Tell The Groom

Week 25 - Rocket Man

2010-11-08T12:33:00.001Z

During the first week in November I saw more and more of Heather. She had this knack of appearing every time I During the first week in November I saw more and more of Heather. She had this knack of appearing every time I was feeling down which was quite a lot lately. Heather's mum had not been well and this was the reason Heather gave for deciding to remain in England. I hadn't realised how ill her mum actually was and perhaps I had been too engrossed in my own problems to actually be listening to what Heather was saying. Heather always had a smile and hug for me and I loved to just look down into her brown eyes. For some reason, I was keeping this new special friend away from my family. It wasn't that I didn't want them to know that I was moving on from Becky; but I was happy to keep Heather just for me. Mind you the picture of us kissing that appeared in the Sunday paper did not help to keep the secret. For some reason my parents decided never to ask questions about Heather. Mind you I never asked questions about me and Heather either. It just felt really natural when we were together. I also decided not to tell Heather about Nan's Will and the fact that marrying Becky could make me one hundred thousand pounds.

Walsall Council Leisure Department invited me back in for a chat on the morning of Bonfire Night. I had left Heather asleep naked in my bed after we had both drunk too much wine last night to be able to drive Heather back. I liked having Heather in my bed, especially naked, but apart from often stroking each other nothing ever happened. I had thought about this quite a bit and was unsure if I felt I was being unfaithful to Becky or was just waiting too long for Heather to give me a sign. The dilemma was that I didn't want to get it wrong and ruin the only real friend I had left at the moment. Perhaps after being so badly let down by both Pete and Becky I was deliberately holding back from Heather. The problem was I had no idea how Heather felt about me and now her mum was very ill; it just didn't seem the right time. It would be really insensitive to make a move when she was just wanting a friend. Then there was her 'former' lover Jean Pierre. In all the films French men are great lovers. How was Jon an English Stadler going to compare?

Sitting opposite Tracey from Human Resources I just couldn't read her face to see what my fate was going to be. She tried to be comforting and put on a caring voice but avoided all eye contact. I tried to help by smiling at her to help the many uncomfortable moments. But this probably just made me look more like a madman. Tracey seemed to have quite a large folder on me that included some of my clippings from the newspaper. She repeatedly said that I had the full support of Walsall Council. Was she about to end my suspension? I really couldn't tell, but decided that this was all too difficult to deal with. Making probably another bad decision in my life, I decided that I didn't want to return to work and have to answer lots of questions about my private life - especially from 'bluenoses' in wheelchairs. I surprised Tracey by standing up, shaking her hand, offering my resignation and walking out of Walsall Council Leisure department for good. I could see the relief in her face and for once I just felt like not being the usual responsible Jon. For the first time in my life, I was going to be unemployed and really didn't care. I wasn't responsible to anybody and wouldn't even have to tell my mum for a few weeks.

As I walked back to my car I took my Walsall Council Identity Card and threw it high into the air and watched as it landed in a garden behind the Council car park. I was free from the most mundane job I had ever had. I could just go home now and maybe ravish Heather in my bed. Why should Pete be the only one who is allowed to be irresponsible with his life and bonk anyone he wants to? Just then Tracey from Human Resources came racing after me. Maybe she was going to declare her undying love for me? No, she just wanted to ask for my Walsall Council Identity Card back. So a few minutes later I was knocking on the door to house number 272 to ask them if I could have my Identity Card back from in their garden. The old man who answered the door just looked at me as if I was mad before slamming the door in my face and mumbling "bloody council".

On my way home I stopped to buy a box of fireworks so things with me and Heather really could go with a bang. I was rather surprised at how expensive fireworks had become and even ended up paying twenty pounds for a rocket. It did promise to create an explosion of colour in the sky. It was a rather large rocket that only just fitted inside my sporty car. I was also concerned that it said “please stand fifty feet away after lighting”. I wasn't quite sure where I was going to light it but kept thinking how much Nan would have loved it. I also thought how normally I could delegate the job of lighting it to Pete. Why had he ruined our friendship?

Back at home I was pleased to see that the small figure of Heather was still asleep in my bed. I decided, after putting the rather large rocket and other fireworks in the wardrobe, to just strip off and get back into bed. I suppose now I was unemployed I would have to get used to this. Even though she was in a deep sleep, Heather had a radiant smile and wrapped herself around me. She seemed so special and I decided that I was going to admit my feelings for her under a very expensive firework tonight. The smell of Heather was becoming one of my favourite smells. Even when she wasn't wearing her expensive sounding French perfume she had a natural smell that seemed so homely. How had I got to this place? My married life with Becky had been so planned but now three months later I had lost my bride, my best friend, my Nan and now my job. The strange thing was that today I just didn't care; I just wanted some happiness.

After an hour of just lying there Heather woke up and just kissed me lightly on the lips. I decided to give this special lady breakfast in bed. I went to the kitchen to see how many days past its sell-by date the bacon was and if the stale bread would be ok if toasted. My search for edible breakfast ingredients was halted by the sound of the postman pushing some letters through my letterbox. I went to investigate and found three letters. Two were obviously bills but the third one was in a purple envelope and hand written. The writing on the purple envelope looked familiar and I opened it nervously. As I thought; it was from Becky and started 'Dear Jon...'

Week 24 - Nan Games

2010-09-18T19:14:00.000+01:00

I had never been to a Will reading before and was slightly disappointed that my first one would be on a day when my head was spinning around more than it had ever done before. The card from Becky, seeing Pete, meeting Aunt Gladys and saying farewell to one of the most important people in my life had all been too much. It was difficult to know where I wanted to be most at the moment, it certainly wasn’t in that old dusty long solicitor’s office. I would give anything to just be lying next to Becky again with her feet stroking my legs and the feel of her eyelashes touching my cheek. Or to just be having a pre-match drink with Pete as we had so many times before he wrecked our friendship. Perhaps I just wanted again to sit in a smelly Old Peoples’ Home chatting to my slightly mad old Nan with the Antiques Roadshow in the background. My world had somehow collapsed in the last four months and I was losing key characters in my life at an alarming rate. My head was now full of questions; Who would be next? How long will I have my parents for? Will I end up old and alone with no friends and no-one special in my life?

My whole life had become a soap opera which even included weekly updates on the front page of a Sunday newspaper. How could Pete, somebody I trusted totally, have torn my life to pieces like this? Strangely all my anger was now aimed at Pete and even though it takes two to tango I saw Becky as the innocent party. I had seen Pete's handy work with girls so many times before that; could I really expect Becky to resist if Pete went into Pete mode? My head was now spinning so much it felt like it was about to shoot off my neck completely. I have always been the mild one of the Sadler family, which is saying a lot when you consider how laid back my Dad is, but now I just wanted to hit somebody hard repeatedly. How dare Pete turn up to my Nan’s funeral!

The spectacled gentleman read my Nan’s Last Will and Testament, but I just wasn’t taking it in. Instead I was staring at a painting hanging on the wall. The painting was quite disturbing as it was a lion in the middle of devouring an antelope. As I studied the picture I saw different couples of people in it playing the role of the animals. At first Pete was the lion and I was the antelope. Then it was Becky’s turn as the antelope being ripped to pieces by Pete. It was as I was seeing Nan as the lion and Mr Singh as the antelope that I suddenly became aware that the sum of Nan’s estate was a considerable amount. The total that I think the seriously looking spectacle wearing man had mentioned was over two hundred and fifty thousand pounds. This stunned the whole room. I mean that was the price that the Villa paid for the great Paul McGrath.

For the first time I became aware of who was actually in the room. There were my parents, Karen, Uncle Martin, Uncle Henry, cousin Michael, another nine cousins including Billy the extremely camp one who was wearing a purple cravat, Mr Singh, two elderly gentlemen both with white beards and strangely, Aunt Gladys. I was actually the youngest there but probably the only one who really got Nan. She tried to treat all her grandchildren the same but I suspected many of them probably wouldn’t even have known the way to her Old Peoples’ Home. As each of the cousins got mentioned in the Will it appalled me to see them smile and even offer celebratory gestures as they found out their credit card bills were going to be a thing of their past. Each of them would be going home with at least ten thousand pounds. All I wanted was my Nan to walk back in the room. She always laughed so much at ‘Game for a Laugh’ and I couldn’t help thinking how brilliant it would be if twin Aunt Gladys suddenly jumped up, declared she was really Nan and that this had all been a joke. Unfortunately that wasn’t going to happen and Nan would not be making an unexpected appearance. I was slightly disappointed with the serious way that this Will was being presented. I had half expected Nan might have made one of those American Soap style videos. It would have been good if she could have got somebody famous to read the Will. I imagined it being read by Lenny Henry dressed as an old lady!

Karen caused a few looks of disgust from the other cousins, including a flick of the head from cousin Billy, when it was revealed that she would be getting a cottage in Leominster that none of us even knew Nan had. Well, apart from Mr Singh, who shockingly disclosed that he and Nan had often escaped to the cottage for nights of wild passion. Then both the old bearded men shouted out in unison “And me”. The two gentlemen were apparently called Bruce and Arnie and they were the next to be mentioned. They were to have Nan’s antique Chess table with Star Wars character chess pieces. The proviso was that they would have to play one game of chess to decide who gets to keep it. Mr. Singh was then given my Nan’s orthopaedic bed and her box set of ‘Carry On’ films videos.

The next part of the Will was certainly a surprise. It was aimed at Gladys who out of loyalty to my Nan I had been ignoring since she appeared at the church doors. The solicitor said he had a box for Gladys but there was a note he had to read first.

“Dear Gladys, hopefully I will out-live you, but if not I would like to apologise for stealing, your then finance, Albert from you at our 18^th birthday party. I know that you never got over losing him to me so I would like to give him back to you.” The solicitor then handed a small wooden box to Aunt Gladys. It did surprise me how small the box was as I remembered Granddad as, like me, quite a tall chap.

My parents were next to find out what they would be getting and I was assuming that it was going to be a large amount of cash. Instead it was a few items of jewellery, the family Bible and two hundred BT shares. Uncle Henry also got two hundred BT shares, a collection of gentlemen’s hats and a teas-maid. So where was all the rest of the cash going? With Nan it could be to any strange charity.

As I pictured my Aunt Gladys and Nan fighting in the painting I suddenly realised that everyone had been mentioned in the Will but me. Had my Nan forgotten me or just left me until last for a reason. It was then I was given a very unexpected surprise. Nan had left me a staggering one hundred thousand pounds. Cousin Billy got up and ran out in tears and many of the other cousins fixed me with the kind of stares you associated with alien creatures in Doctor Who. Surely this couldn’t be right? Where had all this money come from and why was it heading my way? For some reason Dad felt the need to slap me on the back. It didn’t feel right. Nothing felt right. I just wanted my normal life back and more importantly I wanted my Nan back. She was worth more to me than one hundred thousand pounds. But one hundred thousand pounds would at least mean I could tell them to stuff the job at Walsall Council. Also I would enjoy taking the cheque into the snotty cashier at my bank who had rudely declined mine and Becky’s request for a fifty pound temporary overdraft on our joint account before the wedding.

We were starting to leave when a young teenage lad in a badly fitting suit walked in and hurriedly passed a brown envelope to the solicitor who was just closing his smart black brief case. The solicitor then shook his head as he read the letter he had been handed before telling us to sit back down. He was very apologetic as he explained that Nan had made a change to her Will ten days ago that he hadn’t been aware of it until now. It was only a small change he said but was extremely important.

The amendment was for me. My Nan really had had the last laugh. There was an extra condition to my inheritance of one hundred thousand pounds. Only a small point, but it read “the money is to be kept in trust and not given to Jonathan until the day that he marries Becky Holloway”.

Week 23 - Funeral of Surprises

2010-07-08T18:31:00.001+01:00

Lying in a bed that is only five foot long, when you are over six foot tall and a thirty year old man, sleeping is difficult, but when you add the fact that in less than ten hours time you will be going to a funeral at the Church where you were jilted and it becomes an impossibility. I had decided that I wanted to be with my parents the night before Nan’s funeral as I had been worried about my Dad. Even though it seemed for the last ten years that Dad had been the parent and not the child he was now missing his mum so much. He wasn’t the only one I really wasn’t ready to have no grandparents and I also wasn’t ready to go back inside that Church. My mind kept switching between reliving my wedding day fiasco and seeing my Nan falling to her death. Nothing seemed to make sense at the moment. The only part of my life that seemed to bring me any happiness was Heather, but I had no idea what her intentions towards me were. Heather had asked if I wanted her at the funeral, but I had said I wanted it just to be my family. Heather had been brilliant and she said she would wait for me at my flat wearing stockings and suspenders. She was probably the only thing that was keeping me vaguely sane.

According to the alarm clock it was five to three but I just couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes I kept seeing Becky in her wedding dress at the front of the Church kissing Pete. It was dreadful I just couldn’t get past this image. How could my best mate have betrayed me so much? Didn’t those years sitting together in double History mean anything? Just then I heard the sound of somebody walking around outside my bedroom door. I decided to go and investigate. It was Dad just pacing around in his unflattering paisley pyjamas. This didn’t seem like my Dad. This man just wasn’t calm and in control like my Dad he was like somebody placed on a faraway planet where suddenly nothing made sense. We sat together drinking hot milk with golden syrup in for the first time in twenty years, but just didn’t speak. We probably had so much to say that we didn’t know where to start. Then Dad did something that really shocked me. He reached out and placed his hand on mine. He then said, “Don’t make the same mistake as me Jon” and stood up and returned to his, and mum’s bedroom.

Somehow I managed to sleep and it wasn’t until a text from Heather arrived at ten past nine that I woke. The text simply read “Thinking of Jon. I will be there when you need me”. Maybe there is a future for me and Heather. If we ever do get married it certainly won’t be at St. Chad’s. What am I doing thinking about marrying Heather on the day of my Nan’s funeral at the Church where I was jilted? As he had on my nearly wedding day my Dad arrived with a bacon sandwich and cup of tea for me. It was sad to see that my familiar Villa mug had a chip on the edge. Dad seemed slightly brighter this morning but that mood soon changed when instead of his usual Daily Express the paperboy delivered a copy of The Sun. As if having the wrong newspaper wasn’t bad enough, the headline on the front page made things a whole lot worse. The headline read ‘WHO KILLED JILTED JON’S NAN’. The story seemed to suggest that the mysterious death of a frail old lady was linked to the disappearance of Becky. The whole story was total fiction. No mention of the fact that Nan was trying to climb down the drain pipe when she fell and instead seemed to suggest she was thrown from the window shortly after Jon Stadler had arrived.

The funeral hearse arrived at the house and I looked at the coffin. Surely that couldn’t be my Nan in there. I half expected to hear her banging her stick on the lid shouting to be let out as it was time for ‘Emmerdale’. There were just a bunch of white lilies on top of the surprisingly small coffin. It was also civil and just not Nan. I really didn’t want this to be goodbye. In the funeral car were Mum, Dad, Karen, Uncle Henry and me. We didn’t say a word to each other, but that wasn’t unusual lately. After ten minutes my Dad broke the silence by announcing that this afternoon we all had to go to hear the reading of Nan’s Will.

As we followed the coffin into the Church I was disappointed to see such a poor turnout. My farce of a wedding had attracted ten times this many people. At least a few of her fellow inmates from the old people’s home had turned up including Mr. Singh who was wearing a very bright lime green suit and matching turban. Also there on the back row were the two policemen who had become constant visitors to my flat. Then two rows in front of them were two press photographers. Other than that it was just the normal uninspiring family. It could really be any old ladies family. This wasn’t my Nan’s life being remembered it was somebody else’s. At least she would have found it funny the paparazzi being there. We sat on the front row on the right-hand side. Coincidentally this was the one row that had remained unoccupied at my wedding. I felt bitter, cross and slightly twisted. Most of all I just wanted my Nan with me. I tried to imagine her being there, but I just couldn’t. The Vicar was trying to get the balance right between celebrating an eventful life to respecting the sad mood. He announced the first hymn ‘The day Thou gavest, Lord, is ended’, which I always think is a funeral song although apparently it was my Granddad’s favourite. I would hate to hear a song that my Granddad thought was depressing. It was during the second verse that we were all distracted by the sound of the large oak door at the back opening. The creek it made belonged on a haunted house ride on a fair ground. As I turned round I was shocked to see the person standing there. I had to look twice because at first I really thought it was my Nan. Was I seeing things? No, it wasn’t Nan but an old lady who had all Nan’s features including Nan’s appalling dress sense. The old lady sat herself down on the row behind Mr. Singh.

“Oh no, not Gladys”, my Dad appeared to recognise my Nan’s lookalike. My Mum seemed totally in the dark though and nudged Dad in the ribs to find out more. He revealed that Gladys was Nan’s twin sister but they had had a big fallout in 1932 on their eighteenth birthday. My Dad said he would explain later as we sat down after the hymn. Uncle Henry was next doing a reading about his mother and how she had made him. If only he knew. I wonder if Dad knew that his brother Henry wasn’t his brother? I couldn’t get used to the idea Nan was dead and inside that coffin let alone that I had just gained a Great Aunt at the age of 30. Uncle Henry was just wiping a tear from his eye as there was another creek of the big wooden door. Who was it this time?

This time it was somebody from my past. Somebody I had been trying to put out of my mind. It was Pete and I couldn’t believe he was wearing the same suit that he had worn to be my best man. At least he was on his own and sat on the very back row. We didn’t exchange any glances but I did note that he seemed very shocked to see the old lady who looked like my Nan. Why was he here? Did he want to make the day even harder for me and my family? Well me, as nobody else in my family knew that this toe-rag had bonked his best friend’s bride.

The funeral service went as well as it could and somehow I managed to hold the tears back until the coffin was carried out to the theme tune from ‘Bullseye’. I looked up to see Pete hugging my sister Karen. Although my mind decided to play a cruel trick and replace Karen with Becky. Should I speak to the former best friend or just ignore him? In the end I walked straight past and just followed the coffin out into the car park. I sat myself in the funeral car and waited for the others.

As we travelled to the crematorium Dad filled us all in on the story of Gladys, my Nan’s elder sister by twenty-three minutes. It was obviously all new to Uncle Henry and Mum seemed really cross that it was new to her. It all made more sense when Dad told us that the first he had heard about it was when Nan had told him the day before she died. She had obviously had a few confessions to make in those final days. The story with Gladys seemed to be that at the twins’ eighteenth birthday party Gladys had made a move for Nan’s boyfriend, my Granddad. Well, actually Nan had caught the two at it behind the cake table. Apparently from that day on the two never spoken a word and a month later Gladys went to live in Coventry. My Dad did keep saying that the story might not be totally true as Nan had been a little confused at the end.

At the Crem the Vicar said a few more words as twelve of us stood watching the coffin and my Nan slowly disappear. The old lady we believed was Gladys was one of the twelve but nobody knew how she had got there. Surely the old dear didn’t drive! Pete had at least had the sensitivity not to show. As we walked through to see the flowers I was shocked to see Mr. Singh was now trying to chat up Nan’s possible twin. He seemed to be doing ok until he pinched her bottom and then felt the force of what looked a very heavy handbag. It caught him right on the chin and his ready-wrapped bright lime turban flew off.

We all stood admiring the flowers that had been sent from various people despite the newspaper clearly asking just for family flowers. One big tribute caught my eye. It was a really big heart covered with more colours than a Noel Edmonds jumper. It was with Nan’s pile but I wasn’t sure who had sent it. I leant over a read a tag. It read “Nan, I am going to really miss you. Thanks for the advice, Love Becky xx”.

Week 22 - Delight to Despair

2010-06-16T20:53:00.000+01:00

It was great to see Heather again and I felt slightly guilty that I hadn’t given her more thought during the last week. She looked so sweet and innocent as she stood there in her pink hoodie. She greeted me with a very passionate kiss and even though I told her it would probably end up on tomorrow morning’s newspaper she indicated clearly that she didn’t care. For the first time that week I could actually feel myself smiling.
Heather had this habit of travelling light but this time she had a rather large lime green rucksack. Part of me hoped this meant she would be staying sometime although I hadn’t changed the bed sheets for over a month. From inside the rucksack Heather took out a neatly wrapped box and gave it to me. The label read “To make my Jon smile xxx”. I tried desperately to unwrap the present without destroying the pretty slightly girly paper or the pink bow. Finally I opened the box and found inside a whole range of goodies. There was a pack of seven of my favourite chocolate bars (twix), a framed newspaper cutting of me kissing Heather at the station, a beef and tomato Pot Noodle, a bottle of orange flavoured Hooch, a Villa Season Review 1995/96 video, a pair of Bart Simpson socks, a packet of butterscotch flavour Angel Delight and perhaps most significant of all a single chocolate rolo. Was I reading too much into the idea this was Heather’s last rolo? Maybe she had just had a whole packet but been peckish on the way here.
I cooked tea for Heather; we shared the beef and tomato Pot Noodle. Heather complimented me on how well I had boiled the water. We sat on the bed taking it in turns to feed each other a forkful of pot noodle. Heather obviously has quite a small mouth because the tomato sauce seemed to end up covering her very kissable lips. Things were just so easy between the two of us and I started to forget all my troubles. Heather managed to drop several noodles down her pink hoodie and went to wash this in the bathroom while I prepared desert. Sniffing the bottle of milk I decided it was probably ok despite the sell-by date. So I found one of Becky’s old hand-whisks and prepared two special butterscotch angel delights. As all the dishes were dirty I poured the whisked mixture into two large wine glasses. I made them special by adding a twix finger to each one. I then decided to return the romantic gesture and put the last rolo into Heather’s glass.
Carrying the two glasses of desert I return to the bedroom. To my surprise and delight Heather is now seated on the bed dressed just in her pale pink underwear. The mesh style underwear made me want this girl so much. I was slightly distracted by her lack of clothes and could not remember which of the deserts contained the rolo. As I dithered Heather took a glass from me. She suggestively pulled out the twix from her angel delight and slid it into her mouth whole whilst staring straight in my eyes . As I looked down at my desert I could see just below the surface was the last rolo. Oh well, I tried. Just then Heather pulled me towards her. We kissed passionately with the taste of butterscotch on our lips. The moment though was suddenly broken by a very loud knock on the door. We decided to leave it but the caller just wouldn’t go away. I then heard the familiar voice of my dad calling me. He seemed very anxious so I decided I needed to see him. Heather offered to stay hidden in the bedroom, but I asked her to put her clothes back on just in case as my parents can be nosey.
Both my parents had come because they were worried about me as I had not been answering the phone. Mum was wearing a very strange blue knitted top. She had knitted it herself but unfortunately knitting was not one of her strong points. Within seconds mum was yet again in tears. Dad was trying to calm her down but totally failing. The two seemed to be aware of my lack of food and had bought a flask of warm tea and a batch of corned beef sandwiches. It was quite comforting to see my old Rupert Bear flask again but I couldn’t help recalling how I had used that flask nearly twenty years ago as part of an experiment with my junior chemistry set. Also I regretted once telling my mum I liked corned beef sandwiches when really I detested them. I had only said it because I was sick of having fish paste every day at school. At least they didn’t go in the bedroom and find Heather. I didn’t really want to explain why there was a half dressed lady in my bedroom during this time of mourning.
For some reason there was no mention of missing Becky from my parents instead all the talk was of Nan. The funeral was to be at St. Chad’s on Thursday at 2pm and then back to my parent’s for a buffet. Mum said she would do some corned beef sandwiches just for me. Apparently Uncle Henry was going to read a poem about how we take after our mothers. Dad looked older than he had before. Maybe I was just looking closer at him than I had recently. I was very aware that he had moved up a generation. Until now in my life there have been grandparents and then my parents. Now there were no grandparents left so the oldest generation was my parents. My dad was now an orphan. As I was thinking about all this and not really listening to my mum I was suddenly startled when she asked a question I had not expected.

