Sooo Not Looking For a Man: A witty, heart-warming and poignant, feel-good journey.

by CJ Morrow

  ‘I think there are only about ten missing, not including Leeward and his crew, of course,’ Cat says, attempting a smile at me. ‘At least the food and drink won’t be wasted.’

  ‘Which is more than can be said for me.’ I grab my glass and knock back the contents. All the real champagne is finished now, we’re on the white wine and it’s really rather nice; Leeward chose well.

  We’re on the main course and even though I’ve only picked at my food I have to admit it’s all rather lovely.

  ‘You’re better off without him. He was never good enough for you.’ Grimmy raises her glass at me and judging from her pink cheeks, she has had a few too.

  We’ve rearranged the tables, merging the top table with my family’s to make one great big table. I need all my nearest and dearest close to me even if they are looking at me with varying degrees of pity.

  My brother, Sam, winks from across the table, he smiles too, but he looks sad for me. Everyone looks sad for me. Mum and Dad have hardly said a word. Grimmy is still revelling in her Gollum remark.

  I fill my glass up again and raise it.

  ‘Cheers everyone, my lovely family.’ I knock back my wine as a few join in. It’s all really rather pitiful.

  ∞∞∞

  At some point I must fall asleep because suddenly I’m waking up with my head on the table and drool congealing on my chin. When I open my eyes, I can see that all the food has been cleared away. I try to tell myself that it has all been a horrible dream, but I know it hasn’t.

  ‘He didn’t even deny it or say he was sorry,’ I gabble to Cat who’s still sitting beside me. She grips my hand in response. ‘Hey, where’s your dress?’ Cat is now in a pair of jeans and a soft top, not the very expensive bridesmaid dress I bought her.

  ‘I’ve changed, for the evening. The band has just arrived.’

  ‘Evening, already. Right.’ I crane my neck to see the band. ‘Where are they?’

  ‘They’re setting up. The venue is sorting them out. Don’t worry, it’s not even six yet. Do you want me to help you change? Mum put your bag in your room.’

  ‘I’m not changing.’ I stand up, feel lightheaded and grip the table for support. ‘This dress cost a bloody fortune and I’m going to get my money’s worth.’

  ‘But it’s all stained at the back,’ Cat says, glancing behind me. ‘What is it? It looks like you’ve shit yourself.’

  ‘It’s grass. From the bypass. I haven’t shit myself, I’ve been shit on. By a bastard.’ I flop back down into my seat. ‘You can come to my room with me though to get my phone. Maybe Leeward’s been messaging me.’

  ‘Okay.’ Cat stands up, and, after three attempts, so do I.

  ∞∞∞

  Back in my room – the bridal suite, what a joke – I hunt for my phone. There is not one message from him. Not one. And not one from anyone else either. I flop onto the super king bed and spread my arms and legs out.

  ‘This is comfy.’

  ‘You could stay here, get some rest. I’m sure people will understand.’

  ‘I’m not hiding myself away. I haven’t done anything wrong.’ I check my phone again. ‘Have you got a signal?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘What network?’

  ‘Same as you.’

  ‘Bastard hasn’t even called me. Not even a message to say sorry or explain. Oh, here we go,’ I say as something flashes up. ‘Oh, oh.’

  ‘Is that him?’

  ‘No, it’s Kenton.’

  ‘Urgh. What does he want?’

  ‘I don’t know. Here, you read it. I need to use the bathroom. I think someone has been sick in my mouth.’ I fish my toilet bag out and take it with me.

  When I come back, I feel marginally fresher.

  ‘What did Kenton want?’

  ‘He says he’s sorry that happened to you and wanted to reassure you that he didn’t know anything about it.’

  ‘Urgh.’

  ‘And he’s back.’

  ‘Who? Leeward?’ I feel my heart race.

  ‘No, Kenton. He hopes it’s okay that he’s come back. He feels he wants to support you and not his brother.’

  ‘Whatever. Shall we go? The buffet will be out soon and I’m bloody starving. And, I could do with a drink.’

  ‘Coke maybe,’ Cat offers. She has the harassed look of a big sister looking after a naughty little sister.

  ‘Yeah, why not?’ I grab her arm and link mine through it. ‘With lots of Bacardi. Yay. Let’s party.’

