Willow's Wedding Vows: a laugh out loud romantic comedy with a twist!

by Debbie Viggiano

  Lately he’d been dropping hints about ending the affair. She wasn’t stupid. She’d picked up the recent vibes. She was also deliberately ignoring them. Until Charlie said those three little words, it is over, she was playing dumb. Why? She’d asked herself that question a thousand times. The only answer she could come up with was because she was enjoying herself. Certainly too much to let him end it. She wanted more. Much more. Every now and again she fantasised that Charlie might have fallen in love with her. Wouldn’t that be fantastic? Although, deep down, she knew they weren’t really suited to each other. But, then again, didn’t they say that opposites attracted?

  If only Charlie would come to his senses and realise that he needed to end his relationship not with her, but with his live-in girlfriend. And yes, it would make things awkward between her and Willow. After all, they’d known each other for a long time. But… Willow would get over it. Eventually. She was still young enough to meet someone else. Willow wasn’t compatible for Charlie on so many levels. She probably wanted babies, and Kev knew that Charlie didn’t. Which suited her fine. In her opinion, motherhood was so overrated. How many times had she and Willow been in a café, gossiping, only to have their conversation wrecked by someone’s kid letting out ear-piercing wails? It was the same in restaurants. And aeroplanes. She was the one who always ended up with a fractious toddler sitting behind her. It was no joy listening to a kid screaming about cabin pressure playing havoc with its eardrums, especially when that kid’s racket upset everyone else’s eardrums.

  Kev collapsed onto the mattress beside Charlie, breathing hard. He sighed contentedly, then pulled her into the crook of his arm. She snuggled into him, wishing this was something they could do every day, not just in snatched moments. Two minutes later, she realised the rise and fall of Charlie’s chest had taken on a slow and steady rhythm. Glancing up under her eyelashes, she realised he’d dozed off. She smiled. Poor darling. But how fortuitous for her. Despite having known Charlie for several years, she had no pictures of him. Well, not personal ones. Images on her phone of Charlie and Willow didn’t count, whereas pictures of Charlie in her bed most definitely did.

  Her mobile was on the bedside table. Kev made a long arm and grabbed it. Seconds later, she had a treasured shot of Charlie’s handsome features against the backdrop of her Cath Kidston pillowcases. She then reached into her underwear drawer. Seconds later, like a shower cap, she’d placed a fishnet thong over his head. She took another picture. Just for fun. It would be something to occasionally look back upon and giggle.

  After all, it wasn’t like anyone else would ever see it, was it?

  Twelve

  ‘What are you doing?’ said Charlie, coming to.

  He pulled the thong off his head.

  ‘Just messing about,’ said Kev with a giggle.

  ‘Ha bloody ha,’ he tutted, lobbing the thong at her.

  Kev ducked and the itsy-bitsy piece of underwear landed on the carpet, as did the mobile which she let slip from her hand. She didn’t want Charlie knowing about her secret pictures. She would look at them later. After he’d gone. A shadow passed over her face.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked, propping himself up on one elbow to properly look at her.

  ‘Oh… you know,’ she said with a sigh.

  ‘No, I don’t know, otherwise I wouldn’t ask. Go on. Spit it out.’

  Her mouth turned downwards.

  ‘Your forthcoming trip to Birmingham. I honestly thought you’d made that up to get away from Willow for the weekend and be with me.’

  Charlie was silent for a moment. Oh God. He should never have allowed Kev to lead him upstairs to her bedroom. But what red-blooded male could resist scarlet lipstick and matching high heels worn by an otherwise naked woman? Certainly not him. He should have stayed in Kev’s hallway and stuck to the script he’d formulated on the train. Now wasn’t the moment to do a “it’s-not-you-it’s-me” speech. Not when he couldn’t make a quick getaway due to his clothes being scattered around the bedroom and–

  Where were his boxers?

  ‘What are you thinking?’ she prompted.

  Why did women always want to know what men were thinking?

  ‘That I ought to be going.’

  ‘When will I next see you?’

  ‘I’ll text.’

  To say that you won’t be seeing me.

  Hell. Only wimps dumped by text. Okay. Fine. He’d be a wimp. Whatever. He just needed this to end.

