‘Look, love, what's your address again? I'll put you a full refund of your deposit in the post.'
Stevie started to give her old address, before correcting herself. She should have got a forwarding form from the post office for her mail, although her post going across the road would at least give her the excuse to have contact with Matthew again. In saying that, she wasn't 100 per cent sure that she wanted to have it whilst her nerves were in this raw, torn state. It would be like picking at a sore, rubbing salt in the wound – all the clichés seemed to fit.
The photographer hadn't taken a deposit and was grumbling that he had turned someone away on that date for her. ‘It's not my fault!' she wanted to scream at him.
The vicar offered counselling, which she kindly refused, but he was very sweet. The manageress of the White Swan promised to send the deposit back, if she didn't tell anyone, she said warmly, although any faith recovered was lost again with the horrible old printer who had just completed the order of services and said he had just put them and the invoice in the post, so she would have to stump up.
After him, Stevie couldn't face making another call. She composed a general letter on her computer to send out to the people on her side of the guest list.
The wedding is off, sorry folks.
Matthew is shagging Jo MacLean.
Love,
Stevie x
Well, maybe not. The second draft was less blunt.
Due to unforeseen circumstances,
the wedding between
Matthew and me has been called off.
Please don't ring. I will be in touch.
Sorry, folks.
Hope you are all well.
Love Stevie (Honeywell) x
It wasn't exactly literary genius but it was to the point and would do. She wondered how many of their guests would be of her mother's opinion and say, ‘Well, I'm not surprised, he was far too good-looking for her.' It was one of many thoughts to torment her as she got on with the business of alternately addressing envelopes and wiping away the fat tears that were dropping from her eyes. Then, when she was done, she posted the letters as she went on her way to pick up her son from school, hoping no one at the school-gates would notice how red and puffed-up and sad her eyes were. Thank goodness, there was always a bout of conjunctivitis going around to blame it on.
Chapter 22
In the Queens Hotel, and after a very nice evening meal, Jo had just finished packing.
‘I know this is an awful thing to say, but thank goodness Stevie's left the house,' she said, shutting the last case. ‘I did wonder if she would start playing silly games.'
‘Well, she's actually got out a day early for us,' reminded Matthew.
‘That was sweet of her in the circumstances but it wouldn't do her any good at all psychologically, being in that house any more,' said Jo. ‘I so cannot wait to get into a decent bed. I hope she hasn't left the place in a real mess for you.'
‘I wouldn't have thought so, knowing Stevie,' said Matthew. ‘Wonder where she's living?' It was a question that had been circling his head like a lost homing pigeon since he picked up the message that morning. He hadn't really believed her when she had told him on Sunday that she had somewhere else to go, and so when he heard her on the answerphone, he was amazed. Of course, he hadn't picked up the actual call because he was convinced she was ringing him to ask for extra time, or worse, to cry and beg him to come back.
The porter started to load the cases into Matthew's and Jo's cars like a Tetris expert.
‘You drop those off and come back for me,' said Jo. ‘Just in case there are any nasty surprises waiting.'
‘I shouldn't think-'
‘I'll stay here and have some coffee, darling,' said Jo, brooking no argument. She gave him a long, warm kiss that reached all the way down to his toes before zooming back up to his groin, then she waved him off and headed back to Reception.
Matthew parked the car outside his house in Blossom Lane then entered it tentatively in case a massive booby-trapped hammer arced down and smacked him cartoon-style on the head. To his relief, nothing happened, but then he hadn't even considered that Stevie would have done anything malicious until Jo had put the thought into his head. Everything looked nice, tidy – as it should be – and there was lots more room now that Stevie's work corner had been freed up and her boxes of books had gone. The hotel was plush but he had missed the comfort of his house and he couldn't wait to climb into his lovely cosy bed with a lovely cosy Jo that evening.
He took the suitcases upstairs and found the undressed bed.
Oh hell, he thought as it put paid to his plans to carry Jo over his threshold and then straight upstairs to tangle her up in the sheets. Then again, it was probably a bit much thinking Stevie would make up a bed in which she knew he might soon be making love to someone else. Still, he couldn't believe she hadn't done it for him. He got a nip of guilt for being so mean and batted it away. He knew that if he stopped to think how horrible they had been to Stevie, it would ruin his first evening at home with Jo.
He went back to the hotel for the rest of the cases, hoping that maybe Jo would have settled the bill. The holiday had cost him a fortune and he thought she might have stumped up for her share but no, she had merrily let him pay for the lot and thereby ruined his chances of borrowing a cash advance against his Visa for the mortgage. He couldn't hope that Stevie would pay it for him any more now.
It wasn't that Matthew didn't earn a good wage because he did. It was just that he had managed to accumulate quite a lot of debts that accounted for most of his outgoings. It was a typical story: boy gets a few Visas and goes a bit mad, boy gets a huge consolidating loan, boy blows consolidating loan on big-woofer stereo and plasma TV and designer clothes instead. Life was really too short not to have nice meals out and look the very best he could whilst he was young. A work colleague had dropped dead from a congenital heart defect when he was twenty-five; if there wasn't a lesson there, where was there one?
When Stevie moved in and offered to pay half the bills, he was determined to use the money he would save to finally become debt free, only to find that spending money on nice meals and flash clothes was even more fun with Jo. And he couldn't stop buying her presents, especially when he found out how she said thank you. The long and the short of it was that he just liked to spend money, except that he did not have any to spend any more. At least, not his own.
Stevie didn't earn a fortune but he'd rather taken advantage of her selfless generosity, and whilst she was paying all the bills, thinking she was helping him to clear off some of his debts, he was actually wining and dining Jo. He hadn't quite told either of them just how bad things were financially – a man has his pride, etc – but Stevie had been quite sweet about the little she knew anyway. She used to stuff his pocket with money if they went out with friends and he would produce it like a wizard and play the benevolent sybarite. He suspected Jo might not be quite so accommodating.
On the drive back to the hotel, he was thinking that he would need to approach the financial problem with Jo sooner rather than later because this holiday had just about wiped him out. His resolve doubled when she swanned regally out of the hotel to wait in the car, leaving him to settle the account there too. There was an embarrassing moment when his Barclaycard was declined and he had to hunt around for his emergency Goldfish, which he was glad she hadn't been witness to. If the bloody basic bill wasn't bad enough, he discovered all the ironing services she had charged to the room, and she had just wasted another fifteen quid on coffee and farty little chocolate truffles whilst he had been engaged in taking the suitcases back to the house. Still, when she got her share from her divorce from MacLean, they would be laughing financially. Speculate to accumulate and all that.
He was like a kid who couldn't wait to unwrap his Christmas present when they got back to Blossom Lane. He lifted her over the threshold and shoved the door to with his foot so as not to interrupt his smooth passage up the stairs, but giggling she broke away.
‘Don't leave the suitcases in the car,' she said.
‘Later,' he said sexily, moving back in for more kisses.
‘No way, my jewellery is in them,' she said, pressing him back out.
‘Oh okay,' he said good-humouredly and went out to the Golf that she'd parked in his carport whilst his Punto stood behind it on the drive. There were lights on in the cottage across the road, he noticed. Lord, some people have more money than sense! Still, he wouldn't swap with them for what he had waiting for him behind his door.