“Do you want Pete to come in the car with us? Your Nan did think the world of him”, mum just came out with.
Suddenly I had to think again about what Pete and Becky had done. I had put it to the back of my mind. In fact I had totally wiped Pete out of my mind. How could I so easily have forgotten about Pete and all the things we had shared together? I hadn’t seen him since he left me in the pub. I told my parents that we had had minor fallout, but didn’t want to go into any details. Saying that to my mum was like giving a dog a bone and telling them they couldn’t lick it. She wanted to know exactly why and was not going to give up. At that point Heather, fully clothed, walked in.
“Hello Mrs Stadler, how are you? I’ve just come back from France and Jon kindly let me grab some sleep”, Heather said to my parents with a hint of her sexy French accent.
“Oh sorry Heather we didn’t know Jonathan had company. If we had I would have bought more sandwiches and not just corned beef. I can’t stand them but they are Jonathan’s favourite”, mum was quite surprised to see I had company.
Dad quickly decided it was time to leave and started packing away the flask and Tupperware. Heather continued to try to score brownie points by complimenting mum on her imaginatively knitted blue top. Mum seemed quite pleased about this an offered to knit Heather one for Christmas.
As my parents left they asked if they could give Heather a lift anywhere. I could tell they suspected that we had been misbehaving. Unfortunately we hadn’t because of their unexpected arrival. As I waved my mum goodbye I could again hear the click of a camera. That was it my dad was off in pursuit of the photographer ready to grab his camera. I tried to call him back but he had gone. It seemed all his built up emotions from the last week were coming out in a rage that I had never seen before. My dad reached the rather surprised newspaper photographer and made a grab for his camera. My mum screamed in a horror film sort of way and Heather just grabbed hold of my arm. The photographer reacted angrily and pushed my dad away. But dad is now focused purely on getting the camera and to my total surprise kicks the photographer in the shin. Several neighbours in the courtyard are now at their doors and my dad really has lost it. Tears started to flow from his eyes and he just dropped down on his knees on the tarmac.

“I will see you in court”, the photographer shouts at my dad before limping away to his car still with camera in his hand.
Mum goes over to dad and holds him so tight. I have never seen my dad so out of control. He was hurting so much. Tears running all down his red face. I don’t know if I felt pity or pride for my dad at that point, but it made me start to cry as well. Then Heather started crying and I am sure even some of the neighbours joined in. If we were so emotional now how were we going to cope with the funeral on Thursday at the church where I was jilted?

Week 21 - Sad Times

2010-06-02T23:09:00.002+01:00

It had now been three days since we heard about the death of Elsie Gloria Stadler and it really had hit us all hard. Nan had just always been there for both me and Karen especially at times when our parents had found it easier to bury their heads in the sand. Yes, in the end Nan was barking mad. Which probably explains why she was trying to climb down the drain pipe from her bedroom window in her slippers when she fell? It was easy to blame the Home for not having better locks on the windows but it was never possible to stop Nan doing anything she put her mind to. At least now she would be on her way to be reunited with my Granddad unless of course Jessie got to her first. No, she would be in Heaven with Granddad because I am sure that Saint Peter would never let Jessie in even if she did flash her petticoat at him.

The four of us Stadler family members sat with the vicar discussing the funeral arrangements. It all seemed far too serious and every time I gazed past the vicar I could just see Nan pointing and laughing at his hairstyle. This was the same vicar who Nan took quite a fancy to at my nearly wedding. The vicar that Becky and I sat down with to plan our wedding service. The vicar who had enjoyed a ride in my Best Man’s sports car. It is amazing what can happen in three months. My whole life has changed. Probably the three most important people in my life have now all left me for various reasons. If there is a God he has obviously got it in for Jon Sadler.

On the fireplace was a photograph that I hadn’t seen before of Nan and my Granddad eating ice creams at the seaside. My Granddad with trousers rolled up and knotted hanky on his head. My Nan with her long dress tucked into some rather big pants. She was wearing a sunhat that I am guessing was blue as it was a black and white picture. The two seemed so happy and content. It was only now that I realised how much the two just belonged together. I had somehow in seven years started to think as Nan as separate to ‘Nan and Granddad’, but now I could see how wrong this was. So much of my Granddad’s spirit had made my Nan who she was. For the first time since Dad had told us the news I started to cry. Uncontrollable tears ran down my face and everyone in the room could see my distress but decided to leave me to it. I felt completely alone even the image I had before of my Nan joking behind the vicar had gone. It really was just me now and my world felt so empty. I wanted to turn back the clock. I wanted to be a small boy sitting in my grandparent’s front parlour eating scotch pancakes with the smell of Camp coffee and watching the ‘Goldenshot’. I didn’t want to be planning my Nan’s funeral. I am just not grown up enough for this. As the vicar tried to explain to my mum that it was not traditional to have the coffin leave the Church to the ‘Birdie Song’ even if it was Nan’s favourite I quietly slipped out the house.

Waiting back at my flat parked outside was a police car. I really didn’t need this now so I tried to creep in without them noticing. It didn’t work and within seconds the two policemen were getting out of their panda and running towards my door. Surely the Starsky style leap over the bonnet by the younger one was a little over the top. I invited them in because I just wanted to sit down.

The two policemen were by now quite familiar to me, but still seemed to believe that I knew a lot more about Becky’s disappearance than I was letting on. Every time they came they asked the same questions. It always started with them asking if I had seen Becky before asking if I knew if anybody else had seen her. I decided, perhaps wrongly, to mention that Nan had claimed to see her. They looked puzzled but then the older one with surprisingly pointed ears nodded and said his old Nan was totally mad as well. They didn’t seem to believe me but finally agreed that they would go and ask Nan for a statement. For just a few moments I had forgotten that I no longer had a Nan. I was just giving the officers the address of the home when I started to cry again. The Mr. Spock lookalike actually was sympathetic and put his arm around me when I mumbled that my Nan had died. The other policeman just looked up from his notepad and said, “Convenient”.

For the next two days I just stayed in my flat and didn’t answer the phone or door to anybody. I just wanted the world to leave me alone. Occasionally I would see cameramen outside trying to take snaps of me. I didn’t shave, ate only a packet of plain biscuits and just felt more alone than I ever had before. Just as I was trying to decide whether I should ring my Dad to see if they had fixed a date for Nan’s funeral I heard a crash from just outside my door. I looked through the kitchen window to see a hooded youth taking something out of my dustbin. Without thinking I ran out to confront the young bloke. He was taking an empty plastic bottle of woodpecker cider from my bin. He was very surprised to see me!

“Sorry mister just wanted a souvenir. I mean you are quite a celebrity. You don’t get many murderers in Lichfield”, the youth offered me his hand to shake. I felt like thumping him but that is more Pete’s department so I just shook his hand. Then I heard the now familiar sound of clicking lenses. Yes, I can just see the photograph in the paper tomorrow of suspected bride killer shaking hand of a mysterious shaded hooded character on his doorstep.

Back inside I then decided it was time to open the last packet of slightly soft biscuits. Soon there was a knock at the door. So deciding that I couldn’t hide forever I opened the front door.

“Sorry mate. Have you got a pen? Thought you could sign this bottle”, the hooded chap had returned and I came so close to punching him. Quickly I slammed the door shut and just dropped down on the floor.

Again my quiet moment was broken by a knocking on the door. This time I had had enough and opened it to the hooded character. I was about to strike him when I realised he had shrunk and his hoodie top had changed from blue to pink.

“Well, aren’t you going to let your favourite girl in?” whispered a familiar sweet voice.

Next week : Who is this mystery girl?

Week 20 - Who's Uncle Henry

2010-05-25T22:18:00.000+01:00

Nan was sitting almost on top of the communal telly drooling over Compo in ‘Last of the Summer Wine’ when I got there. Saying what she would do to the scruffy chap if she was Nora Batty. It had been nearly three hours since our telephone conversation, but I quickly realised that it could have been three decades ago. Nan was in the kind of mood when she couldn’t remember anything of the last few years. I asked a lot of questions, but she started to get frustrated and couldn’t even recall that I had been jilted let alone who Becky was. I think she thought I was my dad. Then when I tried to tell her that I was Jon not my dad, she then assumed I was her son! One of the Care Assistants then came over and told me that they were very sorry and they didn’t usually let their residents drink a whole bottle of brandy. As I turned back to face nan she was throwing her walking stick like a javelin at a rather fraille old lady with a blue rinse. With the help of the Care Assistant I managed to sit nan back down.

“He’s not your dad you know”, nan suddenly informed me.

Now I was confused. I mean, first of all, who did nan actually believe I was and secondly did she even know what she was saying? I don’t think I wanted to hear this. It was bad enough being suspected of doing in my missing bride without my parentage being questioned.

“You are my son Henry. Aren’t you?” Nan was certainly confused. She thought I was my Uncle Henry, dad’s younger brother. He was nearly thirty years older than me! Maybe the traumas of the last few months were catching up with me and making me look a lot older. I decided that I would play along with this and asked why granddad was not my father?

“Now, it was during the second world war when your dad was with the Home Guard protecting the Town Hall”, Nan was ready to reveal all. At least as it was about Uncle Henry, who I had never really liked, it could be quite juicy gossip. “Your Uncle Clive came round. He was quite a looker in those days. Not like he is now”, I decided not to mention the fact that he died twelve years ago. So my Great Uncle Clive was really my dad’s brother’s father? That would explain why my granddad and Uncle Clive never seemed to get on. Oh, but hold on, a dreadful thought then hit me. I wasn’t totally up to date on the Family Tree but was pretty sure that Uncle Clive was actually my nan’s brother not my granddad’s. Oh no, this was something I didn’t want to hear. It was getting quite like a ‘Brookside’ plot.
“Yes, I can still remember what happened as if it was yesterday”, nan prepared to tell me all the details of this incestuous relationship. It might explain Uncle Henry’s very strange nose. “Your Uncle Clive showed me something truly amazing when he opened up his trench coat”, nan was beaming as she told the story. “There it was; a tiny pink thing, A beautiful baby boy”, tears started to roll down nan’s cheeks. I was just so relieved that I wasn’t descended from a family who interbred. “That poor baby was left with no parents or family thanks to a jerry bomb, but your uncle Clive knew that me and your dad would give that baby a special home and treat it like one of our own”. I was quite touched and if it was possible it made me love my nan even more. “So Henry you are a very special boy and you have two parents that love you lots. Although not the original ones who were blown to pieces”. Nan held my hand as she told me this before suddenly slapping me across the face. “Jon! Why are you pretending to be your Uncle Henry? That’s a horrible trick to play on an old lady!”
Several times in the next hour I really thought nan’s memory was coming back but still she couldn’t recall my wedding and certainly had no knowledge of the headlines in the Sunday papers. When she dosed off for the fourth time I decided it was time to leave. I thought it was best if I kept the information about my Uncle Henry to myself partly because my nan always did have quite a good imagination. I was just creeping out when nan opened her left eye; “Next time we must talk about what you are going to do about Becky bonking hunky Pete”, nan said before her head dropped and she started snoring.

Back at home I was desperately trying to take in the events of the last day. I had half expected to return to the flat to find the word ‘murderer’ painted in red paint across my front door, but instead all was quiet. So did Nan really know about Becky and at what point would she have found her marbles enough to talk about it? My head was so full of everything and I was starting to dread going to work tomorrow at Walsall Council. Surely wheelchair Dave and lovely legs Hasmitta would have seen some of the newspaper articles. Hopefully they will be on my side.

I decided to try and be the first to arrive at the Council Leisure office on the Monday, but I was met by Tracey from Human Resources who was wearing tweed. “Sorry Jon, but I think it is best if you go on leave until this is sorted out. Of course, if they find the body we will support you through the trial, although, we would obviously suspend you and fire you when you are found guilty. Sorry if you are found guilty”, Tracey blurted out without looking me in the eye. She handed me a brown envelope before very quickly disappearing.

Just as I was leaving the building ready for my unexpected holiday I was greeted by a familiar face.

“You don’t hang around do you Stadler?”, it was ‘Bluenose’ Dave in his state-of-the-art wheelchair. “I mean they haven’t even found your missing bride and you are caught snogging the lips off another beauty.” Dave handed me today’s copy of ‘The Sun’ and on the front page was me kissing Heather at the station. The headline read ‘JILTED JON’S NEXT VICTIM?’ This was turning into a really bad year!

Dave was finding this all quite funny but you could tell he knew that I was not capable of murder. He suggested we pop into the Council Canteen for a coffee and a chat before I headed home. To my surprise Doreen behind the till refused to serve me and snarled as Dave paid for the drinks instead. The atmosphere was not good with several people who I usually exchanged pleasantries with now sitting as far away as possible.

“You’ve got to find her”, Dave said whilst spilling coffee down my trousers. I told Dave about nan and he said that I had to go back and try and find out more. I decided not to tell Dave about Pete as I didn’t really trust him that much. Dave always looked after number one and I suspected that it wouldn’t take too much money for him to tell the gutter press all he knew. “She is a cracking bird though”, Dave commented on the picture of Heather.

I decided on my way home that I should really pop around and see my parents as all this must be very difficult for them. When I got there I noticed that there was a red Skoda parked outside but decided to go in anyway. Despite having a key it didn’t seem right this time to use it so I decided to ring the bell. My mum answered dressed in a very long flowing hippie-style purple and gold thing and she just burst into tears and hugged me so tight that breathing would have to be delayed until later.

“Oh Jon how are you? I have been so worried about you. Come in, come in. Oh, your Uncle Henry is here”, my mum said through the many tears.

Inside my dad was looking at some photographs of Uncle Henry’s son Michael at his graduation.

“Look Jon, doesn’t Michael resemble your Granddad?”, my dad asked while pushing a photograph in my hand. There was, of course, no resemblance, but then I suddenly realised how totally different the two brothers standing in front of me looked from each other. “Your Uncle’s on his way to see your Nan and just wanted to ask us what he should say about your little trouble”, Dad had a habit for understating things. Here was I on the front of every newspaper with suggestions I had murdered my bride and he called it my ‘little trouble’. Should I stop Henry going to see nan because she might tell him what she told me. But then does he have a right to know?
Just then the phone rang and my dad disappeared into the hall to answer it. My parents still had a telephone on a small table in the hall and even though the call was nearly always for my mum it was my dad’s duty to answer it.

“So what did happen to Becky then?” Uncle Henry enquired. “I don’t think I ever got to meet her. Pity she wasn’t at the wedding. Oh, that reminds me, can you send the silver cutlery set back quite soon that was our wedding gift to you. We have got another wedding to go to next month and it would save us buying another present”. Perhaps now would be a good time to tell him his parents were blown up!

My dad walked back into the room looking totally stunned. Something was wrong I have never seen him look so pale.

“What is it love?” Asked my mum.

“I can’t believe it, she’s dead” replied dad.

Week 19 - Doorstep Sleeper

2010-04-30T18:01:00.001+01:00

Chapter Nine – Doorstep Sleeper

Sitting in a packed end of Villa supporters at Highfield Road it was significant that the only empty seat was the one to my right. I don’t know if I had wanted Pete to turn up or not, but I had decided that as I had don’t nothing wrong I wasn’t going to miss this game. The game went well for the Villa with us winning by two goals to one, but my head was just not really there. I was very cross and for the first time since I was eleven I really wanted to hit someone. That just wasn’t me and I was angry that my ‘former’ friend Pete had made me feel like this.

Despite the Villa winning I didn’t watch ‘Match of the Day’ that Saturday night and just sat on my bed trying to make sense of the Pete-Becky news. I thought we had an unwritten rule that we never went after the same girls. Mind you I didn’t usually get the type of girls Pete fell for. I especially didn’t get the Tracey Taylor thing even if they did share a passion for Gary Numan. For Pete there were always two types of women. Firstly, the one you just bonked and then didn’t see again, or secondly the ones you worshipped and ended up making a complete fool over. This was the Tracey Taylor case. So how did I really feel about Pete now? Had Pete been the ‘best man’ for both me and Becky? No, I didn’t want to think about any of this. The thought of them together is something my brain could not cope with.

To the left of my bed was my birthday present off Pete. It was the brilliant matchstick model of the old Villa Trinity Road stand. All Pete’s own handy work. He probably built it to help him to deal with his own guilt over screwing his best mate’s fiancée. I was feeling so full of rage and hatred. The easy thing to do was to smash the model into hundreds of pieces. Inside my wardrobe was my prized cricket bat signed by Ian Botham and Bob Willis at that famous Headingly 1981 test match. So I picked the bat up with both hands and raised it above the wooden model. All it would take was one blow and I could destroy weeks of Pete’s hard work. No, I couldn’t do it. This just wasn’t me and how could I even think of causing damage to the sacred Trinity Road stand even if it was only a model. I decided to go for a midnight stroll.

As I was walking I began to think about a fact that I had overlooked all day. I had been focusing too much on not thinking about Becky and Pete together that I had forgotten that Becky was still missing. Where could she be? Maybe Pete has seen her since the wedding fiasco. I certainly wasn’t ready to confront Pete though. So I just walked and walked knowing that there would be nobody worrying about me.

It was nearly half past three in morning when I actually arrived back at home. I was shocked to see a pretty young lady sleeping on my door-step. She was covered by her coat to keep her warm and for a few seconds I thought it was Becky but then realised it was the delightful Heather. I decided not to wake her and unlocked the door before lifting the sleeping beauty up in my arms and carrying her inside. Still she didn’t wake so I took her to the bedroom and placed her on the bed. I was tempted to undress her and stroke her back again but it didn’t seem appropriate. As I was thinking about covering her up Heather half-woke up and just quietly told me she had been worried about me. This was sweet and then she surprised me even more by saying that Pete had rung her and told her the two of us had had a big falling out. Now this really shocked me. Firstly that Pete had been so concerned about me that he had rung Heather, or was he just trying to get inside her knickers as well. No, that was unfair. Secondly, that he had described it as ‘a big fallout’. I mean he had just told me something and then left the pub. Heather then closed her eyes and within seconds was snoring and grunting like a little pig.

I spent the next four hours just sitting on the bed with Heather’s sleeping head on my lap. Things actually felt right and the position seemed comfortable and natural. The world didn’t seem quite as scary with Heather smiling in her sleep. I did kiss her forehead several times and stroked her lips with my middle fingers.

At quarter to eight Heather woke with a jolt and announced she had to catch the train to London at ten o’clock as she was heading back to Paris to meet Jean Pierre. This surprised and disappointed me but I decided not to question it. So I just offered to drive Heather to the station in my new Golf convertible car. Well, I second-hand but new to me and even had a six track CD multi-changer in it.

At the station I was thinking about Heather’s lack of luggage. She had reassured me that she was only going for two days at most and just had to give Jean Pierre something. Maybe I was supposed to ask what, but I wasn’t in the mood for any games. Heather did tell me that I was taking her out to the new Italian restaurant on Thursday evening at eight o’clock so at least another meeting was planned. I leant over to kiss Heather’s left cheek, but she grabbed my face in her hands and pulled our mouths together. It turned into quite a passionate snog and I just started thinking how ace she smelt. Even without a shower and in the same clothes she arrived in last night Heather smelt as sweet as a garden centre. The kiss was stopped short though by a loud clicking sound. I looked around to see a person with a rather large camera walking away. This was strange but I just returned to the kiss before waving Heather goodbye. For a few moments I had completely forgotten both my missing bride and my two-faced Best Man.

Leaving the station I decided that as I had been distracted last night and not even checked the Villa’s league position that I should buy a Sunday newspaper. My normal choice was ‘The People’, but it was the headline on the front of the ‘News of the World’ that caught my eyes. ‘JILTED JOHN DENIES BRIDE KILLING’. Oh, no this day was not going to improve. I had to buy a paper.

“He’s a local bloke as well, you know. I bet he done her in”, said the paper seller.

I returned home with not only the ‘New of the World’ but also ‘Sunday Mirror’ and ‘The People’. All contained at least two pages on the missing bride from Lichfield. The number of inaccuracies in the stories and the total disregard for the truth were shocking. One called me ‘’A loner” and another claimed “John, aged 34, had a history of violent behaviour”. Well, I am just thirty and the last person I hit was when I was eleven. ‘The People’ had lots of lovely sweet pictures of Becky that made her look like the gil nextdoor. Actually I really liked the one and cut it out. But the ones of me were horrible. One was from my Council Identity Card and I looked like I had just been released from Broadmoor. The fact that it was taken the week that I had been suffering with conjunctivitis did not help. All the newspaper stories seemed to now be suggesting that soon Becky’s body would be discovered and that there was only one suspect. Where was this going to end? I would probably end up as the lead story on ‘Crime Watch’. Oh, Becky where are you? I didn’t care about being public enemy number one I just wanted to know Becky was safe.

Just as I was really starting to think about the possibility of Pete being involved in Becky’s disappearance the phone rang. I picked up the phone but didn’t say anything in case it was a journalist. Maybe I needed a lawyer.

“Is that Mr Jon Stadler? The mad-axeman of Lichfield”, said the croaky voice. I replied by just saying “yes Nan”.

Nan was very excited and not only because she had managed to get an outside line on the phone in the main staff office without anybody knowing. She was delighted that her grandson was national news. She was apparently enjoying her new title in the home as “Jilted Jon’s Nan”. Mr Patel was currently in the process of making her a badge. Nan was being her totally mad self. At least some things don’t change. I told Nan that I was in fact not a murder.

“Oh, I know that, I mean if you killed Becky who was that girl who came to visit me last Tuesday”, Nan then broke into an uncontrollable fit of giggles followed by “Oh blast, I have wet my pants. They were clean on last Thursday as well”. The phone went dead.

Next Week : A shocking trip to Nan's home

Week 18 - I Don't Believe It !

2010-04-09T16:49:00.000+01:00

The next week was strange with frequent visits from the police, a very tearful visit from Becky’s parents and a rather threatening call from Shirley. All of this whilst I was trying to come to terms with Carol’s revelation about Becky’s infidelity. I decided not to tell my family about the latest Becky twist as my Dad had become very anti-Becky since the non-wedding day and mum was just too busy popping back the Prozac pills.

The Shirley call was the oddest and she seemed to be implying that it I didn’t take her out again then she would tell her police colleagues about how bad I had treated her and that would make them consider me as a suspect in the Becky disappearance. I have never been the kind of chap that can be threatened though and often at school I would take unnecessary beatings instead of doing something somebody was trying to force me to do. Mind you Pete would often take revenge for me at a later date and always without me needing to ask him. This did mean that I felt guilty because as a pacifist I never used violence, but people who crossed me used to feel the force of Pete’s forehead. Pete’s head-butts were legendary and after a couple of years less people picked on me and my wiry frame because they knew how Pete protected me. Maybe I should send Pete round to sort out Shirley. But of course Pete would never lay a finger on a woman. He was a perfect gentleman around the opposite sex. No, I had better deal with Shirley myself and just tell her that I was still in love with my missing bride and unable to start a relationship with anybody else.

