially somewhere like Magaluf. Everyone knows that, in places like that, the drinks are cheap, the sex comes easy, and doesn’t everyone (rightly or wrongly) believe they can get away with things if no one is ever going to find out? Trusting Leo has never been an issue, but I’m not sure anyone would be comfortable with their significant other being in that situation, would they? I might be over my commitment phobia, but I still don’t think the course of true love runs easy. My sister thinks she’s married and it’s going to be rainbows and butterflies for the rest of her loved-up life, but I think marriage is work. I think people make mistakes. You don’t just have a happy relationship by picking the right person. You both have to do all the right things, every day, to make sure you’re both happy.
‘I take all the overtime I can get,’ Leo replies, ever the tactful diplomat. ‘Houses are expensive.’
‘Especially rundown ones like yours,’ Belle laughs.
I frown. Only I’m allowed to slag off my house.
My mum touches her grey, Nurse Ratched-style bob, which she’s been rocking for as long as I can remember, and which makes her look a lot older than she is, awkwardly. You can tell this conversation is making her uncomfortable.
‘So, plans for tomorrow. Your morning is yours, but I’m making lunch and I expect you all to be there,’ my mum informs the room, putting a stop to our sibling bickering before it can truly get started. She holds her gaze on me for an extra few seconds.
‘Sir, yes, sir,’ I joke.
My mother rolls her eyes.
‘Clean plates all round, that what I like to see,’ Belle announces, making a move to clear the table.
‘I’m pretty tired,’ I say. ‘I might go for a lie-down.’
‘Yeah, I’ll come with you,’ Leo adds.
‘Oi oi,’ Mike chimes in. Everyone at the table shoots him a look.
‘OK,’ my mum replies. ‘Remember: lunch tomorrow.’
I nod. It’s a classic Judith Harrison move to just demand we all be present for lunch. She’s decided we all have to be there, so we must. Because she says so.
I head up the stairs, closely followed by Leo. He gives me a playful slap on the bum, which makes me giggle. He’s never struggled to put a smile on my face, even when I’m in a bad mood.
‘Well, this room looks exactly how we left it,’ I point out.
‘Nearly,’ he points out. ‘Both the pillows are at the top of the bed.’
I laugh. When Leo and I shared this room last time, it was after we’d put our little summer romance on hold, at the request of my sister, who was worried my sex life might ruin her wedding for some reason. In the interest of keeping things platonic, I’d slept with my head at the top of the bed and Leo with his at the bottom.
‘None of that business tonight,’ I point out, running my hands up the front of his body before hooking them behind his neck. I press my body against him and gently place my lips on his, teasing him with my tongue. Usually my eager boyfriend reciprocates but tonight he feels stiff – and not in a good way.
‘You OK?’ I ask.
‘Yeah,’ he replies. ‘Just a bit tired, I think.’
‘You’re never tired,’ I point out.
‘I work long, gruelling shifts as a firefighter, and when I’m not doing that, I’m working on the house – trust me, I get tired,’ he laughs.
‘You’re never too tired for sex,’ I point out, narrowing my eyes.
‘Tomorrow,’ he says, kissing me on the forehead before diving onto the bed.
I nod gently as I think to myself for a few seconds.
It’s funny. When you start dating someone, you try to spend as much time with them as possible, trying to work out whether you like them before you sleep with them – all while they’re trying to get you into bed. But then, once you’re actually a couple, and they can have sex with you whenever they want, it gets to a point where you’re having to practically beg them. At least that’s how it feels sometimes. I suppose life just starts getting in the way, especially when your boyfriend works shifts.
‘OK. Well, I think I’ll take a walk. It’s not even really dark yet,’ I say.
‘You want some company?’ he asks.
‘No, you rest up,’ I reply. ‘Save your energy for tomorrow.’
I walk out, closing the door behind me. I bite my lip, like I always do when I’m thinking. I’m not saying I’m irresistible to men, but I know my boyfriend. Something is definitely up here.
Chapter Three (#ulink_373412b7-9e22-586f-ae82-a951dda9f4d2)
In preparation for renovating the house we just bought, Leo made me sit through a lot of TV shows about buying houses, fixing them up and decking out the interior. While it wasn’t exactly my favourite way to spend time, I have to admit I learned a lot. I learned that, when it comes to your home, one thing is very important: location, location, location.
My house in LA was in the Hollywood Hills, and it didn’t matter how many times I took in the view from my floor-to-ceiling living room, it took my breath away. This beach house, with its beach for a back garden, is also in a truly amazing location. The house I just bought with Leo, well, let’s just say the location isn’t exactly anything to write home about. We were bound by a few factors, like Leo needing to live close to work, and our financial limits, so when he found us a house that wasn’t tiny or expensive, it seemed like the perfect fit. The reason it wasn’t expensive is because it used to be a student house, situated in the heart of the student village. I didn’t realise a few things when we bought it: one was that the renovations would take so long and the other was that living in a house surrounded by students would be so noisy.
It isn’t noisy here, unless you count the lapping of the waves and the light breeze dancing around on the sand. I used to walk this beach back in the day, when everyone was stressing me out and I wanted to clear my head. There’s a little café down here called Shell’s that I used to go to, but I don’t suppose it will be open at this time in the evening.
I don’t get too far down the beach before I spot something else familiar: Chris, the lifeguard I met while he was working here four years ago. Not only is he still living here, but his golden retriever, Jay, is still helping him keep the shores safe. They’re jogging along the beach, getting closer by the second, and suddenly I feel so self-conscious.
The first time Chris met me I was wearing a tiny nightdress – or maybe it was a tiny bikini. Either way, I had a lot of flesh on show and he had to pick his jaw up from the floor. My long blonde hair was flowing back then and so was my confidence. Now, I no longer have the perfect beach body and the one I do have is hidden under a pair of trackies and a baggy, off-the-shoulder T-shirt. My hair is shorter, darker and scraped up on top of my head, and my easy confidence is MIA.
As Chris approaches I try to psych myself up. So what if I look different? Chris was just some guy I met on the beach who I fancied – I have an incredibly gorgeous boyfriend who loves me now.
I glance up at Chris as he jogs past me with a blank nod of acknowledgement – the kind you’d give to any stranger on the beach. I can’t believe it. He doesn’t recognise me. I don’t look that different, do I? I know I’m a bit out of shape, and fully clothed, which isn’t a state I think he’s ever seen me in before, and my hair is different, but I’m still me and I feel like he spent enough time with me that he should recognise me if he saw me again.
That’s twice I’ve received the cold shoulder this evening and it’s hard not to take it personally. Chris doesn’t recognise me as the girl he knew back then and, now we’re back in the beach house, maybe Leo doesn’t either.
I consider talking to Leo about how I’m feeling but by the time I get back to our room he’s fast asleep. I climb in next to him and close my eyes.
Chapter Four (#ulink_6e55afa7-086a-5f5b-99fe-b55604927d2e)
I exhale deeply as I wait for Leo out on the decking. When we woke up this morning he told me we were going for a walk, so I scraped my hair back up on top of my head, slipped on my scruffy outfit from last night and sleepily made my way outside to wait for him.