  And, oh, do I party.

  I even manage a laugh when someone – one of Leeward’s friends – tells me that I’m all over Facebook.

  ‘A video?’ I ask, wondering how anyone could be so despicable as to do that.

  ‘No, just a photo and some words. It’s quite a good shot of Leeward catching his phone when you threw it. The words are complimentary and sympathetic though.’

  ‘I don’t want their pity. Ha, who cares.’ I certainly don’t, I’ve had far too many Bacardi and cokes to care about anything, ever again. ‘I’ve always wanted to be a Facebook star.’ I haven’t and I don’t even know why I’m saying it. Then I cackle, like a maniac, and I keep on cackling all the way round the room as I search for Cat, who is hiding out in a corner with the rest of my family. They paste on jolly faces when they spot me coming.

  ‘Band’s good, aren’t they?’

  ‘Yes. Yes,’ everyone choruses.

  ‘So they bloody should be.’ I raise a class to them, not that they notice.

  ‘I don’t know what they’re playing,’ Grimmy says. ‘I don’t recognise any of it. And they’re too loud. Do they just play what they like? Are they making it up as they go along?’’

  Over her shoulder Mum does that nod, the one that means, typical.

  ‘No, Grimmy, Leeward chose the playlist.’

  ‘Gollum,’ she mutters, letting her top teeth drop a little out of her mouth before sucking them back in and taking a large gulp of cider. I think she might be a little inebriated.

  Careless Whisper starts to play and it’s really rather good, a soft saxophone belting out the opening notes.

  ‘See, that’s what I mean.’ Grimmy shakes her head. ‘What is that?’

  Sam catches my eye and smiles. He’s sitting with his youngest asleep on his lap. There’s something about this image which catches me at the back of my throat. I swallow it down. I am bloody not crying any more on my non-wedding day. Bloody well not again.

  ‘What about a nice bit of Frank Sinatra?’ Grimmy is off again.

  ‘This is George Michael, Grammy,’ Dad tells her. ‘You remember. You said you liked him.’

  ‘No, I didn’t. Get them to play something everyone knows.’ She gives me a sharp nudge in the ribs with one of her knobbly elbows. ‘Go on, get up there. You’re paying them to play what you want.’

  I don’t really care what they play. Why would I? I don’t care about anything anymore. Not. One. Thing.

  Somehow, grass-stained wedding dress not particularly obliging, I heave myself up the steps to the stage and get the attention of the band leader. He nods at me to wait until they finish what they’re playing.

  He has a quick word with the band and they carrying on playing before he turns to me. ‘Yeah?’ he says, turning off his microphone and sounding suspicious.

  Now I’m here I don’t know what I’m supposed to be saying.

  ‘Um, my grimmy, sorry, grandmother, well, strictly speaking, great-grandmother, wants you to play something she’ll recognise.’ I nod over in her direction and she raises a scraggy arm.

  ‘Right,’ he says. ‘Not sure we know anything from before the second world war.’ He does a cockeyed grimace that presses all my buttons, not, it would fair to say, that it takes much.

  ‘Ha, bloody ha. It’s my wedding, non-wedding, and I’m paying you and if I remember correctly, I haven’t settled the full bill yet.’

  Now we’re facing each other off while the band are tootling along in the back
ground playing something even I don’t recognise and I’ve seen the playlist.

  ‘I know what you can play and I want to sing.’ What? I can’t sing, I never sing. What the hell is going on?

  ‘Okay, lady,’ he says before passing my instructions onto the band, several of whom exchange glances before complying, one even mouthing Karaoke with a sneer on his lips.

  The band starts to play, I stand at the front of the stage, microphone in hand and get ready for my solo, even though I don’t actually know the proper words, so I improvise.

  At first I was afraid I’d be on my own

  Cos I found your dirty cheating on your mobile phone.

  But then I realised as I sat on that grassy verge

  That you were just a lying, stinking, cheating, dirty turd

  So you ran off, leaving me alone

  But not before you picked up that fucking mobile phone

  I should have smashed it with my foot

  I should have kicked your sorry arse

  And you haven’t even contacted me to apologise.

  So sod off you, Leeward Quinn

  See what you’re missing now that I am so very thin

  I don’t need you anyway, you’re far too short for me

  I won’t be the sorry one cos I have my liberty.