So where was Becky? I was now getting really worried about her and annoyed with myself for not worrying earlier. Ok Becky might have been unfaithful, but I would have forgiven her anything as I loved her so much. I mean it happens at Hen Do’s and as I probably didn’t know the fellow involved would it really have mattered. But why did it mean she couldn’t marry me? Was it because his sexual prowess was superior to mine? Perhaps she realised that I was never going to fulfil her sexual needs? I thought I had been doing ok. I mean I did everything it said in that women’s health magazine I read last year. Becky always seemed to enjoy it, even when I made her wait until after Match of the Day. She always made the right noises at the key moments, but maybe the mysterious guy pushed some extra buttons that I hadn’t discovered. But that wasn’t important now the important thing was to find Becky. She had to be safe, but where the hell was she and why had she not contacted her parents? Maybe she had gone off with this mystery man?

It was a Friday evening and I was sitting down to read the Express & Star and listen to the football phone in on the local radio. As always I started with the back page of the paper to see the Sports news and see if Ian Taylor would be fit to face Coventry tomorrow. I worked my way towards the front of the paper and then was hit by the story on page seven. It was not a big story but the title rocked me. It read “Jilted John’s Missing Bride”. As feared the story was about Becky and John, even with the extra ‘H’ in Jon it was me. They spelt my surname wrong as well, added four years to my age and said I lived in Burntwood, but it was definitely me. The story didn’t suggest any foul play but tried to add a bit of mystery. Mind you, there was a mystery as to where my Becky was. The story hit a nerve with me and tears started to trickle down my face. For the first time I started to think about the possible bad things that could have happened to Becky. Maybe it had all been too much for her? Surely she knew I would forgive her anything?

Over the next hour the phone rang repeatedly as it became clear that many of my relatives read every inch of the Express & Star. My mum was first who decided to just ring to sob openly on the phone and I was only able to catch the odd word. Many of which seemed to be ‘poor Becky’. I decided against mentioning her extra sexual activity. This was simply between me and Carol. Although, I was thinking should I be telling the police? I mean what if she had bonked a mad axe-man who had not taken the news that she didn’t want him well and he now had different parts of my bride in the different compartments of his freezer. Next caller was Pete who said he read the story and was going to come and take me out for a beer. Nan also called and told me not to worry as she had had a word with her dead friend Jessie and Becky hadn’t turned up there.

A few hours later I was sitting with Pete in a pub called ‘The Drakes Drum’. It was away from our usual haunts but had been mentioned as a place where a lot of Villa fans went so Pete thought we should try it. Pete didn’t seem his usual self and kept looking around as if he was waiting for somebody to appear. I asked him about this but he said I was imagining it. In all the years I had known Pete he had never been this nervous before. He said he was just worried about the Villa at Coventry tomorrow. Understandable as he had ended up being chased down Coventry high street by abut forty Sky Blues fans. Even though I had hardly touched my pint Pete was back at the bar buying me another pint.

Repeatedly I tried to talk to Pete about the newspaper story and where Becky might be, but he didn’t want to talk about it. He seemed to think I needed to take my mind off it and maybe he was right, but this wasn’t the usual Pete. I decided that Pete was the one person I could trust so I made the decision to tell him about the visit from Carol. He still seemed to not be fully paying attention but he did manage to make an inappropriate comment about Carol’s legs. I then quietly blurted out the information that had being driving mad all week. That Becky had slept with somebody else just two weeks before our wedding day. Pete nearly spat his beer in my face but then quickly composed himself and labelled poor Becky as a ‘tart’. He decided it was time for another round of drinks. Now, something wasn’t right here because Pete had bought four straight round of drinks and that never happened. Normally we would have an odd number of rounds and I would always end up buying one more unless Pete didn’t do the ‘I have forgotten my wallet’ trick and then I would buy them all. But today he was buying drinks non-stop. Maybe he wasn’t well and was about to admit to a serious illness.

Pete returned from the bar surprisingly empty handed. At least I already had two pints lined up. He looked me straight in the eye and announced to my shock that he wasn’t going to Coventry tomorrow. This was just so unlike Pete. We always went to Coventry and usually won. Pete then stood up and then gave me a fiver for a taxi. He was looking as if he was about to cry and I could not understand what was going on. Even Pete is now behaving oddly. What is happening to my life? Pete took a step back and then said something that at first made no sense at all. It sounded like he said ‘it was me’. As Pete walked off I tried to make sense of these comments and then it hit me like a Pete head-butt. Pete had just confessed that he had slept with Becky.

Next Week : New Best Friend

Week 17 - Anyone Seen the Bride?

2010-03-27T19:07:00.000Z

The two policemen repeatedly referred to it as mysterious and apparently Becky’s family had not heard from her since our sham wedding day. I tried to answer their questions but I hadn’t got a clue where she could be. It was quite a shock when the plumper of the two policemen asked if I suspected ‘foul play’. Why would there be ‘foul play’, I mean it seemed clear that Becky had decided that she could not marry this council worker and had gone in search of more excitement. Or was I been a little slow here and had I accepted things too quickly? I told the officers about the texts I had received in the early morning of the wedding. This just resulted in one of the officers quickly getting on his walkie-talkie as if relaying some vital new information. The other policeman then asked to see the phone and the message. Of course I had long since deleted the message as it wasn’t exactly a good memento of the day. The wording of the message was very clearly itched in my brain as it wasn’t exactly an everyday text. Although as I rarely used the phone I could probably remember most of the messages I had received. The attitudes of the officers to me appeared to change and it became apparent that they believed I was hiding something about Becky. Trying to make them less suspicious I showed them the unused wedding dress. This didn’t exactly help my case as they thought it was strange that it was unworn and said they would have to take it away for finger prints. I protested that it would be mainly full of my fingerprints and the plumb one just made more notes in his notebook.

Finally the policemen left me in peace, but made it clear that they would be continuing their enquiries in the morning.

Sleeping that night was almost impossible with my head full of thoughts of the horrible fate that might have befell my beloved Becky, thoughts of Heather’s call and more scary thoughts of date with Shirley. Finally at around six on the Sunday morning I fell asleep and was rather startled a couple of hours later with the sound of the phone ringing. In the hope it was Heather and not the police I ran to the phone and picked up the receiver. The female voice seemed vaguely familiar but I couldn’t place it at first. After a few seconds the caller who seemed quite distressed revealed she was Carol, Becky’s best friend. She explained that she really had to talk to me as something terrible had happened. I was thinking that after I had been jilted and had to endure a date with Shirley surely things couldn’t get much more terrible. Carol made it quite clear that she had to see me and she had to see me today. So I gave her directions and told her to come around to the flat and we could talk about it.

Carol was a friend of Becky’s I only saw from a distance and never really got to know her. She always smiled nicely and I know she was some kind of social worker. She had met Becky when they attended some conference together. It was just after mid-day when Carol finally arrived and she was almost shaking. I wasn’t quite sure how to welcome her so I just smiled and pointed into the lounge. Carol seemed thinner and maybe taller than I had recalled but surely she hadn’t grown. All she seemed to be saying was that she had made a really big mistake. To try and calm her down I offered her sweet tea or something stronger. She opted for the sweet tea which was a problem as I had run out of sugar over a month ago. I looked in the kitchen cupboard for something sweet and noticed some golden syrup. Ok it was past its use by date, but I thought a dollop in the tea might make it sweet. It didn’t seem very keen to dissolve, but when I returned to the lounge it was the least of my worries. Carol was now sobbing uncontrollably. She just kept telling me she was sorry. So very very sorry.

I had the horrible feeling I was about to find out something nasty. My mind was working at triple it’s normal speed. The theories going through my mind could have come straight out of Miss Marple’s head. Had Carol killed Becky or maybe she was having a lesbian affair with her. I must stop watching those late night films on Channel Four.

Eventually Carol composed herself just enough to tell me she had no idea where Becky was and was really worried. Well, that was a great help. She had not seen her since the night before the wedding. Well, the day that was supposed to be our wedding. Since then she had not seen or heard from Becky. She then cried even more and her nose began to stream as well. It was at this point I remembered that I was out of tissues as well as sugar. I handed Carol two sheets of Paddington Bear kitchen roll, but even with it being super absorbent it was struggling to keep up with the stream of tears and snot.

So what would Miss Marble or Hetty Wainthorpp do now? The only new information it seemed Carol could provide was what happened the night before the murder, sorry jilting. I tried to look intimidating as I asked Carol what exactly Becky had said to her the night before. Carol just kept apologising and then gave me the news that I really hadn’t been expecting. She said that Becky had been so broken hearted because she knew she couldn’t possibly marry me. The reason was that she had slept with another man just two weeks before our wedding day. I was stunned by this news, but who was he and perhaps more importantly where was Becky now.

Next Week : The guilty party revealed

Week 16 - Handcuffs or Thong

2010-03-08T17:44:00.000Z

It had now been a week since the rather pleasant if incomplete late night phone call with Heather and during that time Heather had called me five times. Twice she claimed she wanted to just apologise for the other night, once to see if I wanted to continue from where we had left off, once because she pressed redial by mistake and once to invite herself round for tea Saturday night. It was all very flattering and I really wanted to see her this Saturday evening, but I had already made plans. Well, perhaps the term 'made plans' is misleading. It was more a case that Shirley had insisted we meet in a country pub called 'The Albion' somewhere on the A38 at seven thirty sharp. She seemed very definite about the ‘sharp’ bit. Lots of things made me uneasy about this night and it wasn’t just that as a Villa fan I felt uneasy about going to a pub called ‘The Albion’. Shirley had on the last two phone calls frequently flipped from sweet and flirty to very scary and dominating in the flick of a finger. So I felt I couldn’t turn the offer down. The final question of ‘do you want me with or without the blue thong?’ was also causing me concern.

As I like to be punctual I was parked outside ‘The Albion’ pub by ten past seven. Far too early but at least I could listen to Danny Baker on 606 with Villa fans ringing to moan about today’s disappointing defeat. Now I had listened a few times to Shirley on the phone and I am pretty sure she described herself, but I just couldn’t remember any details. I had no idea what she looked liked. She had said I had potential so maybe I had described myself to her. Surely I mentioned that I was tall? Maybe not. What had I let myself in for? It was going to be like Blind Date without ‘Our Graham’ and I wasn’t going to get a choice of three to choose from. Now I could feel myself starting to shake and really wish I was having tea with Heather. I mean I even know Heather’s body pretty well naked and could probably recognise it by touch alone. Yet I have no idea to size, shape or texture of Shirley.

It got to nearly half past seven and I started to think that maybe my date might not show. Although, as I wouldn’t recognise her she could have walked straight passed me and I wouldn’t have realised. I decided to go inside and take a look round. Inside it was a very large pub with lots of big wooden tables and not many people. Looking around there were only really two possible ladies. One was quite a pretty blonde girl with glasses that seemed too small to be any use at all. She was nice though but I feared she wasn’t the one. On the other side was a quite enormous woman with dark hair in a bun and she appeared from the angle I was standing to be trying to pick her left ear with a beer-mat. Maybe this was the time to run. That would be unfair and I am not one to go on looks, although the ear-picking was a worry.

I foolishly walked over to the large woman and introduced myself. She just looked at me without giving any hint of recognition. Now on the phone I do remember we had discussed how we would greet each other as I can be awkward the first time. I had suggested a hand shake but Shirley had told me that she would expect a peck on the cheek. So without much communicating going on I gave her a slight peck on her right cheek. Then to my surprise/horror she grabbed hold of me and planted her lips on to mine. Realising that breathing was going to be out of the question for a few seconds I just closed my eyes waiting for it to be all over. Then bang it hit me. Unsure what had hit me first I opened my eyes to see a bloke as large as the woman who kissed me standing by my side. He looked very cross and was it seemed ready to punch me, again. It appeared that this was his wife and not Shirley at all. At that point a woman walked into the bar and from the sound of her voice I could tell she was my date.

Shirley was a redhead and actually quite sweet looking. Maybe a little more toned than I had expected, but still quite hot. I think she thought I looked a little weedy by comparison. Conversation did not flow easily and I felt like all the questions were aimed at me. Shirley then shocked me by stating at least I hadn’t got a police record. I told her she was wrong and I had got their greatest hits LP, but it was apparent she wasn’t joking. Then I discovered why. Shirley was in fact a policewoman and it seemed that before she came out she ran a full police check on me. She then proceeded to interrogate me to see if any of my friends, or family, were known to the police. I didn’t mention nan’s run in with the law over those illegal substances three years ago. I felt so uncomfortable and even Shirley’s joking comment about taking the handcuffs home at weekends did not improve things. It was all wrong. She looked pretty but the things she said did not match this. She swore, she smoked and generally behaved like an aggressive lout. The night didn’t improve when she challenged me to an arm wrestle and telling me if I won she would show me her blue thong. I don’t which of these two things were scaring me the most. It was now ten past eight, was that too early to suggest I was tired and needed an early night.....ALONE?

The force of Shirley’s stare was making me so uneasy. I tried the arm wrestle, but my hand went down even quicker than Shirley’s pint did. She was on her fifth pint already. Surely she wasn’t planning to drive home. I glanced at the car park to see if there was a police car there. Shirley noted this and told me a colleague had dropped her off and that I would be taking her home. I hoped she meant to her home. I was feeling so uncomfortable and refused to give too much detail away as I had no intention of meeting this lady again. Maybe I should just tell her that. I mean she couldn’t be interested in a feeble man like me. Things became even more uncomfortable when she moved in closer to me and decided to grip my leg firmly with her hand. I was starting to understand how Kenneth Williams felt with Hattie Jacques in the Carry On films now. At every opportunity I moved further to my right, but Shirley just followed until I fell off the seat completely. Instead of helping me up my date then slipped off her right shoe and proceeded to press her foot against my private parts area as I lay on the floor. I was being sexually harassed by a police woman. Many men might like this but I certainly didn’t. Quickly I got to my feet and suggested to Shirley that this wasn’t working. She accused me of being like Julian Clary, tipped the remainder of her pint over me and stormed out. I was so relieved the ordeal was over. I wiped the beer from my glasses and the waited for twenty minutes until I thought it was safe to go to my car.

Back at home I reflected on what had been a dreadful day with Villa losing and then all the problems in the pub. At least I was back in time for ‘Match of The Day’. Just as I sat down the phone rang. At first I let it ring, but in the end answered it, ready to put the phone down if it was Shirley. The familiar voice of Heather said, ‘Now Big Boy, where did we get to?’

Heather seemed to have a special voice that she used only for moments like this and I couldn’t believe how quickly she was seducing me. She must have started quite early in the evening because she seemed even more turned on than last time. She was even starting to distract me from Match of The Day and the appalling defending by Ugo Ehiogu. I was now naked on my couch and Heather was making noises that made Meg Ryan’s orgasm in Harry Met Sally sound like an episode of Mr. Bean. I wouldn’t be surprised if Alan Hansen could hear it. I wonder how he would summarise that. Then just at the vital moment I was stopped in my tracks by a very loud knock at my door. Who could that be at this time of night? Surely Shirley hadn’t followed me home. I tried to be quiet and pretend to be out but again a knock came at the door. I had to apologise to Heather, who seemed to be in a world of her own and quickly put my trousers back on. At this point I was unaware that they were inside out but this explained why the zip wouldn’t pull up. I looked through the kitchen window and to my horror it was a police car. Oh my god surely Shirley was going to arrest me for resisting seduction.

As I opened the door I was met by two well built policeman who made even me look shorter than average. At least Shirley wasn’t with them.

“Mr Jon Sadler?” enquired the PC on the left. I was shaking but just nodded for fear I was going to be arrested.

“Can we come in please, we are investigating the mysterious disappearance of Rebecca Holloway?” said the other policeman.

Next Week : Where is Becky?

Week 15 - Rude Telephone

2010-03-04T14:10:00.000Z

It was time to spend some of my Nan’s birthday money and the first thing I felt like buying was a computer. I decided that I was going to buy one of the best ones I could with money no object. Well, as long as it wasn’t more than two thousand pounds as I was hoping to buy a car as well and give some money to charity. The Computer Buyer magazine had an article comparing the top ten Home PCs. I wanted one that I could use on the Internet and would play some snazzy games. It also needed to have a five and a quarter inch floppy drive as well as a three and a half as some of my files from uni were still on the larger size. Should I consider a Mac? Maybe it is best to stick with good old Microsoft. The best buy was a Compaq with the new Pentium Pro processor that it said was set to revolutionise multimedia and especially graphics for games. It sounded impressive even to a non-computer geek like me. The fact that it came with Fifa 1996 and a rally game with a steering wheel swung it for me. So when my cheque cleared I would be buying one of these Internet ready machines. Perhaps I will soon be having online chats with a pretty young lady from the other side of the world. WWW here I come.

I was feeling quite jolly planning how to spend my money and I was looking at which new ‘N’ reg car I could afford to buy. Perhaps, though ten thousand pounds was not quite as much as I had thought. At that point the telephone rang, which in the last couple of months had been rare. When Becky was here I often complained at how often it rang as her many friends called her. I answered the phone after giving out a little cough to clear my voice.

“Hi is that Jon?” a quite posh lady asked. It clicked straight away that this was the lady who didn’t like prats. I indicated that it was me and a very difficult conversation started. The voice soon informing me that her name was Shirley. She seemed pleasant and soon the poshness in her voice started to fade. I didn’t really know where I wanted this conversation to go though. Was I aiming to get a date with this stranger and more importantly was I ready for a date with this stranger? I decided to take the passive role and just see where Shirley wanted things to go. She enquired if I was always such a prat on the phone and often forgot to leave a phone number. I felt this was a touch unfair, but decided to let it go. When Shirley asked where I lived I became concerned and not yet ready to take our relationship on to this level. What if she was a psycho and came around and stabbed me in my own flat? Would I be missed? How long before anybody came looking for me? I just gave a rough location of Lichfield.
It was nearly nine o’clock when my conversation with the extremely flirty Shirley ended. It had maybe run out of steam, or Shirley had become tired of my unwillingness to give away any personal details. I had enjoyed the chat, but still didn’t seem quite comfortable. I was not prepared to go into the reason I was thirty and single. Even when Shirley enquired whether I had homosexual leanings I still did not mention about Becky. Probably because I didn’t want the pity vote I wanted to show her the real Jon not the ‘Jon’ of ‘Becky and Jon’ fame. Towards the end of conversation my mind had started to get distracted mainly with images in my head of Heather’s perfect breasts. To her credit Shirley did keep going and I think even at the one point started describing what she was wearing. The mention of a pale blue thong did catch my attention but I decided not to mention my underwear as I didn’t really want to go there. They were quite snazzy black jockey style shorts with little buttons at the front, but I had only known this girl for an hour. The conversation ended with Shirley ordering me to ring her tomorrow night and making sure that I had written her telephone number down correctly. She was very positive about me and even claimed that I might have potential. She didn’t say potential for what though..
Even though it was less than seven hours since I got out my bed I was tired and ready to sleep. Maybe it was depression, but life just seemed so difficult at the moment. Within ten minutes I was back in bed although it was at this point that I realised that I wasn’t ready for sleep. My mind was somewhere totally different thinking of Becky, Heather, Becky, Shirley and Becky. For the first time I began to question whether Becky was the only girl for me. For so long I had been focused on the good times we have had, but now I was remembering times that were not so good. Arguments we had had when I had ended up admitting I was wrong just to stop the argument. Maybe there was more in that drunken kiss that Becky had shared with Darren Jones at that office Christmas party last year. Why was it that she had been able to walk away from our wedding after we had spent so many months planning it? If she had loved me like I loved her then she would still be here now. I would not have shared a bed with an ex-girlfriend on my thirtieth birthday. Perhaps it was all a sham?
My depressing thoughts were suddenly halted by the sound of the phone. Did I want to answer it? It could be Shirley phoning again or Becky ringing to apologise? I decided that the phone was too far away and I hadn’t got the energy needed to get myself to the phone. Anyway, by the time I got there now it would stop. But still it rang. Could it be important? Perhaps I should answer it. No, I wasn’t in the mood for talking I was too busy being depressed. Still it rang and rang. I would have to answer it or it would keep going all night.

“Hello”, I said to the night-time caller.

“Hi Big Boy”, the female replied in a very sexy voice.
After a few uncomfortable pauses I worked out that the lady caller was Heather and I think she had drunk a few glasses of wine before calling. She was certainly sounding bubbly and I don’t think she had been mourning the end of the Jean Pierre relationship. I was, of course, feeling uneasy about the conversation after what had happened in the early hours of this morning. Heather was calling from her bedroom at her mum’s and made it clear that she was alone in her bed and as naked as she had been in my bed. The conversation was again quite one sided with Heather teasing me by saying how she wished I was there with her and that when she closed her eyes she could feel me softly stroking her back just as I had done last night. I thought she had been asleep last night! Heather spoke so gently and slowly obviously trying to arouse my interest. There was obviously an agenda here and whether or not I was being used I didn’t really care, but Heather had one intention in her mind for this phone call. Heather admitted she had just finished a bottle of wine and was feeling very horny. I was unsure how to respond, but decided that I had no other plans and couldn’t sleep so why not. Heather continued to make some interesting noises and said something in French that I wanted to go and check in my pocket-sized English-French dictionary, but I didn’t want to miss a thing.

“I am feeling really tingly at the moment I wish you were here to help me”, Heather said suggestively.

“Where are you tingling”, I decided to play along.
Heather started to become more graphical saying that she was touching and stroking her nipples and wishing she could lead my hands over her body. I was starting to find this quite exciting and found my right-hand holding my willy. At least we were in different counties so it couldn’t really be counted as being unfaithful to Becky. As Heather used more French words and began to breathe slightly deeper I started to slowly move my right-hand. Heather now started to mention that she was very moist and her fingers were now gently rubbing between her thighs and softly pushing inside her. There was only one way this was going to end and as I remember from our previous sexual experiences with Heather it was going to be pretty loud. My hand was now moving faster as I could tell Heather was inserting her finger deeper and stroking herself firmer. This described the rhythm of her finger gliding along the inner surface. The moment of excitement was certainly building for both of us. For me it had been a long time. Self pleasure had been off the agenda since before Beckygate, in fact the last time had been the night of my Stag Do with thoughts of Becky in her white wedding dress on my mind. Heather was now becoming almost incomprehensible. It could have been French, English or Bulgarian but whatever it was sounded very very sexy. I was now really holding it trying to perlong the vital moment.

“Ah, Arrh, Arrh..nearly..more”, Heather was now so close to orgasmic satisfaction.
As I tightly gripped my erection the phone suddenly went quiet.

“Mum, arrh, go away I am busy”, I heard Heather yell.

“I don’t care if they are chocolate hobnobs…..I am on the phone… arrh”, Heather said between some very deep breaths.
Heather somehow managed to finish, but the thought of Mrs. Shaw put me right off my stride and with in seconds all that was left was three inches of limp floppy willy. At least it saved having to clean any stains from my duvet. Also again I had not been unfaithful to Becky, but what was going to happen now between me and Heather Shaw?

