Single Woman Seeks Revenge: Another Very Funny Romantic Novel

by Tracy Bloom

  “I know,” said Drew. He cleared his throat before he continued. “But after last night with Jackie and Emily I just feel that I need to step back.” Suzie stared at Drew surprised by the tears threatening to make a fool of her. For goodness’ sake she thought. It wasn’t like they were splitting up or anything.

  “I’m really sorry about Jackie,” she said. “She shouldn’t have acted the way she did. She’d had too much to drink and Emily wound her up. She’s sorry too you know. Maybe if she apologized to Emily she’d let you still help me.”

  “This is nothing to do with Emily,” said Drew sharply. “You don’t need me.”

  Suzie stared at him desperate to think of something that might convince him to still help her. They worked so well together. He looked really stressed though which was unusual for Drew. Perhaps she’d better leave it for now.

  “Okay,” she said finally. “I understand. You’ll stay for a cuppa though won’t you?” she asked hopefully.

  He gave a huge sigh which she wasn’t sure was relief or resignation.

  “Just the one,” he said. “Then I really have to get going.”

  “Brilliant,” she grinned and dived through the door to the kitchen before he could change his mind.

  When she re-entered the sitting room with two steaming mugs of tea she was surprised to see Drew rifling through the box on the floor.

  “Why on earth do you keep all this crap?” he asked holding up a pale pink T-shirt with a large T on it that obviously had been the victim of an unfortunate washing incident.

  “Oh my God, I can’t believe I still have that,” she said putting the tea down. “I wore it to go and see Take That years ago. There were eight of us and we all had a letter on our shirts so we could spell Take That when we stood together.”

  Drew stared at her completely bewildered.

  “Gary Barlow waved at us. We went crazy. It was brilliant.”

  Drew looked at the T-shirt again still confused before tossing it on the sofa.

  “And what about this?” he said, holding aloft a large piece of card which had a line graph on it drawn in felt-tip pen.

  “That’s the cool chart.”

  “The cool chart?”

  “Yep. One of my friends thought she was really cool until she started going out with a bloke who wore Gola trainers so the rest of us decided she had lost her cool and drew her a chart to show her how much. She got her own back by adding the rest of us. This is me when I was drunk and I snogged a guy who was wearing a peach shirt and white jeans and this is ……

  “And you spent time doing this?” he interrupted.

  “Well that’s the kind of stuff you do in your twenties isn’t it?” she replied. “You carry on behaving like a student whilst having the advantage of being in full-time paid employment. You only stop being a student when you finally take a step up the career ladder which means that being hung-over all day at work is no longer an option.”

  “I guess,” he said putting the chart back in the box and pulling out a photograph album with a white cover.

  “Wow,” shrieked Suzie grasping it out of his hands. “The wedding album. I haven’t looked at this in forever,” she said turning to the first page.

  “So who got married?” asked Drew peering over her shoulder.

  “Oh, no-one,” she replied. “It was a pretend wedding.”

  “You’re not serious.”

  “Oh yeah,” she said. “A crowd of us were moaning that we hadn’t been to a wedding in ages. I think Angie was trying to get Antony to propose to me as we’d been going out for so long. Anyway he didn’t take the bait but someone said why don’t we have a pretend wedding so we can have all the fun without any of the commitment. So we did.”

  “You staged a wedding?”

  “It was just an excuse for a party really but it kind of grew and grew until by the time we actually did it we even had pretend hen and stag dos the night before. And then on the day we set it all up in our back garden. Look, see?” she said pointing at the picture. “Brian dressed as the vicar. The guys wore suits and went to the pub before the ceremony and got free drinks because the landlord thought it was a real wedding. Richard was the groom and he thought he was going to pretend to marry Emma who was Brian’s girlfriend but we managed to convince Guy to come down from Edinburgh where he lived and be a shotgun bride. He wore a thick veil so no-one knew who he was until the end of the ceremony. Then look, we even had a real wedding cake that my mum made.”