My attention flits between admiring the ocean, playing with the sand with my toes, and picking off the remains of my blue nail polish as I wait for Leo to appear.
‘Look at you,’ I squeak as he steps outside. ‘You look amazing and I look like trash.’
Leo laughs.
‘You look great – you always look great,’ he tells me in a way that makes it sound like a reminder, rather than a general compliment.
‘But you’re dressed up,’ I point out.
His hair is perfectly blown back, he’s wearing a crisp white shirt and he smells delicious, like the Creed aftershave I bought him for Christmas that he usually reserves for special occasions.
Leo smiles that devastating smile of his. I am weak for his dimples, even after all this time.
‘Come on, let’s go for a walk,’ he says, taking me by the hand.
It’s a beautiful morning, like something fresh off a postcard. The beach is clear, the sea is calm and the weather is just right. It’s not too hot yet, although it’s set to be a scorcher later today. Were it not for my mum’s compulsory lunch, I could’ve got the tan my body so desperately needs.
‘It’s a shame we can’t stay longer,’ Leo says with a sigh. ‘You deserve a break. It might help with your stress.’
‘I know,’ I reply. ‘We’ll take a proper holiday soon, when all our money isn’t being spent on the house.’
‘I know it’s taking a lot of time and a lot of work,’ he starts, ‘but it’s going to be worth it.’
‘I know,’ I reply. I do know – it’s just taking so much time and money and effort, I kind of wish we’d carried on renting a little while longer.
‘I know work is stressing you out too.’ Leo stops and turns to face me, suddenly adopting a much more serious tone. ‘But you’re happy, aren’t you? With life and with me?’
‘Of course I am,’ I say, placing my hands on his gorgeous face. ‘Yes, the house is a mess. Yes, work is difficult at the moment. But none of that alters the fact that I love you so much.’
‘Good,’ he says thoughtfully. ‘That’s good.’
‘Good,’ I echo.
Leo looks at me for a second, then he smiles. I wish I could tell what was going on in his head. He isn’t always the kind of guy to broadcast his feelings, so I’ll often resort to guessing what’s going on in there. Of course, being the anxious type, my brain always assumes things are much worse than they are.
Suddenly, Leo crouches down on the floor.
‘What are you doing?’ I laugh.
‘Mia Valentina,’ he says, pausing to puff air from his cheeks.
‘Yes,’ I reply in a goofy voice.
Everything clicks in my head a split second before he pulls a ring box from his pocket.
‘Whoa, what are you doing?’ I laugh.
‘Something I should have done a long time ago.’
Leo, who it turns out is down on one knee and not just crouching on the sand, opens the ring box to reveal a silver and rose-gold engagement ring with a big, beautiful, colourful opal stone – my favourite. Is there anything that feels as wonderful as when you realise a man actually listens to you when you’re just babbling about things that aren’t important, like what your favourite stone is?
‘I’ve known I loved you since the second I laid eyes on you four years ago. You’re the most amazing, most interesting, most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, and I can’t believe I haven’t asked this sooner. Will you marry me?’
‘Yes!’ I squeak instantly, without even pausing for thought.
An instant but cautious smile appears on his face.
‘Are you sure?’ he asks.
‘Of course I’m sure,’ I reply, pulling him up from the ground.
Leo slips the ring on my finger before kissing me, grabbing me in his big, strong arms and twirling me around.
Mia from four years ago might have thought marriage was stupid but Mia now just loves Leo so much. It had crossed my mind, just every now and then, what I’d say if he asked, but I never really gave it too much thought. We’d mentioned marriage, but I’d never been able to imagine him pulling the trigger. But now he’s popped the question and it’s the easiest question I’ve ever had to answer.
‘Your folks are going to be over the moon – that’s why your mum is making a special lunch, you know, to celebrate,’ he confesses.
Thank God I didn’t make a scene over the fact we were being summoned for lunch today.
‘That’s very sweet of her,’ I say. ‘And confident.’
‘She knew you’d say yes,’ he tells me. ‘So did I.’
‘Is this why you were so quiet last night?’ I ask, suddenly feeling a lot better about the fact he didn’t want to have sex with me.
‘Yeah.’ He laughs awkwardly, running a hand through his hair. ‘Last-minute nerves.’
I smile widely as I stare down at my ring.
‘This is just… incredible. I’ve never seen anything like it,’ I beam.
‘It’s an Ethiopian fire opal,’ he tells me. ‘It was handmade. There are real little diamonds in the band, but I remember you telling me that opals were your favourite.’
‘I did,’ I say with a smile. I can’t believe he listened and remembered. ‘I just wish you’d given me some warning. I would have made sure I looked less… like a tramp.’
‘Mia, you look great. I’ve never seen you look anything less than great. Even when we’re 80, I’ll still see you as my blonde, bikini-dropping bombshell.’
‘When we’re 80, neither of us will be able to pick up dropped bikinis,’ I reply.
‘Good,’ he replies cheekily.
As we approach the beach house back door, I let go of Leo’s hand.
‘Listen, I’m going to go and smarten up and repaint my nails because if any photos are taken to remember this special day, I don’t want to be looking like this in them,’ I say, pointing down.
‘OK,’ Leo replies, grabbing me for one last kiss. ‘You go get changed and then we’ll tell everyone the good news together.’
‘OK,’ I reply. ‘Won’t be long.’
‘OK, fiancée,’ he calls after me jokily.
I can’t help but grin, like the Cheshire Cat that got the cream.
I reach the top of the stairs and slowly make my way towards our bedroom. Thankfully, although I didn’t have time to paint my nails before we left, I did have the foresight to chuck a bottle of deep-purple varnish into my make-up bag, with the intention of hopefully painting over the chipped blue stuff at some point. This is a move I often pull, to save time. In fact, under the chipped blue polish is chipped red polish that I covered with blue. The blue will cover with this dark purple shade but after that the only colour that will save the day is black, and when that looks messy I’ll have to finally make time to strip off the six months’ worth of polish that has built up. LA Mia always had perfectly manicured nails but Mia now doesn’t have the time or the money for that.
‘Hey,’ Mike calls out as he leaves his room.
‘Hey,’ I reply.
As I reach out to open the door, the light bounces off my beautiful ring, catching Mike’s eye.
‘You said yes?’ he asks, sounding surprised.
I nod.
‘Oh, man. I owe Leo ten pounds,’ he tells me. I hope he’s kidding.
‘So everyone knew?’ I ask him.
‘Yeah,’ he replies. ‘But I didn’t think you were the marrying kind.’
‘I could say the same thing about you,’ I point out.
Mike is a tall and skinny guy. He’s had spiked, dyed-black hair for as long as I’ve known him, and with the exception of his wedding suit on Belle and Dan’s big day (which didn’t really look quite right on him), he’s always wearing scruffy clothing. He’s kind of stylish with it, though, so I assume it’s intentional. He has a very unkempt beard now, which makes me think he’s moving with the trends, not that I think he’d ever admit it. Mike likes to act like he doesn’t care about things, but I’m sure he does or he wouldn’t be getting married.
‘Yeah, well, we all fall eventually, right?’
