Never the Bride (Dilbury Village #1)

by Charlotte Fallowfield

  Never The Bride

  Dilbury Village #1

  By

  Kindle Edition

  Edition: 1

  ASIN: B01N6B96FL

  ISBN: 978-1536905014

  Copyright © 2017

  All Rights Reserved Worldwide

  Any unauthorised reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations and places or events, are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  I am a British author and write in British English, unless writing from an American character’s point of view, where I will use American spellings and slang.

  Image Copyright © 2017

  Copy Editing by Karen J & Jasmine Z

  Proofreading by Tracy G

  Cover Art by Kellie Dennis at www.bookcoverbydesign.co.uk

  Illustrated Map of Dilbury Village by Holly Francesca at www.hollyfrancesca.co.uk

  Book content pictures purchased from Adobe Stock, iStock and Shutterstock

  Foreword

  Never The Bride is book one in the Dilbury Village series, which will comprise of a number of standalone novels set in the quaint English village.

  Never The Bride is the second romantic comedy novel by Charlotte Fallowfield.

  www.charlottefallowfield.co.uk

  Until We Collide

  Dilbury Village Series

  Never The Bride

  I also write humorous erotic romance novels, under the pen name C.J. Fallowfield

  www.cjfallowfield.co.uk

  Dedication

  Never The Bride is dedicated to all the women who have yet to meet their soul mate, their very own Prince Charming.

  Never stop searching, never stop believing, and never settle for anyone who treats you as anything less than you are.

  For those of you who have already found the perfect man for you, never take him for granted, never forget to tell him what he means to you, and never let him go. You’ve hit the relationship jackpot, you lucky devils!

  As for the rest of us, we will continue, like my heroines, to live in hope.

  Table of Contents

  Never The Bride

  Foreword

  Dedication

  Table of Contents

  Dilbury Village Map

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

  Next Release

  Newsletter

  C.J. Fallowfield

  Shrewsbury

  Dilbury Village Map

  Holly Cottage – Abbie – Accountant

  Honeysuckle Cottage – Daphne – Retired

  Jasmine Cottage – Georgie – Dog Groomer

  Ivy Cottage – Charlie – Author

  Chapter One

  Abbie Carter

  July

  ‘FOR THE LOVE OF God, Georgie, please pick up the phone,’ I begged, as I stood in front of the long mirror in the dressing room of the quite frankly offensively named Bridezilla Wedding Boutique in Shrewsbury. I just wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole.

  ‘Ok, what’s wrong with this one?’ she laughed, as her freckled face appeared on my screen.

  ‘Sssshhhh, keep it down,’ I warned, sticking my head out of the changing room curtain to see if anyone else was here with me, or if I could speak freely.

  ‘Abbie, this is bridesmaid dress number nine. The fact that you’ve hated each and every single one of its predecessors means your reputation precedes you. You’re the nightmare bridesmaid, the one who always hates the dress. Everyone already knows you’re going to hate this one as well.’

  ‘A nightmare bridesmaid?’ I huffed, then blinked at her, not sure if she was being serious. Was I a nightmare? It was true, I hated each and every one of those eight dresses, all shoved up in my attic, never to see the light of day again. But as far as my many, many duties as one of the most frequent bridesmaids in Shropshire, I thought I was exemplary. Which was quite a feat given the messes I normally got myself into. I’d even had a bridal magazine want to do a feature on me, I was that proficient at it. Of course, I’d declined. How was I supposed to attract a man if I was the talk of the county, the one that never got to wear the coveted white dress?

  ‘Ok, maybe I’ve exaggerated a little,’ she giggled. ‘But you do have a face like a smacked arse each time you walk up the aisle in one of those monstrosities. How bad this time, on a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being the dress you could see yourself getting married in, it’s that perfect, and 10 being “not even for my closed casket funeral” awful?’

  ‘I’d have to go with an eleven,’ I sighed, glancing down at my vivid fuchsia froufrou dress, with layers and layers of lime green underskirt and a neon yellow sash that tied in the most enormous bow at the back. To round off the seriously crappy look, as if it wasn’t blinding enough, I’d been given a bright purple clutch bag. The shoes were the only great thing about the ensemble. A pair of multi-coloured, high-heeled suede sandals that were seriously cute and summery. ‘I wouldn’t even want someone to have to try and dress my stiff body in this hideous creation. Seeing my naked corpse would be torture enough for the undertaker, let alone in this … this … I have no words, Georgie, that’s how bad it is. It’s a first. Abbie Carter is speechless. I look like some kind of 80’s throwback, which wouldn’t be so bad if I’d been around in the 80’s, but I wasn’t even a twinkle in anyone’s eye!’

  ‘Come on, it seriously can’t be that bad,’ she suggested as she craned her neck, like that was going to help her see the colour-vomit tableau any better.