  “You were all mental,” said Drew shaking his head. “I was busy acting as though I was forty in my twenties. Me and Emily left college and got straight on the property ladder. I guess we didn’t go out much because Emily was busy studying for her law exams and we had no money because we were paying a mortgage.”

  “But it was all worth it though, wasn’t it? Look at you now. You have a lovely house, and you’re about to marry a very successful career woman. Whereas loser me is in a poky flat, buoying up the single inhabitant statistics. Perhaps I should have done a little more planning for my future back then rather than running around in a stupid peach bridesmaid dress at a fake wedding.”

  “You look like you were having a great time though,” he said quietly.

  “We were,” she said looking down again at a picture of the entire wedding party. “They were good times. I hardly see any of them now. We were so close and then without warning we all zoomed off in different directions. Either up the career ladder and moving away or down the wedding snake to disappear into the black hole people go to when they have children.”

  “So which one is Antony?” asked Drew scrutinizing the picture.

  “Oh he’s only in the later pictures,” she said flicking through the rest of the album. “He was heavily into local politics by then and he was out campaigning for some election or other that afternoon. To be honest I think he thought it was all a bit silly so he stayed away until the evening. There we go,” she said finally stopping at a page near the back of the album. “Don’t we look the perfect couple?” she said laughing bitterly.

  Drew looked down at the photo before snapping his head back up to stare at Suzie. He looked down again, peering closer before turning back to Suzie.

  “That’s not who I think it is, is it?” he asked.

  “Depends on who you think it is?”

  “Is that Antony Barwood?”

  “Errr yeah.”

  “The Antony Barwood?”

  “Guess so,” she shrugged.

  “Oh my God,” he said leaning back against the sofa in amazement.

  “Antony Barwood, Liberal Democrat MP for West Keeling is your troll with bright yellow hair?” asked Drew staring at Suzie.

  “Correct,” she replied.

  “Bloody hell,” whispered Drew.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Suzie. “Don’t tell me. You’re amazed that I could possibly have the mental capacity to have gone out with someone who ended up being an MP. That’s it isn’t it?”

  “No. I just can’t believe you never told me that you used to go out with Antony Barwood,” said Drew.

  “Why would I? Have you told me the names of all your ex-girlfriends?”

  “Err, no, but she wasn’t famous or anything.”

  “She?”

  “Yeah, what?”

  “You only had one girlfriend before Emily?”

  Drew blushed deeply and looked away. “I was shy when I was younger okay?”

  Suzie looked at him for a few moments then decided she had to ask the question.

  “So have you only slept with two women in your whole life?”

  “No,” he said defensively.

  “You’ve had a few one night stands then?”

  “No,” he said outraged.

  “Sooooo,” she said looking at him expectantly.

  “So, I have only ever slept with Emily okay? We were still at school when I went out with the other girl and then I met Emily at college. What am I supposed to
do? Sleep around just to get my sex average up?”

  “No, no,” said Suzie. “You’re just so unusual.” She gazed at him.

  “Anyway this is not about me it’s about you and the fact you hid from me that you went out with an MP.”

  “That’s because I partly blame politics for splitting us up,” stated Suzie, flicking through the wedding album again. She stopped and jabbed her finger at a rather plain looking girl dressed in an unflattering Laura Ashley floral number.”

  “Charlotte Campbell-Wright,” she declared. “Or Charlie to her mates when she still had mates. Her grandfather was in the House of Lords, a fact that made her very attractive to Antony. She was really shy around men and then suddenly she seemed to blossom, overnight really. Little did I know that a few flattering words from Antony were the cause. Next thing I knew she was spending every weekend with my boyfriend on the campaign trail whilst he was getting invited around for tea with Lord Campbell-Wright to discuss party politics. Eventually I came home early from work one day and found them shagging in our bed amongst a sea of yellow rosettes.”