Mike’s use of the word fall reminds me of a conversation Leo and I had before we got together. It was just before Belle’s wedding, when I thought I was heading back to LA in a few days and was doing everything in my power not to fall in love with Leo, because we lived so far apart, and because it had been so long since I’d had a proper relationship I was scared I wouldn’t know how to be in one at all – least of all with someone who lived on a different continent to me. Back then I was writing romantic movies for a living – despite not being very romantically inclined myself – so, after I tried to cool things off with Leo, he countered my decision with some of my own words about love, taken from one of my films. I told him love wasn’t really like walking on air, that it was like jumping off a building, and that it didn’t matter how long you were falling for, it was always only a matter of time before you hit the ground and got really hurt. After bickering for a few minutes Leo finally agreed with me, that falling in love was like jumping off a building, because it was scary and because it took your breath away, but that real love was the person on the ground, waiting to catch you. It’s been four years since he said those words to me, but I recall them all the time because Leo is the person who always catches me. So, even if Mike is right, and I’m ‘falling’ like we all do eventually, I know there’s an amazing man waiting to catch me in his big, fireman arms. I’m not falling, I’m jumping.
I just smile at him. There’s no point trying to explain it.
‘See you at lunch,’ I tell him, disappearing into my room to try and smarten myself up. I’ve got an engagement to celebrate – but what do I wear?
I blast my hair with dry shampoo before applying my make-up and quickly applying a fresh coat of nail polish over my current severely chipped coat – it’s the best I can do at short notice.
I grab a few outfits from my case and try them on in front of the full-length mirror. As I examine my body, I can’t help but sigh. The girl looking back at me is not the girl who looked in this mirror four years ago. Sure, I’ve changed a lot in many good ways, but I’ve put on a little bit of weight, and it’s all in places that show under certain outfits. I used to wear whatever I wanted, but now I have to think about what doesn’t show off the parts I’m self-conscious about. I was a fat teenager, bullied by Belle and her friends for being quiet and a bit weird, which is why I felt so empowered and confident when I moved to LA and transformed myself into someone it felt good to be. Still, everyone goes on a diet before their wedding to look their best in their dress, right? So I might as well start getting in shape now. Actually, I think I’ll start tomorrow. After all, my mum is making a special lunch today, and my life won’t be worth living if I don’t eat it.
Chapter Five (#ulink_4d329c20-d6dc-5350-b498-fbaf03b3b281)
I gently tap my fingers against the keys of my MacBook – not because I’m typing, because I’m stressed. I have just two chapters left to write and then I can send this book to my editor, and I really can’t wait to see the back of it.
When I was living in LA I was part of a team of screenwriters responsible for all the big romcom hits of our generation, but leaving LA meant leaving my job too, and back here in Kent there’s not much call for big-screen romcom writers. I looked into other writing jobs, but writing romantic comedies is what I’m good at, so I transitioned from writing movies to writing novels. Working with a team of screenwriters, I’d be in a sunny city, in a big, fancy office, with a well-stocked table of fresh food put out every morning. I could grab a Starbucks on my way to work, do my job with ease, flirt with my boss’s latest handsome assistant and plan the night’s social events with whichever movie stars were hanging around the office that day. Writing novels is not as social as writing movies. It’s October, so Kent is pretty cold, and instead of being in an office I am in my living room. I’m wearing a onesie because I’m freezing, I’m all alone because, other than emailing my editor or my agent, I work entirely by myself, and I don’t really eat properly, I just grab things when I can.
It’s been three months since Leo proposed, which means it’s been three months since I made the decision to get back to my LA diet and exercise regime, and I’ve snapped right back into shape. I’m happy to admit that LA Mia was maybe a bit too skinny, but thanks to all my hard work I’ve lost that stubborn stone everyone warned me I’d put on when I got a boyfriend – although I think the weight gain was more to do with the fact that I was eating too much junk while I was working. I’m really happy with the way I look again – I’ve even been taking these vitamins and using special conditioning treatments to try and encourage my hair to grow back again, because now I’ve got my body back, I want my hair back too.
It’s Saturday night and the street outside is abuzz with students. Leo is at work and I’m here alone, trying to work, but I’m getting so easily distracted.
I walk over to the living-room window to see what’s going on outside. There’s what I’d guess is a nineteen-year-old man, holding a traffic cone to his crotch as he chases near-naked young girls across the street, prodding them in the butt with his plastic appendage. Our house sits in the middle of a long road that leads from the university right into the centre of town, which is why there are so many students around. Our house is also situated right in the middle of the Merry Mile, a famous pub crawl that runs from the uni into the centre, in which participants dress up and have a drink in each pub along the way. I study the students, trying to work out who they’re all supposed to be. There’s one guy dressed up as a Minion and another one dressed as a sanitary towel (you’d be surprised how popular that one is among men, and my inner feminist isn’t sure whether it’s empowering or just insulting), and the girls are all just random things (a cavewoman, a cat, a nurse) that don’t involve much clothing, which is unfathomable to me because it’s freezing out there. It suddenly occurs to me that I’m 14 years older than these kids and I feel like an old lady, spending my Saturday night in my pyjamas.
When I think about my life back in LA, it feels like something that happened in a dream a long time ago. I might have got myself back into a shape I’m happy with, but Mia from four years ago wouldn’t have been caught dead in a onesie – least of all a tea-stained one – spending a Saturday night at home while everyone else was out having fun. I would’ve been out having cocktails, bumping into Margot Robbie, begging her to introduce to me Leonardo DiCaprio so I could be his latest blonde squeeze, not here, putting off doing my work by watching a Minion with a traffic cone for a dick.
I head into the still-unfinished kitchen and put the kettle on. We haven’t got much done with the house over the past three months. Leo has been working a lot and I’ve been working on my book. Leo has been taking all the overtime he can get because it turned out the house had some major electrical problems that needed fixing before we could get on with anything. Now that’s done and finally all of the rooms are painted white, ready for us to make each one our own. I am hoping and praying we start with the kitchen because it’s really hard to keep up the healthy eating when it’s almost impossible to cook in there. I’m sure it will feel easier to eat healthier when this book is done too, because it’s too easy to just keep writing and eat an entire tube of Pringles for dinner, rather than cooking, only pausing momentarily to wonder if Pringles tubes are getting smaller or your hands are getting bigger. Well, that’s what I’d have been doing this time last year, anyway. These days I have to waste time I don’t really have making healthy snacks I don’t really want.
Armed with my cup of tea I sit back down on the sofa, grab my laptop and try to get back on with my work. The sooner I get this book done, the sooner I can send it off and get to work on the next one. It’s hard to function as an adult when you write books for a living because you have no real guaranteed income. By the time your publishers and your agent take their cut you are left with what you’re left with, and you have to survive from quarter to quarter without a top-up. You never really know how much you’re going to be paid from one quarter to the next, so it’s hard to make plans. Were I not lucky enough to live with Leo, and were it not for the fact he has a good job, I’m not sure I’d feel financially comfortable doing this for a living.
I am just about to start typing when I hear a loud bang on the door. It’s a bit late for knock-on-the-door, just-stopping-by visitors, but not so late I’m scared to see who it is.
