The Birds and the Bees(27)

‘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.