by Hodge, Sibel
Also by Sibel Hodge:
The Fashion Police
Be Careful What You Wish For
The Baby Trap
Voodoo Deadly
How to Dump Your Boyfriend in the Men’s Room (and other short stories)
Trafficked: The Diary of a Sex Slave
About the author
Sibel Hodge has dual British/Turkish Cypriot nationality and divides her time between Hertfordshire and North Cyprus. Her first romantic-comedy novel, Fourteen Days Later, was shortlisted for the Harry Bowling Prize 2008 and received a Highly Commended by the Yeovil Literary Prize 2009. My Perfect Wedding is the sequel to Fourteen Days Later, although it can be read as a standalone novel.
The Fashion Police is a chicklit comedy-mystery novel, the first in the series featuring feisty, larger-than-life, Amber Fox. It was runner-up in the Chapter One Promotions Novel Competition 2010 and nominated Best Novel with Romantic Elements 2010 by The Romance Reviews. Be Careful What You Wish For is the second Amber Fox murder mystery.
Based on her own experiences with infertility and two attempts at IVF, The Baby Trap will have you laughing and crying at the ups and downs of modern baby-making
Her novella Trafficked: The Diary of a Sex Slave has been listed as one of the Top 40 Books About Human Rights by Accredited Online Colleges
For more information, please visit http://www.sibelhodge.com/
Fourteen Days Later
Sibel Hodge
Copyright © Sibel Hodge 2009
My Perfect Wedding
Sibel Hodge
Copyright © Sibel Hodge 2010
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Smashwords Edition, License notes
The ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Praise for Fourteen Days Later & My Perfect Wedding
"A hilarious romance! The storyline was entertaining and funny; the characters were unique, colorful,and relatable. I had a hard time putting this one down because I never knew what funny catastrophe or line would come next." The Cajun Book Lady
"This story was impossible for me to put down." Coffee Time Romance & More
"This was a great romantic comedy. I found myself laughing and smiling throughout and really enjoyed it." I'm just sayin...Book Reviews by KK
"A very good read. Very enjoyable and fresh." Trisha Ashley, Novelist
"I loved this book. It is funny, witty and intriguing. If you are a fan of Sophie Kinsella I am positive you will love My Perfect Wedding by Sibel Hodge" Geeky Girl Books
""I uploaded this book on my Kindle this morning and was so engrossed, I let everything go for the day. A must read, you will enjoy" I'm Just Sayin...Book Reviews By KK
"In this laugh-out loud, real to the bone, commentary on what being married is like. I recommend this to anyone!" --Hot Gossip Hot Reviews
"My Perfect Wedding was entertaining and funny. The dialogue is sharp and witty, which had me laughing out loud at times. If you enjoy chick lit, this book is for you." Inky Impressions
"The fun never stops and you will find yourself laughing out loud at odd moments throughout the story. Ms. Hodge is rapidly becoming a favorite of mine." Coffee Time Romance & More
Table of Contents
Fourteen Days Later
My Perfect Wedding
Fourteen Days Later
Sibel Hodge
*****
For all the underdogs out there…
“It always seems impossible until it’s done”
NELSON MANDELA
This one’s dedicated to my husband Brad,
for all your support and belief in me.
Chapter 1
‘Fourteen days,’ said Ayshe. ‘That’s all it takes to change your life for the better.’
‘You are joking, right?’ I arched an eyebrow. ‘Nobody can change their life in fourteen days.’
‘That’s not what it says in here.’ Ayshe held up the magazine she’d been flicking through, her finger underlining one of the articles.
‘“Orgasms or Chocolate? What do women really want?”’ I read the headline aloud.
‘What?’ Ayshe looked at the magazine and adjusted her finger. ‘Not that. This. “Turn Your Life Around. The Simple Fourteen Day Plan Anyone Can Do”.’
‘That’s ridiculous.’ Tucking my legs underneath me on the sofa, I picked at my frayed jogging bottoms.
‘No, what’s ridiculous is you still moping about over Justin. It’s been six months since you split up with him. You need to move on with your life.’ She rose from her chair and flounced down next to me, resting her arm on my knees.
I wriggled away from her. ‘I’m having another iced coffee; want one?’
‘It’s too cold for iced coffee. It’s the middle of November for God’s sake,’ she called out as I clattered around in the kitchen. ‘Anyway, I thought you’d promised to cut down on your caffeine intake.’
When I returned, I sank down onto the sofa. ‘I still haven’t managed to get a plumber out to fix the dishwasher. Either they don’t turn up when they say they will, or they won’t come out for anything less than a total bathroom refurb.’
Ayshe watched me in silence.
I sat it out for a while, her steady gaze drilling into me. ‘What?’
‘Trying to change the subject isn’t going to work. You can’t avoid this much longer.’