  “Weird,” said Drew wincing. “What happened?”

  “Antony looked relieved to be discovered to be honest. I told him to pack his bags and leave. Three hours later every trace of him was gone and I’ve never seen him since. Ten years we were together,” she said shaking her head. “And in the space of a few hours it was as if those ten years had been erased. All memories completely worthless. My future up in smoke.”

  “What about Charlotte?” Drew asked.

  “Oh she did apologise at least. She stood on my doorstep in floods of tears saying how sorry she was. She said she loved him and couldn’t help herself and she hoped that one day I might forgive her.”

  “I guess sometimes you just have to follow your heart,” said Drew staring at the floor.

  “Bollocks,” said Suzie coming out of her minor gloom. “Heart’s got nothing to do with it. Men cheat because they are cowards.”

  “That’s a bit harsh isn’t it?” said Drew.

  “It’s the truth. Most men cheat because they’re too pathetic to be honest and tell their other halves it’s over. Heaven forbid they should be brave enough to tell their poor girlfriends and wives to their faces that they don’t love them.”

  Drew looked at her, stunned. He got up quickly as if to go.

  “Oh my God,” Suzie shrieked grabbing the remote control and Drew’s arm. “Just wait one second and watch this. This is my favourite bit.” She turned up the volume. Harry and Sally were now in the final scene at a New Year’s Eve party, balloons and streamers tumbling around them.

  “Just listen to what Harry says to Sally,” said Suzie jabbing Drew in the ribs. This is what women want.”

  “And I love that you’re the last person I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night,” muttered Suzie under her breath as Harry spilled his true feelings. “And it’s not because it’s New Year’s Eve. I came here tonight because when you realise you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.”

  Drew was motionless, staring at the screen until the final credits started to roll.

  “More tea?” asked Suzie, making him jump.

  He looked as if he was about to say something then changed his mind and looked at his watch.

  “I’m a dead man,” he cried and made a break for the door without even a goodbye.

  Chapter 13

  Drew stared through the window of the men’s suit store, still panting heavily from his run halfway across Manchester. The headless mannequins looked oddly comfortable in their morning suits and puffed up pastel-coloured cravats. Maybe it was the casual dangling of the formally clad arms or the relaxed foot resting on a large prop present festooned with wide, white ribbon. They looked like they didn’t have a care in the world. Maybe that’s what having no head did for you – stopped you from thinking. Drew nodded thoughtfully. Yes, he could see how not thinking could lead to a really carefree existence. From where he was standing, being headless was exactly what he needed. Just to stop these thoughts from popping up in his head. Thoughts that had no right to be there, but were coming out of nowhere like tiny little missiles and wreaking absolute havoc. He would rather go and try on corsets for a period drama than these suits just now. In fact corsets would make him feel less trapped in his own body than the suit that would seal the rest of his life.

  He shouldn’t have gone in. If he hadn’t entered her home then he would not now have the mental image of Suzie in her pyjamas. Bad move number one. If he hadn’t gone in he wouldn’t have felt at home. At home in the mild chaos of Suzie’s life. Where stuff was dropped rather than carefully placed in its pre-assigned location. Where there was carpet, real fluffy carpet rather than characterless floorboard. Where random photographs in random mismatched frames of random happy moments were hung jauntily in random locations rather than overpriced modern art in overpriced brushed steel frames, interior designed into the perfect position.

  When he had first sat down on Suzie’s sofa he had instinctively fallen back on its copious cushions and put his feet up before he leapt in the air and sat up straight again. He never put his feet on the couch in his sleek, clean, modern house. Ever. This realisation made his heart pound so strongly that it was as if he had done something terrible. Really terrible. But all he had done was put his feet up on another woman’s couch he had to remind himself.