Next Week : A Date with Disaster

Week 14 - Now That's What I Call Music 35

2010-02-03T22:48:00.000Z

I woke the next day feeling cold and still in the need of sleep. Heather was at the bottom of the bed slipping her black dress back on that she had worn for the party. She smiled at me blow me a kiss and then to my amazement just left closing the front door behind her. Was that it? I had expected that at least we could share breakfast together, although I think the loaf of bread in my bread-bin was now growing extra green patches. I was left not knowing really what to do so I turned back over and went back to sleep.
It was mid-afternoon before I stirred from my bed and decided to think about facing the outside world. It had been a very unexpected last twenty hours and I was left trying to make sense of it all. Was I sad that Heather had gone? Did I want to see her again? Had I been unfaithful to Becky by seeing as much of Heather as I had? Perhaps more importantly was, what was I going to do with myself for the next eighteen hours until I was due in work? Well, if I allow nine hours for sleeping that only leaves nine hours. When you live with someone it is nice to have a few hours to yourself, but when you live on your own and you know that the next person you might see is at work the next day it can be depressing. At least Super Sunday was on Sky Sports soon although I had no idea who was even playing. Was it even worth getting dressed today? I have to really because if I didn’t it could become a start of a deep depression. I could become the sad loner who only gets dressed to go to work. Yes, I feel the need to force myself to get dressed. Maybe miss out on the shaving, but I will change my pants and put on some vaguely nice clothes that didn’t smell of cigarette smoke and even spray my armpits with rightguard. I maybe in my thirties now, but it didn’t mean I should let myself go.
The football on telly was not very exciting with no goals and the summarisers struggling to find any footage for the half time highlights. I was bored and in need of excitement. What could I do and who could I do it with? I even thought of paying my parents a visit, but I would only have to spend half an hour watching ‘Last of the Summer Wine’. I decided to take a stroll down to Ally’s the newsagents to get a trashy Sunday paper.
Walking to the newsagents I was amazed at how quiet everything was. There were no people anywhere to be seen. Nobody was washing their cars or walking their dogs. It was as if everyone had left the planet and no one had told me. Perhaps the town had had to be evacuated because an unexploded bomb had been discovered. Everything was just so dead and I was starting to feel really miserable and alone. At least Ally was in his newsagents, but despite my attempt at conversation he was not in a talkative mood. To my disappointed all the trashy Sunday newspapers had gone. There was no chance to read about which celebs were bonking who or which Spice Girl officially had the nicest bottom. Of course for me that had to be Baby Spice. Sporty seemed to have a nice firm rear, but it wasn’t in the same league. What newspapers were left then? All that appeared to be there was either a Birmingham based Sunday Mercury or a very chunky looking Sunday Telegraph. I decided to take them both together with a double-decker chocolate bar and for some reason a ‘Computer Buyer’ magazine. I don’t really know what made me buy the computer magazine, but Dave at work had been telling me for months that I should buy a pc now that I was single.
With the ‘Antiques Roadshow’ playing in the background I read everything about the Villa in the two newspapers. I read in the Sunday Mercury from the back page through to the television programmes. I was about to stop reading when I noticed that the next page was a Dating page with a section on ‘Local Women looking for Love’. Out of interest I started reading them, but not taking them seriously. I thought they were probably like the Estate Agents descriptions of houses. Where a house that was said to have ‘potential’ meant needs lots of work, I thought a lady who described herself as ‘country-like’ probably looked like a horse. One of them said that they were ‘looking for a dominant man’ and I started to think if this meant bondage. They all seemed so desperate, but then how could I have a go at them when I was so desperate for excitement that I had just walked down to the newsagents in search of a trashy Sunday paper. After a while one of them caught my eye. The message was very short and slightly intriguing. It read; “29 year old girl fed up of meeting prats wants more”. That was it. No description of hair, eyes colour, relgion or sexual preference. I read the rest but nothing else jumped out at me. Every time I just went back and read this message. Maybe I should make contact with this ‘girl’. I thought it was good that she had described herself as a ‘girl’ because it suggested that she considered herself to be quite young still and didn’t seem to be a feminist. I have nothing against feminists, but they could be slightly scary. Just as a woman on the telly was having her Georgian pot valued at over two hundred pounds I decided that I should do something positive in my attempts to get back some excitement and would contact the ’29 year old girl’. It seemed all I would have to do is call the telephone number listed and then press the girls mailbox number 2584 to be able to leave her a message. It would cost twenty pence a minute, but as long as I wasn’t too long leaving the message it shouldn’t add up too much. I needed to plan exactly what I was going to say before I rang and try and sound quite cool and with it, but also mysterious. I had been attracted to this lady’s message because it hadn’t given much away.
As I prepared to record my message reply to the advert I had read in the Sunday Mercury I decided that trendy background music might help. So I put on the latest Now CD No. 35. I rang the number and then pressed 2584 to hear the voice of the message writer. She sounded alright with quite a posh Birmingham accent and ended with a slightly naughty laugh. All she said was what the advert had said but it was somehow different hearing the voice. She did sound slightly nervous. Very quickly it was my turn although when George Michael’s ‘Fastlove’ started playing on the CD I was worried that perhaps it wasn’t the best track to use. I left the message ‘Hi this is Jon and I haven’t been called a prat for a few years so why don’t you give me a call’. After putting the phone down I realised that I had forgotten to leave my phone number so it had been a waste of time. I called back and left another message for 2584 apologising for being a prat afterall and this time leaving my number. Well, at least she will notice me even if she might feel the need to move away from the Midlands just to avoid me.

Next Week - Heather is back.

Week 13 - Naked Lady

2010-01-29T00:36:00.000Z

The party had been planned by Pete and another mate called Jason which explained the high percentage of pretty girls. A number of them I don’t think I had ever seen before. Pete seemed to know them all. My parents were there sitting discretely in the corner, Dave ‘the bluenose', from work was spinning round in his wheelchair, Karen was dancing with a man who looked old enough to start lining up at the Post Office. Then to my delight I caught sight of a third person dancing in the group. It was Nan. I then realised that it was in fact Nan the man in his sixties was with. It was great to see my Nan looking so happy even if I don’t think her ankle was designed for that type of angle. With ‘Come On Eileen’ blasting out everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. If Becky had been by my side it would have been great. She used to do a brilliant striptease dance to this song. Only in private of course! I loved to see her body and feel the top of her naked thighs gyrate against me.
“Here is somebody who has come a long way to see you”, Pete said hiding a girl behind his back. Could it be Becky? Would my day be complete? Slowly the small blonde girl came into view and I recognised her instantly. It was my own Bakewell Tart, Heather Shaw.
Heather looked terrific dressed in a little black dress that didn’t even cover her knees. She had lost the slight chubbiness she had had and looked in exceptionally good nick. Pete quickly retreated to leave the two of us alone. Well, alone apart from the fact that I could feel the eyes of my whole family on us. Things were slightly awkward, but Heather soon took charge saying “Bonjour”, holding my hands and giving me a small kiss on my left cheek. I leant down slightly remembering how the height difference had sometimes made kissing difficult.
For the next half an hour I ignored all my other guests and chatted to Heather. We talked about so many things that had gone on in the past and she smelt lovely. The perfume, which I thought was probably French, was really pleasant. We talked mostly about uni days. More like old pals than ex’s. There was no mention of Becky or Jean Pierre. For the first time in months I was having a conversation with a woman and it felt so relaxed. Heather’s smile always put me at ease.
The party went well, I mingled, talked to Heather, cut the cake, talked to Heather, did the Birdie song and talked to Heather. Nan pulled me to one side and asked me in her normal to-the-point way “Has she dumped the Frenchie?”. I had no idea, but she seemed happy so I assumed they were still together. I must admit she had got me through a very difficult party. Yes, I was grateful to Pete for organising it and especially for getting Heather there but I didn’t really feel in the mood to celebrate my move to my fourth decade, by the time it was half past ten I had actually had enough of socialising. I decided to tell Pete, thank you, but I am going to call it a night. The only problem with this was that Pete was currently playing tonsil hockey with a girl I had never seen before. I tapped him on the back and indicated I was going. I think he heard me but his mouth was still being sucked like a vacuum by this unknown redhead.
Outside I looked for clues to where I could get a taxi from. It was now starting to rain and I wasn’t really dressed for being outside too long.

“Tryng to sneak off, birthday boy”, a familiar voice appeared from a few metres back. It was Heather who was standing under a Pink Panther umbrella, which was very very pink. She came closer and tried to lift the umbrella over my head but her arms were too small. I ducked down and actually managed to avoid being poked in the eye by the umbrella. Heather didn’t say anything and we just stood there for a few minutes exchanging a few uneasy smiles. Eventually Heather enquired what I was waiting for. I said I was after a taxi but was unsure which way to go to find one. After a few more minutes Heather offered to drive me home in her car as she hadn’t been drinking and didn’t know anybody else at the party. We had got on quite well so I decided to accept the invitation even though I remember her driving was always erratic. She led me to the pub carpark at the back and then I knew straight away which car I would be taken home in. There it was a bright pink Beetle parked over two parking spaces. It certainly wasn’t a car for somebody who didn’t want to be noticed. The new Heather certainly was very confident and seemingly not short of a few quid as the car seemed quite new. Confusion then happened as Heather tried to let me in the right-hand side. I protested that I wasn’t going to drive and I would be way over the limit. Then Heather pointed out that it was a left-hand drive car as she had got it in France.
The journey back to my house reminded me totally why I always like to drive when we were together. I must remember to tell her that you are supposed to stop at islands if there is traffic coming from the right and should not really just put your foot down and go. Being in the right-hand side with no steering wheel was very strange and my feet were frequently hitting an imaginary brake. Heather was now in ultra talk mode and the unnerving part was that she frequently turned her whole head to the right to look at me when she was talking. I had also forgot her strange habit of driving with one bare foot. She had a high heal shoe on her left foot and her right foot was shoeless. This is how she had always liked it.

“So where is Becky then?”, Heather suddenly shocked me by mentioning my missing bride.

I told her that I hadn’t heard from her and Heather looked really confused.

”You haven’t heard from your wife since when…..?”, Heather was just staring at me and I had to nudge her to get her eyes back on the road. It suddenly occurred to me that Pete had invited her to my party and totally failed to mention the minor detail that I had been jilted.

“How can she miss your birthday? Is she ill?, the Heather interrogation was now well under way. Luckily we soon arrived at my flat. I had finally started to call it my flat. So I decided to invite Heather in and explain everything to her.

“Will Becky mind?”, Heather was either being deliberately thick or was totally bewildered.

Inside Heather commented straight away on how minimalistic everything was. She then clicked that I lived alone and that Becky had left me. She thought it must have been a record breakingly short marriage, but I think suggesting it was probably my morning breath that scared Becky away was unfair. I was forced to explain exactly what had happened on my wedding day. Heather just sat silent with the only comment she made being to enquire if I had any decaf coffee. It was obvious that the Jon Stadler story had not crossed the Channel and was all new news to Heather. She didn’t give me the pity vote that I normally get from people when I tell this story. She was more surprised and maybe a bit put out that I hadn’t told her before.

“But, why did she decide she couldn’t marry you?”, still it didn’t make sense to the lady from France.

The next half an hour saw Heather asking me lots of personal question to try and find out why Becky left but still she felt there was something that I wasn’t telling her. Some information that I was holding back. I had told her everything though including the honeymoon plans and the disagreement we had had in June over if ‘O Jesus I have promised’ should be the first or second hymn. Heather wasn’t convinced though she even asked if Becky had financial problems or had ever expressed any feelings towards women. I showed my horror at this but it was dismissed by Heather who said that most women had had a lesbian fantasy at some point in their life mainly because they knew how to make their bodies tingle a lot better than men did. This was a slight distraction and I was left thinking about what Heather had been doing in France and were any French ladies involved. The conversation had been totally about me for the last hour and I felt it was about time I mentioned Jean Pierre to find out if he was still keeping Heather’s bed warm. Heather had changed this was certainly not the slightly shy lady I had known at uni who didn’t even like to be called a ‘Bakewell Tart’.
We discussed the infamous Jean Pierre and I was reasonably pleased to find that he was now shacked up with a lawyer named Louisa. Heather seemed ok with this and said that in the end she encouraged him to go. Apparently, the sex was sensational but they were never friends like we were and she wanted more. So we were both suddenly single maybe the future wasn’t as bleak as I thought. Very soon Heather was back interrogating me on why Becky had decided to leave. I couldn’t tell if Heather was pleased to hear that I was still single or not. Okay, I wasn’t looking my best and I had let myself go a bit lately, but maybe there was a chance of romance. Although I had to admit that Heather’s beauty value had changed from a middle of the table League One team to a Premier League club chasing a European place. She looked very pretty and if I couldn’t have Becky on my birthday then Heather was a good substitute.
It was now nearly one in the morning and Heather was checking out the different rooms in the flat making the occasional comment about my lack of cleaning. In the kitchen she picked up a bottle of champagne which had been ready for our return from honeymoon.

“Let’s celebrate your birthday in style then. Where are you champagne glasses?”, Heather asked as she searched the kitchen cupboard. Two minutes later there was the pop of the cork and Heather poured the bubbling champagne into a Villa 1977 League Cup winners mug and a ‘Watch Out there’s a Humphrey about’ Unigate Dairies mug. Heather smiled and handed me the Villa mug.

“Cheers to absent friends. Happy Birthday Jon”, she then kissed me on my right cheek and sat up against me on the floor in the lounge. After a few sips of the warm champagne I thought it best to enquire where Heater was staying. Surely she wasn’t travelling back to gay Pari at this time of night. She was staying at her mum’s in Bakewell, but didn’t want to drive back tonight as it was too late and she was planning on drinking a few glasses of champagne. In other words, she was asking if she could stay here tonight. There was only the one double bed so I offered to sleep on the couch even though it was only a two seater one and with my long legs would be absolutely impossible to sleep on.

“Don’t be silly. We know each other so well surely we can share a bed without any embarrassment”, Heather put forward an idea that surprised me. I suppose we could, but what was she suggesting? Was this a share a bed in the sleeping sense or in the ‘Mills and Boon’ sense. I tried to recall how it used to be like at university and importantly what I used to wear in the bedroom then. Normally at the moment it was just the boxers that I had been wearing that day but I had got a couple of pairs of pyjamas. The one pair were the Aston Villa ones that perhaps weren’t appropriate and the other pair were the slightly naughty ones that Becky had bought me last Christmas that perhaps also were not quite right. I guess it would have to be boxers but maybe not the ones I was wearing now. I would have to sneak a clean pair on when I got the chance.
Heather almost single handedly finished off the bottle of champagne and was starting to get very giggly. I began to think that maybe this wasn’t going to be such a good idea. How was I going to play this? Yes, I wouldn’t mind a bit of birthday nookie and it wasn’t like anybody I hadn’t slept with before. Problem was I kept recalling what she had said about good old Monsieur JP before “the sex was sensational”. How could I compare? Obviously my previous effort hadn’t reached those heights and I don’t think my technique has really improved much over the last nine years. Anyway, am I getting too far a head of myself here? Perhaps hanky-panky isn’t on the agenda for Heather tonight. She looks brilliant though, slightly tanned in her little black figure hugging dress and big white pearls around her neck. With the bottle empty Heather suggested, rather wickedly that it was time for bed. I tried not to read too much into the term ‘Big Boy’ as Heather took my hand and led me to my bedroom.
Sitting on the bed I watched in wonder as Heather unzipped her dress and pulled it over her head. I actually felt slightly uncomfortable that Heather was doing this all in full view of me. Was I supposed to look? I decided that it was probably more polite to avert my gaze and look the other way. So I watched the reflection of Heather undressing in the mirror.

“I can see you peeking. Do you like what you see?”, Heather taunted me and then blow me a kiss. It was all so confusing. I expect that she was happy to show off her new figure and what a figure it was. Her black lacy bra and matching briefs certainly grabbed my attention and my manhood was staring to show. I decided to retreat to the bathroom to try to calm down and change my boxers. Everything was going too fast for me and I didn’t know what I really wanted to happen. I had got used to the idea that I was never going to sleep with any other girl apart from Becky, but then Becky had left me. Now I had the chance of revisiting a former sexual partner.
Returning from the bathroom I nearly trod on Heather’s discarded black bra. It was a designer one with what looked like a French name. As I reached the bed I was shocked on two counts. Firstly, Heather was on the right side of the bed. This was wrong because it was my side and Becky always slept on the left. Secondly on the floor were a pair of black matching knickers. Heather was in the bed and unless she had kept any items of nightwear in her pink handbag then she was totally naked. Unfortunately she was also snoring and fast asleep. I slipped into the bed and could smell the French perfume and even when I turned off the light I could see the shine of Heather’s bare back. She looked sensational. It was a shame she was lying with her back facing me but I still allowed myself a smile and thought about how glad I was Pete had invited Heather.
Trying to sleep was difficult as Heather although looking angelic was making some very unfeminine noises. Her snores were filling the room and I was wide a wake. It was like the night before my supposed wedding day all over again. My mind was full of images of Becky and of old girlfriends, but the difference now was that this old girlfriend was lying NAKED only six inches from me. I moved closer desperately wanting to touch her warm soft body. Knowing she was in a deep sleep I knew that I could probably get away with Heather thinking I am a sleep if she suddenly wakes up and finds my arm around her. Perhaps she would like a cuddle anyway. I mean let's remember that it was Heather herself who got into my bed without her sexy undies. It was Heather herself who suggested she stayed the night. Yes, I was the innocent party here. I moved myself until my chest was touching her back and I could feel every movement she made as she breathed heavily. We were now so close that Heather’s blonde hair at the back was resting on my face. She smelt brilliant even allowing for the slight cigarette smell in her hair from the time spent in the pub. Her skin was just so soft and smooth and I couldn’t stop myself from stroking her all the way round from her shoulders with the back of my hand. It then continued down Heather’s back and then felt the joy of touching the cheek of her silky bottom. For the next five minutes I slowly stroked her back and bum checking that she wasn’t waking, but aware that the snoring was starting to become less frequent. The snores were also sounding more like a purr as Heather sounded like a really content pussy cat. My strokes seemed to be well received. Then my bed companion this birthday night wearing her birthday suit turned herself over one hundred and eighty degrees to face me. She seemed to still be asleep but I could make out a smile on her face. My eyes were quite accustomed to the light now and I lay there watching her closely. Her nose was quite small and definitely pointed slightly up. The duvet, still minus it’s duvet cover, was just covering Heather’s chest. Although part of me knew it was wrong and being disloyal to my fiancée I desperately wanted to see Heather’s hidden assets. I slowly pulled down the duvet that was covering Heather. The smile on her face widen and she gripped the duvet edge tightly to prevent it moving. Perhaps I had missed my chance. Then to my surprise Heather slowly lowered the duvet down to her waist. She looked super lying there with her breasts facing me and her nipples looking firm. I so wanted to touch them but would this be taking things too far? The moment went because Heather then rolled over the other way and pulled the duvet tightly around her. Leaving me now exposed and unable to retrieve the covers.

Next Week - The Day After

Week 12 - Birthday Surprise

2010-01-22T21:07:00.000Z

Today I was thirty and woke up alone. Part of me wanted to by-pass the day, but Pete was not thinking the same as that part of me. He had informed me last night that he had organised a big night out for me and in his words “We are going to Party like its 1999”. Did I feel like partying? Would it matter if I didn’t?
My parents had left a pile of presents for me to open when I woke up and there were a pile of cards by the door the postman had delivered but I just couldn’t be bothered. All I wanted to do was turn over and hide under my duvet that Becky had bought from C&A. The plan was never to turn 30 a single man everything had gone wrong. I should be living in Alrewas with my beautiful wife Becky. Maybe she is thinking of me now on my birthday. Maybe she’ll realise what a mistake she has made and turn up. Or maybe more realistically she will send me a card. For that reason alone I went to pick my cards off the floor. The noise of them hitting the floor when the postman pushed them through about twenty minutes ago seemed quite loud, but I only found four items of post on the floor waiting for me. Of those four items only two looked like birthday cards. The others were a solicitor’s letter reminding me that they wanted paying even though we have pulled out the sale and an invite to a Bridal Fair sponsored by Cosmopolitan. The first card was my Auntie Janet’s handwriting the second was harder to decipher. In fact I was very impressed by the postman that it found me at all. Both cards had decided to remind me, in case I hadn’t realised that I was thirty. My Aunt’s card was an attempt at knowing me because it had a football picture on the front. Admittedly it was Liverpool playing what looked like Rochdale, but it is the thought that counts. I was even called a ‘Special Nephew’. My Uncle Cyril had written his name and my Auntie her’s for some reason. Then for an even stranger reason there was a paw print underneath that must belong to a small pet. I vaguely recall them having a rabbit but it might have been a small cat. The second card gave no clues as to who it was from because they had forgotten to sign it. However inside was a cheque that had been signed with my Nan’s name on. It had the correct date on. This biggest surprise was the amount on the cheque… It was for ten thousand pounds. I was in total shock and just held it in my hands. I didn’t know my Nan had this sort of money. Maybe she is just confused and it will bounce as soon as I try to pay it in. What could I do with ten thousand pounds? New car maybe. With my old car as trade-in I could get a really sporty one to rival Pete’s. I could go on a big holiday? Perhaps Florida or Australia. I could even give up my Council job and travel around the world for a year. Or use it to pay for my season for the next twenty years.

My sister Karen decided to take me out for a birthday lunch to a pub near Wall. Karen was in the middle of a voluntary counselling course at Wolverhampton Poly and I could tell straight away that I was going to be her client for the next hour. Since splitting with Toby, Karen had become quite hippy like and I was relieved to see that the pub wasn’t a vegetarian one and that I could get a large meaty burger with curly fries. We had never really mentioned the split with Toby but as Karen kept trying to find how I really was about ‘The Becky Thing’ then I mirrored most of her questions by asking about Toby. Karen was obviously hiding something and I was in the mood to find out what it was. Like a careful game of chess both of us tried to make our move trying to extract information from the other. If I am honest we were never that close. The four year gap meant that we never really played together and Karen was nearly always one school ahead of me. I had always liked my sister and respected her, but had no idea what made her tick. Why were there no children? Why had things not worked with Toby? What had she spent the last year doing? Karen seemed happy and kept touching my leg as if to comfort me.
I decided not to mention the money, or possible money, off Nan to Karen because she might feel as if I was her favourite.

“Did you get your cheque off Nan this morning?”, Karen surprisingly enquired. I nodded and looked surprised.

“I had the same four years ago when I was thirty. It probably cost me my marriage”, Karen continued to shock me.

It was my turn to listen as Karen explained all the things that had gone wrong since she received the ten thousand pounds. It seems that she had spent most of it within six months on new clothes and jewellery. She had stopped buying her normal clothes from BHS and instead bought clothes that were previously out of her range. She became selfish and wouldn’t let Toby see any of the money. When it had all gone she continued to spend and buy even fancier clothes. All her money then went and soon all of their joint account. Credit card bills mounted and other bills were not paid. Her store cards remained unpaid and everything was putting a strain on the relationship. Toby tried to take all he cards away but by then she was a shopaholic. Every week she bought new outfits and wore them just once. Toby took out a loan to try and clear her debts but still she wanted more clothes. In the end Toby could take it no more so he told her she had to leave. Wow this was a bigger confession than I was expecting.
My sister was now leaning on my shoulder crying uncontrollably as I tried to fit the large burger in my mouth. This was all a little too emotional and it was drawing attention to us. The barman came and asked if everything was alright with our meals and I nodded at him. What a way to spend your thirtieth birthday.
What should I do with the money then, as now it seems as if it was real? My sister could may be do with a bit more to pay her debts off or should I just give it to charity. It was quite a responsibility and one that I wasn’t going to face until I really had to. I certainly wouldn’t be telling Pete because he would probably have some big plan for it.
After lunch with my sister and her revelations I was hoping that a evening with Pete would not be quite as surprising. I was wrong. Pete picked me up at five to eight as he had said he would. Pete had decided that he should drive us into Lichfield and then leave his car there and we would get taxis back. In the past we had arranged to do this then Pete would forget that he had drunk nine points and try and drive home, so this time I was going to take charge of his car keys. I didn’t really feel like going out and I hadn’t made any effort. Even my armpits hadn’t received there daily squirt of Rightguard. Really I just couldn’t be bothered and was in no mood for celebration. Pete didn’t seem his usual laid back self and I began to think that all is not well in his world. He looked quite smart with for once an unripped pair of jeans on and quite a baggy black shirt. He also gave me a card for the first time ever and then surprised me more by pointing to a neatly wrapped present on the backseat. Well, more of a rear shelf in his small car. This was a very rare event a present from Pete. There was even a tag that seemed to have nicked a line from the ‘Golden Girls’ theme tune. It said ‘thank you for being a friend’. The card was also quite serious and telling me how special I was and how I was always there. This was all far too serious if we didn’t watch it we would end up in an embarrassing matey hug. As we drove I opened the present which was far too well wrapped even with a red bow. Either Pete had got somebody else to wrap this or he had hidden feminine side. Inside was a shoe box and inside was an amazing work of art. It stopped me totally in my tracks. It was a wooden model of the Villa Trinity Road stand complete with all the Victorian hoardings. It was fantastic and match from matchsticks. I had to ask Pete where he had managed to get this from as I thought I knew all the Villa official merchandise. Pete then casually revealed that he had spent the last four months making it. This left me not knowing what to say. Was he having me on or had he really done this for me. The detail was amazing and everything looked the perfect scale. I could tell by his modest reaction that this was Pete’s handy work.