‘I’m not, it’s true. You can never get hold of a plumber these–’
She clamped her hand over my mouth. ‘You need to go out and do things – and don’t give me that rubbish about you’ll never meet another man – he was the right one – he was the love of your life. I know four years together is a long time, but everybody always says that when they split up with people. You will get over him, but not if you keep refusing to move on with your life.’ She pushed me on the leg.
I wasn’t expecting the jolt and spilt my coffee all down my attractive jogging bottoms.
My thoughts drifted back to the time I’d discovered a size sixteen Agent Provocateur thong stuffed into the pocket of Justin’s best work trousers during the usual laundry run. I was pretty sure his company hadn’t suddenly changed their dress-code. I mean, smart trousers, shirt, and thong, wouldn’t sound too good in the staff handbook. I was also sure he couldn’t have picked it up innocently – as he’d told me – because he needed to dust the photocopier and thought it was a rag. And I knew it wasn’t mine because I’d never really fancied a piece of dental floss chafing my bits and bobs.
She lifted her hand away from my mouth.
‘So what else does it say then, this article?’ I feigned interest, rubbing at the coffee stain with my hand.
‘It’s about trying to get more interests in your life if you’re stuck in a rut. It was written by one of those new trendy life coaches who try and
get you to organize your life better. Apparently, you have to set yourself challenges to have a brand new experience every day for fourteen days, to gain more confidence; something to do with re-evaluating things and re-balancing your yin and yang – or your Hong Kong Fuey – or whatever it is.’
I snorted. She ignored me and ploughed on regardless.
‘The more things you do, the more confidence you gain, and you become a more focused and better person. You need to be more proactive with your life, and I think this is just what you need.’
I heaved a dramatic sigh.
‘It’s not just about meeting a man. It’s about changing your perspective. Come on, what is there to lose? Worst case scenario, you might discover things that you never knew before, or find something new that you like doing. Best case scenario…’ She shrugged. ‘You might meet a “the one”.’
I pretended to ignore her and fiddled with my hair.
‘You never know if you don’t try, and you need to take every single opportunity you can to meet new people, instead of making the usual pathetic excuses you’ve been using for the last six months.’ Sitting back on the sofa, she crossed her arms over her chest. The lecture was over.
‘I don’t know if I’ve got the time for a Hong Kong Fuey experience. I mean what with…work…and…’ I tailed off, staring out of my flat window at the dreary, sludgy winter day outside. How much longer could I make excuses to keep my life on hold, waiting for Justin to come back?
‘Hellooooooooo! Earth to Helen.’ Ayshe poked me hard in the ribs. ‘The most important thing is to keep busy and keep your mind open to new things. Look, I’ll help you. We can even do some things together, but you need to get out of this flat and into the big wide world again and stop hibernating.’
I narrowed my eyes, deep in thought. ‘You’re marrying Atila in a few weeks. You’ll be too busy to baby-sit me. And anyway, I’m not hibernating.’
But if I was honest, truly honest, I knew she was right. I’d spent so much time drowning in self-pity and pining for Justin that I’d lost myself. I needed to find out what I wanted for a change. A fourteen day challenge to myself might not be such a bad thing. Would it change my life? I was pretty doubtful. Would it get my yin and yang back? I felt a flicker of excitement at the thought of unknown possibilities.
‘Actually…I haven’t got any more wedding photos to do until yours,’ I started with caution. No one wanted to get married in November anyway, so my diary wasn’t exactly heaving. ‘Maybe I could give it a try.’
‘That’s my girl. And you never know, come my wedding, you may have a new guy to bring, eh?’
I stood up, catching my reflection in the mirror. Anxious eyes like soggy limpets stared back at me. I must admit, I had let myself go a bit lately. My chestnut curly hair sprang out in all directions. I could do with a trim – maybe even a few highlights, and – aargh! – look at my eyebrows! Denis Healey eat your heart out. And as for my hairy legs and bikini-line – well, I was beginning to resemble a silverback gorilla. The only good thing to come out of it, I supposed, was that I had shifted a few pounds and was now a size twelve, although I wouldn’t recommend The Getting-Dumped Diet to anyone.
Ayshe’s cackling brought me back down to earth. ‘You look fine. Nothing a hair cut and a pair of tweezers won’t fix.’
‘So, if I do this challenge, what will be on the agenda for tomorrow? I might as well start as soon as possible before I change my mind.’ I felt my mood lift slightly.
Relief spread across her face. ‘I’ll think about it and text you later. In the meantime, have a look through the local paper and the internet and get some ideas for new things to try. You won’t regret it. I have a good feeling about this.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Aagh! Look at the time. Me and Atila are going to Mum and Dad’s for dinner, which basically means Dad will be on the whisky again, cooking enough shish kebab to feed a small continent, and Mum will want to read everyone’s Turkish coffee cup, predicting the same things she always sees: babies, rings, and marriage!’ She leapt up from the sofa, grabbing her bag and coat.
