The Girl's Guide to Falling in Love

by Sophie Hart

  The Girl’s Guide to Falling in Love

  Sophie Hart

  Contents

  1. Chapter One

  2. Chapter Two

  3. Chapter Three

  4. Chapter Four

  5. Chapter Five

  6. Chapter Six

  7. Chapter Seven

  8. Chapter Eight

  9. Chapter Nine

  10. Chapter Ten

  11. Chapter Eleven

  12. Chapter Twelve

  13. Chapter Thirteen

  14. Chapter Fourteen

  15. Chapter Fifteen

  16. Chapter Sixteen

  17. Chapter Seventeen

  18. Chapter Eighteen

  19. Chapter Nineteen

  20. Chapter Twenty

  21. Chapter Twenty-one

  22. Chapter Twenty-two

  23. Chapter Twenty-three

  24. Chapter Twenty-four

  25. Chapter Twenty-five

  26. Chapter Twenty-six

  27. Chapter Twenty-seven

  28. Chapter Twenty-eight

  29. Chapter Twenty-nine

  30. Chapter Thirty

  31. Chapter Thirty-one

  32. Chapter Thirty-two

  33. Chapter Thirty-three

  34. Chapter Thirty-four

  35. Chapter Thirty-five

  36. Chapter Thirty-six

  37. Chapter Thirty-seven

  38. Chapter Thirty-eight

  Epilogue

  Letter from Sophie

  Also by Sophie Hart

  The Girl’s Guide to Getting Hitched

  Copyright

  1

  Chapter One

  ‘Sex is part of nature. I go along with nature’ – Marilyn Monroe

  ‘So, don’t forget, this week is all about embracing the difference. You can try anything – as long as it’s something you’ve never done before, and both of you are comfortable with it. Sex on the kitchen table, or in the back of the car; a little light bondage or some dressing up; cover each other in whipped cream or melted chocolate…’

  ‘I like the sound of that one,’ Jennifer giggled.

  ‘Whatever floats your boat,’ Annie smiled, standing up behind her desk. ‘Just make sure you shake things up and keep your sex life fresh. It’s so easy to get stuck in a routine when you’re in a long-term relationship, so every now and then you need to make the effort to break out of your comfort zone.’

  The couple seated opposite her, in the large Chesterfield armchairs, stood up too and they all shook hands.

  ‘Thanks so much, Annie. You’re really making a difference,’ said Jennifer, a professional-looking woman in her mid-forties.

  Her husband, Richard, wrapped his arm around his wife and squeezed her to him, as Annie opened the door for them.

  ‘You’re very welcome. Have fun, and I’ll see you both next week.’

  ‘Bye, Annie!’

  They walked off down the corridor towards the exit. Annie could hear them talking and laughing, the sound of Jennifer’s heels echoing in the empty building.

  Annie let the door close and slowly exhaled, rolling her shoulders back and stretching her neck to release the tension. Glancing up at the clock, she realised it was just after nine pm. No wonder she felt tired.

  Richard and Jennifer had been her final clients of the day, so all that was left to do now was lock up and go home. Annie picked up the empty coffee mug from her desk then paused, staring around her office. The room was small but homely; given that she often worked twelve-hour days, it needed to be. The shelves were lined with psychology textbooks and bound copies of journals, whilst all her diplomas and certificates hung in gold frames on the cream-coloured walls. Behind her armchair was an old-fashioned standing lamp, and in the centre of the room was Annie’s pride and joy: the antique, solid-oak desk that she’d bought at a local auction, with its shiny brass handles and leather-covered top. She was extremely proud of everything she’d achieved in her career, but couldn’t help but feel that her life was a little lonely sometimes.

  Annie Hall was thirty-four years old, and a qualified sex therapist – a profession which was far less exciting than everyone assumed. She had her own practice on the outskirts of Norwich, and rented an office in a purpose-built building in Sprowston which leased space to lots of different businesses. Across the corridor from her was an internet-based craft company, whilst down the hall was a chiropractor, and there was even a shoe designer on the upstairs floor.