‘Hello, boys,’ I say, seeing my friends Rory and Iwan on the doorstep.
‘Mamma Mia,’ Rory bellows after swigging from a bottle of bourbon, passing it to Iwan before giving me a hug.
‘Hi,’ I laugh. ‘You boys seem like you’ve had a good night.’
‘We’re just heading into town now,’ Iwan slurs, his thick Welsh accent sounding even stronger thanks to all the alcohol. ‘We thought we’d see if you and Leo fancied it?’
‘Leo is working,’ I tell them. ‘So am I, to be honest.’
‘Come on, come out with us,’ Rory whines. ‘Come on.’
I can’t help but laugh at his drunk tantrum.
Rory and Iwan share a flat in the house next door. While the houses are aimed at students, they’re also marketed to young professionals as a cheaper alternative to the swanky apartments in the more favourable parts of town. They both work together at a digital agency, Rory as a project manager and Iwan as a web developer. Iwan definitely looks as you’d expect him to, with his handsome good looks, his trendy beard and his geek-chic hipster clothing. Rory, on the other hand, seems to only take style inspiration from James Bay, with his long, messy hair always covered with a wide-brimmed hat and his stick-thin legs encased in the skinniest of skinny jeans. Leo and I have been friends with Rory and Iwan for years now. In fact, it was them who let us know about this house going up for sale.
‘I really need to get this book finished,’ I tell them, ‘but then we’ll go out to celebrate – next weekend maybe?’
‘Boo,’ Rory, clearly the drunker of the two, heckles me.
‘You want a drink before we go?’ Iwan asks.
‘Just made a cuppa,’ I tell him.
I close the door and plonk myself down on the sofa, sighing deeply. I would love to go out, but I need to be responsible. Just a few more chapters and then I can send this off, and finally start having some fun.
Chapter Six (#ulink_cb64112f-67d9-532e-9863-2a7a3b2cc3f2)
Waking up, I feel Leo’s heavy arm draped across my body before I open my eyes and see him lying next to me. He was working most of last night, so he can’t have been asleep very long. I grab my phone from my bedside table and see that it’s 11:49 – just about midday, but it is a Sunday, after all, and I was working until pretty late. Not as late as Leo, so I climb out of bed, careful not to wake him, pulling on my dressing gown before heading downstairs to make a cup of tea.
As I try to navigate the unfinished kitchen, I grab a mug and the teabags, eyeballing the jar of instant coffee as I do so. I’ve never liked instant coffee, having always been too much of a coffee snob, but ever since I gave up drinking coffee, even my weird fantasy of eating a spoonful of granules straight from the jar feels like something I might enjoy. I don’t do it, though. I make my tea and sit on the sofa, opening my laptop once again in the hope of getting some work done.
My fingers are just about to hit the keys when there’s a knock at the door. Perhaps it’s Rory and Iwan again, on their way home from their wild night out.
‘Belle,’ I blurt, unable to hide my surprise when I open the door to see my sister standing there, hugging an armful of magazines.
‘Mia,’ she replies. ‘Can I come in? Don’t worry, I know it’s a mess.’
I physically bite my tongue to stop myself saying something in response to that.
‘Sure, come in,’ I reply. ‘Tea?’
‘Yes, please,’ Belle replies.
I leave my little sister in the living room while I go and make her a drink. As the kettle boils I riffle through one of the bags of clothes sitting on the kitchen floor, grabbing myself a bra and a sundress (this must be the bag with the summer clothes in), hurrying them on in the kitchen so my sister doesn’t get to make any remarks about my not being dressed.
‘So, I bumped into Leo last night,’ she calls from the living room.
‘You bumped into Leo last night?’ I repeat back to her. ‘Were you on fire?’
‘Har-har,’ she calls back, as I carry her tea through and place it down on the pile of boxes we’re using as a coffee table. ‘My God, look at you, you’ve lost so much weight.’
‘I haven’t really,’ I reply. ‘It’s mostly just that I’ve toned up the bits I’d let get a bit wobbly.’
‘Don’t let Gran see, she’ll go berserk,’ my sister warns.
Despite being younger than me, my sister dresses beyond her years – beyond my years too. When we were younger Belle was always one of the popular kids because she was thin, sporty and pretty. I, on the other hand, was a bit chubby and a bit weird. Belle is teetering on the edge of curvy and she looks great; she’s just a few too many steps ahead of herself, in full-blown mumsy mode with her style, and if she’d just take a little of my advice, she could look amazing.
‘Anyway…’ She gets back to the task at hand, passing me a stack of wedding magazines. ‘Leo mentioned that you hadn’t really started planning the wedding and asked if I had any old magazines I could bring you to get you started.’
So my sister just so happened to bump into my fiancé at work, who asked if she happened to have any old wedding magazines lying around from more than four years ago, and she did, so she’s just brought them over for me. I mean, if I were the cynical type, I’d think Leo messaged my sister and asked her to give me some wedding magazines in an effort to get me to start planning it, because I’m yet to start, but I’ve just been so busy with so many other things. Let’s say I buy into the idea that Belle just ran into Leo at the fire station, it still doesn’t explain why these magazines are in perfect condition and the dates show they’re the latest editions.
‘And,’ she starts, even more excitedly, ‘there’s a wedding fair in town next week.’
‘Thank you,’ I say brightly. ‘But let’s get Mike and Rosie’s wedding out of the way before we start planning another one.’
‘Get it out of the way?’ my sister shrieks. ‘Mia, you’re so unromantic. It still baffles me that you write romance for a living. It baffles me even more that you’re getting married when you clearly have no interest in weddings.’
‘I don’t have “no interest” in weddings,’ I clap back. ‘I’m getting married, aren’t I?’
‘Where?’ she asks.
‘I don’t know yet.’
‘When?’ she continues.
‘Next summer – I don’t know yet.’
‘Who will be your bridesmaids?’ she persists.
Ah, now I understand what’s happening here. My sister is just trying to secure her role as chief bridesmaid.
‘Well, I thought about asking the cousins – Meg, Hannah and little Angel…’ I start, teasing my sister a little by not immediately asking her.
‘Well, let me stop you there,’ my sister says, shuffling to the edge of her seat. ‘Auntie June has already vetoed that idea.’
‘Erm, Meg is 17 and Hannah is not only 19 years old, but she’s got a three-year-old kid of her own, so I’m pretty sure they don’t need Auntie June’s permission.’
‘Look, don’t shoot the messenger, but that’s what Auntie June said and they respect their mum’s wishes.’
‘Dare I ask why?’ I start, pretty sure the answer will only make me angry.
‘She’s worried you’ll dress them… like you.’
‘You can tell me what she actually said,’ I insist.
‘Like tarts.’
Nice. Good old Auntie June.
‘Well, OK, so obviously I’m going to ask you,’ I continue, on a more positive note.
Belle winces.
‘Surely you’re not worried I’ll dress you like a tart?’ I ask in disbelief.
‘I just feel that, after everything that happened when you were a bridesmaid for me…’ she starts. ‘You were just such a bad bridesmaid. And I don’t want you thinking I’ll be trying to settle the score or any business like that.’
‘Belle, that never crossed my mind.’
