My Big Fat Christmas Wedding (26 page)

His hands slipped around my waist and I leant in for a snog. However, Adam prised me off, like some rockstar rejecting a crazed fan. He reached over to the small coffee table and picked up the local paper, flicking through to the Home Search section. Then he passed it to me.

‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’ I stuttered, feeling ever so slightly sick. ‘And on a practical level, how can I afford a place of my own, just like that, let alone find one a couple of weeks before Christmas? Mum won’t welcome me back.’ Especially as boyfriend number… I’d lost count… had just moved in. Like all the rest, he sported barbed wire tattoos and thought he was the next Eric Clapton.

‘You might find a flat share,’ said Adam and folded his arms. ‘Makes you realise, doesn’t it, how important it is to have a reliable income?’

‘I’ve more than pulled my weight!’ A wave of red-hot indignation replaced the coldness in my chest. ‘Days stuffing envelopes paid for our petrol and food last month. In fact, if we ever get in at the same time, it’s always me who cooks dinner and does the housework whilst you work out at the gym.’

Adam raised his arms into the air. ‘But it’s me who’s responsible for trying to save up for our future.’

‘Well maybe I needed a break from responsibility after virtually bringing up my younger brother.’ My voice trembled. ‘Ever had to sit your mum down and take her through the weekly budget? No. So, don’t talk to me about being level-headed and practical.’

‘I’d like to know what happened to that organised, sensible girl I fell in love with.’

Eyes tingling, I stumbled into the bedroom and hauled my pink case off the top of the wardrobe. Sensible? Hadn’t I recently taken back the five inch high shoes I’d only bought because I saw them on Paris Hilton?

I sat down on the bed and stared at my glittery nails. It didn’t make me a bad person, did it? Wanting a better life? Holidays where trees smelt of vanilla? Cars with engines that didn’t take ten minutes to start? I wanted arctic white teeth; I wanted rainforest-exotic handbags. I wanted to spend my nine ‘til five doing something that I loved. Wasn’t it good to have aspirations? Work hard for a top lifestyle? That was what I’d always dreamed of, growing up, wearing neighbours’ cast-offs. I didn’t even get a brand new first bra. Mum said I wouldn’t be in it that long and the money she’d save would buy a mountain of fags.

‘You should have let me get down that case,’ said Adam, suddenly appearing at the bedroom door. ‘I didn’t mean for you to leave right away.’

I swallowed. Was he having second thoughts?

‘At least ring around a few friends first.’

My heart sank. ‘Is there… someone else?’ I said and sniffed.

‘No.’

I believed him. Adam didn’t do excuses. Not even if he forgot my birthday or – God help him – finished off the last tube of Pringles.

‘Then give me one more chance,’ I whispered. ‘What’s it going to take to change your mind?’

Adam hesitated for a moment before kneeling down in front of me, by the bed. He took both my hands and gently rubbed my palms with his thumbs. ‘Fill in that form, babe. Then we can both look forwards.’ His eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘I still love you,’ he murmured and kissed me softly on the lips. ‘I just can’t face starting the New Year without having more concrete plans for our future.’

That’s what bowled me over, about Adam – my gentle giant combined strength with such tenderness. The thought of life without him was unthinkable. We went together like a cupcake and cappuccino. I’d never forget feeling sick with excitement when we first started dating. Hunky Adam, with his clean-shaven cheeky smile and steadfast eyes, had asked me out. I’d never find another guy who found my “voluptuous tum” (code for “pot belly”) a turn on – or who, more importantly, made me feel as if the big wide world could do me no harm. Even though we’d been together for almost three years, I still treasured the things he’d bought me which showed that he really cared – not jewellery or flowers, but the emergency holdall for my car with a warning triangle and blanket inside. No one had ever looked out for me like that. When he’d bought me a personal alarm, I’d practically swooned at his feet. But all this… planning for our retirement already…

‘We could window-shop for houses,’ he continued, stood up and grabbed his towel. ‘Suss out what sort of property would suit us. Google mortgage deals…Look into saving plans. It’s never too early to start cutting back. We could eat value range food and buy clothes from charity shops.’ Humming, he beamed and left the bedroom.

Mortgage deals? And had he ever tried value cornflakes? They were like cardboard confetti.

I headed into the lounge, picked up a biro from the coffee table and, still unable to take it all in, sat back on the sofa for a while. Eventually I leant forward and held my head in my hands. Adam was what my Auntie Sharon would have called “a catch” –kind, hard-working and loyal. But why the rush to throw down roots and, in the process, throw away our freedom?