  ‘Can I ask you a question?’ she said.

  ‘About?’

  ‘Your trip to Birmingham.’

  Why did she keep harping on about Birmingham?

  Charlie tried not to look shifty.

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘I want to know what really goes on when you’re away.’

  ‘It’s a work convention. What do you think happens? That we put whoopee cushions on the CEO’s seat and ping elastic bands at him as we snigger behind our notepads?’

  ‘Now you’re being silly,’ she tutted. ‘You know perfectly well what I’m talking about. You’ve told me all about the dodgy lap dance places you’ve visited, not forgetting the seedy nightclubs that you and your colleagues have frequented. And let’s not omit the number of girls you’ve picked up.’

  ‘Look, we discussed this when you rang my office. I went to a club once’ – Charlie lied – ‘and that was long before anything was going on between us. Yes, hands up’ – he made a gesture of surrender – ‘I was persuaded to go along after shipping too much booze and being the worse for wear. But, as the Hollywood legend Paul Newman once famously said, “Why would I go out for a hamburger when I have filet mignon at home?”’

  ‘At home?’ said Kev sharply. ‘Are you telling me Willow is your filet mignon?’

  ‘No, you big silly,’ he said, deliberately softening his voice to appease her. ‘I’m talking about you. Nothing goes on between me and Willow. I’ve told you repeatedly. She’s like my kid sister.’

  Now that Willow’s name had been mentioned in a platonic context, Kev decided to pursue this line of questioning, even though it was a taboo subject. She wanted answers.

  ‘If Willow is like your kid sister, why are you still living together?’

  Charlie shrugged.

  ‘I guess it’s the easy option. We have a house together. She pays her share of the mortgage, which makes things cheaper for me. And she looks after me. It’s nice having my shirts ironed and having a meal put on the table.’

  He gave an embarrassed laugh to acknowledge he was using Willow.

  ‘Plus I’m fond of the old girl,’ he added, just to prove he wasn’t a total shit.

  ‘Old? She’s thirty, Charlie. Not ninety.’

  ‘Just a figure of speech.’

  ‘Huh.’ Kev pursed her lips. ‘You’re older than Willow by five years.’

  ‘Okay, let’s not point score.’

  ‘So what exactly are you going to do about her?’

  ‘Do?’

  ‘Yes, do, Charlie.’

  Kev knew she was pursuing a dangerous subject, but she couldn’t resist.

  ‘Do I have to do anything?’ said Charlie, looking confused.

  ‘Yes! What about us?’

  Charlie was starting to resent this line of questioning.

  He flopped back against the pillows and stared up at the ceiling. This was the perfect moment to bow out. To say, “Listen, confession time. I’m a bastard. A big bastard. And once a bastard, always a bastard. I can’t possibly continue foisting my bastardness on you for another second. So I’m going to do the honourable thing and let you go.” What would she say to that? Probably, “You BASTARD,” and then he could say, “Exactly!”.

  ‘Charlie?’ she prompted.

  ‘Yes?’

  He didn’t look at her. Instead he kept his eyes on the ceiling. Tiny cracks fretted the plasterwork around the light pendant. He silently harrumphed. What a parallel to this relationship. It was full of cracks.


  ‘We get along so well, and the sex is great,’ she gabbled. ‘Why don’t you tell Willow the truth about us? In time, she’ll get over it.’

  Charlie wasn’t so sure. In his mind’s eye he could see Willow staring at him in disbelief, the terrible hurt in those puppy-dog eyes. “You don’t want to be with me any more? You want to be with her? But why, Charlie? What did I do wrong?”

  ‘And anyway, she must know things aren’t okay between you both.’

  ‘Really?’ said Charlie frowning. ‘And why would that be?’

  ‘Derrrrrr,’ she said, her voice laden with sarcasm. ‘You said yourself that the pair of you don’t have a sex life.’

  ‘Ah, well, that’s… that’s down to Willow. Not me.’

  ‘You mean it’s her choice not to have sex?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ Charlie nodded. ‘Willow never had a huge sex drive.’

  ‘I thought you said the two of you were like rabbits when you met in Ibiza.’

  ‘That was then. This is now. She’s no longer like a rabbit.’