It’s crossing my mind now.
‘Oh. Well, I just don’t think it would be appropriate,’ she says firmly. ‘I just don’t see why I should help you with your wedding when you did such an awful job with mine. I mean, I’d do a great job, for sure—’
‘Fine,’ I cut her off. I’m not going to beg.
‘Well, who else can you ask?’ she persists, suddenly so clearly desperate for the honour, but not until I plead with her.
‘Belle, I’ve told you, I’m too busy to start planning it right now,’ I snap. ‘I should be working right now, in fact.’
‘OK, fine,’ she replies. ‘I’ll get going then.’
‘I’ll see you at Mike and Rosie’s wedding next weekend,’ I tell her as I walk her to the door.
Once my sister is gone, I sit back down on the sofa and eyeball the pile of wedding magazines, with all the smug, happy, white-wearing brides on the cover, who probably know exactly what they want from their big day, and they’ve probably known since they were, like, eight years old. I’m not like most girls. I haven’t been planning my big day since I was a kid. While most girls were draping net curtains over their heads and playing with dolls I was outside playing football with my friends or inside watching wrestling on TV. Even now, as an adult, I have no idea what I want my wedding to be like, and now I have the added problem of not having anyone willing to be my bridesmaids, because I don’t have any female friends. I’ve always just got on better with boys. I like video games, violent movies, listening to music full of profanity – all hobbies that make my sister, and girls like my sister, look down their noses at me.
I’m just going to concentrate on finishing this book, get Mike and Rosie’s wedding out of the way and then I’ll see about planning my own. You never know, attending a wedding might be just the inspiration I need to get me going.
Chapter Seven (#ulink_0572604c-bd70-5cea-abfd-2aa0aef61fdf)
After a long and heavily religious church service (which I definitely don’t want), and a trip to a hotel outside town on an open-top bus (which was not nice in October), we finally arrived at the reception. We’re pretty much done with dinner now and I already have a long list of things I absolutely don’t want for my wedding.
Rosie looks beautiful, as always – she’s just got this kind of easy beauty about her, whereas I have to spend hours putting make-up on to look alive – but two things I absolutely don’t want for my big day include having my hair piled up on top of my head like a Mr Whippy, held in place with a tiara, and wearing a big, white dress, with loads of ruffles and shit hanging off it and bits connecting to other bits in places that will limit my movement. Yes, Rosie looks great, so long as she stands still. The second she starts moving she looks so terribly uncomfortable, I feel sorry for her. Apparently she’s got some kind of contraption under her dress that she can use to help her use the loo without assistance, but unless it’s a hoist, I’m not sure it’s going to help her all that much.
This wedding is exactly what you’d expect a wedding to be – and it’s exactly how I’d write it, if I were trying to include every wedding cliché I could think of.
All in all, I wouldn’t say it was a bad day, just not my taste. The speeches were relatively painless, if a little cringeworthy, and the food was OK – I pretty much just picked at my roast dinner. It was just way too much food given I’m wearing such a tight dress.
‘You really do look amazing,’ Leo tells me, holding my hand over the table. ‘Your hard work has paid off.’
‘Thank you,’ I reply. ‘Kind of makes all those times I had to spectate you eating pizza feel worth it.’
‘Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention, please,’ the DJ booms over the PA. ‘The bride and groom are about to take to the floor for their first dance.’
I’m sitting at a table with my parents, my grandparents, Leo and Belle – Dan’s the best man, so he’s up at the top table. I think I’m doing a pretty good job of being chill, given my surroundings. As soon as my gran clapped eyes on me, she told me I was too thin, like I knew she would – my granddad told me I looked great, though, like I knew he would, the sweetheart.
My mum and Belle immediately turn their chairs to face the dance floor, excited for what’s about to come. It’s not that I lack confidence, but the thought of having everyone watching me as I ‘perform’ my first dance makes me cringe. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a first dance that didn’t make me want to punch myself in the face until it stopped. As Mike and Rosie take to the floor, I allow myself to feel a little hope, that this time might be different, that this dance might impress me. But then a chimney sweep walks out onto the stage. He’s wearing a wireless mic, attached to his ear, which he adjusts into a favourable position just before the music starts.
‘Is that…?’ I start, but I don’t need to finish my question. It’s ‘Chim Chim Cher-ee’ from Mary Poppins.
‘Oh, what a beautiful waltz,’ my gran coos as she watches.
I look at Leo and pull a face. He looks just as confused as I am.
Mike and Rosie slow dance until the song is finished.
‘Step in time,’ the chimney sweep calls out. ‘Everyone, join the bride and groom on the dance floor.’
As people get up and make their way to the dance floor the chimney sweep bursts into a version of ‘Step in Time’ that he expects everyone to dance to. Many people oblige.
‘Oh, I so want to join in but Dan is dancing with his mum,’ Belle moans.
‘Shall I?’ Leo asks me quietly.
‘Go for it,’ I tell him with a laugh.
‘Come on, Belle, I’ll dance with you,’ he says, taking her by the hand and leading her onto the dance floor before linking arms with her, ready to step in time with everyone else.
I turn to face my granddad, who is sitting at the other side of me.
‘Whaaaat is happening?’ I ask him.
My granddad laughs.
‘It’s tradition to have a chimney sweep at your wedding – it’s for good luck,’ my granddad explains. ‘The groom shakes his hand and the bride gives him a kiss, and then they’ll be together for ever, supposedly.’
‘That’s pretty stupid,’ I say.
‘You’re not wrong, kid,’ my granddad replies.
I have so much love, adoration and respect for my granddad, Jack – he’s just so kind and funny. He knows exactly what the women in our family are like; in fact, he jokily refers to my mum, my gran and my Auntie June as the three witches. My granddad is absolutely hilarious, constantly cracking jokes, winding up my gran and playing little pranks on people. I like to think I’ve inherited my granddad’s warmth and his wicked sense of humour, which is why I haven’t turned out like the other women in the family.
My granddad is 84 years old, and until recently he never really seemed it. His arthritis is getting quite bad now, which is making it harder for him to move around and do things like he used to. He still enjoys pottering around in his shed, though, and I still love to go and sit out there with him and help out with his tomato plants or whatever he has on the go. I think he uses his shed as an escape from my gran, but even though she nags him and thinks he’s a bit silly sometimes, I can still tell that they love each other. I absolutely adore the story of how my gran and granddad met, but I’m not allowed to talk about it because my gran gets cross – I’ve always said I’ll put it in a book one day, though. My gran was in her early twenties, working as a cashier in a bank. She was this glamorous, kind-of-snooty type, but she was model-gorgeous, so of course she was engaged. My granddad was a painter, working in the bank for a few weeks while the place had a makeover. He instantly took a shine to my gran, but she wouldn’t give him the time of day because she thought he was just some scruffy, dirty painter, whose hands were always covered in too much paint, and who was far too cheeky for his own good. But even though she was never anything but cold to him, my granddad saw something he liked and persisted in asking my gran out, until one day she gave in and said yes, just to shut him up, and in little more than a fortnight she left her fiancé for him. They actually got married for a really unromantic reason four months after they met – a tax rebate – but I guess they were just meant to be, because here they are, still married more than 50 years later.
