The Birds and the Bees(25)

‘Or a Johnny Depp,' said Catherine with a conspiratorial wink. She  intended to take advantage of a couple of nights in here herself with a  Blockbuster special and a bottle of vino, a cheesecake and two forks.

‘Can Gareth come and play in our new house?' said Danny.

‘Course he can,' said Stevie.

‘And Josh Parker?'

‘Er … we'll see,' said Stevie, exchanging horrified looks with Catherine, before moving swiftly on.

Catherine quickly made up Danny's bed, whilst Stevie got him washed,  pyjama-ed up and toothpasted. He was tired, little lamb, after all the  excitement of his busy day. In his Superman pyjamas under his giant  Superman fleecy blanket and cuddling his Superman doll, he was asleep in  minutes.                       
       
           



       

‘So, are you sorted then?' said Eddie, who had been finishing off a  thank you bottle of lager from the Happy Shopper, whilst he relaxed in  the reclining bit of the sofa that he had just discovered. He looked so  comfortable, he could have been part of the furnishings.

‘I just need to clean over there tomorrow and that's that,' said Stevie, raising her own bottle of lager in thanks to him.

‘Clean?' screeched Catherine.

‘I don't care what you say, I'm not having Jo slagging me off because  there's a bit of dust where I've moved things,' returned Stevie. Okay,  this might be ‘acting to type' but there was no way she was going to let  anyone call her a mucky sod. ‘There's not all that much to do but I'm  doing it. Then I'll get on with the … other business.'

‘What other business?' said Eddie.

‘Cancelling the wedding,' said Stevie.

‘Oh sorry!' said Eddie. ‘Me and my big mouth. Again.'

‘Don't be daft, it's got to be done. Better than him jilting me at the  altar, I suppose.' A cold shiver ran down her spine as she wondered how  close she had come to that happening.

Catherine smiled kindly at her. ‘You look worn out. You should get to bed yourself.'

‘I don't think I'll sleep, to be honest.'

But Stevie did, and it was a sleep of far better quality than she had  had for quite a long time. As if it was a gift to rest her soul for the  ordeals in store for her the following day.





Chapter 21




Danny was a little disorientated when he was awoken by his Spiderman  alarm clock and found he was desperate for a wee. Stevie was in such a  deep sleep that when she felt herself being shaken by the shoulder and a  little voice saying, ‘Mummy, someone's stolen the toilet,' she actually  believed it for a moment and sat up bolt upright with a rush of panic.  Her eyes came into focus on soft tones of pale pink and old cream  painted on uneven plaster walls rather than the familiar white woodchip  wallpaper and that wonky black and red ‘boy' border – so much nicer,  gentler colours to wake up to. Then she realized where she was and that a  toilet burglar probably had not targeted them after all.

Once the loo had been re-discovered, Stevie set about making breakfast.  She caught sight of her former home through the window, which was an  odd, almost out-of-body experience moment. She tore herself away and  concentrated on pouring out Coco Pops for two, deciding that she could  not afford to let emotion get in the way of the task in hand and ruin  everything. Although if – when – she and Matthew got back together, she  wasn't sure she could move into that house again. That would be too  painful. She would insist they sell up and move on. A fresh start.

As soon as she had dropped Danny off at school, she headed across the  road with her cleaning kit. She gave the place a quick dust, a vacuum,  and a double extra going over in the kitchen, not that it really needed  it, other than the dull square where the microwave had sat. Between the  work-surface paraphernalia, the space it had occupied was as obvious as a  missing front tooth. She did consider rearranging everything to make  the gap less obvious, but decided why should she? If she didn't make a  hollow in his life, her stuff sure as hell would. Any little points of  satisfaction that thought brought, though, were soon offset by the fact  that Matt would probably miss the coffee percolator more than her. He  had loved the post-dinner ritual of fancy coffees and all the fresh  cream mints she used to buy in Thorntons.