“It’s bloody brilliant, isn’t it”, Pete’s modesty didn’t last long.

It was brilliant and probably the best present I have ever had. Even better than ten thousand pounds. Pete was a very special friend and also a very talented one. I just wish he had given me this before we left the house because the speed he was taking the corners at and the fragility of the model was worrying me. The next worry was why we were hurtling past Lichfield and showing no signs of stopping. The Meatloaf CD playing ‘Bat out of Hell’ seemed very appropriate.
It was exactly half past eight when we pulled into a carpark of a pub come hotel just outside of Burton called inappropriately ‘The Albion’. This wasn’t a normal haunt but Pete seemed to know exactly where he was going. Oh dear, I suddenly started to think of those dreaded words ‘SURPRISE PARTY’. Was this all a setup? Would I be greeted by darkness and party poppers? I had never had a surprise party and yes, I had always fancied one but not now, please. Pete led me to a door on the right of the building and then into a room that I think I saw labelled ‘Function Room’. Inside the room we were greeted by a DJ shouting those dreaded words, “Here comes the birthday boy” and the sound of clapping. No party poppers but this certainly was a party.

Next Week : A Naked Birthday Surprise

Week 11 - Blind Date Surprise

2010-01-13T15:25:00.000Z

The next hour went quite slow with Denise and Lyn spending a considerable time in the toilets together. It seemed that almost after every conversation the two had to disappear to compare notes on their dates. Pete seemed more interested in the girl with the stubbled faced skinhead by the bar than his own date. I actually found Lyn quite interesting although her insincere laugh was a bit off putting. Denise might be attractive but she could make Nigel Mansell seem a gripping conversationalist. When she wasn’t dragging Lyn to the Ladies she was checking her reflection in a mirror that was positioned to the left of us. Lyn started to show more interest in me as Pete was obviously being distracted by the girl at the bar to the annoyance of the skinhead who was trying to show that this was his girlfriend by holding her close to him. I am sure I even detected a snarl across his face, but this just encouraged Pete to give his companion a cheeky grin.

Denise was taking her time making a glass a dry medium white wine last and rather annoyingly was running her finger around the rim to make an irritating noise. She seemed lost in her own world with her eyes focused only on her own reflection. Lyn had finished her third half a lager and was beginning to get annoyed with the lack of attention Pete was showing her. Pete had no idea though and just kept smiling at the girl at the bar. What was he playing at? This was going to either end with Pete being slapped by Lyn or the Skinhead coming and trying to deck him. I hoped it would be the first because I think Pete would be less likely to retaliate if it was Lyn.

“So you were jilted then, Jon”, Denise suddenly addressed me for the first time all night.

“Look, he doesn’t want to talk about it”, Pete quickly burst in.

“It must have been awful for you”, Lyn caringly joined in, “Did you have to give all the presents back?”

Pete was right I didn’t really want to talk about it, but not because it was painful. Now it was just something that I had moved on from and I was ready to become Jonathan Stadler again and not ‘jilted Jon’. I didn’t need Lyn feeling sorry for me because I wasn’t a charity case and hadn’t been scarred for life. Yes, it had been a difficult couple of months, but I was only twenty-nine and hopeful had two thirds of my life ahead. This was now my time to be the real me again and not half of Jon and Becky. Or as it appeared more often than not ‘Becky and Jon’. It took a few more comments from Pete before the ladies finally realised that this was not a topic for conversation. Unfortunately this then meant we all sat silent for the next five minutes. All of us probably just trying to think of what we could talk about now. I am sure this used to be easier when I was younger. What did I used to talk about with dates before Becky? With Becky it was quite easy because she was always talking and all I had to do really was listen. She even claimed that she fell for me because I was such a great listener. I must admit though, that a few times I didn’t listen to all the conversations but seemed to have the knack of smiling or saying ‘oh dear’ at just the right moment. The thing was, that me and Becky worked and it was easy, but was that the problem? Had I taken my foot off the pedal and stopped really trying with Becky. When you are first interested in a girl and trying to seduce her you work so hard. You spend hours in the bathroom and make sure that all your spots are covered up, you even blow in your hands to check that you haven’t got smelly breath, but how quickly that all disappears once you are together. I suppose girls keep trying and still take hours getting ready, but that is probably for other girls benefit not the boyfriend. Perhaps I have let myself go. Perhaps I did enter the comfort zone where you can break wind in bed and it doesn’t really matter. I enjoyed the comfort zone, though. Coming home to Becky and just collapsing together on the settee watching ‘Brookside’ was just ‘cosy’. Now I was going to have to start dating again and being presentable. Could I do it? Have I forgotten how to talk to women?
The next time that Lyn and Denise returned from the toilets with newly applied lippy they surprised me by sitting the opposite way around. Denise moved next to Pete and Lyn came and sat by me. Was this deliberate or had they just not thought about it. Pete was no longer staring at he girl at the bar mainly because his view was now obscured by a very large bloke who had a leather jacket that was even too big for his wide body. It was now my chance to talk to Lyn and be my ‘real’ charming self. I have to avoid the obvious questions like ‘what do you do?’, but I need to sound interested in what she has to say. It was actually Lyn who started the conversation.

“Has there been anybody since the one we can’t mention”, Lyn came straight to the point.

I told her that I hadn’t really been out, but couldn’t think of a reason why. I decided to go right for it and ask if she had been in a relationship recently.

“I am sort of engaged to a bloke in the army”, she surprisingly informed me. I tried to play it cool, but began to wish that the two girls hadn’t changed places. I enquired what ‘sort of engaged’ meant. Lyn then told me about how she had been a penpal for a soldier serving in Bosnia for two years now and that she had only spent one weekend with him but he had mentioned in his last letter that he would like to marry her. This was my chance to let Lyn speak and I could just be a good listener. Also a reminder not to pursue any romantic involvement with Lyn just in case he has any Leave due.
The rest of the evening went well and I ended up walking Lyn home, which was admittedly considerably further than I had anticipated when I made the offer. Pete had left with Denise twenty minutes earlier giving me one of his famous winks as he left. I must ask Pete next time I see him if he still keeps count of how many conquests he has had. Knowing Pete he has probably compiled a top ten of Pete’s Shags. Despite Pete’s obvious hunky attributes I don’t think I have ever been jealous of him. Pete always has just been my best mate. Pete doesn’t let his emotions really show and I have never really seen him cry, although he came very close when the beat Trammere in the 1994 League Cup semi-final. As for serious relationships Pete had not really had one. Yes, there was Caroline Randall in the third year at secondary school. Pete spent the whole year chasing after ever and copying her taste in music. It was strange because Caroline really liked him but for some reason neither had the nerve to ask the other one out. Caroline actually ended up as our year’s first gymslip mother at the end of the fourth year. The father was a Sixth Former name Darren Woodward who was mysteriously beat up the week after the pregnancy was revealed. The gossip was that it was Caroline’s Dad who inflicted the damage, but Pete never spoke about it. Perhaps it is wrong but a part of me always assumed that Darren had received a legendary Pete headbut.
Lyn chatted the whole way home and insisted on us walking with our arms linked. I was frequently on the lookout for hidden army men armed with sniper guns. Lyn was very easy going and had a smile that was relaxing. Was this turning into a date and if so would she be expecting a goodnight kiss? One thing was for sure I was not going to give her anything else. I am not that kind of boy. I usually have to know at least a girl’s next of kin's star sign and a list of all previous lovers postcodes before they get to see my dangly thing. Maybe, though, that was the old me perhaps the new post ‘Jilted Jon’ should be a bit more easy and perhaps even more Pete like. The problem is I think too much about things. I mean what happens afterwards. I haven’t got any protection or any clean pants to put on. Yes, I could just put my jeans back on and go pantless. But the last time I did this when I forgot to take a pair of pants when I went swimming, having worn my blue trunks to go in, I nearly had a nasty accident with my zip. Perhaps I am thinking too much already because just because Lyn was leaning against me closely and blowing in my ear doesn’t mean she is looking for anything else. After about forty minutes of walking we reached a street called Bell Road, which I think I had heard Lyn say earlier in the night is where she lived. It was now gone midnight and I was just deciding that I was going to have to ask if I could use Lyn’s bathroom.

”I am ok from here on Jon. Thank you for walking me home”, Lyn rather hurriedly said. She then kissed me on the cheek and then ran off through a gully-way. In no time she was gone and I was left to think about two different things. Firstly, where I was going to be able to spend a penny and secondly, ‘where the hell am I?’

Next week : Thirty and party not to foget

Week 10 - The Double Date

2010-01-06T22:54:00.000Z

The next two weeks went quite quickly and although I raced home from work each day in the hope that there might be a letter from Becky waiting for me I began to think about her less and less. Yes, there were times when my head would be full of thoughts like, are we still engaged, did my smelly feet put her off and should I have reacted differently when I received the text on that fateful night. The way I had reacted was of course so typical of me and the way I bury my head in the sand just hoping things will go away. Perhaps I should have taken the text message as a sign that things were not good and gone straight around to see Becky. To hell with it being bad luck to see the bride the night before the wedding. It is more unlucky not to see her on the wedding day. It also seems now that other people are beginning to forget about what happened and are starting to treat me without the cotton gloves. My mum will now even mention the ‘B’ word Becky when I am around.

I am driving with Pete back from seeing the Villa draw when he announces that we have a double date that night with a couple of crackers. This certainly takes me by surprise, but perhaps it is just what I need. Even Pete is taken aback by my cool response to this news. He explains that I would be doing him a favour because he has been trying to spend time with a girl called Lyn for a few weeks, but she always has her friend Denise in tow. Even though I expect that the term ‘cracker’ was perhaps more apt for Lyn than this Denise I was excited by the chance to have date on a Saturday night. Yes, it was good to be able to veg out on a Saturday night with the pink football papers and watch ‘Match of the Day’, but this Saturday night I was going to be out on a date. Pete dropped me off and informed me that we were meeting at the Craven Arms at eight o’clock. This gave me about ninety minutes to get ready. I decided to go the whole way and even had a bath using some bubble bath that Becky had left behind. It was a bit girly smelling, but I thought it would make me smell nice. Having not used bubble bath since the days of the blue sailor one called ‘Matey’, which promised clean kids and a clean bath, I was not exactly sure how much foam to put in. Perhaps if I use this flower scented pink one again I will use about a quarter of the amount because not only would the bubbles I had created not seem to want to disappear from my body but I smelt like an exhibit at the Chelsea Flower Show. It was too much and I was sure that Pete would make a comment so I tried to hide the smell with some aftershave. Unfortunately the only bottle that I had that was half decent was one that Becky’s mum gave me last Christmas. I had only tried it once and didn’t really care for the smell but I desperately needed something to hide the scent of flowers.

I tried on my favourite black button fly jeans which Becky always said showed my bottom off well. I only wore them on special occasions because I found the button fly very difficult if I had a few drinks and had to go for a wee. Standing by a urinal spending minutes trying to correctly fasten all the stiff buttons always made me worry that somebody would think I was dong something dodgy with my private bits. I was going to go for it tonight and hopefully avoid having to empty my bladder during the evening. The only problem was that over the last couple of months since joining the jilted club I hadn’t really been eating very much, mainly because I couldn’t be bothered to go shopping. So even for my usual skinny self I was looking very thin. The jeans almost fell right down with the lack of waist. Even with a belt with the buckle in the last hole they were still not secure. Time was running out so with the aid of a Phillips screwdriver I added an extra hole to my belt. Perhaps if I had taken the belt off first I wouldn’t have stabbed myself in the leg with the screwdriver, but it didn’t bleed too much and apart from having to change my white shirt no harm was done. I put my black shirt on instead and couldn’t really tell if I looked fashionable or as if I was going to a funeral. My hair was desperately in need of a visit to the hairdressers with a number of added curls appearing in unexpected places. Also I noticed an unwanted grey hair on the left-hand side which I am sure was not there when I was preparing for the wedding. Was it stress or the first real signs of aging? At 29 had I peaked? Would it be all downhill from now with hair going grey and then dropping out? Would I have to start taking a change of pants out with me to stop me smelling of wee because I dribble after I have been for a pee? There was no time to get depressed now though as I had to be ready for my date. With a quick yank I pulled out the offending grey hair. Maybe I could start dying my hair if it got any worse.

As always I was very punctual and reached the Craven Arms at five to eight. Normally I would arrive ten minutes early but decided I didn’t want to appear too keen. Pete wasn’t there yet, but Pete was often late so I looked around to see if I could see two ‘crackers’ inside. For some reason I hadn’t asked Pete anything about what Denise was like. Perhaps I didn’t really want to know so I didn’t have any preconceived ideas. I mean if Pete had said she had a great personality knowing Pete it would have meant ‘she is not much to look at’. I didn’t care what she was like it was just a relief to be out on a Saturday night. The Craven Arms was not one of our usual pubs so I assume Pete had chosen it because it would have the least number of his ex’s there. It wasn’t bad little pub though and I had taken Becky there once and we had had quite a romantic night at the table to the right of the log fire sharing a bag of dry-roasted peanuts and making one round of drinks last all night.

It is nearly ten past eight before Pete walks in with two girls. One of them was a quite stunning brunette with a tight silver top on and a short black skirt. She was maybe lacking a few pounds in the vital areas but oozed confidence in her designer mirror sunglasses even though it was pitch black outside. Behind Pete and this attractive lady was another girl who wasn’t really in the same league but had a cute look about her. She was quite short and dumpy with blonde highlights in her short brownish hair and a West Bromwich Albion scarf round her neck. This I thought must be the friend Denise. Apart from the scarf and the considerable height difference to me I was quite intrigued by this stranger. To my surprise Pete introduced the woman in the Albion scarf to me first as Lyn. It seemed that my date Denise was actually the more glamorous of the two girls with Pete. This was certainly a turn-up.

Next Week : Denise or Lyn?

Week 9 - Nan's Dating Agency

2009-12-28T14:24:00.002Z

Chapter 5 Approaching Thirty

It had now been forty-nine days since the day my bride failed to show and I was surviving. Pete was great and my parents seemed to take it in turns phoning to check I was still alive. Frequent offers of dinners also came from my parents and generally everything was alright. I decided to pull out of buying the house in Alrewas much to the annoyance of Mr. Williams who was in the middle of buying this flat. Becky hadn’t been in touch and I had no idea where she was, but I wasn’t going to go looking. If she wanted payment for the flat I would deal with that when it happened. The mortgage was in my name and the payments going from my account so at the moment I didn’t need to act on this.

In three weeks time it will be my thirtieth birthday and I was slightly depressed about this. Trying to think about where my life was going. Two months ago I was going to be married by the time I reached the big three O. Now I was single and my future was very undecided. Would I ever marry? Would I ever hear the patter of tiny feet? Would I ever be called Granddad? I wasn’t feeling sorry for myself just unsure about what I was supposed to do. Pete advised celebrating my birthday in a big way to show the world that Jonathan Sadler was back. That didn’t seem like a good idea. I mean a party full of couples and me and Pete. Perhaps I could send Becky an invite, but as she didn’t turn up to our wedding I doubt she would turn up to my party. In the last few days I had started to feel some resentment towards Becky. It wasn’t the jilting me that hurt it was the not saying exactly what was wrong. Was it something I had done? Or was something else going on in her life that I had not been involved in?

If your partner dies how long is it acceptable to grieve before going back out on the pull? This is how I was feeling. Part of me wanted to try and find a woman because I didn’t want to be completely single when I entered the fourth decade of my life. I did miss the flirting and the seducing even before Becky left. The thrill of the chase has always been the best part for me. Which is probably why I had always turned down offers of one night stands. To me, taking four months to completely seduce an attractive lady to a state where she wanted me more than anything else was much more satisfying than just meeting.

I had been summoned to my Nan’s Old People’s home and told to arrive at seven o’clock exactly. Nan had said that I could then see her for half an hour and be off by the time Coronation Street started. It wasn't really a convenient time to go as I wanted to see the end of the football on Sky, but it was Nan and she said it was important. The home was quite deep in the countryside and had hairy cows in the field behind the back. Nan had chosen well and it was quite an upmarket home. My Granddad had owned four houses so his death left my Nan surprisingly well off. She must have spent quite a large portion of this wealth during her Jessy years though, but still could afford to stay at this top of the range Old People’s Home. The staff all wore pink uniforms which looked quite good on some of the girls but this was perhaps a touch camp for the male nurses. It was quite a pleasant environment in the Lounge, though, because most of the household were quite compos-mentis and it wasn’t like the usual home. They tended to sit in small groups instead of being spread around the room. When I arrived Nan was holding court with three gentlemen and blatantly flirting with two of them. One of the carers, Jenny, asked me if she could have a word. The conversation started with Jenny saying she was sorry to hear about me being jilted, but she wouldn’t be able to go out with me next Tuesday because she went dancing with her boyfriend every Tuesday. Obviously Nan had been trying to set me up. At least she had good taste because Jenny was particularly nice with a smile that always caught my eyes. I tried to apologise for my Nan’s forwardness, but Jenny laughed and said she understood totally. Jenny had something she needed to discuss with me or my Dad the next time he came. She said it was a sensitive matter about Nan’s recent behaviour. I decided that I was ready to represent the family on this issue. Jenny explained, rather apologetically, that things could not go on as they are. I asked what my Nan had done now. She said that it was just that some of the other families had complained. This didn’t sound good and I don’t think Jenny, even with her warm smile, was finding this easy to say. Eventually we got to the point. Nan had been leading some late night strip poker sessions and old Mrs. Gidman had told her son how she was left braless after a session last Thursday. The thought of the ninety-five year old, teethless Mrs. Gidman topless was an image I needed to quickly lose from my mind, but try as I could it was still there as wrinkly as a tortoise’s neck.

Nan introduced me to Neville, Len and Clive. She said, “it’s like that film, Three men and an old lady”. For once Nan was dressed like a real Nan with a long skirt and a shawl around her shoulders. She had quite a lot of clothes on for this time of year. Perhaps she was planning another game of strip poker. Very suddenly Nan instructed the gentlemen to disperse. Len took the opportunity to give Nan a peck on the lips. It wasn’t a pleasant sight but I suppose you don’t get many chances of a snog when you get to that age. Clive was the least mobile of the three old men and even with his zimmer frame it took him several minutes to get back to the other side of the room. Nan was quite agitated and obviously had some news to tell me. If it was about the midnight geriatric games I already knew. There seemed to be something else on her mind and I started to have the worrying feeling that my lovelife was involved. Very quickly my worries were proved correct as it became apparent that my Nan was on operation ‘find Jonathan a woman’. Jenny had just been the start of it. The real plan soon became known. Nan introduced me to Mr. Singh or Ally as she had started to refer to him as. She pointed to an elderly man in the far left of the room who was wearing a very bright orange turban and had quite a bushy grey beard that I appeared to have in a hairnet. Mr. Singh gave us a little wave to acknowledge he had seen us. Nan started to wave back an even blew him a kiss. It was obvious that these two had been talking about me and the lack of romance in my life. “Good news”, Nan said quite sharply.

Why did I sense that this was not going to be good news for me? “I have found you a replacement wife”, was the dreaded words that were to follow. Soon things became painfully clear and my worse fears were all coming home. My Nan and Mr. Singh had setup an arranged marriage for me. Mr. Singh had an unmarried Grand-daughter who was supposed to marrying the son of a doctor until the doctor’s son was caught kerb crawling in Aldridge. I was being setup for an Arranged Marriage. Nan informed me that Mr. Singh’s grand-daughter, Hasmir, wasn’t a minger and was in fact pretty hot. She would be here soon and Nan informed me she was looking forward to meeting me. At least we were going to be allowed to meet prior to our wedding day.

“Nan I am not a Sikh and I am quite able to organise my own lovelife”, I shouted rather too loud given the number of people in the room.

“Well, you’ve made a crap job of it so far”, Nan snapped back. “Where is Becky again?”

I could tell that Nan was in one of those stubborn moods and I would just have to lump it for a bit. But Nan was right about one thing Hasmir certainly wasn’t ‘a minger’. She entered the room looking completely radiant and kissed her grandfather on the cheek. She looked beautiful and reminded me of the Princess on the Aladdin cartoon. Maybe it was worth a go after all. My Nan gave me a nudge to indicate that she thought Hasmir was, in her words, ‘a bit of alright’. Hasmir was dressed very European with jeans and quite a figure hugging white top in fact quite a trendy. Should I go over and introduce myself?
As I started to walk towards Hasmir and her Grandfather I felt myself being pulled back by a strange force. It was Nan’s stick which she had used like a fishing rod to hook around my jeans and prevent me from escaping.

“Slow down tiger, you don’t want to seem to keen”, Nan said unusually quiet for her.

“I was just going to be a gentlemen and introduce myself”, I protested.

“We don’t want you ruining things yet. Ally and me still haven’t agreed on the price.”, Nan informed me.

Any hope of having Hasmir as my birthday date faded fast when she started arguing with Mr. Singh. I couldn’t hear all she was saying but it seemed to roughly translate to, ”I wouldn’t be seen dead with that lanky git”. Oh well it was probably for the best.