‘You having this at your wedding, kid?’ he asks. ‘Or are you going for something a bit more modern like Frozen?’
‘My granddad knows what Frozen is,’ I laugh.
‘Oh, little Angel makes me watch it with her 20 times a day, so I know all the words,’ he laughs.
Angel is my cousin Hannah’s little girl. I was actually there when everyone found out Hannah was pregnant because it was at Belle’s wedding, and when my auntie found a pregnancy test in the bin, she assumed it must have been mine – an assumption based on nothing but my hemline, I’d imagine. So you can just imagine my Auntie June’s face when it turned out to be her fifteen-year-old daughter who was up the duff. Hannah is 19 now, and she’s taken to being a mum really well, I think. Angel seems like a sweet kid, but, like I said, I don’t really spend too much time with my extended family, unless we’re at family events.
‘Speak of the literal devil,’ I say as the Edwards family arrive for the evening do.
My granddad chuckles.
‘Hello,’ June says, puffing air from her cheeks. ‘Sorry we’re late. Someone was acting up.’
She turns and shoots her son, Josh, a filthy look. My fourteen-year-old cousin has no fucks to give, though.
‘Have you been a naughty boy?’ my gran asks him, but Josh doesn’t hear her voice. I can see his wireless, in-ear headphones poking out of his ears from under his long-ish, messy hair, but no one else has realised he’s listening to music yet.
‘If you’re not Fifa, he’s not interested,’ my Uncle Steve jokes, taking the seat next to me. ‘Looking good, Mia.’
‘Thanks, Uncle Steve,’ I reply.
‘Do you have an eating disorder?’ my auntie enquires as she sits down.
‘Only when it comes to your cooking,’ I joke. June isn’t impressed.
‘I’m off to the bar,’ Josh says, wandering off, staring at his phone every step of the way.
My Auntie June doesn’t like me. I know, that sounds like something a whiney teenager would say, but she doesn’t. My Uncle Steve does like me, and so do my cousins, which I think makes my auntie dislike me all the more. She thinks I’m a bad influence, because her kids think I’m cool.
‘I actually don’t know what I’m going to do with him,’ June says as she wrestles her cardigan off.
‘What’s he done now?’ my mum asks.
‘So…’ my auntie starts, lowering her voice a little, but not so much that she can’t be heard over the music, which has been consistently awful since the first dance finished. ‘Cotton Eyed Joe’ by Rednex is currently playing. ‘He’s always got his phone in his hand, he’s never off it. So, the other night, he’s playing some shooty game online – oh, what’s it called, Stephen? Lots of swearing and violence. They were on a pier, by a big wheel…’
‘GTA Online,’ I tell her. ‘Man, that’s a sweet game. I play when I’m not working, or when I’m putting off working,’ I laugh.
‘Mia, you’re a woman in your thirties,’ my auntie reminds me.
‘Well, at least we know you’re not losing your memory,’ I tell her. She might not remember the name of the game, but she knows how old her niece is. I imagine that’s what she was trying to make clear by stating my age, and not implying that I’m too old/female for video games.
‘Anyway…’ she says, getting back to her story. ‘I took him some crumpets up to his room – he doesn’t even say thank you, he’s too busy calling someone a mother-effer through his earpiece – so I do what any responsible parent would do and take his phone downstairs to check.’
‘Does she do that with yours?’ I joke to my uncle, giving him a nudge with my elbow.
‘Only sometimes,’ he replies solemnly.
‘So, I find this picture of him and he’s only smoking a marijuana cigarette!’ she squeaks, the disgust catching in her throat.
‘Where on earth did he get that? He’s only 14,’ my mum says, horrified.
I know my auntie is dull and way too uptight with her kids, but that is actually terrible. I can’t believe my baby cousin is doing drugs. I really never would’ve thought he’d be the type. He might be your typical, video-game-playing, adult-ignoring, horrible teenager now, but he’s always been such a sweet kid. I can’t believe it.
‘Oh, it wasn’t real,’ my auntie explains. ‘It was toilet roll. I asked him why he took such a photo and he said it was “just a joke for Snapchat” – it had some kind of number code on it, maybe a hidden message.’
I swallow my cocktail the wrong way, spluttering as I laugh to myself.
‘Was it 420?’ I ask.
‘Yes,’ she says quickly. ‘What does that mean?’
‘420 blaze it,’ I laugh. ‘No? Its just a joke, he’s just trying to be funny.’
‘I don’t think it’s funny,’ my auntie says seriously. ‘I suppose you do?’
‘I mean, I get the joke,’ I tell her. ‘He’s just being a silly kid, don’t worry. You can’t get high rolling up an Andrex.’
My auntie shakes her head.
‘Look, I hate to say this,’ she starts, and I just know that, if she’s saying it, she’s happy to say it. ‘But I seem to remember a certain someone letting him watch a Quentin Tarantino movie when he was just ten years old…’
‘Oh my God, you’re never going to let that go, are you?’ I say. ‘So I let the kid watch Pulp Fiction – I don’t even think anyone smokes a joint in that film. It’s mostly cocaine they’re doing. If he starts snorting lines of talcum powder in the bathroom, then you can blame me.’
No one is amused by this, apart from my granddad who chuckles subtly.
‘I’m going to go and find Leo,’ I announce as I push my chair back, carefully readjusting my dress to make sure I don’t flash anyone. Well, that’s one of the things about strapless dresses – one false move and there’s nothing to hold them in place.
Tonight I’m wearing a black Alexander McQueen dress with mesh panels that I think is beautiful, but which my mum deemed inappropriate for a family wedding. I bought this dress back when I was living in LA, when I could afford dresses like this. So, sure, it’s like five years old, but it’s couture and it fits, so I’m happy. I feel a little bit like the old me – just enough to make me happy.
‘Mind if I borrow him?’ I ask Belle, who is still dancing with Leo.
‘Sure,’ she replies. ‘I could do with a drink anyway.’
‘You cutting in?’ Leo asks me.
‘Erm, more like cutting you out,’ I tell him. ‘Let’s find somewhere to sit, that isn’t near anyone I’m related to, and chill out?’
‘Sure,’ he replies.
The dance floor is in the centre of the room, under a large disco ball, pinging off different coloured lights in all directions. Making a ring around the dance floor are the tables we all sat at to eat; then, around the edges of the room, a few sofas are dotted. Leo and I find one away from everyone else and sit down. Leo sits back with one arm stretched out along the back edge of the sofa, so I cuddle into him, resting my head on his chest.
‘So, promise me we’re having a chimney sweep at our wedding,’ he says.
‘Oh God, wasn’t that weird? My granddad says it’s tradition, for luck.’
‘The funniest bit about it is that, during the song, when we were all pretending they were chimneys and dancing around them, he gave Rosie a kiss – but because he had all that black stuff smeared on his face, he left her looking like she had a black goatee. They mustn’t have had a dress rehearsal, because she was fuming when she realised.’
‘So, we’ll probably give that a miss on our big day,’ I laugh.
‘They make a cute couple, right? I mean, he’s a dick, but he makes her happy,’ Leo muses.