  ‘What, more like a jellyfish?’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘You know, one of those creatures that don’t need a male in their life. Did you know that jellyfish can even breed without a male? Isn’t that amazing!’

  ‘Um, I didn’t know that. And anyway, I wouldn’t say Willow was like a jellyfish.’

  ‘What is she like then?’

  ‘More like a teddy bear,’ said Charlie thoughtfully.

  ‘In what way?’ she asked, hackles rising.

  Charlie had failed to detect the hostility in Kev’s voice.

  ‘Willow is like a teddy bear because she’s cuddly.’

  ‘Cuddly?’ she growled. ‘Do you still have cuddles?’

  ‘Noooo,’ said Charlie hastily. ‘Not like that. Not in the way you’re thinking. I meant she’s cuddly as in–’

  ‘Fat?’

  ‘She’s not fat!’

  ‘Yes she is,’ Kev snarled. ‘She hasn’t got a figure like mine.’

  ‘No, no, she hasn’t,’ Charlie soothed.

  Kev didn’t have a spare ounce of flesh on her body. Embracing her was like hugging an ironing board, whereas Willow was soft and voluptuous. It was a joy to rest his head on her pillow-like boobs. He groaned. What was he doing? He should be at home with Willow, not here with Kev having this manipulative conversation.

  ‘So when are you going to end your relationship with her?’ Kev persisted.

  Charlie wriggled against the mattress. He didn’t want this discussion. There was only one obvious escape route, and he took it. Shifting his body, he pressed his mouth against hers. That would stop her talking. Kev instantly yielded, putty in his hands. Thank God for that. He’d just have to try and rise to the occasion, even if it did mean getting home even later.

  Thirteen

  At home, alone, Willow had missed Charlie’s company. On the upside, it had been nice watching the telly with the remote control in her hand rather than being subject to Charlie’s constant flicking.

  As Charlie had agreed to grabbing a burger from the drive-thru, she’d not bothered cooking properly for herself. Instead she’d opted to eat a tottering pagoda of toast. The plate had been piled high with golden triangles topped with melted cheese. For a second Willow had hesitated, thinking that perhaps she should have put together a salad. She was always coveting Emma’s tiny waistline. But then she’d told herself that all the diets in the world would never give her Emma’s lean frame, so Willow had dismissed all thoughts of eating rabbit food. Life was too short.

  Plate in one hand, a mug of tea in the other, she’d snuggled against the sofa’s many layers of cushions and had a lovely time watching old re-runs of Only Fools and Horses.

  The hands of the clock were now edging towards ten. My goodness, Charlie was going to be knackered. Poor love. He worked so hard. Willow pointed the remote at the telly. A moment later and the screen went black. Standing up, she stretched, listening to her spine crack as the vertebrae unkinked. She hadn’t bothered to draw the curtains. Outside the sky was as dark as a demon’s heart. Rain had lashed the windows all evening.

  Wandering into the gloom of the kitchen, she dumped her cup and plate in the sink. She’d wash them up in the morning. A rumble sounded overhead, and Willow cringed. Of all the things that frightened her, a storm was top of the list. Her fear of thunder and lightning was even greater than spiders.

  Moments later, the kitchen was bathed in a harsh, bright glow. Whimpering, she pressed the flat of her hand against the light switch. Instantly the shadows fell away. Another grumble reverberated through the heavens. When Willow had been a child, her mum had tried to lessen her storm phobia by laughing it off. Anita West had cheerfully told her daughter that the noise was only God moving his furniture around in Heaven. But five-year-old Willow hadn’t believed the story. If God had a house in the sky, how come she couldn’t see it?

  Another streaky zigzag forked through the atmosphere, lighting up the garden beyond the kitchen window. Willow lunged for the cord to the kitchen blind, wrenching it downwards. She knew she wouldn’t be happy until the curtains in every single room had been closed, keeping the flashing in abeyance. If she put in her earbuds and listened to some loud music, it would drown out the sound of the storm. Between the house’s black-out blinds and Harry Styles’ latest album, she might just be able to kid herself the outside weather was nothing more than a bit of drizzle. The buds were on her bedside table.