Week 8 - Another Day at Work

2009-12-19T21:03:00.000Z

By Monday morning I was ready to get back to work after what was supposed to be my leave for my honeymoon. For the last three years I had worked for Walsall Council in the Leisure and Recreations Department. It was a strange job that I actually quite enjoyed and I felt benefited the people from the Walsall area by helping them to get fit and have places to relax. They are trying to change the Department name to ‘Leisure and Culture’ so I am not quite sure if my job will change. Anyway, I work in an office with three other people. There is Dave who is in a wheelchair and constantly runs over everyone’s feet. Dave is a very ‘politically correct’ person who spends hours checking that all leaflets and documents are completely ‘PC’. I like Dave even though he is a Bluenose, Birmingham City fan, but it is very easy to upset him and his sulks are legendary. He once didn’t speak to a colleague for eight months because they used the word ‘handicapped’. The second person in the office is Hasmita who is probably the Department manager but believes we are a team made up of equal parts and nobody is in charge. Hasmita is quite pretty but her legs, which Pete believes would be her best part, are always covered up. When Pete joined us last year at our office Christmas party he tried really hard to ‘get off’ with Hasmita and did manage a long kiss under the mistletoe. Hasmita was quite taken and suggested they could meet up, but her boyfriend could get quite jealous and had got a rather large knife. Pete quickly moved on to Hayley. Hayley is our newest recruit and answers all telephone calls to our department. She is short with brown hair and very rounded breasts with nipples that often poke through her clothing. She is only just twenty and tries hard to please everyone. Every ten minutes she will offer to make us drinks and is willing to do all the tasks that everybody else hates. She could photocopy for England. Hayley actually asked me if it was alright for her to go out on a date with Pete. This surprised me and it was only later that I found out it was because she thought that Pete and I were an item. It wasn’t that she thought I was camp though, more that she thought all council departments had a disabled person, an ethnic minority person and homosexual one. For the next week I exaggerated my butchness in front of Hayley. Of course, Pete thought it was really funny and just joked about how I didn’t love him any more.
When I arrived in the old office that Monday morning, I hadn’t bargained on the fact that no one had told the three work colleagues that things didn’t quite go to plan on my wedding day. Hayley had tried so hard. My desk was covered in confetti and a big sign made up of A4 letters hung across the office. It read ‘Just Married’. As I walked in three of them rose and applauded me. Well, only Hayley and Hasmita rose, Dave just lifted his shoulders and back up a few inches. This was a nice touch and I decided that I didn’t want to go into detail now about my failure. I just said I had had a lovely week. This was mistake as it was followed by questions about the new Mrs. Stadler and requests to see some pictures. For some reason I bluffed it all even saying that the day was all a bit of a daze. I should have been honest, but I wasn’t ready to explain what had happened. It would have been much simpler to say I was jilted, but I felt they had gone to so much effort they deserved more. Perhaps I could keep the pretence going for the next few years. I mean we never meet outside work and Becky never called me at work before. They would probably stop asking to see the photographs after a couple of weeks.
It was a nice change to finally concentrate on work and issues like;- why youths are climbing over Mr Mortimer’s fence to get into Aldridge Park at night. My emails contained lots of good luck messages but I just ignored them. Dave said that he was glad to see I hadn’t followed the modern tradition of male wedding rings. At about half past eleven, just as I was thinking which chocolate should I get from the vending machine next, Tracey from Human Resources came into see me. She was beaming all over and gave me a hug and a big kiss on my now clean shaven cheek. Tracey was prone to big gestures and everything was always ‘supa’ or ‘brill’. She seemed to skip instead of walk and was probably the most irritating person in the company. She was extra excited today and was humming a tune which may well have been the bridal march. She claimed she had, “a little present for our groomy”. I assumed she meant me. She handed me an envelope addressed to Mr & Mrs. J. Sadler. It contained a cheque from the company for one hundred pounds. The letter explained that this was a gift from the company to mark the occasion of my wedding. At this point it might have been advisable to come clean but when I am in a hole I tend to keep digging. I decided to accept the gift but I wouldn’t pay the cheque in. Hopefully they wouldn’t notice.
The rest of the day was full of lies from me and people wishing me well. How long could I keep up this pretence? Perhaps in a few days time I could announce that Becky has left me. At least it was nearly half past five and I had survived my first day back. Just as I am leaving my desk phone rings. I can’t be bothered to get it so I look at Hayley. She says don’t worry I will tell them you have left. Hayley answers the phone and I wait for a few seconds in case it is important. I hear Hayley say the slightly worrying words of, “Oh, hello Mrs. Sadler..”. After a while she puts the phone down and looks at me slightly perplexed. Then in a loud voice, so the whole office can hear, says, “Jonathan, that was your mother asking how you are after Becky left you at the Church”. So that was it the truth was out and the pretence over. Thanks mum.
To be fair Hasmita and Hayley were very understanding and seemed to think I warranted a hug. Dave was less understanding and used some quite colourful language to show his angered at my deceit. It seems that he had never trusted me and wasn’t surprised that a woman would do a runner instead of marrying me. I explained that I had had no intention of paying in the cheque from Human Resources. Dave then enquired when he would be getting back the two quid that he put in my collection. Feeling slightly perturbed by Dave’s reaction I took two pounds fifty out of my pocket and gave it him. Saying here it is back with twenty-five percent interest. Dave was not happy and wheeled his wheelchair round and then pushed off away from me. It was then that Hasmita asked me if I wanted to talk about it. No, of course I didn’t. I had been denying it all day and now I just wanted to get back to my flat and lock myself in.
The flat was now feeling quite empty with all of Becky’s things gone and although I felt safe there I knew that I was going to have to start thinking where I was going to live. The new house in Alrewas would soon be ready but this would be far too big for just me and I would struggle to pay the mortgage on my single wage now. I was going to have to pull out and lose the deposit, but do I pull out of selling the flat as well? Do I need a total restart or do I need some stability in my life? I really need someone like Becky to discuss this with, but I haven’t a clue where Becky is. Should I try and find her? It wouldn’t be difficult as I know where her family live and where she works. Would it be fair on Becky to look for her? She knows where I live so when she wants me she’ll find me. Unless of course I do move.
Later that night Pete came round. He was in a very jolly mood so I was surprised that he had wanted to be with me. Pete had been brilliant through out the whole Becky thing, or ‘Beckygate’ as he had now named it. He seemed able to know when to joke about it and when to just listen. There was definitely a softer side to Pete that at lot of people did not see. Certainly Mark Deacy didn’t back in 1982 when Pete broke his nose because Mark suggested Villa should be banned from the European Cup after a fan ran on the pitch in the semi-final. Pete was lucky not be expelled over that incident and I think the fact that the Head of Year Mr Rimmer was a Villa fan as well helped his case. I think Mark was unlucky to get a detention though. Pete had calmed down a lot since then and I can only really remember him losing his temper twice in the last couple of years. The first was at my twenty-fifth birthday party and a girl Pete had been dating until recently, called Davina, was there. The two had split up and I didn’t really understand why. Pete had claimed that it was an ‘artistic’ difference and Davina claimed it was because Pete was an ‘arse’. Even to this day I don’t know the real story. At the party, held at a pub near Walsall Arboretum, Pete was getting through the pints even quicker than normal. He was very loud and I could tell something was wrong. Things weren’t helped by the fact that Davina was at that very pub with a bloke who she seemed to be getting on with quite well. Comments were passed between Pete and this guy and an atmosphere was starting to build. After about an hour of this uneasy atmosphere Pete pushed a table over, punched his fist against the juke box and stormed out. Pete then went missing for nearly a week with nobody seeing or hearing from him. Of course, this was never mentioned later.
The last time that Pete’s temper surfaced was at a Villa game at the start of last season. It was really strange because with new players in the team including Southgate, Draper and Savo we had totally destroyed Man United. It was the day that Alan Hansen said of United ‘you never win anything with kids’. Then nine months later they had won the double. But that Saturday in August the Villa were brilliant and United second best so why was Pete so wound up. He really hates United but still that doesn’t explain why he was so heated. The blood vessels in his neck looked as if they would pop. The first half saw the Villa three up and still if any decision went against us Pete was on his feet giving the referee a mouthful. Had he been drinking or was it just hate. Three seats down from Pete was a small lad with his dad who was probably about twelve. Second half started and David Beckham scored a consolation goal for them. It was his first ever goal. The little lad jumped up to celebrate and show that he was obviously a United fan. The Dad a Villa fan tried to settle him down and most of us saw the funny side. Except that was for Pete who just exploded. He went straight towards the man and accused him of being a disgrace to let his son support this scum. I couldn’t believe his reaction, especially as the game was won and we were looking at the best Villa side for years. As I had done at school a few times I held Pete back, but he took a lot of holding back and his resembled a wound up Stuart Pearce. Just as the steward started coming towards us the little boy burst into tears and his dad led him out. Moving down the row away from us. The steward, of course, knew Pete and just said, ‘Alright Pete’. It was a good ten minutes before Pete was finally back to being vaguely normal. Never quite understood what happened that day.
Pete had brought with him the new Fifa 1996 game and his Playstation so he had planned our nights activities. His plans has gone further because he announced that the pizza should be here in about twenty minutes and produced four cans of carling out of nowhere. The worry now was what type of pizza Pete had ordered. His tonsils could cope with very very hot tastes a lot better than mine could. Within minutes Pete had attached his Playstation and was handing me a controller. Just then the doorbell rang and the pizza delivery boy, well a man who looked in his late forties with multiple tattoos was standing at the door. It was very kind of Pete, but I was surprised to be charged eight pounds forty-nine and then the stare from the delivery man suggested that it was good practice to give him a tenner and call it quits. With pizza box in my hand to returned to the living room half hoping that Pete might offer to reimburse me. Alas this wasn’t so. The pizza was an ultimate hot and spicy, which Pete almost gobbled whole. Pete then informed me I was Crystal Palace and I was two-nil down to the Villa. Normally I would beat Pete even though it was his game, but he knew that I always hated trying to score against my beloved Villa team. I tried to think of them as West Ham but Pete’s added commentary, naming all the Villa players, prevented this working. In the end we played for over three hours and I lost every game. I tried to blame my poor performance on my recent jilting, but Pete was having none of this. His chanting of ‘Loser, loser’ was taken in good spirit. This was really what I needed after my first day back at work. It seemed to show me that life was really just the same and I still had my best mate here. Yes, he wasn’t Becky – in anyway at all, but he cared and he was there for me.

Next week : Approaching Thirty

Week 7 - Nan To The Rescue

2009-12-13T20:48:00.000Z

Chapter 4 Back To Normal
During the next six days I managed to avoid everyone even pretending to be out when Pete called round. My parents left me alone, but did send two letters and both times I put them unopened in the drawer under the sink. The phone rang continually for the first few days, but this stopped when I cut the wire with a pair of scissors. I made sure every day I opened the curtains so nobody thought I had died. All the neighbours obviously knew that I had been jilted and I occasionally caught them looking or pointing at my window. I did also receive a visit from the vicar but after he had been knocking for five minutes and then said a little prayer to my front door he left me alone. I didn’t go out at all and not only because I hadn’t got a key to get back in. It just felt safest inside my flat. The comfort of daytime television and the endless cookery programmes kept me going. Things weren’t good because not only was I watching ‘Eastenders’, ‘Coronation Street’ and ‘Brookside’ most evenings, but also the repeat showing in the mornings. Oh, and the episodes from ten years ago on the cable.
When I am feeling depressed I tend to eat lots of food, but this time I really couldn’t be bothered and I tended to forget to eat. The flat was lacking in-date food anyway so as I wasn’t ready to face the outside world yet I would have to starve. One thing I do excessively when I am feeling sorry for myself is make a cup of tea. The one day I must have made twenty all in the same Villa 1975 League Cup Winners mug. By day three of my hideaway I did run out of milk though, so the tea became black. I did try some condensed milk from a tin the one day but that tasted disgusting.
It was now Saturday around half past twelve I think because Football Focus had just started. Last night was the first night I had really slept since Becky’s failure to show. In fact I think this morning is the first morning that I have had where I haven’t been really thinking about Becky. Perhaps I am ready to return to normal maybe even ready to go out and buy some milk. By my calculations my parents would pay me a visit today. They would have thought that after two letters and one week it would be time to check that I was still breathing. I decided for only the second time in the week to have a shave. So as I watched the remainder of Football Focus at the same time as pointing my electric shaver at my face. My face was now quite hairy and the shaver got stuck on the hairs under my chin at one point. Then I think I sliced through a pimple and had to quickly check in the mirror above the fireplace to see if it was bleeding. It was not a pretty sight but at least it gave me a chance to look for the first time for a week at the shelf above the fireplace. There I saw Becky’s door key and sadly her engagement ring. This second discovery was a body-blow and suddenly things seemed even worse. Not only was Becky saying she didn’t want to marry me but she was also saying that she didn’t even want to be engaged to me. My mind then drifted to last New Year’s Eve night in the Edinburgh hotel when I asked Becky to marry me. I had planned everything so carefully and had the ring ready. In fact I had been planning the proposal since October when I decided I wanted to spend the rest of my life with this sensational lady. Spending New Year in Edinburgh was all arranged so I could pop the question. I must have been confident of her saying ‘yes’. The ring had been partly chosen by Becky from a jewellers window in the Jewellery Quarter in Birmingham. She said how lovely it looked so I managed to nip back the next day and buy it. The only problem was that I had no idea what size finger Becky had. I told the Jeweller that it was average thickness so I recommended I go for an M. The idea in Scotland was to put the ring inside a fancy handmade cracker and then get Becky to pull it with me just after midnight. Everything went very well, until Becky pulled the cracker a bit too hard and the ring, party hat and typed message went flying around the room. It took me a few minutes to locate the two most important parts of the cracker. The solitaire diamond ring and the message/joke saying ‘Question : What did Jonathan say to Rebecca on New Year’s Eve?. Answer : Will you marry me’. It was truly romantic and Becky loved it. She said “yes” immediately and then kissed me for the next five minutes pushing me to the floor. Now nine months later she was giving me back my engagement ring. This hurt me and I stopped my shaving with my left cheek still full of bristles and went back to bed for the rest of the day.
At ten past seven in the evening I was woken from sleep by a loud banging at the door and what sounded like an old lady shouting. I wasn’t ready for company yet so I put my head under the pillow and hoped they would go away. Things went quiet for a few minutes and it seemed they had given up. Suddenly from the kitchen came a crashing noise. It sounded like glass breaking. I had better go and investigate.
The kitchen floor was covered with small pieces of broken glass and looking in through the window was an old lady holding a stick. My Nan had obviously been very keen to see me. I let the well-built old lady into the flat and greeted her with her kiss. For once my chin was probably more bristly than Nan’s.
Nan was her usual abrupt self, but she seemed to be less confused than she had been of late. She told me to put the kettle on and she would have her tea black as she doubted the milk in my fridge would be fit to eat. Oh, and not to forget the four heaped spoons of sugar. Nan had got odd shoes on but I decided it was best not to mention this as she had obviously decided to come to ‘sort me out’. As we sat down to our black tea Nan produced a cake she had baked from somewhere. I was confused because there had been no sign of a bag. Apparently the cake was a Brandy Victoria Sponge. You could certainly taste the brandy. I think it was poured on afterwards. Nan also pulled out her chequebook from a pocket in her large coat and quickly wrote me a cheque for one hundred pounds. She said, “That’ll pay for the window”. She forgot to sign it though and the date was 1986, but I accepted it anyway. My Nan is brilliant and she cares so much about all her Grandchildren. She always says at last count there are seven, but with Uncle Charlie’s famous exploits there could be more.

For over an hour we just talked about every topic except Becky. We discussed football, wheelie bins, my dad’s choice in trousers and which Spice Girl looks most like Nan. She made me laugh and for once didn’t keep repeating herself. This was the Nan from when Jessie was still alive. She had Nan Power and began to remind me that life is fun. Somehow at about 9pm Nan challenged me to a game of subbuteo football. The old lady with the plastic hip and dodgy knee was challenging me, the Sutton Coldfield Junior Under 10’s champion of 1976 to a game. Within a few minutes we were both kneeling on the floor with our plastic men positioned ready to start. It was a bad idea. I played with the Villa away strip team and Nan was England in their red. As she said “They won the world cup in red”. She partnered Alan Shearer up front with Geoff Hurst. Unfortunately things did not go so well for my Villa team despite me scoring two goals in the first three minutes. Problems started when my Nan lost her balance and landed on my goalkeeper and two defenders. All three snapped straight away with the top half of goalkeeper Bosnich then caught in one of Nan’s surgical stockings. After just five minutes we had to abandon the game as Nan’s stick had decapitated my left back and then broke my crossbar in half. We just laughed and I somehow managed to lift Nan back on to the armchair. She claimed a draw and out of fear for my remaining seven men I accepted the draw.
After I put the Subbuteo away and we had another slice of cake each Nan announced that it was time for me to drive her back to the home before they realised she was missing. It was now that I realised that not only had Nan managed to find a flat she had never been to before, but she had got here all on her own. It must have been a three bus journey. I hadn’t been out the house for a week and hadn’t driven my car for even longer. Strangely Nan was now starting to get confused and get some words mixed up. She started to refer to Jessy being still alive and kept saying she had to be at work in the morning. It didn’t make sense because for the last two hours she had made perfect sense. Was she now putting on an act of the old lady losing her marbles. I could tell she was tired but still it shocked me the sudden change. She told me it was just the tablets wearing off and they would soon pump her with more at the home. This was followed by saying that perhaps Jessy would give her one of those funny fags later.
I drove Nan back to the home and she sang along to all the songs on the radio including ‘Wannabe’ by the Spice Girls. She was great and I loved every minute of it. We even wound down the windows at one set of traffic lights and sang really loudly to a bloke on his bike. The wolf-whistle to the Asian gentleman at the bus-stop was perhaps going too far, but that’s my Nan. When we got there the owners were really worried because apparently Nan had left at just before four o’clock promising that she would be back by six pm. It was now nearly eleven. I apologised to them repeatedly and they said they would have to compile a report. Nan jokingly said, “That’ll be no digestive biscuit for me for the next week”. Well, I think she was joking. It wasn’t easy to tell and I don’t think her little Hitler salute to the matron really helped. Luckily I caught her before she fell over. Nan’s last words to me before I went knocked me back though. She called out, “Next time we will talk about what happened with Becky”. I just smiled and told her to take care.

Next Week : Back to Work

Week 6 - A Flat For A Single Bloke

2009-12-07T10:17:00.000Z

I told Pete that I needed to go back to the flat and see what was happening. He wasn’t convinced that this was a good idea, but he said it was my call. Sometime I was going to have to go back there so now was as good a time as any.
In no time at all we were entering the private Court Yard and I was looking towards my flat. Becky always called it an apartment but to me it was a flat. Although a very nice flat. The only reason we were leaving was because we had outgrown it. Well, Becky’s collection of shoes had outgrown it. What kind of state was I going to find the flat in? Would Becky be lying on the bed in tears? Would she be wearing her wedding undies? I told Pete to go and eventually he got the message that this was something I had to do alone. I stood as he drove off before walking towards the door of our ground floor flat.
For once I was unsure whether or not to knock or use my key. Normally I would use the key and shout “I am home dear” so that Becky would know it was me and it was quite safe. I expect mad axemen shout “I am home dear” when they break in.
Slight set back in my attempt to get in my flat because I realise that my key is actually still at my parent’s house. I was going to have to knock the door and see if Becky was inside. Do I want her to be inside? Yes, I do. I knock gently on the door and wait and wait and wait. Then I knock a bit louder and still there is no movement inside. The place looks deserted but I notice one of the windows is just slightly open with a two inch gap. I can open it completely and then possibly climb through into the kitchen but no idea what I might find in the sink the other side. At least I am very skinny so I manage to manoeuvre myself through the small window and get the top half of me through the gap. With my waist stuck in the window frame and my legs dangling outside I just hope nobody is passing by. It suddenly strikes me how tidy the kitchen looks. Is this really our kitchen even the kitchen roll dispenser looks neat and the tea towels are hanging straight from the rail on the door. Now Becky is not the kind of lady to keep the kitchen spotless. I considered the possibility that this wasn’t our flat, but soon worked out it was because of the deluxe unused dark green Kenwood Waffle Maker that I was just about to hit my head on. All too sudden my legs followed my body on to the pine fresh smelling stainless steel draining board. My hips twisted in a fashion that hips shouldn’t twist and a sharp pain shot down my left leg. Luckily a neatly folded pile of washing gave me a soft landing and I had successfully broken in to my own flat. Becky was nowhere to be seen. In fact there was no trace of Becky at all.
Walking around the flat everything was so tidy and everything that belonged to Becky, including the ornamental shoe rack that her aunt left her when she died two years ago, had disappeared. For once the floor was not full of shoes and the dining chairs not draped with handbags. There was no sign that a lady lived or ever had lived in that house. The bedroom looked totally bare with its lack of cosmetic potions. In fact the only item Becky had left was on the bed. Now I was ready for a real good cry because on the bed in a large clear polythene bag was a very lovely pure white wedding dress. On it was placed a note. It read “Jon, this is for you. I will never stop loving you xx”. I fell down on the bed and the tears just flooded out. I held the dress resisting the temptation to try it on as I cried and cried. As always my nose started to run and I could feel the snot running from my nose to my lips and then circulating my lips before dropping on my chin. I couldn’t stop the flood from both my eyes and my nose, but at least the wedding dress was protected by the polythene. As I lay on the bed I realised that Becky had obviously taken ownership of the duvet set as well as the duvet and pillows were bare. How I just wished Becky was inside this special dress. At least if I do find a new bride in the next six months I will have a dress for her and fifty pounds off the honeymoon.
For the next six and a half hours I laid on that bed clutching the white dress. The bed was soaked with my tears and my shirt was very very creased. The room was in darkness with only the reflection of the moon through the window offering any light. So what do I do now at 1am in the morning when I should be in bed with ‘my new wife’ in a four-poster bed in the Scottish capital? Life would go on and I know I will get over this, but what is the correct thing to do next? Should I contact my parents? Should I try and find Becky? Or should I just go to bed and try and sleep until things seem better? I think I will try the latter.

Next Week : Back to normal?

Week 5 - Up The Villa

2009-11-30T23:37:00.000Z

Chapter 3 Reception and Honeymoon
Only a handful of guests decided to go to the reception after the shambolic wedding service. The Vicar seemed totally unsure what to do in the Church and admitted it was the first time he had had a groom jilted. Pete was desperately trying to keep me smiling, although I think his rendition of ‘Always look on the bright side of life’ was going too far. I felt really embarrassed for Becky’s parents. Her mum was trying to hide the tears that were running down her face and her Dad was just shaking everyone’s hands and saying, ‘It’s not like our Becky’. The photographer was still taking pictures of everyone. I told him he wouldn’t be getting any money for them, but he said we’d signed the contract so we had to pay the full amount. He also gloated that Fleet Street would buy these pictures. So I was going become a public laughing stock, ‘Jilted Jon’. Becky what have you done? Where do we go from here? The wedding cake was perched proudly on display at the far end of the room. Nan had wanted to strike the figure of the bride off the cake with her stick, but my Dad had convinced her not too.

Pete was great at handling the remaining guests and flatly refused to give any presents back. It’s funny being given cards for a wedding that didn’t happen. Seeing the name Mrs. Rebecca Sadler written on an envelope was also very unnerving. Just wish I could escape this and every awkward conversation. All this pity was too much. I wasn’t ill and no one had died. Whenever someone slagged Becky off I had to defend her. After all she was the lady I loved. Carol came up to me and gave me a hug and a little kiss. It was strange because Carol was the only person not dressed up for a wedding. She had come in a grey vest top that revealed her black bra straps and black jeans. Her hair was tied back to show that she hadn’t been getting dressed up for a special occasion. Of course, Carol, had known the wedding wasn’t going to take place. She probably even knew before me. It would be easy to ask Carol lots of questions about what had been going through Becky’s mind, but this wasn’t the time. I just wanted to get out of there.