  Oh no not I, I will survive

  I’ll be stronger, I’ll be better and I know that I will thrive…

  After that the words get rather jumbled, I’m just screeching I will survive while all the non-wedding guests look on, some in horror, some in amusement, and, I like to think, some in admiration. I feel rather proud of myself and not just because I’ve sung a brilliant improvised version but also because I sounded pretty damn good, great voice and in tune too.

  There are a few mobile phones out taking pics of me. Ha, I don’t care if you post those on Facebook. Do it. I just hope Leeward Gollum Quinn sees what he’s missing. And Alfie the mistress.

  I’m still screeching when the band stops playing. There’s a rather undignified tussle over the microphone when the band leader tries to retrieve it. Finally, he succeeds and I bow out graciously, well sort of curtsey to the crowd, my fans. There’s a muted round of applause.

  Then I step down from the stage.

  Only I don’t use the steps. I fall. Rather spectacularly. It feels as though I am sailing through the air, graceful and charming in my wedding dress. I finish with a magnificent one-handed handstand.

  Ta da.

  Cat rushes towards me but it’s a smiling and sympathetic Kenton who sweeps me up of the floor and hugs me to him.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he asks, his voice full of sickly emotion.

  ‘Yeah, fine.’ I shake him off and pull myself up to my full height, which isn’t very tall against Kenton’s statuesque body.

  ‘I can’t apologise enough for my brother’s stupid antics,’ he says, laying a hand on my shoulder.

  ‘Did he send you to say that?’

  ‘No. No, he didn’t.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  Kenton looks sheepish. ‘I don’t really know. I suppose I could guess.’ He offers me a little grimace. ‘We all went back to Mum’s after we left, she’s terribly upset by the way, and ashamed of him. Then Leeward just fucked off without a word. He’s not answering his phone and he’s not at your, his, house. I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve this. You’re such a great girl.’

  ‘Ha. Ha.’ I shake his hand off me – it’s been on my shoulder during his entire trite little speech.

  ‘I don’t know what’s the matter with him. Why would he want to do that with someone else when he has you?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I hear myself slur.

  ‘Is there anything I can do to help you?’ Oh, he’s so earnest.

  ‘Yeah, you can buy me a drink, it’s a cash bar now.’

  Kenton escorts me back to my family then asks everyone if they’d like a drink before going off to the bar with a large order. I think some members of my family may be taking it out on him. Grimmy has asked for a pot of tea, the words delivered like a challenge.

  ‘He’s got a nerve,’ Cat says, voicing what everyone else is thinking.

  ‘It’s not his fault. He’s as disgusted as the rest of us.’

  ‘Eww, right.’ Cat contorts her face.

  ‘He is.’

  ‘Why are you defending him?’ Cat sounds angry.

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘You need to be wary of him,’ my brother, Sam, says, leaning over to chip in.

  ‘Yeah, yeah.’ I wave my arms about and wince as my left arm throbs a little; maybe that handstand was not as benign as I thought it was.

  Kenton comes back carrying a tray full of drinks and Grimmy gives a wicked grin when she sees there’s no pot of tea and readies herself to make a nasty comment. She has to bite it back when Kenton steps aside to reveal a waitress carrying another tray; there’s not just tea but biscuits too.

  ‘Well done, Kendon,’ Grimmy says and I’m not sure if she’s deliberately getting his name wrong.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ he says graciously, ‘And please, everyone, call me Ken, I hate Kenton.’

  There’s a chorus of ‘Thanks Ken,’ as he doles out the drinks before squeezing a chair in between me and Cat and folding himself into it. Cat frowns and Ken smiles, then turns his attention to me.

  I don’t really pay him much attention, I’m far more focused on knocking back the two double Bacardi and cokes he’s bought me – I asked for them apparently. I’m aware that he’s wittering on about Leeward’s stupidity again and I can’t really argue with that, can I?

  After what seems like no time but must be an hour or more the band stops playing and people start to drift away. Ken offers to escort me to my room – my bridal suite – but Cat steps in and bats him away. I’m vaguely aware of unlocking the door to my room and getting into bed as the room starts swaying and the bed is rocking. Sleep cannot come fast enough so this horrendous day can come to an end.