  At this time of night, everyone else had gone home. Annie was often the last to leave the building; she regularly worked unsociable hours – early mornings, late evenings, or even weekends – as they were the only times many of her clients could fit in their sessions. Consequently, her social life was pretty much non-existent.

  Annie picked up her overflowing handbag and locked the door, then headed down the corridor to the communal kitchen. As she got closer, she could hear the sound of hoovering, and turned the corner to be greeted by Celeste, the cleaner.

  ‘Annie, how are you?’ Celeste beamed, bending down awkwardly to turn off the vacuum. She was a large lady in her late fifties, originally from Jamaica, and her knees weren’t as good as they’d once been.

  ‘I’m fine thanks, Celeste. And you?’

  ‘Oh, not bad, can’t complain. Another late night for you, is it?’

  ‘You know what they say – no rest for the wicked.’

  Celeste threw back her head and laughed heartily. ‘They do indeed. Time for you to be getting off home now, hmm? You’ve no doubt got some lovely young man waiting for you, pretty girl like you.’

  Annie blushed, looking down at the floor.

  ‘No need to be so shy,’ Celeste grinned slyly. ‘Your boyfriend’s a very lucky man.’

  ‘Boyfriend?’

  Celeste nodded wisely. ‘With what you do for a living, I bet you can show him a really wild time, hey?’ She let loose another peal of laughter, a real guffaw that seemed to bounce off the walls in the otherwise deserted kitchen.

  Annie smiled awkwardly, wondering whether to correct Celeste, and confess to the fact that her love life was nowhere near as exciting as everyone assumed. It was a common misconception – people supposed that because Annie spent her days giving relationship advice and talking freely about sex, she must be some sort of man-eating tigress in her personal life. It couldn’t have been further from the truth.

  The reality was that Annie didn’t have a boyfriend, and it was years since she’d been in a serious relationship. She’d made mistakes in her past, finding herself attracted to the wrong men for the wrong reasons (well, one man in particular), and since then she’d vowed to focus on her career without the distraction of a hectic love life.

  So far, the plan seemed to be working, and Annie was happier than ever with how her business was going. She loved meeting a wide variety of people from all different walks of life, working with them to resolve their problems, and ultimately helping them to achieve their happy ever after. Despite her professional success, Annie’s sister, Holly, was always trying to set her up with unsuitable men, and Annie had endured more than her fair share of speed dating events and online matchmaking sites. But all she’d encountered were freaks, geeks and outright creeps.

  No, Annie realised, there was no way she could admit all of that to Celeste. Because of her job, everyone expected Annie to be dating a super-hot stud-muffin, using every trick in the book to leave him panting for more. It was more than a little embarrassing to admit that, despite being something of a guru when it came to other people’s relationships, she seemed to be incapable of holding down one of her own.

  ‘Well, I’d better get going,’
Annie said brightly, changing the subject as she rinsed out her mug and stacked it neatly in the dishwasher. ‘Have a good night, Celeste.’

  ‘You too, Annie,’ she replied, a twinkle in her dark eyes. ‘Take care.’

  As Annie walked off, she heard the vacuum burst into life once more, followed by the rich, throaty tones of Celeste belting out ‘Respect’ by Aretha Franklin. Annie smiled, as she turned back to see Celeste wiggling her hips, dancing along the corridor with the Hoover as a partner.

  Outside it was dark and drizzling, a typical late January evening, and a thin sheen of frost was already beginning to form. Annie hurried over to her trusty Mini Cooper, her brown bobbed hair bouncing on her shoulders, as she gratefully climbed in out of the cold. It was a short journey to her house, round the ring road to Hellesdon, and the traffic was light at this time of night.

  As she turned into her street, all of the houses seemed to be ablaze with light. Some had left their curtains open, and she could see the families inside – cuddled up on the sofa watching television, munching a late night snack, or trying to get the kids to go to bed. Annie’s home, in comparison, was deserted and devoid of life, the only dark house in the entire street.

