Charlotte Butterfield - Crazy Little Thing Called Love - The perfect laugh out loud romantic comedy you won’t be able to put down

‘Thanks Tash. I feel very positive about it actually, it’s going well.’

‘So, when did you start this man-ban ?’ Judy finally ventured, rolling the last two words around her mouth as though they were part of a foreign language.

‘Last Tuesday.’ Leila replied.

They all erupted in the type of laughter that makes furniture shake. Even Tasha’s three children joined in, the younger two, being only four and seven, had no idea what the hell they were howling about, but that didn’t stop them. Marcus’s annoying new girlfriend Lucy was chuckling away with the rest of them too, her perfect flicky-out hair bobbing along in time with her giggles.

‘I’m glad that I amuse you all so much.’ Leila huffed. ‘Next time one of you makes an important life choice remind me to be equally as supportive.’

‘Sorry darling,’ Judy rested her hand on her daughter’s arm. ‘We are supportive, it’s just that you haven’t got a great track record with seeing things through.’

Leila put her hand on her chest in mock disgust. ‘I am offended by that, Mother.’

‘Violin. Ice skating. Veganism. Boot camp. Spanish. Watercolour painting. Salsa. Am I missing anything Thomas?’ Judy had seven fingers outstretched in front of her as she counted off all the pursuits Leila had let trail off after getting bored.

‘Ryan. Carlos. Simon. Steve. Robbie. Luke. Oliver. Liam. Freddie.’ Marcus added. He always took sides with Judy. Such a mummy’s boy. ‘And those are the only ones you introduced us to. There must be more that never got to the meet-the-family stage.’

‘That’s not the same! At all! I have been very unlucky in love, and I haven’t found the right hobby yet. Two completely different things.’

‘You are a bit fickle sweetheart,’ Thomas topped up her wine glass.

‘Adding the word “sweetheart” at the end of that damning insult does not lessen it Dad. And I am not fickle. I am merely seeking perfection in everything I do.’

‘And every one,’ Alex, Tasha’s husband chimed in.

‘Alex!’ Tasha and Judy exclaimed at the same time.

‘Let’s not lower the tone, Alex, it is Sunday after all.’ Leila thought Tasha’s remonstration based on it being the Sabbath was a tad hypocritical – the last time her sister had attended church was her own wedding fifteen years ago.

‘Right, let’s change the subject. Yummy roast Mum, new chef?’ It was a running joke in the family that because Leila’s mum and dad ran a hotel, they got all their meals cooked for them, whereas in fact, apart from the occasional Ploughman’s that Thomas would surreptitiously steal from the kitchen downstairs, Judy made all their meals.

It wasn’t a spur of the moment decision, becoming celibate, despite what her family thought. Leila had always been interested in reading about women embarking on periods of self-discovery and contemplation, but had always measured her own sense of self-worth by leaping from one relationship straight into another rather than taking some time out. Admittedly, when she’d called for silence by pinging her mobile against her wine glass and giving her impassioned declaration to Jayne, Amanda and Shelley last Tuesday, she was fuelled by a few gin and tonics, but that was coincidental.

They too had followed a stunned silence with stomach-grabbing laughter. Then they’d laid bets on the table about how long she’d last. It was perhaps testament to her track record of inconsistency that there was currently £4000 in the pot. ‘This is a bet I have to take!’ her former flatmate Amanda had squealed. ‘So if by some miracle and personality transplant, you pull it off, we give you a grand each, and if you don’t then you have to pay each of us a grand.’

‘Which basically means you’ll have to sell a kidney,’ Jayne warned. ‘Don’t take the bet Leila, you’re just reeling because of what twatty Freddie did, in a couple of weeks, you’ll think differently.’

‘I will not,’ Leila replied haughtily. ‘My mind is set, and ladies, I take your bets. Start saving your pennies.’ Leila had told them what she found herself trying to articulate to her family now. This man-ban was not a whim. And although she usually thought most of what her sister spouted about ‘sending messages to the universe’ was a bit far-fetched, Leila completely recognised that something needed to change, and this seemed a good place to start.

***

As much as Leila would like to think that it was her cooking and fantastic hosting skills that prompted Tasha to pop around unannounced later that week after work, she knew that her sister had an ulterior motive, which she wasted no time in spelling out.

‘Now look, I want to talk to you about this celibacy thing.’

Leila leant her head back on the sofa and moaned. ‘Oh no, not you as well, I’ve already had Mum’s take on how ridiculous I’m being, I don’t need you joining in the chorus too.’

‘Far from it! I’m completely supportive of you, I actually think you should step it up a gear.’

‘In what way?’

‘Well if you’re serious about remaining single, and are genuinely doing it for reasons of empowerment and regaining control of your life, and getting to know yourself better, and all the other reasons you got on your soapbox about at the last Sunday lunch, then take it more seriously. Do something that’s going to change your life, rather than sitting at home being celibate listening to sad songs and lamenting your crap choice in boyfriends.’

‘I am not listening to sad songs! I have a very upbeat music collection.’

‘But put an end date on it, so that you have a period of time for self-discovery. You and I both know that you’re not intending to be single forever, but why not do it for six months, or a year even. Twelve months of finding yourself. Make it formal. Write a blog about it, start a group. Make this year count.’

‘You know what? I really like that idea. A year of me. Starting tomorrow. April 1st. April Fool’s day. How ironic.’

‘Maybe there’s a group nearby you can join?’

‘I’ll have a look this week.’

‘Have a look now.’

‘I’ll have a look later.’

‘Now.’

Leila threw a cushion at her sister’s head. ‘If we’re going to do this, can we do it in the garden? That’s my happy place.’

‘It’s still March. Do we have to?’

‘It’s the last day of March, which is Spring time, and if you’re making me do this, then yes, we do.’

Leila pulled on a sweater, lit a couple of candles in lanterns that were dotted around the courtyard and sat down next to her sister. She opened the computer and started typing. Celibacy London. Chastity. Sisterhood. Female solidarity . The sisters navigated their way through a bottle of red wine and sites selling promise rings written by the Christian far right and web pages for spurned women vehemently (and often violently) advocating a life of no-sex after vicious break ups. But they couldn’t find a site, or group, or club for women like Leila who wanted the happy ever after, but just wanted to dedicate a chapter of the fairy tale to themselves first.

‘So what now?’ Leila asked.

‘You make your own.’

‘Just like that?’

‘Just like that. It’s very easy. I made a blog recently for my Mindfulness group. It’s amazing how like-minded people find you if you put yourself out there.’

Leila drained her glass, and rested her chin on her hand. ‘But I don’t know that I want to be a beacon for every single woman out there.’

‘It’s not about everyone else, it’s about your own journey and documenting it, and learning from it, and sharing it with other women who are in the same position. Do it. I think it would be really good for you.’