Chapter Twelve

The next few days were terrible for my mother. It was left to her to notify the guests that the wedding was off, and she did it with the cool disposition of a funeral director.

When one of my aunts dared to ask for details, Mam shot her down in flames. “The girl came to her senses,” she snapped. “And that’s all I’m going to say on the matter.”

I flinched as she slammed the phone down, but Mam remained steadfast. “No one asked questions when her Ruby took off with that Tony fella from the key cutters,” she said.

“That’s because Toni was a girl, Mam,” I reminded her. “Everyone was too confused to ask questions.”

I’d always considered the reason behind my cousin’s broken engagement fascinating, but my mother was far too old-school to talk about it.

“The whole world’s gone bleedin’ mad.” She snatched her address book off the table and marched out of the room, leaving me chuckling to myself.

I hadn’t seen or heard from Andrew since the chicken debacle. I once thought I heard his car passing along our street, but when I peeked out the window, I realised the high pitched engine noise was coming from Mr Kershaw’s lawnmower.

Sooner or later, he was going to have to deal with me. I didn’t expect an apology, and I certainly didn’t want him back. But what I did want was the Duran Duran record I’d left at his house.

My mother was appalled. “For goodness sake, girl,” she growled. “Have some dignity. If you start badgering him he’s going to think you want him back.”

“My dignity is perfectly intact, Mam,” I insisted. “And I’ll make it perfectly clear to Andrew that I want Simon Le Bon, not him.”

Confidence was at an all-time high as I rapped on Andrew’s door. I was wearing my best dress, my makeup was dead perfect, and after spending the night before locked in the bathroom with a box of L’Oréal, my hair was now a lovely shade of brown called Royal Suede.

The plan was simple; ask for my record, wish him well and get the hell out of there.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t that easy. When his front door opened, my steely resolve went out the window. To make matters worse, time hadn’t healed any of Andrew’s wounds. He was just as hostile as the last time I saw him. “What do you want, Fi?” he grumbled.

“I just want to talk.”

After a long moment of deliberation, he opened the door wide and ushered me inside. “Five minutes,” he permitted. “I’ve got stuff to do.”

“By stuff, you mean Mandy?”

We were not off to a good start. My big, rejected mouth was getting the better of me and I wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to reign it in.

“There’s no point even talking about this,” he said dully. “I’ve made my choice.”

“Your choice?” I kept my tone calm by biting the side of my cheek. “Why is it your choice?”

“Because you chose everything else,” he snapped. “I never wanted any of this wedding malarkey, Fiona. It was a runaway train from the get-go.”

I wanted to slap him with my Mel Lazar bag, but managed to hold off by taking a step back. “You proposed to me, you idiot,” I reminded him. “Why would you do that?”

I thought back to exact second in time that he asked for my hand in marriage. He had no ring, but as he got down on one knee in front of the guests at my nineteenth birthday party, he promised to buy me one.

After hitting his dad up for a small loan, he presented me with a modest but pretty gold ring a few days later. I loved it, but I loved the sentiment behind it even more. He’d chosen me above all others, and that meant everything.

I held up my left hand and wiggled my fingers. The small diamond twinkled in the light just as it always did, but the meaning behind it was long gone.

“I didn’t bring a present,” Andrew muttered.

Utterly confused, I dropped my hand and looked up at him. “What do you mean?”

His hands settled in his pockets and his shoulders lifted. “It was your birthday and when I got to your party, I realised I didn’t have a present,” he explained. “So I proposed instead.”

Andrew spoke casually as if the words didn’t matter, but it was a confession that wrecked me. We’d known each other our whole lives, and had been together since we were fourteen, and all of a sudden that counted for nothing.

“How could you be so cruel?” I whimpered the question. “I loved you.”

He turned away from me and let out a pissed off growl. “No you flippin’ didn’t. I was never good enough for you. You still think you’re going to end up living in a castle with servants and butlers,” he said roughly. “You’re not bloody royalty, Fiona.”

“I know that.” Acknowledging my lack of pedigree didn’t put an end to the conversation. He wasn’t done venting yet.

“You’re a control freak,” he continued. “Everything has to be in line with your master plan or all hell breaks loose. I can’t live like that.”

“Am I that awful?” I wondered out loud.

“No.” A flash of remorse ghosted across his face. “You’re dead pretty, and we’ve had some laughs. You’re just a pushy little cow, that’s all.”

It was a statement that could’ve done with some serious tweaking, but I let it go in favour of asking another question. “When were you going to call the wedding off?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if I hadn’t caught you at Mandy’s, I’d be none the wiser.”

His confused expression gave way to one of shame. “I wasn’t going to call it off.”

My eyes widened. “So you were going to go through with it?”

Andrew shook his head, telling me no. “I wasn’t going to show up,” he confessed. “Mandy and me were going to take off to Blackpool instead.”

I wasn’t being hit with the truth, I was being battered. Not only had she stolen my fiancé, she’d stolen my honeymoon too. My whole chest ached as my heart splintered, but Andrew was faring much better. Leaving me standing near the door, he slumped down on the sofa. “It’s such a relief to get the truth out,” he breathed. “Don’t you feel better now?”

“Blackpool was our dream place,” I muttered, leaving his dumb question unanswered.

“I know,” he casually replied. “Mandy loves it there too.”

His lack of concern for my feelings had nothing to do with laddish naivety. A truer picture was coming together before my very eyes.

“I have to go.” I reached for the door handle. “I shouldn’t have come here.”

Andrew jumped up and rushed over, wedging himself between me and the door. “Not so fast.”

For the briefest of moments, I was hoping for the bittersweet, heartfelt farewell that I’d read a million times over in my novels. On paper, they were cliché and overdone, but I would’ve killed to hear him say something romantic and maudlin to wrap things up.

I will never forget the love we shared.

Our stars just burn too brightly together.

You will forever remain in my heart.

Any of those sentiments would’ve been gratefully accepted, but Andrew’s words weren’t anywhere near as sweet.

“What about my car, Fi?” he asked. “It’s going to cost a packet to get my windscreen replaced.”

I spent a long moment carefully studying the face of the boy I nearly married. For the first time since I walked in, I could see hope in his blue eyes – but it had nothing to do with me, which was perfect.

It afforded me the common sense to realise that not only did this man not love me, he never had. Andrew Pidgeon loved his car, and he loved Mandy Brewer.

I was flying solo, but gaining height by the second.

I slipped my engagement ring off and handed it to him. “Sell this,” I instructed, pushing him out of the way of the door.

“That won’t cover it,” he complained. “The ring is hardly worth anything.”

I let out a hard laugh. “Exactly,” I agreed. “It means nothing and it’s worth nothing.”

I didn’t get my Duran Duran record back, but it wasn’t a wasted trip.

I got myself back instead.

To celebrate, I stopped in at Woolworths and bought a new one.

The sound quality is much better than the one I left at Andrew’s. Ever since Gill spilled cider on it, the needle skips over Planet Earth.

I need a new adventure. Lucky for me, I’ve got £61 saved up to make it happen.

Book of the week: Sky High Lovers

Adventure Fund: £61.00