What do I do next? Do I make a speech to the dozen remaining people, or should I just creep off. It was then that Pete showed me that I was right to choose him as my Bestman as he made an announcement that even made me smile. He said, ‘Look everyone it has been a difficult day so please can you all bugger off now so I can get the groom to Villa Park ready for kickoff’. Within minutes all the hangers on had gone and Pete was pushing Becky’s parents into a complete stranger’s car. My parents were trying to convince my Nan that Becky wouldn’t turn up now and my Nan was just saying ‘I told our Jonathan he should have given her more oral sex, girls like that kind of thing these days’. It just seemed that I was no longer in control of what I was doing and was almost watching from above as Pete took total control. He even retrieved Nan’s stick from the large bowl of trifle. Almost without me being aware Pete had now fastened me into the driver’s seat of his precious sport’s car. Pete claimed he had had far too much to drink so I would have to drive. In a way this was Pete’s attempt at reverse psychology. He hoped by driving I would have less time to think. What was the plan now though? Pete said that as the wedding had been postponed due to unforeseen circumstances that we could go to the game after all. He was trying so hard and even tried to make me laugh, but I didn’t know how I was feeling. Interestingly Pete revealed that he had his season ticket with him in case he had been able to escape from the wedding reception in time for the game. The only problem now was that I hadn’t been so forward thinking and as I had planned to be going straight to the airport after my reception I hadn’t had the foresight to pack my season ticket. It was still in my drawer by the side of my bed in the Lichfield flat I shared with Becky. Now is that the flat I ‘share with Becky’ or the flat ‘I shared with Becky’? The second question was what to do about my season ticket. We had time to get back to the flat and get the season ticket, but was that a good idea? Obviously not because I don’t think I am ready to have the big talk with Becky. Pete, of course, was well ahead in thinking here and said that we would just have to pop into the Villa ticket office and explain that I have forgotten my season ticket. It was impressive how Pete was handling this, although maybe he was avoiding mentioning what was really happening. Yes, it was important to discuss whether Tommy Johnson should play up front or not, but maybe a mention of my jilted state would have been helpful. Pete though had no idea how to deal with this. He had bought a book from WH Smiths on the role of the Best Man, but I doubt this mentioned anything about, ‘In the event of the Bride doing a Runner’.

Everything starts to seem normal again. It’s difficult to explain but suddenly it is a normal Saturday afternoon with Pete and me on the way to the Villa. A day that started off as my Wedding Day is now another Villa Park match day. To many people this already was a Villa Park match day, but to me I had almost forgotten the importance of Aston Villa against Derby County. The only difference to normal as Pete and I walked through the grounds of Aston Hall towards the Trinity Road was that we were dressed in suits and wearing button holes. Nobody seemed to acknowledge this fact and even when passing familiar faces we just exchanged smiles, nods and the occasional ‘we need three points today’. Pete was talking away about what impact Sasa Curcic will have on his debut. I put my hand in my pocket to find some change for my programme and instead pulled out the box containing the two wedding rings. For the first time today a tear started to roll from my eye. Pete didn’t notice, but I was being hit by reality now. Yes, it was vital that the Villa win today, but it paled into insignificance to the fact that tonight was not going to be my wedding night. As the ground came into sight and we walked down from the grounds of Aston Hall I hurled the box with the rings in high into one of the trees. Why I don’t know. Was it a symbolic throw or just a show of anger. The box landed about twenty feet away from where we were walking and I decided to leave it there. Pete didn’t even stop talking about our new signing from Bolton and how he would be the final piece of the jigsaw and bring the best out of Savo, but casually walked over to where I had thrown the box, picked it up and placed it in his pocket. For once I was completely stunned and as I approached the turnstile forgot totally that I hadn’t got my season ticket. Pete again took control and led me to the ticket office. This was the Pete who I had taken control of so many times at school and kept us out of so much bother.

Just as the players are running on to the pitch we arrive at our Trinity Road Lower seats. We have had these season tickets for twelve years now and everybody around us knew us. We were Pete and Pete’s mate. Yes, as we walked in we were greeted by ‘Alright Pete’ from several rows. Sometimes I felt a bit miffed that they didn’t shout my name, but then I wasn’t a Pete. It was like nobody shouted ‘Cliff’ when Cliff enters the bar in ‘Cheers’, but they all greet ‘Norm’. I decided to hide my button hole to avoid any embarrassing questions. I had told a few people at the game the previous Wednesday that I was getting married on Saturday, but I don’t think anybody was really that interested. I mean, why should they be it doesn’t effect how I am at the match. All these people we only know what we see of them at the match. Their home-life is something we don’t need to know about. Joe who has sat to my left for the past six seasons may well be an alcoholic lollipop man who dresses up in women’s underwear during the week, but to me at 3pm, on a Saturday, he is just Joe who can sometimes be a bit smelly and always listens to the half time scores on his radio.
As the game starts I begin to get more involved in it and think less about Becky. Although Pete throws me back to reality with a joke that I feel is unnecessary. He says, ‘what is the difference between Tommy Johnson and you?’ I should have known better but I said I didn’t know. Then came the punch-line, “Tommy’s going to score today, you’re not!”

The game went well first Joachim scored and then Tommy Johnson did get his goal although it was a penalty. I had seen the Villa win for a second time in three days so that was an unexpected bonus from the day that was going to be my wedding Day. Should I ring Becky and see how she is? I am really worried about her and just wanted to hear her voice so I can tell her everything is ok and I still love her completely.

“Where to now?” I asked Pete as we tuned into Sports Report on his car radio humming along to the famous theme tune. Pete looked surprised at my question and then waved the plane tickets to Edinburgh at me. Surely Pete wasn’t expecting me to take him on my honeymoon and ride down in a romantic horse-drawn carriage with him. Part of me thought why not, but the other part thought my case is back at the flat and everything else I need. Possibly including the one thing I needed to make my honeymoon complete - a bride. Pete had been great but I really didn’t want to go any further with this pretence that everything was ok. Anyway, being a cautious chap I had taken out travel insurance so I could probably get my money back. After explaining to Pete why exactly it wasn’t a good idea to go and making it clear that it wasn’t him it was me I asked Pete to let the hotel know. The idea of sharing a four-poster bed with Pete was not something I had ever previously contemplated. The last time I had shared a bedroom with Pete he had kept me awake all night with the loudest and least tuneful nasal snores I have ever heard. I handed Pete my phone. Within seconds Pete was using his poshist ‘brummie’ accent to try and flirt with a Scottish receptionist. He told the lady, “My friend mister Sadler was using the honeymoon suite tonight but regrettably his bride has just been killed so they won’t be able to make it”. Perhaps he was going for the pity vote. After a few “yes”, “yes” and “thank you” comments Pete finished the call. He then told me it was good news because not only would they give me a complete refund but they are offering me a fifty pound voucher against any time in the next six months I wish to book the honeymoon suite. Perhaps if I could convince Becky still to marry me in the next six months we will be fifty pounds up on the deal. Of course, convincing them that she has risen from the death might be difficult.

Next Week : Back to the flat..

Week 4 - Here Comes the Bride?

2009-11-27T16:30:00.000Z

All too soon we arrived at St. Chad’s in Lichfield. There already was the vicar in his white gown and he was very pleased to see us. I start to think about his wedding history and how many wedding he has taken where the groom has been jilted. What was his success rate? Can you count it as a wedding if the bride doesn’t show, at what point does it become a wedding? With the arms of his gown flapping the vicar directed us to a parking spot and then followed us looking as if he was meeting a long lost relative. I suppose a wedding is a good little earner for him. However, it was actually the car that he was more excited about. Apparently he used to have a spitfire before he became a man of the cloth. Pete offered to take him for a spin and the vicar, who was name Brian, jumped at the chance. Soon I was standing alone as Pete and the vicar went off on a little tour. Maybe this was a sign of things to come. Was there any need for that wheel spin and hand-brake turn?

For the first time today I was feeling scared at what was going to happen. Even if Becky turned up my life was about to change completely. I was committing myself to one person for the rest of my life. The sun was quite bright now and it really was ‘a nice day for a white wedding’.

Another car pulled up in the car park and it was someone I really didn’t want to see. It was the dreaded wedding photographer and he was carrying three cameras with extra long lenses. He introduced himself and told me that I must be the groom. Perhaps I should have denied it. Will I ever be a groom again? The photographer started to take pictures of me and I was grateful when the red sports car came hurtling back into the car park with the Vicar still safely in one piece, but with his Bobby Charlton style haircut now looking very wild. He had enjoyed his little adventure and although he tripped up over his robe trying to get out of the car he was beaming from one ear to the other. The photographer was annoyed he had missed that shot and could not persuade the Vicar to repeat the gymnastics display. Pete was now posing for the camera and we had to pose shaking hands. In eighteen years of friendship I can’t recall us ever to have shaken hands. The only times we have held hands were probably the times that Pete had murdered me at arm wrestling. Pete has very big hands and even on this posed shake I felt quite intimidated by them.

The next car to arrive was my Dad’s familiar car which must have been nearly ten minutes after we arrived it was now 10:32 and I knew that soon the moment I had been putting off and hoping was not going to happen would soon be here. My parents looked very smart in their wedding outfits and my Nan was looking like the kind of sophisticated jam making Nan that she certainly wasn’t. She then asked the Vicar, loudly, if he was into older women. The poor man’s face went the same colour as Pete’s car. Was this a sign that he had got a thing for the more mature lady, or was he just embarrassed by the antics of this mad old dear?

Time now for more damn photographs. With Dad, with Dad and Mum and with Nan. I am sure my Nan pouted her lips on the one picture.

Slowly guests were arriving and I began to feel worse and worse. My stomach felt like it was a tumble dryer drying a pair of large trainers. This was going to be very unpleasant, but maybe just maybe Becky might turn up and save the day. Guests from Becky’s side were also starting to arrive including an Uncle Alistair, who marched right up to me and introduced himself. He looked like a sergeant major type and was a dead ringer for Windsor Davis. He grabbed my hand so firmly to shake it that it took me a few seconds afterwards to get any feeling back. His wife Maggie, who was Becky’s mum’s sister was a very small and a delicate looking woman. I couldn’t help but think how they managed sexually without Alistair snapping the poor lady in two. I hope she goes on top. The two of them seemed to have no idea at all that there might not be a wedding today.

The weather was really pleasant and although the sun was out it wasn’t too hot. Probably best as my head does have a habit of sweating which is not really something that enhances my appearance. Why do all the guests look so old? We seem to have a church carpark full of over sixties. Perhaps it was time for me and my Best Man to enter the Sanctuary. I pulled Pete away from polishing his car and guided him into the Church. Pete seemed uneasy which was probably because he hadn’t been in a church for well over ten years. In fact I don’t think I have heard him mention going in to church since he lost his virginity to Vicky Southall when he was sixteen. Apparently it was on the back pew of St. Mary’s during a thunder storm. When he tells the story he makes it seem quite wild, but the truth is he had been with Vicky for five months and it was Vicky who was desperate to consummate the relationship. They had tried to be alone at each of their homes and in the school Store Room before finally ending up in a deserted church. Well, they thought it was deserted and were generally surprised when they were disturbed by the flower-arrangers. The fact that one of the old dears lived in the same street as Vicky did not help. As Pete tells it though, he had started so he would finish. Losing his virginity was quickly followed by being chased out of a church by a mad lady with a blue rinse whacking him with a broom. It wasn’t until he was a quarter of mile down the road before he could pull up his trousers. Vicky had to hide in the church for the over an hour before it was safe to leave. Maybe this explains why Pete has a slight church phobia.

We sat on the front pew on the right-hand side sucking polos and clutching our professionally designed Order of Services. Everything seemed so unreal. It reminded me of watching Lofty get jilted by Michelle in ‘Eastenders’ ten years a go. Pete wasn’t talkative and looked miles away. My parents were now sat behind me with my Nan to their right. The church was filling up and it seemed like a normal wedding. Then I heard a loud slightly common voice which was obviously Becky’s mother. Although Becky’s sister, Jenny, was slightly posh her mum was just like Marleen off ‘Only Fools and Horses’. She looked the same as the character and definitely had the same voice. I had decided it was best not to ever mention this similarity to Becky though because she can be quite defensive about her family. Becky’s mum, Sarah, was nice though and told me she was looking forward to having me as a Son-in-Law. Her husband Tom was not quite so easy to get to know. He was pleasant enough, but not known for being talkative. I had tried a few conversations without success. Tom was quite anti-sport and was happiest watching a wildlife documentary. He was an Accountant and had done pretty well for himself and had insisted on paying for the whole wedding. In a way I resented this because I felt we were having the wedding that Becky’s parents wanted. It all seemed very old fashioned. The Bride’s father came over to me and shook my hand and said ‘good luck’. That was it, not even a ‘good luck Jonathan’. Becky’s parents were now going to wait outside for Becky and her bridesmaids to hopefully arrive. It was now nearly five to eleven.

Nan was now asking where Jessie was going to sit. My Dad I think was a bit tense and not his usual refined self because he told her quite abruptly, ‘She’s dead!’. Nan just said ‘more men for me then’. I now became aware of the organ playing and the head of the organist bobbing up and down to my left. From the back he resembles the Vicar slightly perhaps they are brothers. Although the church was now more than half full I was feeling very alone and started to regret not being more honest earlier with my parents. How long would I have to wait if Becky didn’t show? What was the normal time a groom should wait for? Pete was still looking even more nervous than me, did he know something? Maybe he could tell that I was not my normal self. After a few seconds Pete gave a nervous cough and then said, ‘I can’t hold it in no more. I am going to have to go for a jimmy’. Then he was off in search of the gents. It was just me alone on that front pew just praying that Becky would turn up. At least I was in the right place for a prayer. My watch now said eleven o’clock exactly and a silence was coming over the church now that the organ had stopped playing. Now I felt very tense not only was I short of a bride but now a best man as well. It was all so quiet and it reminded me of when they have a minutes silence before a big football match because somebody has died. Any second now the whistle would blow and the place would be filled with noise. I glanced out of the stain-glass window and could see the wedding car and a glimpse of one of the twin bridesmaids. Yes, it was on. I was about to be married to one of the most beautiful girls in the world. I suddenly felt warm inside, the kind of warm feeling that they say Ready Break gives you. Then Pete returned and sat down beside me saying the words, ‘oh, that’s better’, I replied with a smile ‘yes it is’. My Princess was here.

The organ started to play the famous wedding march so we all stand up. Pete, sings the obvious, ‘All fat and wide…’ line. Yes, results in a whack in the back from my Nan’s stick. Amazingly he hardly flinched, but I think deep down he was in pain. Should I look down the aisle and see my bride or wait until she is by my side.

Then something strange happens. The organist stops playing the wedding march and starts looking through his collection of music manuscripts. Pete looked round and I stayed focused on the front. Then I heard the voice of Becky’s mother shouting, ‘Vicar, can I have a word in private’. The silence had now been replaced by whispering and the organist was playing some very sombre music. My Dad then placed his hand firmly on my shoulder and I everything suddenly felt so wrong. Pete said he would go and see what the holdup was, but it seemed obvious to me that we were lacking an important character in the marriage ceremony.

We all slowly sat down and waited for the official announcement. Nothing really made sense because I could see the bridemaids carrying their bouquets. Actually the two twins seem to be having a mini fight and striking each other with their poseys. Becky’s Dad is now holding them apart. Surely Jenny had known what Becky was planning, but then why was she all dressed up? Dad, decided to state the bleeding obvious, ‘We’re running a bit late’. Nan, said ‘Are you sure it was today?’.

The Vicar arrived by my side and asked if I would like to go into the Vestry. I decided to politely decline this request as I wanted to be with my family when I heard the news. Pete and Jenny then joined us. The Vicar started to try and say what had happened, but Pete dived in, ‘She’s done a runner, mate’. Jenny then explained that she hadn’t seen her since yesterday evening when Becky said she wanted some time on her own. Becky’s mum was furious with Jenny and couldn’t believe that she hadn’t told them that her sister had gone awol. Jenny told us that Becky said she would meet her at the church. When she had arrived at the church Becky best friend Carol had told Jenny that Becky had decided to call off the wedding. So that was it this wasn’t to be my wedding day.

Next Week : The Reception and the Honeymoon minus the Bride

Week 3 - Nice Day For A White Wedding

2009-11-24T21:29:00.000Z

Chapter 2 - The Wedding Day

Somehow I slept through my alarm going off and Heart FM blaring out. When my Dad walked in carrying a tray, my old Aston Villa European Cup Winners Commemorative tray, with a cup of tea and two bacon sandwiches with tomato sauce on - it was nearly quarter to nine. My Dad was not one of life’s big thinkers, but he always had a smile and a habit of getting things right. Dad was a chef by trade who had retired last year. Even his bacon sandwiches were a delight to taste and could not be beaten. The crispiness of the bacon was always perfect. The cup of tea though was dreadful as he always made it far too week. He used a teabag in the mug instead of a teapot and insisted on using the same teabag to make at least four cups. Still I had no complaints and felt in need this morning of being treated like a child. Dad hinted that I would need to be getting up soon to prepare for my big day. He was going to pick up my Nan from the home at 9am and Mum was ironing my white shirt. Worrying, as ironing had never been her strong point but she liked to play the proper mother role although she was usually happiest when she was doing her voluntary work mucking out the donkeys at the local Donkey Sanctuary. It will make a change seeing her without her wellies on today and that silly plastic blue rain-hat on.

As I ate my breakfast I read the paper. My parents take ‘The Guardian’ and I was very disappointed about the Sport section in it. Should really be getting a move on, but knowing that a key member of the wedding party was going to be missing made me lack enthusiasm. My Mum started to push by saying, ‘the bathroom is free’. I suddenly realised that I had forgotten my Rightguard Double Protection aerosol spray. Perhaps my Dad had a deodorant I could use and hopefully it wouldn’t be Old Spice. Saturday 24th August 1996 was supposed to be one of the biggest days of my life when I married the most perfect girl I have ever met, but the chances of it being a happy day seemed remote. I check my phone for further messages but the last one simply said ‘Yes’. I wasn’t cross, but I just could tell that this one little word was going to ruin my day. Perhaps it was just nerves and Becky is at the moment putting on her sexy wedding undies. All I could do was act normally, well as normal as a Groom acts on his wedding day. Pete was due at 10am and the car would be coming at ten past. I could cancel the cars, but as I didn’t think I would get a refund what would the point be and anyway Becky might turn up. Her sister Jenny might force her up the aisle to prevent her twins being heartbroken at not being Bridesmaids. Perhaps it was Jenny who had put the idea of not marrying a Council Worker in her sister’s head.

As I stood in my parent’s shower, an extra feature that had been added since I moved out of the family home, I tried to have positive thoughts and tried to think that I was going to hear Becky say those vital words ‘I will’. My thoughts were interrupted by a shout from outside the Shower Room of an old lady. ‘Where is the blushing groom, I have got something for him?’, my Nan shouted out. I then heard my Mum say I was in the shower and then listened in fear as I could hear my Nan’s footsteps towards the door. Then my heart stopped as I heard the handle on the door being pulled down. It was with relief that I remembered I had put the latch across on the door. My Nan then banged loudly on the Shower Room door which what I thought must be her stick. Then shouted that she had a little something for me and that I hadn’t got anything she hadn’t seen before. Well, I think it has grown considerably since she last saw it. My Dad persuaded Nan that she needed to sit down and give me time to get ready.

After my long shower I managed to get back to my old bedroom to get ready for my big day. Still no more text messages so perhaps it was going to be alright. If she wasn’t going to turn up surely her sister would have been round gloating by now. I considered whether or not I should wear my lucky pants. They weren’t exactly sexy and were dark blue and could even be called Y-Fronts, but I had worn them at Wembley in March when the Villa had destroyed Leeds in the League Cup Final and then again to see England beat Scotland in June. Yes, I was wearing these pants when Gazza scored that goal. Of course, I conveniently forget that I also wore these pants when the Villa lost the FA Cup Semi Final to Liverpool, but they can’t always be lucky. To keep their lucky powers perhaps I won’t wear them today. Instead I will wear my brand new white jockey shorts purchased like my suit from M and S. My Mum had ironed a really nice crease down the back of my shirt. She’d tried so I thought I would just wear it. If I kept my jacket on nobody would see. It was just a pity about my lack of deodorant under the armpits. I gave them a sniff and they didn’t seem too unpleasant. Becky always smelt nice and the taste of her mouth was always lovely and slightly minty. With one black sock on I started to think more and more about Becky the lady who might just be my bride in ninety minutes time. Becky was just over five foot six and had a great body. Why she had fallen for me was a mystery. She had a very firm and shapely bottom that especially looked good in her black cycling shorts. Her legs are quite muscular and almost blemish free. The only imperfection, a two inch scar just below her left knee, where she fell on some glass in Brighton when she was eight. The base of her back was also a favourite part of mine as it is so smooth and soft. With my hand I could feel all the tiny soft hairs on it and it curved inwards. Becky has a brilliant figure, but if I am honest she has a bit of a wobbly stomach. You could pinch more than and inch but this was the only fat you would find on her perfectly toned body. She is beautiful and her breasts are the most magnificent I have ever had the pleasure of feeling. The day I first saw these boobs uncovered was Bonfire Night last year and it was a moment that I will never forget. They were just so round and perfectly sized. Many a time since I have wished that some of my fiends especially Pete could see Becky topless to show them how well I have done. Early in the year on holiday in Greece I was really disappointed that Becky had decided not to go topless, but I suppose it is also nice to think that only a few people have seen this magnificent chest and that I am one of them. Interestingly, my Nan had told me last Christmas that Becky had ‘great tits’. It was then that I began to think more about the future. What if Becky really didn’t show? Would I see those ‘great tits’ again? Would we still live together? Would we have to give back the presents? It was going to be a very difficult day and one I didn’t think I was ready to cope with. Had I really blown it with the lady I have been living with for the last four months and if so how was I ever going to win her back? Becky has quite a small neck and with her shoulder-length curly natural blonde hair it can be easily missed. She hates her chin and thinks it is a bit masculine. I never told her that Pete once called her ‘The daughter of Jimmy Hill’. She has lovely small lips that are great for kissing and a nose that just curls up a fraction. Becky’s blue eyes are now more enhanced because she wears tinted contact lenses an improvement on the old lady style small square glasses she used to wear.
Nan was looking very refined in her pale blue trouser suit with matching hat. My mum was trying to fasten a flower buttonhole on to my Nan but she seemed more interested in trying to find out where we were going for our honeymoon. She reminded me that she and my Granddad went to Matlock for their honeymoon. This surprised my Dad because she had always told him they couldn’t afford a honeymoon and didn’t go anywhere. A few minutes later Nan told my Mum that they had a brilliant honeymoon in Weston-Super-Mare, but hardly left the bedroom. I had booked for my honeymoon with Becky three nights at a five star hotel on Prince’s Street in Edinburgh. Being a true romantic I had arranged for a horse-driven carriage to take us from the airport to the hotel. Well, a taxi most of the way then horse driven carriage for the last mile. Edinburgh was special because that was where I proposed to Becky. We had been in Scotland and spent a day in the capital. Becky loved it and said that one day she would like to stay in one of those posh hotels in Princes Street. Perhaps if she knew what I was planning tonight she would change her mind and marry me. I thought it best not to tell my Nan the honeymoon location, or the fact that I might be jilted.
It felt funny wearing my suit. It was all a little bit too stiff and I couldn’t get comfortable. I had a look in the full-length mirror and when I stood about four foot away I could see all of me. Not bad, I looked quite smart and not as out of place in a suit as I thought. The creases were all in the right place and for once the trousers weren’t too short. During my school days I had spent most summer terms displaying bare legs as my trousers could not keep pace with my growing spurts. When I was fourteen I was thrown off the bus because I had a child’s bus-pass. The driver would not believe my age and I was upset at being called a liar. I was feeling slightly guilty now because may be I should suggest to my family that the day might not turn out quite like they expect. Am I lying to them? If they ask I’ll tell them the truth. I feel quite cheerful and still there was that small chance that Becky might turn up and the day might go really well. If she does turn up I think it is probably best never to mention the texts or any doubts she ever had unless she does.
Soon Pete arrived in a very cheerful and loud mood. He gave my Nan a great big smacking kiss on the lips. This provoked a ‘tut’ from my Dad and a , “that was worth putting my teeth in for” from my Nan. My mother just complimented Pete on looking handsome in his suit. He looked good but I felt he had deliberately left a few creases in his trousers so he didn’t look as smart as me. Pete was the automatic choice for best man because he had been my best mate since that first day at Secondary school. More than once he had come to my defence and ‘lamped’ somebody who had been unfair to me. There was so much more to Pete than his physique though because he was a really nice bloke. He could be caring and yet did the lad things so well. Like me he was football mad and since I had taken him to his first Villa game in 1982, a European Cup tie against FC Valor of Iceland when Peter Withe scored a hat-trick, he had been a Villa nut. He took to my Mum straight away as well calling her Mrs. S. My mum thought he was a really nice boy and told him he could always come round for tea. This was now eighteen years ago and it is difficult to remember a time when Pete wasn’t my best mate or round for his tea.
Pete asked me if there was anything he shouldn’t mention in his speech. I told him that there was nothing in my life I was really ashamed of so he could say what he wanted. So he said he could mention the incident with the Greek Belly Dancer in Amsterdam. Okay perhaps best not to mention that incident. Becky was aware of the part of my anatomy that flexible lady surprisingly grabbed during her dance when I was on Paul’s Stag Weekend in May, but I had forgotten to tell told her that we went back to see her again the next day. Perhaps Becky had now discovered this and that was why she wasn’t going to marry me. Pete asked if I was nervous and I had to say I wasn’t. This was true, why should I be nervous because I already knew what was going to happen. Pete admitted that he was very nervous and scared of messing things up. He asked me if I could keep the rings in my pocket because he would be scared about losing them. He also said he was worried about the chief bridesmaid because he didn’t think Jenny liked him. This was of course very true because Jenny had told Becky that she shouldn’t let Pete be my best man because he was so common and would mess it all up. Pete is one of the most honest people I know but Jenny doesn’t trust him and once was convinced when she mislaid her purse that Pete had taken it. This mistrust seems to stem from the fact that he wears an old denim jacket. Today, though, Pete was wearing a suit and looked smart, but still I don’t think Jenny is going to trust him. Pete then produced an unusual shaped object from his pocket wrapped in silver foil. He handed it to me and said that his mum had said he had to give it to me. Unwrapping it I was surprised to see it was a very old and rusty horse-shoe. It had a label attached to it saying, ‘Good luck, this was given to me at my second wedding’. A nice touch I thought even allowing for the fact she was now on marriage number four. In all of the years I have known Pete I have never met his mum or any of his step-fathers. Pete moved out of home when he was eighteen and has lived with his elder brother Adrian since then. So a gift from his mum was certainly unexpected. My parents thought it was a nice gesture but could we not put it down anywhere in their house. Perhaps it would bring me ‘good luck’ and the love of my life would meet me at the church today.

