Romantic Comedy Box Set (Helen Grey Series Books 1 & 2)

by Hodge, Sibel

  I hesitated for a few moments. ‘Why is it that whenever you want something to happen so badly, it never does; and yet when you don’t really care about something, it always seems to come really easily?’ A single tear snaked its way down my cheek.

  ‘Maybe it’s just an accident; a quirk of fate.’

  ‘I know all about quirks and accidents.’ I sniffed. ‘I’m Miss Quirkarama, the Queen of Accidents.’

  ‘Well, then surely you must fit right in.’

  Chapter 28

  Sunday, day 14 – Here Comes the Sun

  As it turned out, Ayshe’s famous planning went to pot very early on. We didn’t get up at 07.45 as predicted because the alarm I had set so carefully didn’t go off, and Felix actually woke us up at nine, vomiting all over the bedroom floor. This was after a battle between Ayshe and me – which had gone on for most of the night – over who had most rights to the duvet. We both slept in Atila and Ayshe’s king-size bed as she didn’t have a spare one. She also didn’t get her smoked salmon and scrambled eggs because Ayshe had forgotten to buy the eggs, and after drinking too much champagne the night before, I’d accidentally forgotten to close the fridge door properly and Felix had eaten all the salmon, which had obviously prompted the vomiting spree. He must have been very sorry now about his piggish behaviour.

  ‘You still snore like a donkey,’ I moaned.

  ‘And you still wrap yourself up in the duvet like a Swiss roll. I was freezing last night! I only had the label to keep me warm.’

  ‘Urgh, that stinks.’ I held my nose between my forefinger and thumb.

  ‘Aagh!’ Ayshe screamed, looking at her long wedding dress, which hung up on the handle of the wardrobe. The bottom of the dress was covered in bright orange vomit where it had been trailing on the carpet. ‘Oh no, how am I going to get the stain out?’ She leapt out of bed, picked up the hem of the dress and studied it as I jumped out too, and trod straight in a pile of mushy cat-puke.

  ‘Shit!’ I muttered, hopping off to the bathroom to wash it off.

  When I came back, Ayshe stood transfixed, staring at the stain. ‘Don’t worry.’ I put my hand on her shoulder. ‘I’m sure it will come off. Let me try and rinse it.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea to let you loose on it.’ She sank on the bed and flopped her head in her hands. ‘Have you got any stain remover at home?’

  During my many years of spillage magnetism I’d amassed a modest collection – big enough to supply a large chain of supermarkets, actually.

  ‘I’ll go and get some.’ I threw on last night’s clothes and hot-tailed it out of there.

  On my return, I pushed open the door to Ayshe’s, laden with some Carpet Rejuvenator, Dirtbuster, and some weird little concoction called Blot Blaster, which had decided to erupt out of its canister at some point during the last five years, turning the outside of it rusty. I banged the door closed with my hip, resting against it, breathing hard.

  ‘Did you get any?’ Ayshe hurried out of the bedroom towards me.

  I carried my selection to the bedroom, putting them all down on the floor next to the dress. ‘Don’t get stressed, it’s not good for the baby.’

  ‘I’m not bloody stressed!’ She picked up the tins and read the instructions. ‘This is an omen. Everything bad is happening today. Oh, my God, oh, my God…what are we going to do?’

  I grabbed her hand and rubbed it. ‘Don’t panic. It’s not an omen, it’s just…’ I searched for the right words to describe recycled smoked salmon on the wedding dress, ‘unfortunate.’

  Someone knocked on the door, making us both jump. Ayshe dropped the Blot Blaster which made the lid fly off, and squirt a rusty residue on the bottom of the dress. The good news was that the disgusting feline deposit was now covered up; the bad news was that the stain now looked even worse.

  ‘Damn.’ Ayshe stamped her foot.

  ‘I’ll get it.’ I rushed off.

  ‘Merhaba canim.’ Yasmin and Deniz kissed me as they wandered through the door.

  I looked between the two of them. ‘There’s been a problem with Ayshe’s dress.’ I said, staring at Deniz’s face. He had what appeared to be a massive carpet burn down one side of his face. Red raw and blistery, like the surface of Mars – that wouldn’t look too impressive in the wedding photos, I thought. ‘What have you done to your face?’ I tried to stop staring, I really didn’t want to be rude, but it was just too difficult.