I looked up and chewed on the end of the pen, before reaching for the application form. My eyes felt wet. Every atom of me hurt. Why did he have to give me an ultimatum? With a shaking hand, I texted Jess and asked her to meet me, instead, by the bench outside Adam’s flat. Then I picked up the form and slowly began writing:

SURNAME:
Dream

FORENAME:
Ivor

CURRENT POSITION:
Aspiring Entrepreneur

SEX:
100% safe, please, until career well underway

ASSETS:
Curves. Cupcakes. Ambition
.

HOW DO YOU SEE YOURSELF IN 5 YEARS:
Glossy-haired, Dior-dressed catering magnate

WHY DO YOU WANT THIS JOB:
I, um, don’t
.

MARITAL STATUS:
Single, then?

ADDRESS: “
No Fixed Abode”, I guess
.

Chapter 2

The bus stop? Little privacy. The back of my old hatchback? No room to stretch out. The doorway of the Spoon & Sausage? I sat on my pink case, outside Adam’s flat. Where on earth would I sleep tonight? How dare Adam throw me out? What a jerk. See if I cared…Yet I squeezed my eyes shut, to trap any tears, and my throat felt tight and sore –as if I’d got the tonsil infection from hell.

Perhaps I could crash in some shop’s outdoor Santa’s Grotto. I’d packed as quickly as I could, just finding time to brush my teeth and hair. Plus I’d squashed in some baking utensils and my novelty pig oven gloves. Adam was probably still in the shower, singing “One potato, two potato, three potato, four…”

A nearby flowering weed caught my eye. It stood upright between two paving stones. I leant forward, tugged it out and one by one yanked off its petals –
he loves me… he loves me not…
If I were famous, I imagined the sad shot the paparazzi might take of me now, the drooping wild flower stuffed through my gold metallic parka jacket’s buttonhole. It would go with the headline: “Kimmy Shown Red Card by Love Rat Adam”, except my Adam was more of a love-
bunny
(he’d hate me calling him that).

Shivering from the bitter December air – or was it from shock? – I nevertheless put on my fake designer sunglasses, due to the odd bit of sun. Although when the clouds parted, Luton still looked as grey as an old pair of Y-fronts. The Greta Garbo “I-want-to-be-left-alone look” suited the occasion, don’t you think, after my dramatic morning? A man in uniform walked past, spiking litter. From behind I got a whiff of something pungent – Adam’s aftershave, smelt a bit like some cleaning product.

‘There was no need to leave without saying goodbye,’ he said to my back. ‘You haven’t even eaten.’

‘You ordered me out.’ I turned around, determined to look more cross than upset.

His hair was all wet. Like a white flag, he held up the cheap ready-decorated Christmas tree I’d bought – Adam had insisted stuff like advent calendars and fairy lights were a waste of money, so I’d had to compromise.

‘You forgot this.’ He gazed down at me with those metallic grey eyes. ‘This is silly. At least come back for lunch.’

‘Now I’m silly as well as irresponsible?’ Annoyed at the tremble in my voice, I stood up and dragged my case along the street, towards the pedestrian crossing on the left. However, secretly I wished he’d scoop me up and carry me back to the flat, saying that it was all just a big mistake.

‘Wait up!’ he called and I slowed slightly, willing him not to drop my ace little tree. The baubles looked basic and the branches were threadbare, but it was the ninth of December, for goodness’ sake, and right now my world needed a dollop of Christmas magic.

‘For God’s sake,’ he said and easily caught me up. ‘It’s not that I don’t understand.’

Chin trembling, I reached for my tree and gripped it by the metal base. We were in front of Clarkson’s Estate Agents. He steered me to the nearby blue painted bench, where I’d arranged to meet Jess.

‘I get it,’ he continued. ‘We all have dreams. Me, I’d kill to live like… like a top racing driver.’

I sat down, shoved my case under the bench and fiddled with a lacklustre piece of tinsel.

‘Sometimes,’ he continued and took a seat next to me, ‘when I’m travelling back from my night shift and the motorway’s empty, I hit the accelerator… But kidding myself that I’ll ever race cars for a living won’t pay the rent.’

‘Remember that Formula One leather jacket you bought when we first started going out?’ I stared across the road to the White Horse pub. ‘It cost a whole week’s wages.’