‘Yeah. Mr and Mrs Ryan – Rosie Ryan,’ I say, to see how it sounds out loud.
‘Sounds like a superhero… or a porn star… or both,’ he laughs.
‘It does,’ I giggle. ‘But it works.’
‘Does Mia De Luca work?’ he asks.
‘Erm, it just sounds like something an Italian would say,’ I laugh.
‘Well, it’s something this Italian is going to be saying for the rest of his life.’
Leo smiles, until he notices the look on my face.
‘What’s up?’ he asks.
‘Nothing,’ I lie.
‘Mia, I know when you’re lying, your voice gets much higher.’
I bite my lip as I wonder whether now is the time or the place to tell the truth.
‘Well, I’ve been thinking, and I’ll probably just keep my name.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it’s my name,’ I say.
‘Your real name or your fake name?’ Leo asks.
I grew up Mia Harrison, but when I moved to LA and reinvented myself, I legally changed my name to Mia Valentina, because I thought it sounded more the part. Now that I’m writing novels for a living, Mia Valentina makes a great pen name too. I just feel like it’s my name. It’s my identity and I’ve worked hard for the achievements and reputation that go along with it.
‘My “fake” name is my real name, you know that,’ I remind him.
‘Hmm,’ he says, taking his arm from around me.
‘What?’ I ask.
‘I just think it’s interesting… it seems to me like you haven’t thought about getting married at all – other then deciding you don’t want to take my name.’
‘Hey.’ I turn my body to face Leo, placing my hand lightly on his cheeks. ‘Leo, I love you so much, and I’m so hyped to marry you. And I know you think I’m not thinking about our wedding but… I’m going to a wedding fair next weekend.’
‘Really?’ he asks, looking visibly relieved.
‘Yeah, Belle came over last weekend and brought me a stack of wedding magazines, and told me about the fair, so I’m gonna go.’
‘That’s awesome,’ he replies. ‘I’ll come with you.’
‘Are you sure you want to? Aren’t you working?’
‘Nope,’ he replies. ‘And I’ve love to come. I’m just so relieved. For a second, I was worried you hadn’t been thinking about the wedding at all.’
I grab Leo and kiss him to reassure him that I love him. I do love him, so much. I’ve just been so busy and so distracted, but I will go to this wedding fair and I’ll make a start on planning the wedding, and it’s all going to be great. I just need to make more of an effort, to show him I’m serious.
Chapter Eight (#ulink_2b375716-47aa-5de9-bf03-1fcb4b1585b8)
Yesterday I went to a wedding fair with Leo, so today I am browsing for jobs online, because weddings are so expensive and my unreliable income isn’t making me feel confident about being able to get married next summer, like we planned.
Everything at the fair was just so expensive and, for the most part, so stupid. I appreciate that rings, venue hire, food and drink are very expensive but unavoidable costs of getting married. But things like giant chocolate fountains, men who pose as topiary and to-scale ice sculptures that look like the happy couple are just excessive.
To say that it was just a money issue would be a lie. The truth is that working from home is so boring, and I spend so much time alone, that I think it would do me good to find a job in a place where I could make friends and see people every day. On quieter days the only person I see is Leo, and if you knew what a social butterfly I used to be, you’d know how hard I’m finding spending so much time alone these days.
So far, I’m not having much luck. I’ve looked at all kinds of writing jobs, from journalist jobs to copywriting gigs, but there’s nothing. On the off-chance, I even looked at the film and TV section, just in case anyone was looking for a writer of any description, but the only two jobs that came up were looking for actors, one listing looking for movie extras and the other staff for an escape game – and neither of these things appeal to me.
I grab the Playstation controller and fire up Netflix with the intention of putting something on in the background, but you know how it is with Netflix – sometimes you’ll spend longer trying to choose something to watch than you will actually watching something. In the end it’s just easier to put Gossip Girl on for my third re-watch, because there’s no ailment that can’t be cured by a little exposure to Chuck Bass.
It only takes a few minutes of observing the lavish lifestyles of the Upper East Siders before I start feeling bad about my surroundings. Our living room has looked worse, much worse, but it definitely looks better now we have flooring down and clean white walls, just a blank canvas ready for us to make our own. But I’m surrounded by boxes, most of them being used as furniture, and it’s been so long since we moved in I couldn’t confidently tell you what was in them any more.
I look over the job listings in the area generally, running a hand through my messy bed hair as I rule out being an army officer (just try and imagine a girly girl like me doing a job like that), a code coordinator (I have no idea what that is) or a bartender (sadly, although I have many hours of experience, they’re all on the wrong side of the bar). My fingers catch in a knot in my hair, which I’m careful to untangle. I need to go and slather my locks in coconut oil because I’m fairly sure that’s what’s helping it grow back so quickly and so much stronger than it was. I’ll probably cover myself in coconut oil, for good measure, because I don’t think I know of a health or beauty problem that coconut oil hasn’t been hyped as the solution for. Chuck Bass and coconut oil – that’s all I need.
Once again, the listing for a ‘Games Master’ at Houdini’s Escape Rooms comes up. I don’t really know too much about escape games, but I imagine they’re exactly as they sound. You lock people up and they try and escape for fun, right? The listing says its minimum wage and zero hours, but this could be exactly the kind of gig I need to fit in around my writing commitments; it could be fun, and could make me the extra wedding money I need. The application says to send in a CV with relevant experience, but I don’t suppose I have any. I’ve just always been a writer, ever since I graduated.
I glance at my watch; it’s 17:35. Looking up Houdini’s, I see that they’re open until late, and it’s only a short walk away – why don’t I go scope the place out and see what I make of it?
After washing my hair and applying my make-up, I open up my wardrobes (cardboard boxes) and see what I can find. An oversize black jumper dress and a pair of black over-the-knee boots seem like the right kind of thing, given how cold it is outside. I grab my leather jacket, pile on the rose-gold accessories (and my engagement ring, of course) and I’m good to go.
I am just about to walk out of the door when my mobile starts ringing. It’s my agent, Lindsey.
‘Hello,’ I say, answering quickly, terrified there’s a problem with the manuscript I stressed myself out to finish on time.
‘Hello, Mia, how are you?’ she asks brightly.
‘Great, ta. How are you?’
‘I’m doing well, thank you. I just wanted to let you know that Tamara is reading your manuscript and she’s really enjoying it, and I’ve already finished it and I think it’s great – maybe your best yet.’
I let out a huge sigh of relief. I’m pretty sure Lindsey tells me every book I write is my best work yet, but I do feel like she believes in me, and it’s always good news to hear that Tamara, my editor, is enjoying it too. Having a strong team around you, rooting for you and doing everything they can to make your books a success, is just as important as the writing itself – what does it matter if you’ve written an amazing book if no one reads it?
‘That’s great news, thank you,’ I tell her.
‘So, what are you going to do now?’ she asks. ‘Take a little time off?’
‘I wish,’ I reply. ‘I’ve got a wedding to pay for – I’m actually job hunting.’
‘What?’ Lindsey squeaks. ‘Mia, you’re an amazing writer, so early in your career as a novelist. The money gets better.’