  Yasmin rolled her eyes in a for-God’s-sake-I-can’t-believe-I-married-him kind of a way. ‘I’ll tell her, shall I?’ She threw him an irritated look. ‘After the stag night he was very drunk – just for a change – and he attempted to pull his trousers off. So there he was, in the middle of pulling off his trousers – they were around his ankles by this time – when he goes and loses his balance,’ she sighed. ‘Then he pogo-sticks haphazardly at speed around the room and launches himself violently towards the TV – knocks that flying and smashes it to smithereens. He ended up with his head buried in the carpet. That’s how he did it. Honestly! He’s been taking his trousers off all by himself for sixty-five years – he should know how to do it properly by now!’

  Deniz looked very subdued.

  ‘MUM!’ Ayshe shouted out.

  ‘I’m coming. Do you want me to read your coffee cup?’ Yasmin followed the sound of Ayshe’s voice as we followed in quick succession. ‘Agh!’ Yasmin flung her hands to her cheeks and stared at the bottom of the dress.

  ‘Bloody hell! Who’s chucked up in here? It reeks.’ Deniz pinched his nose.

  ‘Felix,’ Ayshe said. ‘Do you think you can get it out, Mum? – Oh God, Dad, whatever’s happened to you?’

  Ayshe’s mum, calm as always in a crisis, reassured her. ‘Your Father has been an idiot again, that’s all. Anyway, don’t worry about it; I’m sure I can get the stain out. When you’ve known Helen for as long as I have you get used to clearing up this kind of thing.’

  Ayshe wandered over to inspect her dad’s face. ‘That is going to look terrible in the wedding pictures! Come here, I have to put some concealer on it.’ She rummaged around in her drawer and pulled out a small stick of beige make-up.

  ‘Argh! You’re not putting make-up on me. It’s poofy.’ Deniz wrinkled up his nose.

  Ayshe rested her hand on her hip, giving him a look which meant business. A silent angry stare was all it took to make him relent.

  ‘Oh, OK, then, but only a tiny bit.’ Deniz succumbed as Ayshe rubbed the stuff over his shrieking, blistery face. The only problem was that the concealer was a bit too dark for him and didn’t match his skin tone at all, which made it look about ten times worse, but I didn’t like to say anything.

  By twelve o’clock all traces of the stain on the dress had vanished – unless you looked really hard, but even then you could only see a faint, yellow tinge. I doubted anyone would be in possession of a magnifying glass, so it was pretty safe to say that no one would notice.

  ‘Thanks, Mum.’ Ayshe hugged her.

  ‘I can’t stand that pong.’ Deniz held his nose. ‘Smells like an old people’s cat’s home.’

  Yasmin glared at him. ‘You’re not helping.’

  ‘Maybe if I had a little tipple, I would be able to stand it. Have you got any whisky?’

  ‘You promised you wouldn’t have any until after the ceremony.’ Yasmin slapped him on the head.

  ‘No, I didn’t!’ he replied, clearly piqued, as if she’d just suggested that he wasn’t allowed any food for the next four years. ‘You were the one that said it, not me.’ He sat down in the lounge and crossed his legs.

  ‘I can’t smell it any more, I’ve got used to it now.’ I busied myself in search of a much needed caffeine rush.

  ‘You can’t make coffee; we have to start getting ready.’ Ayshe dragged me out of the kitchen as the kettle boiled. ‘Where’s Leila? She should be here by now. Oh, everything’s going wrong.’ She stomped into the bedroom and turned her straighteners on, to heat up. ‘Right, you get dres
sed first and do your make-up while I sort my hair out.’

  I quickly tousled my hair with some wax and applied some eye make-up. I was going to leave the lipstick until I was firmly ensconced in my dress, just in case I smudged it all over the front when I pulled it over my head.

  ‘Here, let me help you.’ Yasmin helped me into the long, simple, Grecian-style lilac dress, which had ruched straps falling into a V-line at the front, and a high-waisted fitted bodice. I looked over at Ayshe for approval as she ran the ceramics through her hair. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘You look lovely,’ she assured me, smiling. Luckily, she’d calmed down a bit now, thank God.

  I surveyed myself in the mirror. ‘This dress is gorgeous.’ I twisted round to see if my bum looked liked the rear end of a hippo in it. ‘Have I got VPL?’

  ‘Huh?’ Ayshe muttered, banging her straighteners on the dressing-table. If they didn’t work there was going to be a full-scale, tsunami-style panic attack.