‘Now I know better.” He leant back to avoid a kid on a skateboard whizzing past, followed by a gaggle of giggling teenagers, cheap handbags swinging, not a care in the world. A group of women in burkas walked behind them and a souped-up car, bass volume on full, zoomed along.

‘There’s nothing I want more than you and me together,’ he said, huskily, ‘even though you stick your cold feet on me in bed and leave trails of flour around the flat like some MasterChef slug. But you’ve got to realise that dreams are just that. During the day, it’s about making the best of what you’ve got. This job at the factory won’t come along again – they’ve held back on recruitment for months. When that application form dropped through the letterbox this morning my heart leapt, babe. It’s the best Christmas present I could ever have, the thought that, at last, you and me would be moving our lives forward.’

‘But next week I’m baking cupcakes for my mate Nikki’s hen night. I even blagged some cut-price sugar from the corner shop that’s closing down. If I spend all day, every day with you, sorting spuds, I’ll never have the energy for cooking after work. You’re always knackered after a day at that place. And what if my business did, by some small miracle, take off and I left the factory? It wouldn’t look good for you. No. It’s best that we keep “us” and work separate.’

‘Sounds like more excuses.’ He glanced at his watch.

‘Don’t let me keep you,’ I muttered.

‘I said I’d drop round to Mum and Dad’s this afternoon; things to do before that.’

‘What will you tell them?’ My voice wavered. ‘About us?’

‘The truth, of course.’ He looked sideways at me. ‘You know Mum. She’ll blame me.’

I half-smiled. Barbara was great. Adam always joked that if he and I ever split up, she’d take my side and ask him what he’d done wrong.

‘She’ll have to take back her wedding outfit,’ he mumbled. ‘That’ll teach her to buy it before we even got engaged.’

Hardly believing his words, I nodded. Telling his parents about our split meant it was final. So this was really happening? How could my love life have crumbled around me within the space of one hour? I took his hand, which felt icy cold. ‘Just give me six months. Please. I can sense things are about to go my way.’

‘You’ve already been temping for weeks, Kimmy.’ He pulled away his fingers and blew on them with warm breath. He stood up and rubbed his hands together. ‘I won’t hold on for another half year.’ His voice broke. ‘Sorry, babe. It’s over.’ With that, he walked away.

I pulled the limp flower from my button hole and watched it tumble to the ground. In need of a ballad, I reached into my jeans’ back pocket. Great. I’d forgotten my iPod.

‘Adam! Hold on! Keep an eye on my luggage. I’ve left something in the flat.’

Without giving him much chance to answer, I rushed past, head down, as he sloped back to the bench. I didn’t want him to see my runny nose or tears trickling out from under my glasses. My phone rang and, slowing to a trot, I reached into my front jeans’ pocket. A repentant love message from Adam? No. He didn’t text that fast. It was from Jess. She was on her way over and said it was just as well we weren’t meeting at her place.

Hoping she was okay, I put the phone back in my pocket. Mrs Patel from the grocer’s smiled at me as I turned towards the flats. If I were famous, Elton John would lend me his French villa, or I’d flee to my Barbados hideout, or (how cool did this sound) I’d
go into rehab
.

I entered the red-brick building and climbed the two flights of stairs to number fourteen. New graffiti had gone up on the whitewashed walls overnight, featuring lewd cartoons of Father Christmas. It still brightened up the place, though, and drew attention away from the missing chunks of plaster. I unlocked our front door and went in.

Stupid, I know, but I expected it to already look different. It didn’t. On the left was the kitchenette, with its scratched worktop, on top of which was a Tupperware box of cranberry and orange festive cupcakes I’d made only last night, after baking Postie’s batch. They were next to the tiny electric cooker and sink where a tap dripped constantly. I’d been meaning to change the washer. Mum had always relied on me to do that sort of thing. Over the years I’d picked up a lot from her boyfriends – like how to change a fuse and put up shelves. One even taught me how to pick locks, another how to hotwire cars.

I headed into bedroom and ran a finger along the furniture as I went. Adam had made a real effort when I’d first moved in; skipped the pub for weeks, eventually spending his beer money on a beech effect flatpack wardrobe and a small cabinet for
my
side of the bed. We’d also made a special trip to St Albans’ market for that beige throw to cover the balding sofa. I lifted my pillow, picked up my iPod and slipped it into the back of my jeans. A photo on the windowsill caught my attention. It was me and Adam kissing behind two plates of curry. We’d celebrated every single one of our anniversaries at the same Indian restaurant.