  ∞∞∞

  The banging in my head is so loud it actually feels as though someone is knocking on the walls. It’s incessant. I groan and attempt to roll over but the pain that racks my body makes me gasp.

  ‘Lauren, Lauren.’ Is that Cat’s voice? I choose to ignore it, I’m dreaming, aren’t I?

  ‘Lauren. Lauren.’

  I would open my eyes to check but I know it will hurt, so I don’t.

  ‘Lauren, Lauren, are you all right? Wake up.’ Cat won’t shut up.

  ‘Arghhhh,’ I groan, hoping that she’ll get the message.

  ‘Wake up, wake up now. Look at me.’ Oh stern big sister.

  I allow one eye to open; yes, it’s Cat.

  ‘Your door was unlocked,’ she says. ‘Anyone could have come in here. Kenton certainly would have if he’d known.’

  ‘Arghhhh.’

  ‘What did you want?’

  What did I want? ‘Nothing,’ I manage. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘A good night’s sleep,’ she snaps. ‘You messaged me six times to come and save you.’

  ‘No,’ I say. She must have that wrong.

  ‘I’ve driven right across town, good job I don’t drink alcohol, isn’t it? So what do you want?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I say, closing my one open eye and turning over. ‘Owwww,’ I howl with pain. The hangover is bad, so bad, the worst I’ve ever had but the wrist is unbearable. I gasp for breath and wait for the wave of multiple pains to pass.

  ‘Hangover?’ Cat sounds most unsympathetic. ‘You’ve dragged me over here for a hangover.’

  ‘No,’ I manage, wincing. ‘Arm.’

  Cat flicks the light on which burns into my eyes even though they are both closed.

  ‘Oh. My. God,’ she says.

  ‘What?’ I force open both eyes by raising my eyebrows up to my hairline.

  ‘I think that might be broken.’

  I look at my wrist and even though I cannot see very well I can see a bruised and swollen
joint that is definitely not right. I start to cry now, not just for my wrist but for my sad, sorry life.

  ‘Come on, let’s get you sat up.’ Cat starts pulling me around and props me up. The room spins. I feel sick.

  ‘Bucket,’ I mutter, pointing to the floor beside the bed with my good arm.

  ‘Urgh God. Where did you get this?’ She thrusts it under my chin and I perform a spectacular puke.

  ‘Bathroom bin inner,’ I say as I spit out the last dregs of vomit.

  She snatches the bucket and stomps off to the toilet to empty it, she’s gone ages and I can hear the toilet flushing and water running. She’s a bit of a clean freak, is Cat.

  ‘Here, you might need this again.’ She pushes the rinsed bucket at me before scouting around the room until she finds the fridge and pours me a large glass of water from one of the two complimentary bottles.

  I take little mouthfuls and hope I won’t be sick again. Cat flumps down on the bed and watches me. We stay like this for ages, me sipping, her watching. She refills my glass twice. I start to feel marginally less awful and I’m not sick again.

  ‘You’ve still got your wedding dress on.’

  ‘Oh yeah.’ I look down to see a nasty brown stain on my chest. ‘I think that might be sick,’ I say, musing.

  ‘Yes, I think so. Can’t see any on the bed or carpet but you pebble-dashed the bathroom. I’ve cleaned it off.’

  So that’s what she was doing in there.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say sheepishly.

  ‘Let’s get that dress off.’ Cat leans forward to help me and I yelp like a battered dog.

  ‘No. Can’t. Hurts. Arm,’ I say between gasps.

  ‘It’s broken.’

  ‘Noooo,’ I wail.

  ‘Yes, it is. Don’t be stupid, you’re a nurse, you should know.’

  ‘Oh nooo,’ I whinge again.

  ‘What’s that?’ Cat picks at the pillow behind. ‘It’s your hair, it’s coming out. Far too much bleach,’ she says, making another judgement. ‘You’re going to be bald as well.’

  ‘Thanks for that,’ I snap. ‘It’s an extension, not my real hair.’

  ‘Have your actually got any real hair in there.’ She points to my head and I glance around the room until I find myself in a mirror. I do look a proper sight, my face is grey, my dress crumpled and stained and my hair, well, I don’t remember the hurricane that obviously hit me.