  ‘Visible Panty Line. Can you see my knickers?’

  Yasmin studied my bum. ‘No.’

  ‘I’ve got VPL – Very Pissed Liver.’ Deniz chuckled from the kitchen as someone banged on the door. ‘I’ll get it.’

  Kalem entered the flat, shaking his head at his dad. ‘What have you done to your face?’

  Deniz shrugged and wandered off once more on his quest to find a glass of falling-down-water.

  ‘Don’t ask,’ Yasmin yelled from the bedroom.

  ‘Ooh, can you get the flowers for me?’ Ayshe asked me as she concentrated on her already perfect hair.

  I padded into the lounge to see Kalem standing there looking amazing in a black and grey pin-striped suit, with a crisp white shirt and a black bow tie. His hair was freshly cut, and he smelled of aftershave and shampoo. When he saw me, he almost dropped the cardboard trays of bouquets and buttonhole flowers in his hands.

  ‘Wow!’ He fixed his huge dark eyes on me. ‘You look absolutely stunning.’

  I flushed with pleasure beneath his unwavering gaze. ‘Thanks, you look really nice too.’ I held my hands out to take the trays.

  He looked down slowly at what he was carrying. ‘What? Oh, yes, here you go.’ Placing the flowers on the diningroom table, he wrapped his arms around me. His lips brushed against my face as he kissed me, in the Turkish style, on both cheeks. I breathed in sharply, feeling the warmth of his touch through the thin fabric of my dress and a white water ride of adrenaline cascaded through my body. He pulled back. Clasping my hands, he gazed at me intently in complete silence. I couldn’t tell you how long it lasted. Time seemed to stop and so did my heart.

  Deniz had found Atila’s stash of cooking spirits and held a hefty glass of brandy. He gave us an odd look from the doorway of the kitchen, sipping his drink slowly. ‘What’s wrong with you two?’

  ‘Are you on the brandy already?’ Kalem tutted at Deniz, letting go of my hands and looking embarrassed.

  Deniz shrugged, mouthing the words, ‘Don’t tell your mother.’ Then he studied what I was wearing. ‘You look stupendous. Exactly like a meringue.’ He obviously thought that was a compliment.

  ‘Where’s Ayshe?’ Kalem asked me.

  ‘Bed…room.’ I flustered, looking down at the flowers, which looked suspiciously like the wrong ones.

  ‘Are you decent?’ Kalem called out to Ayshe.

  ‘Yes, I’m just finishing my make-up,’ Ayshe yelled back.

  When I went back into the bedroom, Ayshe and Kalem’s dark heads were locked together in deep discussion.

  ‘Hi, guys,’ I interrupted, as I wandered in carrying the flowers.

  Ayshe’s eyes flew to the bouquets, looking worried. ‘No! They’ve made up the wrong ones.’ She came over and inspected them. ‘The bouquets are supposed to be lavender in the centre and cream lilies around the outside.’ She picked one up. ‘These haven’t got lavender at all, and they’ve put red roses in the centre.’ She held it next to my dress examining the lack of colour co-ordination. ‘Red won’t go with the lilac theme, will it?’

  It was a bit yucky, but I didn’t want to agitate her. ‘Well, it’s too late to change them now,’ I said, trying to be practical. ‘No one will notice.’

  ‘‘Ello everyone.’ Leila waltzed in and kissed us all. She had already sorted out her hair and make-up at home and just needed to get gowned-up.

  Ayshe waved the flowers under her nose. ‘Do these look awful with the lilac dress?’ She rested one hand on her hip.

  ‘A little bit.’ Leila shifted on her feet. ‘‘Av they messed them up? Stupid people.’

  ‘Don’t worry.’ Yasmin came up behind her, taking one out of the tray. ‘I can fix it. I’ll just undo the ribbons and take the roses out. Here, give it to me.’ She took the tray and quickly got to work on the diningroom table.

  ‘How’s Atila?’ Ayshe looked up at Kalem and pulled her shoes out of a box.

  ‘He’s quite calm actually, not like you bunch of crazy women.’ Kalem grinned and left us to finish getting ready.

  ‘OW!’ Deniz bellowed from the kitchen. ‘Stop slapping me, woman!’

  ‘Get off that brandy!’ Yasmin tried to confiscate it, but it was like trying to prise a baby seal away from a great white shark.

