Chapter Six

Andrew lives with his father, Dennis, in a flat above the local chippy. For that reason alone, I hate visiting. The whole place stinks of cooking oil, and it’s at its worst in summer, but nothing was going to deter me from going there today. After our run in with Sharon, I wanted answers.

Andrew met me at the door, quickly greeting me with a kiss. “Alright, lass?”

I wasn’t sure, but I answered with a smile. “Yeah, I just want to talk to you about something.”

He nudged me out of the way and closed the door. “Not more wedding talk, Fi.” He groaned. “You know I don’t care about that stuff.”

“How about Mandy Brewer?” I asked. “Do you care about her?”

The flash of panic that glinted in his blue eyes was brief, but I saw it. “No,” he replied, outraged. “Why would I?”

“I saw Sharon on the bus last night,” I said flatly. “She told me you were hanging out with Mandy in Stretford.”

Andrew took a step closer, cautiously weaving his arm around my waist. “Trevor has the hots for her,” he quietly explained. “I was just there as his wingman.” He kissed my cheek. “You believe me, don’t you?”

More than anything in the world, I wanted to. But doubt was gnawing at me so I dodged the question. “I don’t want you anywhere near her, Andrew,” I demanded. “She’s no good.”

“Alright,” he agreed. “I’ll steer clear of her.”

I could feel the tension spreading across my chest, but Andrew was his usual unaffected self. As much as I wanted to continue laying down the law, the conversation was over because he’d left me with nowhere to go.

“I’ll make you a brew,” he offered. “And then I want to show you something special.”

I wasn’t in the mood for tea, but coming from Andrew, the gesture was too grand to refuse. “Thank you.” I smoothed down the back of my skirt and sat down on the settee. “What do you want to show me?”

Already in the kitchen, he called out to me. “You’ll have to wait and see.”

I knew better than to get my hopes up, and I was right to keep my excitement in check. Andrew’s idea of something special was anything but. When he returned to the room, he handed me a cup of tea and pointed to a black box on the floor near the TV stand.

“It’s an Atari game station,” he explained. “We can play arcade games at home now.” The excitement in his voice was unfathomable. “It’s dead technical. I’ve wanted one for ages.”

“Where did you get it from?” I asked.

“Trevor knows a bloke,” he said vaguely. “He hangs out at the Gloucester Arms. He got me a good deal.”

I set my tea down on the coffee table. “Bloody Trevor,” I grumbled.

Andrew flopped down beside me. “Don’t be like that, lass,” he said, patting my knee. “It was a steal at eighty quid.”

“Eighty flippin’ quid?” The words came out in an angry squeak. “We’re supposed to be saving our money!”

Andrew took my hand, probably to lessen the risk of me beating him to a pulp. “That doesn’t mean we can’t treat ourselves occasionally, Fiona,” he said. “While we still can.”

I snatched my hand free. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, once we’re married it’s all over, right?” he asked. “We’ll have to start saving for a house of our own, and then kids will come along. There won’t be money for treats.”

The picture he painted was bleak, and by the sound of it, he was already mourning the loss of his freedom and youth.

“Are you sure you want to marry me?” My eyes narrowed, perhaps bracing for a painful answer. “It’s not too late to change your mind.”

That was a lie. Every last detail of the wedding had been finalised. Backing out now would break my heart and embarrass both of our families beyond measure.

Andrew dropped to his knees in front of me, taking both of my hands in his. “We’re going to get married, Fi,” he insisted. “And it’s going to be a grand wedding, just like you want.”

“It’s not just about the wedding,” I told him. “You have to think long term. We’re going to be married for the rest of our lives. You understand that, don’t you?”

He smiled impishly, a grin that made adult conversation practically impossible. “It’s going to be ace.”

The juvenile response summed up Andrew Pidgeon to a T. As much as I tried to convince myself that he was a grown man who was ready for the commitment we were about to jump headlong into; he was a lad and probably always would be.

Andrew hardly spoke to me all night. Hopefully the novelty of playing arcade games on the TV wears off soon. If not, he’s going to end up with square eyes.

I wonder if Prince Charles has an Atari.

Probably not.

I’m sure he’s much too sensible to fork out £80 on a passing fad.

I spent the night reading an old copy of Women’s Own that I found stuffed between the sofa cushions and then walked home. Two cats followed me. I’m sure it’s because I smelt like fish and chips.

Book of the week: A Recipe for Romance

Honeymoon Fund: £76.00