It was now time to leave the house of my birth and make the way with Pete to the church. We were going in Pete’s red Triumph Spitfire with the top off. My Dad, Mum and Nan were following in my Dad’s car behind. Pete had tried hard and put one claret and one blue ribbon across the bonnet. The sun was out so it was quite a pleasant drive although being so low down with long legs was not easy. Pete said he had got a spare comb so that I could tidy my hair up when we got there because it was going to get blown around. All the other drivers waved us by and gave us little smiles of encouragement on my big day. At one set of red traffic lights we stopped by a bus stop where there were two very pretty girls in surprisingly short skirts. Pete was visually flirting with them and they were blowing us kisses. For a moment I forgot I was on the way to my wedding. The lights turned to green but Pete was too busy smiling at the girls and didn’t notice. The moment was interrupted by my Dad papping his horn. The girls waved us off and Pete blew them a kiss. Radio One was playing, but in the open top car if was difficult to hear. I managed just to make out the DJ announcing a request from Pete to groom Jonathan in Lichfield. Pete shouts, ‘that’s for you Johno’. I had guessed and the song playing was not the most original choice, but it was a nice thought. We sang a long to those words ‘hey little sister, shotgun’. In the words of Billy Idol it was ‘a nice day for a white wedding..’. As the music blasted out Pete began to drive faster and faster. My Dad kept up for the first few minutes of the song but soon we lost him. It would be alright as he knew his way, but I knew he wouldn’t be pleased. Of course, he wouldn’t moan on my wedding day especially if I am going to be jilted.

Next Week - The big moment - will the groom be jilted

Week 2 - A Text From The Bride

2009-11-19T22:46:00.003Z

Heather came from Bakewell near Manchester, but she denied this made her a ‘Bakewell Tart’. We started to chat as mates, but the more I looked into her green eyes the more I began to think that perhaps I would like to get to know Heather better. Heather had a smile that was slightly naughty and by 1am that night I just wanted to kiss her. One month later and six ‘sort of dates’ I finally did kiss that lovely fellow student. There were earlier chances but our friendship was becoming more important every day so I was scared of making a fool of myself. It was Valentines Day 1988 when we finally admitted to each other that we were ‘boyfriend’ and ‘girlfriend’. This was probably my first serious relationship and I even took Heather home to meet my parents and my friends. Heather showed me the joys of Bakewell and we discussed the names that we would give our children. It seems strange looking back but the two of us never argued about anything. Heather was a bit of a Tom Boy and in some ways the relationship was more mates than lovers. Sex often was a bit of a giggle and perhaps lacked passion, but this was Heather and she had become my best friend and companion. We helped each other through our degrees and I think we were both completely faithful. Until I met Becky I thought this was the perfect relationship. We started getting Christmas cards to ‘Heather and Jonathan’ even though we lived over 50 miles apart. At the end of the course we had to decide what was going to happen next. We were both only twenty-three and not really ready to make big commitments so we couldn’t decide where we wanted to live. I wasn’t ready to finally leave the joys of Sutton Coldfield and Heather wanted to stay near her mum. We decided that it was time to put things on hold but stay as mates for the time being. It didn’t really work because we kept getting back together, but eventually we started to see less of each other and then Heather accepted a marketing position in Paris for a year and we drifted further apart. Heather was special and I had seriously tried to get Becky to allow me to invite Heather and her new boyfriend Jean Pierre to the wedding, but Becky had made it quite clear that no former shags should be allowed at the wedding. As this meant she couldn’t invite the smarmy Michael I happily agreed, although Heather said she was disappointed not to see her mate get hitched. Surely she would have shred a few tears at the sight of her ‘ex’ getting married. I certainly wouldn’t want to see her getting married to Jean Pierre, although Becky might like the idea of a weekend in Paris. Becky is the Manageress of a Travel Agency in Lichfield and is multi-lingual. She could happily hold a conversation with Jean Pierre in French and also speaks fluent Spanish.

For the past three months Becky has spent Wednesday evenings studying Vocational Italian. As a surprise for Becky at the wedding reception I have also been learning Italian via a CD supplied in the Sunday Times. It isn’t my normal read but they had sold out of both ‘The People’ and ‘The Mail on Sunday’ that particular Sunday morning. I intend saying part of my thank you speech in Italian. With my lack of linguistic ability this is ambitious and I hope that Becky will recognise it as Italian.

The radio-alarm clock that used to wake me up with Simon Mayo in my 6th form days often with his First Love slot was now showing 03:08 so the time until I get to see Becky in her wedding attire is now less than eight hours. Less than a normal working day. The recommended amount of sleep you should have each night. Although with my alarm set for quarter to eight I wouldn’t be getting my full quota tonight. Going through previous relationships had kept my mind off thinking about the things I need to do at the wedding. Check Pete has got the rings, put a pack of polo mints in my pocket to make my breath fresher, make sure everyone has a lift to the reception at Moor Hall Hotel in Sutton Coldfield. I could see the outline of my suit hanging on the door of the wardrobe opposite. At least Becky will like this as she was with me when I, or was it we, or was it Becky, chose it. To be honest I thought it was a bit too trendy for me, but Becky liked it straight away and said it would go perfectly with her dress. There was a definite hint of green to it and the lapel was quite narrow. Pete had been impressed when he first saw them although he had talked about us wearing claret and blue suits. All my previous suits had come from Burtons or Fosters so it was a first for me to go to Marks and Spencers, a shop I had always associated with my Nan and Sunday afternoon scotch pancakes that we ate watching the ‘Goldenshot’. Hope my Nan behaves herself at the wedding. At my sister Karen’s wedding she was trying to dance to Bad Manners’ ‘Can Can’ and ended up accidentally banging the vicar on his head with her stick. It could be worse this time because her mind isn’t quite as good as it was and she has started to get confused. At the Carol Service last Christmas she sang ‘O Little Town of Bethlehem’ superbly and very loudly – just a pity everybody else was singing ‘In the bleak mid-winter’. My Granddad died seven years ago and after grieving for a year my Nan decided that life was for living and went on a world cruise where she met another lady in her seventies called Jessie. The two of them then became a trouble-some twosome going to lots of Tea Dances in the hope of meeting men. My Dad found it very difficult to cope with and was appalled when my Nan asked if she could bring her latest boyfriend to Karen’s wedding. He was more taken aback to find he was black and twenty years younger than my Nan. In the end Nan agreed to bring Jessie instead and ended up with the two of them drinking more than everybody else put together. With my Nan’s blood pressure tablets this wasn’t advisable, but she is quite a large woman and can be scary especially when armed with her stick. Of course, the real side is a very caring lady who totally adores her four grandchildren who can do no wrong. Even when Karen left her husband Toby last year my Nan took Karen’s side and said that Toby didn’t do enough to satisfy her. She said he couldn’t even manage to give her a great-grandchild so he probably wasn’t any good in the bedroom department. This is the same lady who until she met Jessie wouldn’t have her telly tuned into Channel Four because it was too raunchy. Jessie died two years ago whilst the two of them were holidaying in Crete. She was eighty-three and doctor believed she died of exhaustion. My Nan was never quite the same since and her mind started to go soon afterwards. It’s sad but she decided to put herself into a home about six months ago and the first thing my Dad knew about it was when he received a change of address card from her. It really upset him, but my Nan knew that it was a decision he would never have made for her. I go to the home about once a week and generally love talking to my Nan. Yes, we often have the same conversation six times in an hour, but she still cares about things passionately. Only last week she was saying what she wanted to do with her stick to Gareth Southgate after he missed that penalty for England in the semi-final. She still watches her football but gets confused as to which players are still playing. She says that Nobby Stiles should have taken that penalty. Becky loves my Nan and often comes with me. All of her grandparents died before she was ten and this always upsets her. Nan told Becky she could adopt her as her Gran. Becky had taken Nan out last week to buy an outfit for the wedding and had to persuade her that a pale coloured trouser suit was probably better than the little black strapless dress she was looking at. Nan had spent an hour a few weeks ago repeatedly telling me that Becky was keen on me and that I should get her married as soon as possible before some hunky bloke might come along and showed her a good time. I am glad my Nan is going to be there on my big day.

My thoughts were distracted by the bleep of my mobile phone. I had only had it a month and still it took me unaware. Becky had decided that since we were living together we needed to be in touch so she had bought us each these mobile phones. I seem to spend all my time looking for it or walking around with a large bulge in my left-hand trouser pocket. As very few people had my number and very few of my friends have mobile phones it must be text message off my bride or the signal that my battery was going flat. I felt around on the floor where the jeans I took off last night were lying. Eventually I located the phone and the screen said ‘Message Received’. The thought of a message off Becky was exciting. Obviously she couldn’t sleep either because she was too excited. I tried to imagine her lying in our bed with her wedding dress hanging by the side of her. The image also included her sister Jenny lying beside her in the bed in a rather unflattering long nylon flowered nightie. This was an image I did not want to focus on. I am sure Jenny doesn’t think I am good enough for her baby sister. Jenny has a first class degree in History and doesn’t really consider a 2:1 in Business Studies to count as a proper degree. Jenny and her husband Gareth have six year old identical twin daughters called Beatrice and Lorna, but I can never tell which one is which. They are going to be Becky’s two small bridesmaids that will follow the beautiful Becky and plain Jenny up the aisle.

What does the message say then? I’d better check and then maybe I could get some sleep. It said the message was off ‘Future Wife’ I had recently changed her name on my phone from ‘Naughty Rebecca’ because Becky thought people might get the wrong idea if they saw it. I clicked to read the message. I noticed there was no kiss which was unusual for a Becky message. It read just ‘Are you asleep’. There wasn’t even a question mark. Of course I wasn’t asleep or how would I be reading this message. Even if I had woken up at 8am and read the message I still would not have been asleep. As it was a very special day I avoided my usual sarcasm and just replied back ‘No, are you xxxx’. It was now 03:42 and within seconds came another beep from my phone. Quickly I check the message and it shocked me. It read ‘Sorry I can’t go through with it x’. Well at least I had got a kiss this time but it wasn’t really the message I wanted at this time on my wedding day. Something seemed wrong, what had happened? How should I play this? Surprisingly for me I was very calm and texted Becky back, ‘Are you sure? x’. I just lay there trying to make sense of everything. The birds were starting to sing now but it felt like the world had suddenly stopped turning and I was about to be pushed off. The radio alarm clock clicked around to 03:48 and then the dreaded bleep came. It was like I felt when I opened the envelope with my A Level results in or when I rang the vets to see if my cat ‘Silvester’ had come through the operation and also how I felt when Gareth Southgate stepped up to take that penalty. The waiting was over the text said simply ,‘Yes’.

Next Week : The wedding day drama

Week 1 - Pause and Rewind

2009-11-12T22:01:00.001Z

Lying in a bed that is only five foot long, when you are over six foot tall and a twenty-nine year old man, sleeping is challenging, but when you add the fact that in less than ten hours time you will be getting married it becomes an impossibility.

Here I am in the bed that I used to sleep in when I was ten in the bedroom where my Action Men used to stimulate sex with the girl nextdoor’s Cindy dolls - which was difficult with their lack of genitals. So much has happened since those days and that burning summer of ’76. The girl next door now lives in New Zealand with a very muscular bloke named Clive and the Action Men are currently packed in a cardboard box in a Storage Unit near Walsall. The rubbery flexible fingers of the Action Men have not survived so well during the past two decades. Mind you I can talk, because my fringe has disappeared on to the top of my head and can now only be seen from above. As I lie in this small bed I try to think if any of my school mates are now as follicley challenged as me now they are approaching their 30’s.

According to my old digital alarm clock, which my Dad had specially got out of a box in the loft for me, it was now 02:14 so if I assume it takes 14 minutes to get to the marriage vows in the service this means that in just nine hours time my marital state will change from single to married. I think I am ready for this life change, but so many thoughts are going around my balding head including highlights of all my previous relationships. ‘All of’ means four and some people might think that calling the two weeks with Beverley Evans a relationship was pushing it. We did nearly share a kiss outside the ABC cinema in Walsall. Just wished she had mentioned her feelings for Karen Shelton earlier!

Susan Richardson was the first girl I ever experienced with an above average sized chest. I was sixteen and on my way to take my Chemistry O’Level when I first spoke to Susan. Why it took me so long I don’t know because we had shared a bus journey most mornings for over three months. The last four mornings she had even come and sat by me. That day I had my head in the Lett’s Chemistry revision Aids book revisiting chemical equations. Suddenly I felt Susan’s large chest, squashed into a red polo-neck sweater, push against my arm. With her gingery hair, perhaps red was maybe not the most discrete colour to wear, but she had chosen to sit by me. Looking around I saw a number of seats she could have chosen including a double to herself two rows in front. That was the time for conversation and with the summer holidays nearly on us I had nothing to lose. Conversion went well, Susan tested me on my Chemistry, she asked me out on a date and within three weeks I had my hands inside that very same red polo-necked sweater. As I was lying there on my side the morning of my wedding I spent time remembering how it felt to first touch the bosom of Susan Richardson. What would she be doing now; perhaps that large chest is now being shared by two twin baby boys? I have always had difficulty controlling my mind at night, but tonight it was totally out of control. What kind of changes will happen to my thoughts once I say “I do” or was it “I will”?

The great relationship with Susan fizzled out before I received my Chemistry O’level certificate, but it encouraged me to look for another relationship and within weeks I was dating Amanda. Now what was Amanda’s surname? I am sure it started with a ‘P’. Parker, Parson, Peacock…..no I can’t think of it. Was it Harrison? Amanda was tall, slim with very long straight brown hair. She was probably the most attractive girl I have ever been out with until Becky, who I was going to marry in just over eight hours time. I must try and get some sleep to look my best for the big day. Don’t really want to have big bags under my eyes on the wedding photographs. Wedding photographs, that is a really scary thought. I have yet to see a photograph of me when I don’t look like a weirdo with red eyes. The photographs will probably have Becky looking like a sensational bride with her perfect wavy blonde hair and curvy figure, standing next to this bloke who looks like an extra from the Adam’s Family.

Sutton Coldfield College of Technology and the A’level Sociology class in room 606 was the place where I, Jonathan Sadler, met Amanda. The class was full of strange looking hippy types apart from me and Amanda and from the very first lesson I wanted to get to know Amanda better. Being tall and skinny I sometimes looked a bit awkward and my clothes didn’t always look quite right. Even so I was determined to seduce the lovely Amanda. Within two weeks we were working on a project together on the behaviour of old people in public. I managed to make this last every lunch time for six days. We studied old people in Supermarkets, in restaurants and just in the street. Every day we talked more intimately and got closer. At the end I invited Amanda back to my house to write the project up.

It was in this very room just a few feet from where I was born that I first tried to kiss Amanda. I say ‘tried’ because she failed to notice the first time and I ended up kissing her hair. Undeterred though I went in again and soon I had moved her lips round to meet mine. Success, I had seduced the very attractive Amanda. We then started a relationship that lasted over a year. Although, sometimes Amanda seemed more concerned with checking her appearance in the nearest mirror than being with me, I was still honoured to have Amanda as my girlfriend. Looking back I never really thought it would last. Amanda was out of my league and always destined for a more hunky boyfriend. She was clever, but we often were on different wavelengths and did not really like each others friends, athough, Amanda often said she thought my friend Pete was quite hunky. Nobody has ever called me hunky. It was a Thursday evening in July just two weeks before my 18th birthday that I decided to finish things with Amanda. She had been the only girl I had slept with at that point, but still I didn’t feel close enough to her. I always felt that there was still another wall that I had to get through before I could find the true Amanda. I remember asking her what she wanted from our relationship and she said that she wanted somebody else. She then declared she had been seeing another bloke for the last month so we kissed passionately then unexpectedly made love for a final time on floor of my bedroom. Maybe it wasn’t ‘making love’ but it was the best sex we had. After we said goodbye that night we never saw each other again. I don’t even know if she also passed her Sociology A’Level.

Becky is even more attractive than Amanda and we are so on the same wavelength. Often I know what she is going to say and what she is thinking. We agree on so many subjects from politics to religion and our favourite colours for bathrooms. Becky also has a more shapely chest than Amanda although not as out of proportion to her body as the boobs of Susan were. My favourite part of Becky though is definitely her firm and rounded bottom that I love to touch at every opportunity. Perhaps I will have to resist that temptation later today when we are standing at the altar. I can’t wait to see the dress she will be wearing. All I know is that it is white and Becky says reveals her shoulders. She says that I will find it very sexy and that I will have to control myself and avoid any unexpected bulges in my trousers. Sounds a bit pervey but I am looking forward to seeing the underwear under the dress tomorrow night, I mean tonight now! A number of friends at my Stag Night told me not to expect any sex on my wedding night because it never happened for them because they were too drunk or tired after the big day. The image I have in my mind now of Becky in her wedding undies is very arousing.

I feel so lucky that Becky Holloway came into my life and even luckier that she is going to marry me. Perhaps the seduction of Amanda gave me the confidence to pursue a lady as gorgeous as Becky. The clock clicks over all the numbers to say 03:00. How I wished I was back in my little flat in Lichfield which I had shared with Becky for the last four months, but my parents wanted me here in the family home in Sutton Coldfield away from Becky for the night. Becky was at the flat with her older sister and chief bridesmaid Jenny. We were moving to a new house in Alrewas in two weeks time and our first joint mortgage. It had been a very stressful few months with buying houses and planning weddings. I can’t remember the last time the two of us just had a normal conversation which didn’t involve ‘The House’ or ‘The Wedding’. It was fun though, going to all though Show Houses when we were looking for a new home and I will never forget what we got up to in the bedroom of that Bryant Show House with its black furnishings. Everything just feels so right with Becky.
Hopefully Becky will be my final relationship and hopefully it will be a very long one. It would be ideal if we both had mega heart attacks whilst celebrating our seventy-fifth wedding anniversary. I am not quite sure if there is a name for the seventy-fifth one or even the seventieth. I would be one hundred and four when this event happens though and Becky a younger one hundred and three. We might have stopped our energetic love-making by then though. Perhaps we can buy a book on enjoying sex when you’re eighty-plus. Do old people start to get turned on by wrinkles and smell of wee when they get past eighty?

If Becky is my final relationship it means that Heather Shaw was my penultimate one. Heather was my obligatory University relationship and possibly the other girl I could have married. She was short with a short blonde hair and a medium build. It wasn’t an instant attraction and certainly not a relationship either of us planned. Something happened at a Friday night party in the second year of our Business Studies degree course at Liverpool University that still makes me smile when I think about it. I went to the party because Pete was staying with me for the weekend and he wanted to meet some real ‘student’ girls. Pete wasn’t thick, but there was never a chance of him going any further than A’Levels. He had started work as a builder just after I started university, but we had stayed close. Still we went to the Villa games together when I was back home and that weekend the mighty Aston Villa were playing at Everton. The party was a 70’s theme night, but Pete wasn’t going to dress up so we just went as ourselves and really stood out. Interestingly with Pete next to me I seemed to be attracting attention from girls in my classes that normally didn’t want to come near me including the legendary April who had caught my eye at the very first lecture. Now with this muscular builder she was behaving like my best mate. Even if she called me ‘Johnny’. Pete was impressed that a beautiful lady seemed so friendly with me, but it became obvious that she only had eyes for Pete and even Pete realised this when she asked if she could feel the muscle on his arm. Pete though is a very good friend and when he got the chance followed me to the gents to ask if anything was going on between me and April. I thought it was only girls that went to the loo in pairs and maybe this gave off the wrong signals because suddenly I was aware of a lad in a purple shirt with a big afro wig smiling at me. Something was not right about this, but I gave him a wave in case it was someone in one of my lectures that I couldn’t recognise. I told Pete the news he wanted to hear that April and I were not ‘really’ an item and that I wouldn’t mind if he made a move. Out came Pete’s black comb which he always kept in his right-hand jean pocket and he flicked it through his spikey blonde hair. He was then off back to where April was still holding his drink. Next time I saw Pete that night he gave me a thumbs up as he was examining April’s tonsils with his tongue.

What happened next to me was pretty strange and slightly worrying. The bloke in the purple shirt came over and started talking to me. He seemed pleasant enough but was standing worryingly close. I suppose with the loud music he had to stand close so we could hear each other. He said his name was Adrian and that he saw me and my friend go into the gents together. It was a strange conversation and I began to feel uncomfortable. With horror I suddenly realised I was being chatted up by a bloke! It was at this point that a short blonde girl from my Business Studies class came to my rescue. Heather just walked up to me and gave me a kiss on the lips and said, ‘Hey babe, have you been waiting long?’. Within seconds the distinctly unbutch Adrian made his excuses and left. I was stunned and quite pleased by the actions of this small lady. She explained that she could see I was having problems and knew that I wasn’t that kind of lad. For the first time we then chatted and chatted.

Next week : The unforgetable wedding day. Sign up now for weekly updates.