  ‘I look like I just threw up a family-sized bag of Skittles all over myself. Trust me, even you’d look bad in it, and you look good in anything.’ My best friend was a stunning redhead, with deep burnished copper locks that came straight out of a shampoo or hairspray commercial, gorgeous piercing light blue eyes, and a face and figure to die for. She should be a famous catwalk model, not a dog groomer, up to her elbows in soap suds, trimmed hair, and overexcited pooches who either tried to hump her or left her little brown surprise gifts that she often ended up stepping in by accident. ‘And what do you mean, “a face like a smacked arse?” This is my face. I always look like this, thank you very much!’

  ‘You’re beautiful, Abbie, but lately your mouth has been in a permanent resting trout pout.’

  ‘You cheeky–’

  ‘No,’ she interrupted, holding up her palm to the screen. ‘As best friend, my chief duty is not to lie, unless it involves raiding your freezer for ice cream and snacks, or your cookie jar for those delicious home-baked ones you know I love, then denying all knowledge. You have the most radiant smile, Abbie, and it’s been too long since I last saw it. But that discussion can wait for our next one-to-one, and trust me when I say I won’t be pulling any punches, as enough is enough. Now, let’s see t
his puke-inducing creation.’

  ‘Ok, brace yourself,’ I warned, angling my phone and scanning my body.

  ‘Good God!’ she exclaimed with a shocked gasp. ‘And I really thought I’d prepared myself. Seriously, that would scare someone in the SAS. I think I’ve just been blinded for life. Surely this Rachel’s having a laugh? This is a joke for the hen night, right?’

  ‘Sadly, no. We were measured months ago, but she left the first fitting to the last moment as she wanted it to be a surprise for us all.’

  ‘Hello! Mission accomplished, I’d say.’

  ‘So how do I back out gracefully? It’s bad enough that I already have eight dresses I hate in my attic, I can’t put this up there too. It makes the others look like gorgeous Vera Wang creations!’

  ‘It’s not like you’re that good friends. I mean, other than this wedding, I’ve never once heard you talk about her. Honestly, how you keep getting asked to be a bridesmaid for all these women in the first place is baffling. You haven’t seen them for years.’

  ‘It’s a whole stupid boarding school pact.’ I plopped myself down on the padded stool in my changing room with a heavy sigh of resignation. I’d given my word to my thirteen classmates, as they had to me, that we’d all be each other’s bridesmaid when the big day came. We’d been sixteen years old, it was a lifetime ago. Ok, twelve years ago, but all the same, we’d moved on, grown up, and pretty much lost touch.

  Sometimes I hated social media. People said it was great for finding long-lost friends, but this was what became of it. A sad, single, and lonely twenty-eight-year-old spinster, forced to wear a disgusting dress, yet again, for a woman she barely even knew. As if the humiliation of still being single, of never having had a relationship that lasted longer than a month, wasn’t bad enough. Well, unless you counted Mr. Sumo. My overweight British bulldog had been with me for seven years now, a graduation present from my dad. Most people got something useful. A house deposit, a car maybe. Hell, I’d have been happy with a new saucepan set or a month’s supply of sanitary products. But I got a bulldog puppy. And not just any bulldog puppy. Oh no, that would have made life far too easy. I got the most miserable-looking, overweight, stubborn, gaseous, drooling little mutt ever born. And he hated me!

  ‘Well, as you barely see her anymore, it makes it even easier to let her down then, doesn’t it?’ Georgie suggested.

  ‘I can’t,’ I sighed, resigned to my fate, but feeling slightly reassured that my horror at this God-awful dress wasn’t misplaced. ‘I promised, and I don’t like to go back on my word.’ My major flaw was hating to let people down. And not speaking my mind, intentionally anyway. And being too nice. And worrying too much about what people thought of me. And … my God, I had a multitude of flaws. No wonder I was single.

  ‘You’re too nice for your own good, Abbie Carter,’ scolded Georgie. ‘What say we drown your sorrows in a nice bottle of wine with a takeaway later?’

  ‘You’re on,’ I nodded, cheering up for the first time since I’d pulled this over-starched and stiff kaleidoscope of a dress on. ‘Yours or mine?’

  ‘Mine. I spend my days with dogs, I don’t need “Eau de Sumo” assaulting my nostrils as I’m trying to savour a lovely Pinot and some delicious lemon chicken, thanks very much.’

  ‘For someone who works with dogs all day, you’re not exactly loving towards him out of dog grooming hours,’ I objected. Sumo might be a royal pain in the arse, but he was my pain in the arse. I’d never have chosen to be saddled with him for the last seven years, but he was the closest thing I had to a long-term relationship, or family, and I did love him. I’d be devastated if anything happened to him.

  ‘Abbie, darling, how are you doing in there? Do you need any help?’ called Rachel in an incredibly posh voice. Darling wasn’t just darling in her world, it was dragged out into a daaaaarling.

  ‘Ermmm, no. I’m great, thanks,’ I called, grimacing at Georgie. ‘Just had a bit of trouble doing up the zip, but I’ll be out any minute.’

  ‘Don’t be long, you’re missing all of the champers and canapés. I just can’t wait to see all of you together. I’m beyond excited, it will be a riot of colour!’