‘I love Yasmin and Deniz’s Turkish Cypriot cooking.’
‘So do I. It’s just that fifty-two Sundays a year of shish kebab gets a bit too much. You can come, as well, if you want. You know they think of you as their surrogate daughter.’ Her oval, dark eyes implored me.
‘No, I’m fine. I’ll just have a think about my new life-changing challenge. I’ll do some work on the computer and have an early night.’ I pulled the door open for her.
‘OK then, text you later.’ She kissed me on both cheeks, Turkish style. Her long, sleek black hair fanned out over her shoulders as she dashed up the corridor.
‘Bye – and by the way, it’s feng shui, not Hong Kong Fuey!’ But she’d already disappeared up the stairs to her flat on the floor above.
Just as I was shouting this enlightening piece of information, Charlie, who lived in the flat next to mine, opened his door to collect the paper from outside. I stared at the incredible sight of him wearing nothing but a pair of pink, spandex hot-pants.
‘Helloooo, dahling. What’s feng shui?’ He paused, deep in thought, ignoring my startled expression. ‘Is it a restaurant?’ Without waiting for an answer he peered at the big coffee stain down the front of my saggy jogging bottoms. ‘Is that a new look?’
‘No,’ I said, trying not to look at what must have been a sock shoved down the front of his hot-pants. What a cheek, I thought, as I scrutinized his own rather unique attire. ‘Are you on something?’
‘I’m just high on life.’
I retreated back inside as I heard him calling out, ‘We must do drinkies soon!’
Sitting at my computer desk, I grabbed the paper from the floor where I’d deposited it the night before and read it with renewed interest. If I didn’t find something to do for my challenge, I was sure Ayshe would have a brain wave. An hour later, I’d worked my way through the adverts, the classifieds, and another coffee, but nothing inspirational had pinged out at me.
I switched on the computer and waited for it to bleep and spring into life. I had some photos to enhance and mess around with so I could finish a proof book for the Ponsonby-Smythe’s – a rather eccentric couple whose pictures I’d taken last weekend.
I called up their photos, staring at the happiness which radiated from their faces and a twinge of jealousy tugged at my insides. One of the hardest things since splitting up with Justin had been smiling to all the ecstatically happy brides and grooms who were embarking on a whole new exciting life together, while I was carrying a dull ache around inside.
Fiddling around with the programme, I made all her teeth black. Then I decided to squash the picture down and turn her from a nice size ten into a short, dumpy Sumo wrestler, but this only made me feel slightly better.
After an hour of messing around, I was startled by the sound of my phone meowing, signalling a text message. I leapt up and retrieved it from my bag, which was sitting on the wooden floor, spilling out its contents.
The message read: ‘Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to volunteer to walk dogs in Hartham Park. Report to the Canine Animal Rescue Centre at 09.00 hours. Do not pass “Go”. This message will self-destruct in ten seconds.’
And that was how this whole crazy thing began.
I relaxed with relief because that didn’t sound too bad. I’d even been toying with the idea of getting a pet to keep me company. Not that I’d had much to do with dogs since I’d made my mum’s dog a birthday cake when I was about four-years-old, and it had exploded in the oven – the cake that is, not the dog. The funny thing was that Rover did die rather suddenly afterwards from some kind of strange gastric complication. But anyway, it didn’t seem too crazy for my first challenge, and nothing as outrageous could happen again.
****
As I got undressed for bed that night, I took off my attractive jogging bottoms and threw them into the bin. In a moment of madness, I also decided I could do
with a whole drawer-full of new knickers and grabbed a handful of oversized ones, which didn’t fit my new svelte figure – well, OK then, my almost svelte figure – and threw those into the bin also. Now I had a plan to force myself into action, I decided I needed to be firm with myself and do something to freshen up my appearance. Gazing at my legs, I promised I’d have a grand splurge of de-fuzzing tomorrow.
My eyes wandered down to my neglected toenails. Rummaging around in my bedside drawer, I took out a bottle of quick drying, chip resistant varnish in Pillar Box Red, which still looked useable and commenced toenail-painting duties. After waiting the designated drying time, I crept under the sheets and drifted off to la-la land.
What would tomorrow bring?
Chapter 2
Monday, day 1 – I Shouldn’t Get a Pet
I rolled out of bed the next morning at seven-thirty and realized two things. One: it was the first night in six months that I hadn’t dreamed about Justin, and two: something pretty freaky must’ve happened last night.
My heart skipped a beat as I flipped back the covers to discover bright red stains everywhere. It looked like a blood-bath, something out of a scene from The Godfather. I checked the rest of the bed to make sure no one had mysteriously deposited a horse’s head in my bed overnight, and then found the culprit. My toes, and also half my feet, were encrusted in bright red smudged nail varnish.