  ‘Hi Harry! Hi Sally!’ she called out, as she bustled in through the front door, dropping her bag and hanging up her coat.

  She headed through to the living room, where her two pet goldfish (named after her favourite rom-com characters) were swimming contentedly round and round their bowl, utterly oblivious to the fact that their owner had arrived home. Annie sprinkled a few flakes of food on the surface of the water and watched as they chomped happily, swimming in tandem around one another.

  Great, even her goldfish could hold down a relationship better than she could, Annie thought with a sigh as she walked through to the kitchen and pulled a microwaveable risotto out of the fridge. She set it spinning, then checked her phone to find a missed call and a text from her sister, Holly:

  Hi sis, tried to call but u must have been at work, u workaholic! I’ve found a great man 4u, can’t wait to fix u up ;) Call me xxx

  Annie rolled her eyes, deciding to ignore the message and pour herself a nice glass of Merlot instead.

  Holly was five years younger than her, and happily married to her childhood sweetheart, Greg, who now worked for an insurance firm. Despite Holly’s busy career as a journalist for a local magazine, she still seemed to have plenty of time to meddle in Annie’s love life (or lack thereof). The results hadn’t been hugely positive so far, Annie reflected: there’d been Kevin, aka The Octopus, who had a severe case of wandering hands; Owen, the recent divorcé, who’d spent the evening gushing about his ex-wife and was clearly still in love with her; and Jack, who took Annie to a Michelin-star restaurant, only to announce that he’d ‘forgotten’ his wallet when the bill arrived.

  Why was everyone so concerned with her single status anyway? Annie wondered, as she carried her risotto through to the living room and switched on the TV. She flicked through the movie channels until she came across one that was showing Notting Hill.

  Perfect! Annie thought delightedly. She’d seen it before – dozens of times, in fact – but she could always watch it again. Right now, it was the dinner-party scene, where Hugh Grant had taken Julia Roberts to meet his friends and everyone was trying not to freak out. The familiarity made Annie feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

  Annie had been raised on the movies – even her name was inspired by Woody Allen’s Oscar-winning film, Annie Hall. Her mother, Pamela, had met Graham Hall the same year that the movie had been released. She’d fallen in love with the film – and with Graham – and vowed that their first daughter would be called Annie. Even Annie’s younger sister was named after Holly Golightly in Breakfast at Tiffany’s.

  Annie had grown up on the classics, watching everything from Gone with the Wind to Casablanca, graduating onto Pretty Woman and Dirty Dancing as she hit her teenage years. She was still a sucker for a romantic comedy, and the simple, satisfying storylines had left her with a belief that everyone could – and should – find their own happy ending. Helping people achieve that had become the goal of Annie’s career.

  On screen, Julia Roberts walked out of the front door and everyone inside let out a huge scream of disbelief. Annie smiled as she pulled her big diary out of her bag, leafing through it while she ate. Tomorrow she had another early start, seeing Michael and Carolyn before they went to work, but Annie didn’t mind as they were a great couple. Michael was a mortgage advisor and Carolyn worked for a local charity, but since the death of her grandmother, to whom she’d been extremely close, Carolyn had completely lost interest in sex. It was a scenario Annie had come across many times before, and she knew that grief often resulted in a loss of libido. But they were both making strides, and Michael was wonderfully patient and understanding.

  When she’d finished eating, Annie quickly washed her plate and then jumped in the shower, staying in there until the water ran cold. As she blow-dried her hair afterwards, she mentally re-played the conversation she’d had with Celeste, and realised she’d never got round to texting Holly back. Oh well, she could do it tomorrow. It was highly unlikely that this man was going to be any more suitable than all the others her sister had tried to pair her off with over the years.

  It wasn’t that Annie didn’t want to meet someone; she’d love to be in a relationship with a man who was kind, clever, funny… and tall and handsome too, if that didn’t make her sound shallow! She just hadn’t found anyone that was right for her yet, she reflected, as she climbed under her duvet and switched off the bedside light.