  It was whilst he was taking a few deep breaths to try and restore calm that he had cast his eye over the box that lay open on the floor in front of him. The debris of Suzie’s life was truly spectacular in its randomness and craziness. But most of all it absolutely glowed with her personality. Seeing this box made him wish that he had one like it. He couldn’t think of one thing that would come anywhere close to summing up his twenties. He struggled to think of any big moments he had wanted to preserve for prosperity. What on earth had he been doing with his life? Seeing Suzie’s memory box had been bad move number two.

  But worst of all had to be hearing the story of her relationship with Antony. A budding college relationship that should have bloomed into a lifetime partnership only to be thwarted by the intervention of a third party. Her words swarmed around his head like a shoal of disorientated fish.

  “Stop,” he said aloud in an effort to halt his swirling thoughts. He took a long hard look at his reflection in the window. “Enough,” he whispered as he took a deep breath, opened the door and crossed the threshold.

  “Look at me,” cried Toby the minute he saw Drew arrive. “This is exactly the gear we need to set this wedding on fire,” he said taking a small bow. “Hot or what?”

  “You look like a ponce,” said Drew surveying his best man dressed in a white tuxedo teamed with a pink candy-striped shirt and deep purple tie standing in the middle of Moss Bros. “If you think we’re wearing that you’re an idiot. They’ll think it’s us two getting married not me and Emily.”

  “Aw come on man, just try it you might be surprised. Don’t you want to wear white just like the bride?”

  “Err, no. You know me and white clothes are not friends. Unless of course there is a coordinating bib to go with it. Anyway Emily has armed me with strict instructions of exactly what to wear. I have it all written down here.”

  “Fan- bloody- tastic,” said Toby with a sigh. “Undertaker with an uplifting hint of burgundy it is then,” he said as he took off the pristine jacket.

  “You never know,” said Drew. “She may have chosen something a little daring to fit with your oh-so-cool image.”

  “Emily? Oh-so-classic Emily? Cummerbund probably amounts to swearing in her fashion world.”

  “She just wants it right that’s all,” he said feeling defensive. “She is the star of the day after all, not you.”

  “Really? Then why am I attending, remind me?”

  “Because despite the fact you are a complete tosser, you are my best mate and I’d rea
lly quite like you to be there.”

  “Oh yeah. And I get to insult you in front of an audience; I remember how you sold it to me now.”

  “No you get to be all emotional when you tell everyone what a good mate I’ve been for the past twenty years.”

  “Fuck off. You’re getting the works man. Including a public airing of the story of when you wet your pants in the reptile house at London Zoo on that school trip.”

  “I did not wet my pants, I sat in something, how many more times do I have to tell you.”

  “Did you really? Well that will make the stag-do easier then?”

  “What has it got to do with the stag-do?”

  “Well I was thinking of having a wet clothing theme. I thought we could tell attractive girls they can throw beer in your crotch because you are fond of wet pants. In return you get to wet their tops, you know like a wet T-shirt type thing.”

  “You are disgusting.”

  “Aw come on. Don’t you want to see some girls’ tits through a see-through top before you commit yourself to a life of celibacy? I know there’s no way we’re going to get Mr Morality into a strip club.”

  “No I don’t. Can’t we just go for a curry?”

  “A curry! A curry! I have a reputation to uphold. Would I ever be able to hold my head high if I organized a stag-do that was just going for a curry?”

  Drew stared at Toby for a moment. He was thinking again. Why couldn’t he stop this damned thinking? “Why is there such a bloody fuss around weddings?” he finally asked, exasperated with himself. “Why can’t you simply just get married and then get on with the rest of your life?”

  “Can I help you sir?” asked a shop assistant, suddenly appearing at Drew’s side.

  “Yes,” snapped Drew. “I’d like to dress up as an idiot please on the most important day of my life. Can you help me with that?”

  “Certainly sir,” replied the elderly man without missing a beat. “What particular sort of idiot would you like to dress as?”

  “This one,” said Drew thrusting a piece of paper into the man’s hand on which Emily had carefully listed exactly what she wanted him and Toby to wear.