There was an empty, echoey feel to the house that was inexplicable  because Matthew's stuff was still there. In fact, apart from being a lot  cleaner and shinier, it looked just as it did the day she moved in at  New Year. It was as if she had never been there and part of his house,  part of his life.

Stevie wound the cord around her Dyson, ready to take it across the  road. Matthew would just have to cope with his ancient cylinder in the  under-stairs cupboard, which had been hard-wired into believing its  primary function was to blow out more dust than it sucked in. Tough, but  necessary because she knew that he would expect her to leave behind all  this stuff, because that's what good-hearted old Stevie would do. She  might beg, plead, cry or hang around his workplace desperate to talk to  him and change his mind, but she was incapable of thinking of her own  needs before his. Nice Stevie could not bear to see him surviving on  sandpapery towels and incompetent electrical equipment. Well, he had a  little shock coming then! Twisting the engagement ring off her finger,  Stevie put it on the work surface. Then, remembering that she herself  had paid for the flaming thing, she snatched it back up and stuck it in  her pocket. Not that she would ever wear it again, but she could all too  easily visualize Matthew flogging it and then taking Jo out for dinner  on the proceeds.                       
       
           



       

She took one last look at Matthew's house, which she had kept warm and  full of treats and comforts. Matthew's house, which she had intended to  share with him as Mrs Stevie Finch. Then she forced herself to leave it,  locked the door behind her and posted the key back through the  letterbox. That one small action was huge in its implications. She tried  to see it as a comma in their relationship, but it felt more like a big  fat full stop.

The first thing she did on entering Humbleby Cottage was to pick up her  mobile. Taking a big breath, as if she was about to dive underwater, she  rang Matthew's number. It clicked onto answerphone and she noticed how  the recorded message was slightly different to his usual one. He sounded  chirpier, cocky as a greedy cat in a cream factory. She wondered if he  really was too busy to answer or was just ignoring her. She prepared  herself for the long beep to end.

‘Hi, it's Stevie,' she said, pitching it neither too up nor down. ‘Just  to let you know that I've fully vacated the house now and posted the key  back through the letterbox, so it's all yours. Take care, bye.' Then  she hung up and let all the air out of her lungs before taking up her  notebook to make the first of all the other dreaded calls.

‘Hello, "Kiss the Bride",' answered a jolly voice.

‘Is that Ros?'

‘Yes, this is Ros, who's speaking, please?'

‘It's Stevie Honeywell. I bought one of your wedding dresses, I don't  know if you remember me. It was long, to the floor, white silk,  criss-cross breast panel.' She had brought the dress and accessories  home from the shop so that she could show them to Jo, if that wasn't a  kick in the teeth.

‘Ah yes, I remember, we had to have it considerably shortened.'

‘ … And a pink bridesmaid dress, size ten, and a pageboy outfit. You've still got those in the shop.'

‘Yes, I've just altered those too for you.'

‘Er … yes. Well, the thing is, there isn't going to be a wedding any more, so I wondered if I could have a refund.'

‘Oh dear,' said Ros, ‘I am so sorry. Is there no chance that maybe in the future … ?'

Stevie didn't answer either way, just in case she would influence some  self-fulfilling prophecy that happened to be lurking about in the  cosmos. She merely shook her head slightly whilst thinking, Even if  there were, I couldn't wear that dress now with all its bad memories.

‘Oh dear,' said Ros again in a not too encouraging way. ‘Well, the thing is, we did have to have a lot taken off the hem.'

God, I'm five foot two, not Jimmy Krankie, thought Stevie.

‘I haven't worn it at all. Isn't there anything you can do? The shoes  haven't even been out of the box and the veil is still wrapped up.'

Surely, other short people get married?

‘Well, I did say that I would buy everything back for forty per cent if  you wanted to sell it after the ceremony. That's the best I can do, I'm  afraid. I've had to alter everything so much, you see.'