Charlotte Butterfield - Crazy Little Thing Called Love

Leila re-read her post from the night before while she was still in her pyjamas eating her rice krispies. She should have matured into more grown-up breakfast cereals by now, but the snap, crackle and pop still made her smile. She was in two minds whether to delete the post or not. Up until then, all her other entries had been so upbeat, extolling the virtues of single life. There were three hundred and three followers now, which was amazing, and the number was growing by a few every day. She got such a pulse of excitement every time she saw the number increase. When it went over the three-hundred mark she did a little celebratory dance in her tiny kitchen. But surely the whole point of writing this blog was to tell her story, describe her journey and the bumps in the road – or was it to paint a picture of a rosier version of her life that wasn’t real? What did the followers want to read, and what did she want to write?

Leila got dressed and went to work and the post stayed live.

‘I don’t think your sisters like me very much.’

Marcus knew that a long pause between his new fiancée uttering this statement and his effusive denial of said statement was not a good thing, but neither could he hand-on-heart disagree with her. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t glimpsed the side-eye glances that batted back and forth between Tasha and Leila when Lucy was around, not to mention the almost imperceptible eyebrow raising and whispered asides. He’d wanted so desperately for them all to get on, but for some reason his sisters, who were normally so warm and welcoming, were being a bit, well, off, with Lucy.

‘I wouldn’t necessarily say that I don’t think they don’t like you,’ he finally offered.

‘There are far too many negatives in that sentence for me to even begin to decipher it,’ Lucy replied crossly. She slammed the fridge door shut and handed him a cold bottle of white wine. ‘Can you open that? I know they might be protective of you, but I don’t think they’re giving me much of a chance.’

Marcus unhooked a corkscrew from the wall-mounted metal utensil rod and started turning it in the top of the bottle, pleased to have something to focus on other than forming a response.

‘I mean, I think I’ve been perfectly pleasant, haven’t I Marcus? I bring flowers to your mum every time we go down, I’m nice to Tasha’s kids, even though they’re always a bit mucousy, I even told Leila that her haircut suited her.’

‘You said that she looked androgynous.’

‘I said that the androgynous look suited her. Suited her, Marcus. It was a compliment.’

‘I’m just not sure she interpreted it like that darling. They’re different to you, that’s all. They’re not as…’ Again, Marcus paused, and a dictionary of nouns ran like a ticker tape in front of his eyes until he rested on ‘composed.’

‘Composed?’ Lucy put down the colander of lettuce leaves that she was swilling water through and rested it on the draining board. ‘What the heck is composed supposed to mean?’

‘Composed, calm, ladylike, call it what you will, they’re a bit mouthy and emotional, act first, think later, that sort of thing. They all are, Mum and the girls, you’re much more focused and poised.’

Focused and poised. Lucy liked that description of herself. It was exactly how she’d like to be thought of. Especially by her future husband.

‘Here, get this down you. Cheers!’ Marcus clinked his wine glass to hers.

‘God,’ Lucy groaned, ‘I can’t wait until we get the wine glasses on our wedding list, these stems are so clunky.’

Marcus hovered his hand over the pan that had been warming on the hob to check it was hot enough, before dropping a lump of butter into it, which immediately started sizzling and fizzing around the griddle. He picked up a large wooden spoon out of the china pot in front of him and held it a few centimetres away from his mouth, ‘And today on Marcus and Lucy Cooks , it’s steak au poivre. Lucy, can you tell me how you’re making the sauce?’ He moved the spoon in front of Lucy’s face. She resisted for a couple of seconds then broke into a giggle as they acted out the now familiar cooking routine.

‘Well, Marcus,’ she said into the wooden spoon, ‘while you’re searing the steaks with a peppercorn crust, I’m mixing cognac and cream together, then we’ll add this to the lovely pan juices. Back to you.’

‘Thank you Lucy, that sounds delicious. Now as you can see, the steaks are browning wonderfully, and I’m just going to flip them over, and ta da!’

Lucy leaned over to speak into the spoon again, ‘That really does look marvellous Marcus, and so easy to do at home.’

‘Absolutely Lucy, even though we are indeed pros, even the amateur cook can master this dish.’

‘Yes, spot on Marcus. Thank you for joining us today on Marcus and Lucy Cooks , until next time.’

Lucy had set the table in the dining room earlier that evening, as she did every evening. Even though the kitchen had a small circular table, which suited the purpose for breakfast just fine, a proper dinner always tasted better in the more formal surroundings of the dining room surrounded by candles. A couple of mouthfuls in, Lucy started talking again. ‘I’ve found the dress I want to wear for our wedding, so I’m going to make some appointments this week.’

Marcus had his mouth full so just gave an encouraging noise.

‘I don’t want to go by myself though, and Aimee and Emily are at work. All the magazines say that a bride should go with their mother, but the idea exhausts me.’

Marcus felt uneasy again. The relaxed frivolity of their pretend studio skit moments before had evaporated and he knew that he had to navigate this conversation carefully. He’d only met his future mother-in-law once, and she seemed nice, so was always a bit perplexed whenever Lucy mentioned her in a negative way. ‘How so?’ he asked.

‘Just the expectation levels I guess, it’s meant to be this seminal bonding moment isn’t it, and Mum might cry or something, which would just be awful.’

‘You could make a day of it, take the credit card, treat yourselves to lunch somewhere.’

Lucy grimaced. ‘I know I should, I’m her only daughter after all, but I’m just a bit uncomfortable with it, what would we talk about all day?’

‘Dresses? Shoes? I don’t know Lucy, you’re asking the wrong person. Why don’t you ask Leila or Tasha to come along as well? You were saying earlier that you don’t think they like you, this would be the perfect chance for them to get to know you better.’

It wasn’t a bad idea, Lucy thought. Having another person there would certainly lower the risk of gushes of sentimentality from her mum, and it would be a nice gesture on her part to include his side of the family. She really wanted his sisters to like her, but she just didn’t know how to make that happen. She wrinkled her nose. ‘But what if they don’t want to?’

‘You haven’t asked them yet. Ask. I’m sure they’d love it. All girls love dress shopping don’t they?’

‘Leila’s a gardener, she lives in wellies.’

‘She has dresses, I’m sure of it. When were you thinking of going?’

‘This week. I’ll book a day off work. Honestly Marcus, I have no idea how I’m juggling it all, it’s exhausting trying to plan the wedding, while rushing about at work, doing everything for everyone. I literally feel as though I’m being pulled in a thousand directions all the time. I swear this wedding is going to be a complete disaster because of it. Either that or I’ll give myself an ulcer with the stress.’

Marcus congratulated himself on another well-timed mouthful, he knew that Lucy couldn’t abide bad table manners, so as long as he made sure to do dramatic chewing motions with his jaw, he’d be forgiven for not responding.