  ‘I can believe that,’ I called back, and Georgie covered her mouth with her palm as her shoulders started shaking.

  ‘Personally I really love the theme, but I swear, if anyone says anything negative about it, I’ll cry. Mummy’s been quite vocal that she thinks it’s too much, and I don’t want her getting any validation of that or I’ll never hear the end of it. You must let me know what you think when you see us all together. I always valued your opinion at school, Abbie, you were always the sensible one of us.’

  ‘Sure, will do.’ Oh Jesus, now I was going to have to lie through my back teeth.

  ‘See you in a moment, darling,’ Rachel called.

  ‘Mmmm-hmmm.’ I waited until I heard the door close, then burst out laughing along with Georgie.

  ‘Oh my God, you’re so screwed,’ she screeched, reaching up to wipe some tears of laughter from her cheeks. ‘You can’t break the poor girl’s heart now. Please tell me that I can come to this shindig as your plus-one? This I have to see.’

  ‘Well, I did have Liam Hemsworth and Theo James on standby,’ I mused, tapping my finger on my lips before breaking into a smile. ‘Of course you can come. I was dreading being the only single one there.’

  ‘You’re not worried they’ll think you’re a lesbian, turning up with me in tow?’

  ‘Ermmm, I wasn’t until you just suggested it! But surely it’s better to be a lesbian with a seriously hot date than a pathetic loser on her own wearing a puke-inducing rainbow.’

  ‘You speak such wise words,’ she mocked.

  ‘Thanks for making me feel better. I’d better go and put on a brave face. See you later, sweetie.’

  ‘Seven o’clock, don’t be late.’

  ‘I’m never late,’ I protested.

  ‘Huh, right! Honestly, you live two cottages down and you’ve never made it to me on time. Go, I’ll have the wine chilling and will be dialling the Chinese the minute you step through the door.’

  ‘Thanks, Georgie.’ I blew her a kiss, which she returned, then tapped the red “end call” button and stood up. I grimaced as I faced myself in the mirror, then blew out a deep breath and pushed my shoulders back, lifting my head high. It was just a dress. I could do this, piece of cake.

  Don’t laugh, Abbie. Do. Not. Laugh. Or let your wildly inappropriate subconscious thoughts spew out as normal, I warned myself as I headed up the corridor towards the sound of excited chatter in the main bride’s lounge. It was a lovely private area, with a raised podium for the bride to twirl on and be admired, surrounded by a comfortable horseshoe-shaped seating arrangement for her close circle of family and friends who got to see the dress and offer their opinions. One day you’ll be on that podium, Abbie Carter, don’t give up hope. It was a silly pep talk to give myself, as hope was fading with each bridesmaid dress I put on. I was convinced that if I made it to dress thirteen, that would be it.

  Game over.

  Spinster for life.

  I turned the corner into the private lounge, and my eyes widened in horror at the sight of all the other bridesmaids in one place.

  ‘Jesus Christ, it looks like a unicorn farted a neon rainbow in here!’ I exclaimed. Crap. Subconscious restraint fail, Abbie. I felt my cheeks blaze, quite possibly matching the colour of my dress, as a deathly silence descended upon the room. All eyes turned to give me a warning glare, and Rachel dropped to the floor, a dramatic hand to her brow as she started bawling.

  ‘Sumo, Mummy’s home,’ I called as I stepped through my front door and shoved it shut behind me, putting my hip and shoulder into it to help me force it into place. This was why I needed a man. Not just for the romance and hot sex, which would be a serious bonus, or a welcome greeting as I walked in the door, but for his ability to fix things. I needed a man who loved to do odd jobs, as my house had lots of littl
e ones that required tending. Like this front door that could use some excess wood shaved from it so I wouldn’t have to slam it shut.

  I’d lived in a smart, modern, one-bedroomed terraced house with a small garden in the historic town of Shrewsbury until four years ago. I’d worked for an accountancy firm in the more commercial town of Telford, about half an hour commute by car, where I’d been ever since I’d graduated as a Chartered Accountant. Life had been routine and normal, or in other words, dull and predictable.

  I’d come to terms with being a motherless child at a young age, my mum having died in childbirth. That only made me respect and love my dad even more. Instead of quitting or trying to find a replacement mother figure for me, he’d brought me up single-handedly. All of his focus had been on our relationship, and my development and future, until I left home to go to university. We’d had such a close bond. My world had been turned upside down when a sudden heart attack had taken him from me nearly five years ago. It was almost as if he’d seen it coming, as only the week before, he’d told me that he was worried about me, that he wanted to see me happy again. He’d warned me that I was in a rut and needed to make some changes in my life, starting with my job. He’d suggested I quit and set up my own practice working from home.

  Of course, the practicalities of that when you lived in a tiny, already cramped house, with a portly trumping pooch who hated company, made it a non-viable option. But when Dad left his country cottage to me, along with a considerable inheritance, I’d decided to do as he’d suggested by quitting my job and putting my house on the market. I had enough money that I didn’t have to worry about taking my time setting up my business, and slowly made the move into my childhood home first.