  Willow made to leave the kitchen but, just as she was about to turn off the light, the room was plunged into darkness. She gave a squeak of alarm. Oh no. A power cut. She wasn’t particularly scared of the dark, but thanks to drawing the downstairs curtains, she now couldn’t see a thing. Another crash came from above. Dear God. Never mind Him upstairs moving his furniture about, right now it sounded like a bunch of explosive experts demolishing a high-rise block of flats.

  Trying to ignore the fear prickling her scalp, she stuck her hands out in front of her. Negotiating the kitchen doorway, Willow edged through the gap and then felt her way along the hall. Had she left her mobile in the lounge? It had a built-in torch. Willow debated whether to look for it. She couldn’t be certain it wasn’t tucked into one of the sofa’s cushions, or even somewhere on the floor. In fact, was it in the lounge at all?

  A fresh rumble was building momentum and Willow gave another squeal of fear. All she wanted was to slide under the duvet, pull it over her head and quietly shake. But to do that, she needed to get up the stairs. She gulped at the prospect of blindly negotiating a staircase.

  Fumbling her way along the hall, she tried to keep her mind calm, but her brain was having none of it. It kept projecting huge images of monsters lurking round corners, goblins hiding in cupboards, and demons waiting to pounce.

  There was another crash, as if a huge oak were being felled. Squeaking like a mouse with a cat after it, Willow edged forward only to painfully stub her toe against the bottom stair tread. Dropping to all fours, she began to climb slowly and carefully upward. By the time she’d reached the landing, her heart was thumping erratically and a slick of perspiration was beading her upper lip.

  ‘Come on, Willow,’ she muttered to herself. ‘Pull yourself together.’

  Keeping down on all fours, she shuffled towards her bedroom.

  ‘You’re nearly there. Well done. That’s it. Keep going, keep… owwwww!’

  She yelped as her head thumped against something. The blasted door was shut. Feeling her way upright, she leant against the doorframe, taking a moment for the pain in her forehead to subside. Steadying herself, she lowered the door handle. Inching her way into the room, another flash of lightning lit up her surroundings and she was relieved to quickly glimpse both her earbuds and mobile by the bed. As the room plunged back into darkness, Willow negotiated her way around the bed, then quickly pulled the curtains together.

  Rubbing the sore spot on her brow, she sank down on the bed with relief. In
a minute, she’d get undressed and curl up in a ball under the duvet. She just needed to take some deep breaths and wait for her heart to stop galloping. And then she froze. Because, despite the noise going on outside, her ears had detected a sound within. There it was again. She held her breath and listened to a loud creak beyond the bedroom. It was the loose floorboard on the landing. It only ever made that noise when stood upon. Dear Lord. There was someone in the house with her.

  Her mind began to race with possibilities. Was it a burglar? Had it not been a power cut after all? Rather, had the lights going out been part of the burglar’s grand plan, using the storm to disguise him stealthily cutting wires, blanketing the house in darkness, in order to steal all her worldly goods?

  An icy finger of fear stroked its way down her spine as her aortic valves sped up to deal with a fresh adrenalin-dump. She half-expected her heart to burst out from under her ribcage and bounce off the bedroom walls like a rubber ball. The floorboard gave another squeak indicating the intruder’s foot had moved – which meant he was coming into her bedroom.

  Willow had no available weapon to hand. Maybe she could grab one of the pillows and give the intruder’s head a surprise wallop? Now she could hear breathing. There wasn’t a moment to lose. Groping in the darkness, her fingers curled around one pillow, holding it secure in a vice-like grip. She needed to work out where the unwanted visitor was standing so that her blow made accurate contact. She’d have to get him to speak. She gulped, swallowing down a lump the size of a ping-pong ball.

  ‘Who’s there?’ she croaked, poised for action with the pillow.

  Ahead of her, a mobile’s torchlight suddenly shone directly at her. The thin white beam immediately blinded her, rendering any pillow-bludgeoning useless. A scream was starting to rise in her throat. Her eyes squinted against the light as Willow struggled to make out the shape looming in the bedroom doorway… a shape that was now coming towards her.

  Willow’s scream exploded into the air just as two hands roughly grabbed her shoulders, but her cry was instantly drowned out by another clap of thunder. She briefly wondered if it was possible to die of fright.