  ‘Dad, stop drinking! Mum, get on with the flowers!’ Ayshe ordered.

  ‘Atila’s probably shitting potatoes, I should think,’ Ayshe’s dad bellowed. Then there was silence, followed by a loud slapping noise as Ayshe’s mum chastised him again.

  ‘Go and do something useful Dad, like empty the dishwasher for me,’ Ayshe yelled out.

  ‘He’s not been allowed near a dishwasher since he put ant powder in it instead of salt,’ Yasmin said.

  ‘Cleared the ant problem up, though, didn’t it? We never had any ants near the dishwasher after that.’

  ‘God!’ Ayshe rolled her eyes. ‘Oh…by the way,’ she looked at me, ‘Kalem says he’s thought of a grand finale for the last challenge for you.’

  With all that had been going on, I’d completely forgotten it was the last day of the whole crazy experience.

  ‘What is it?’ I asked, setting up my camera.

  ‘Don’t know, he wouldn’t tell me.’ Ayshe pulled her shoes on, rubbing at a dirty mark.

  How peculiar, I thought. Why would Kalem think up a challenge for me? ‘But I won’t have time to do any challenges. I’ve got my hands full with the pictures.’ I waved my camera around. ‘Anyway, it doesn’t matter any more. I think I’ve got my Hong Kong Fuey back.’

  ‘Eh?’ Leila didn’t have a clue what I was on about.

  ‘Oh. My. God.’ I blurted out, suddenly realizing why Frederick the Pierced seemed so familiar. ‘It’s him!’ I froze, camera in hand, my stomach tight as a sailors knot.

  ‘Who? What are you talking about?’ Ayshe stared at me.

  ‘Can someone help me out of the toilet, please? The lock’s stuck,’ Deniz shouted from the bathroom.

  Ayshe glanced between me and the doorway. ‘Argh! Mum, can you try and get him out.’ She looked back to me again. ‘Helen, what are you going on about?’

  ‘Bloody man, he’s got a phobia about toilets now. He’s been double-locking the loos since that stupid conversation the other night,’ Yasmin moaned in the distance.

  ‘I…I…Frederick, Felicity’s biker guy. I thought I recognized him, now I’ve worked out who he is.’ I grabbed Ayshe’s phone resting on the dressing table and punched in Felicity’s number.

  Ring, ring, ring. ‘Come on, come on.’ I wailed, bouncing up and down on the spot, willing her to pick up. My head was spinning.

  ‘I’m never going to get to my wedding at this rate!’ Ayshe stamped her foot.

  ‘Agh! No answer. Damn, Damn, Damn.’ I stuffed my camera in its case. ‘I’ll meet you at the Priory. I have to warn Felicity.’ I dashed out the door and sailed down the stairs, my dress billowing out behind me.

  I ran all the way to Felicity’s house, wobbling and clattering up the road in my high h
eels, which was an amazing achievement in itself. The possibility of a sprained ankle didn’t even enter my head. Even if I learned nothing else in the last two weeks, I now knew how to run a marathon in two inch wedges.

  Bile rose in my throat as I neared her house. I swallowed, forcing it back down.

  I ran up her path, taking a final leap up the steps. ‘F…city!’ I banged on the door. ‘F…city! Open…the…door!’ I carried on banging, trying to catch my breath.

  I waited one minute. Nothing.

  I banged again. ‘Open…the door,’ I wailed.

  Nothing.

  ‘Come on, come on.’ I rang the doorbell five times in quick succession, beads of sweat pricking at my forehead.

  The door swung open. Finally.

  ‘Helen! What’s the matter?’ Felicity gasped when she saw the state of me.

  ‘Uh.’ I pressed my hand to my chest and tried to breathe.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  I rested my hands on my hips, chest pumping hard. ‘Fre..dick…sa…ga…ster.’

  Tiny creases appeared on Felicity’s forehead as she crinkled up her nose. ‘Huh? Dick’s against the stairs?’

  I shook my head and doubled over, wrapping my arms round my stomach. Breathe. For God’s sake, breathe.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Felicity said.

  I raised my chin a fraction, my eyes travelled to her face. ‘One…minute,’ I managed to gasp, raising my hand in the air.

  ‘Whose dick is against the stairs? Are you alright dear?’

  ‘No,’ I spluttered.

  ‘Let me get you a glass of water.’ She dashed off into the house.