‘In time for my wedding or my next cripplingly expensive trip to Ikea?’ I laugh awkwardly. ‘It’s not just that; I get so bored between books. Everyone is at work and there’s no one to have any fun with…’
‘Listen, Mia, I’m putting forward a few of my clients for a job – it’s nonfiction, but I feel like you could be great for it. Shall I put you forward?’
‘What is it?’ I ask.
‘It’s a ghostwriting job,’ she tells me. ‘It will pay very well – two authors have dropped out already, so it won’t be easy. Let’s leave it at that – I don’t want to get your hopes up.’
I can’t help but pull a face. There’s no way a romcom writer like me is going to get a nonfiction gig that two other authors have already dropped out of, and even if I could, why would I want to work with someone who sounds so difficult? It would have to pay really well.
I finish my call and head for the door. Obviously I’d much rather have a writing job but I’ve got a wedding to pay for – and maybe the way to do this is by locking people up.
Chapter Nine (#ulink_603f6386-ace9-5347-802c-362ef6e128c2)
It turns out that Houdini’s has always been under my nose, but – funnily enough – has always escaped my attention. It’s right in the town centre, above a sports bar I’ve been in a couple of times. You can’t really tell too much about it from the outside so I’ve popped inside to have a look, but the room I’ve walked into looks like a dentist’s waiting room.
‘Hello?’ I call out. ‘Hello…’
A young girl pops out from around a corner, causing me to jump out of my skin.
‘Welcome to Houdini’s my name is Jezebel how can I help you?’ she sings, without a single pause in her sentence.
‘Er, hi,’ I start, unsure what to say.
‘Do you have a game booked?’ she asks.
Jezebel is an interesting character. She’s rocking a scene-queen look I haven’t seen since 2005, with her big, black hair complete with side-swept fringe, punky, ripped clothing and multiple facial piercings.
She has her septum pierced, you know, kind of like a bull has, and I can’t stop staring at it. It must get in the way, surely? It works with her look, though. I’m not sure I could pull it off. When I was younger I was desperate for a nose ring but my mum wouldn’t let me have one. That’s why, the second I turned 16, I went to the local piercing place with my best friend so we could get matching nose rings done. It was all going so well until I watched my friend get hers done and passed out. I soon changed my mind.
‘I just popped in to have a look. I saw the listing for the Games Master job online and I…’
‘Oh, sweet,’ she says. ‘I’m the manager, at the mo. The previous guy had to leave, we had to get the police involved – major drama in the office. So I’m just kind of winging it, but we’re short-staffed and looking for cool new peeps. Do you live nearby?’
‘Yeah, just up on Prince Street,’ I tell her.
‘No way, me too,’ she squeaks, giving my arm a playful punch. ‘What you studying?’
‘Erm, I’ve already graduated,’ I tell her honestly.
‘Ahh, right. This summer just gone? I’m only a second-year. Wouldn’t have pegged you as much older than I am.’
If Jezebel is a second-year, that makes her 20 years old, maybe? I know I look young for my age, but if I’m passing for 14 years younger than I am, I’m on to a winner.
‘How about I introduce you to the others in the office and then show you around, see if you dig the place?’
‘Erm, OK, sure,’ I reply. I’ve only ever had writing jobs where I had to submit my portfolio or a pitch beforehand, but is this how job hunting goes in the real world? You just show up at a place and they start you off, no questions asked. She hasn’t even asked me my name yet…
‘Follow me, doll,’ she says, taking me by the hand as she leads me into the office.
Inside the office is a long, banana-shaped desk with five people sitting at five computers, all wearing headsets. Some are engrossed in the games they are spectating, others are chatting and messing around.
‘That guy down the end, that’s Rich. He’s a music student – don’t worry, you don’t have to pay as much attention to the games as he is. Oi, Rich.’
A skinny, dark-haired guy with thick, black-rimmed glasses looks up to wave at me before instantly getting back to his game.
‘Hi,’ I say, but he’s way too busy to give me too much attention.
‘These two in the middle, practically smashing at the desk, are Bully and Hayley. Guys, this is… did you tell me your name?’ she asks me.
‘Sorry, it’s Mia,’ I say, bemused by it all. I really didn’t expect to just waltz in here and be given a job.
To say that Bully and Hayley were smashing would be classed as an exaggeration. Hayley has her chair to one side, with her legs draped over Bully’s. He keeps running his hand up her leg, from her ankle all the way to her inner thigh, but that’s as close to smashing as it gets.
‘This beautiful lady here is Lea, she’s a student too – we’re all students. Well, except for you, Mia.’
‘What did you study?’ Lea asks me, effortlessly multitasking chatting to me, texting and running a game.
‘English literature,’ I tell her.
‘I nearly picked that,’ she tells me. ‘I went for film in the end. I just prefer movies to books, y’know?’
‘Yeah, me too,’ I reply.
‘Why’d you choose lit then?’ she laughs.
I just laugh it off, rather than explain that I mean I prefer writing movies to writing books.
Lea has her long brown hair wound up in a bun on top of her head. She’s definitely dressed casually; in fact, I think it would be fair to say that she’s wearing her pyjama pants to work today.
‘And last but not least, this is Sam. He’s a first-year, studying PE, which – is that even a real subject? I don’t think so.’
Sam gets up from his seat to shake my hand. He’s tall and skinny with messy blond hair. He’s wearing shorts, even though it’s November, but he’s had the good sense to pair them with a jumper, just in case he gets cold.
‘Hello, beautiful,’ he says as he shakes my hand.
‘Hi,’ I reply, stifling a laugh. I’d be old enough to be his mum, if I’d been more interested in boys than getting good GCSEs when I was fifteen.
‘Are you the new girl?’ he asks. ‘It’s about time we got some talent. No offence, ladies.’
‘None taken, you little creep,’ Jezebel laughs. She grabs me by the hand again, leading me out of the room. ‘You’re so far out of his league, it’s hilarious.’
She plonks herself down on one of the sofas in the waiting room, pulling me down with her.
‘So, we’ve got five rooms here: Zombie Apocalypse, Houdini, Illuminati, The Hole and Candy Land. There’s something for everyone really. So we greet customers, shove them in a room, lock the door and then we watch them on the computers and send them hints if they need them. Have you played before?’
‘I haven’t,’ I admit, suddenly very curious about how it all works.
‘So, the rooms are full of locks – padlocks, key locks, number locks – on doors, cupboards, drawers and boxes. There are all kinds of different puzzles and riddles. People just figure shit out and it unlocks a thing, and then that gives them more clues for another thing, and next thing you know they’re out here and we just take their picture and send them on their way.’
‘Does it take a long time to learn the games?’ I ask.
‘Nah,’ she replies casually with a bat of her hand. ‘It’s an easy gig. The owners never bother with the place. Your girl Jezebel is running the show now. You interested?’
‘Erm…’
Now that I’m here, I’m not sure what to do. The place seems very relaxed – a little too relaxed, though. It’s being run by a bunch of students, only a couple of years off being actual children. They do all seem really happy here, though, so maybe I could be too. Maybe working here would be fun, a great daytime distraction and a bit of extra money for this wedding I haven’t started planning yet.
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