  Lying alone in the darkness, the double bed large and empty without a lover to fill it, the same question kept flashing across Annie’s mind: if she could fix everyone else’s love life, then why couldn’t she fix her own?

  2

  Chapter Two

  ‘No woman gets an orgasm from shining the kitchen floor’ – Betty Friedan

  Nick Crawford was deep in concentration, staring hard at the computer screen in front of him. Struck by a sudden burst of inspiration, he began typing furiously, his hands flying over the keyboard. Then he leant back in contemplation, re-reading what he’d written, and made a few small changes before he was off again, the words pouring out of him.

  Nick worked in advertising, and he was currently writing a pitch for a local brewery that was launching a fruit-flavoured beer. He was determined to win the contract and was going all out to nail this presentation, ensuring it was as professional and polished as it could possibly be. Right now, Nick was on a roll, the buzz words and key phrases flowing effortlessly from his fingertips, as he slotted in statistics and carefully targeted market research.

  On his desk, his phone vibrated, jumping noisily across a pile of documents. Nick tried to ignore it and continue with what he was writing, but the light was flashing insistently and he was losing his train of thought.

  With a sigh of frustration, Nick snatched it up and saw that he had a message from his wife, Julia. Although he was ashamed to admit it, his heart instantly sank. And when he read the text, his heart sank even further:

  I’ve taken the afternoon off – do the same. Meet you in the bedroom in 30mins. I’ll be wearing the black lingerie you like :)

  Nick exhaled slowly, his head dropping into his hands as he massaged his brow. He was thirty-two years old, but today he looked closer to forty; there were deep bags under his pale blue eyes, frown lines etched into his forehead, and recently he’d been alarmed to start finding strands of grey in his thick, dark hair.

  Nick read through the text once again, an uncomfortable feeling gnawing at the pit of his stomach. He really needed to finish this presentation – he’d promised his boss it would be with him by close of play today. Plus he needed to start brainstorming ideas for the Norfolk Cottages campaign, prep with his colleague, Anthony, about the new client they were meeting tomorrow, touch base with his team on where they were all at with their current proje
cts… Julia’s text was the last thing he needed.

  But he knew how furious she’d be if he didn’t come home. There would be tears, tantrums and arguments, followed by days of sulking and silent treatment… For a minute or two, Nick was torn, staring unseeingly at his computer. The image on the screen showed an attractive, professional-looking couple sitting outside a country pub enjoying their fruit-flavoured beer, but Nick’s thoughts couldn’t be further from his work right now.

  Reluctantly, he made his decision. He saved the document and logged off, pulling on his jacket and throwing his mobile into his work bag. Then he headed across the room to his boss, Gerard’s, office, and knocked softly on the door.

  ‘Come in,’ Gerard called.

  Nick entered to see Gerard sitting behind his desk, opposite a woman Nick didn’t recognise.

  ‘Sorry,’ Nick apologised hastily. ‘I didn’t realise you were busy.’

  ‘Not a problem.’ Gerard waved away his concerns. ‘I was going to make the rounds shortly and do the introductions. Nick, this is Nina, and she’ll be starting with us officially next week as our latest junior account executive.’

  ‘Good to meet you,’ Nick said, extending his hand. Nina was young – in her mid-twenties, he would have guessed – with long, dark hair that hung straight down her back, and large brown eyes.

  She shook Nick’s hand firmly, and gave him a warm smile. ‘You too. I’m looking forward to working with you.’

  ‘Well, now that’s out of the way, what did you want to see me about?’ Gerard asked.

  ‘Oh, yes. Sorry…’ Nick pulled a face, looking uncomfortable. ‘There’s been a bit of an emergency at home. Julia’s just called and needs me there right away. Is it okay if I leave early?’

  Gerard frowned, eyeing him suspiciously. Nick felt himself literally grow hot under the collar, beads of sweat forming along his hairline. He’d been asking for a lot of time off recently, and wondered how much longer Gerard’s patience would hold.