Part 25 (2/2)

”Well I'll believe that when I see it,” she said rustling papers again. ”One last thing then I must go as I have a client meeting starting in five minutes.”

”Fire away.”

”Well the policy does state that in the event of either party getting cold feet prior to the day, they do provide cover for professional counselling but no cover for any costs incurred.”

Drew let the silence that followed Emily's comment drag on just a moment too long. He compensated with forced hearty laughter.

”How rea.s.suring,” he said after his outburst. ”We'll have bankrupted your father but be unlikely to slit our wrists.”

”Yes, that's right,” replied Emily laughing as well. ”It's a good job there's absolutely no chance of that after all this time. Goodness, if we can't be sure now when would we be?”

”No,” he said. ”It would be absolutely ridiculous if one of us got cold feet after sixteen years.”

”You're right,” agreed Emily ”What idiots we'd look for wasting all that time,” he said.

”Yes,” said Emily.

”What an earth would everyone say?” he said ”Mmm,” she responded.

”We'd be a laughing stock,” added Drew.

Another silence appeared before Emily ushered it away.

”So I'm happy to organise this insurance then,” she said cheerfully.

”Are you sure?” he replied. ”You must be so busy organizing all the other stuff.”

”It's no trouble really. Everything else is under control.”

”Well, thank you.”

”Right must go. See you tonight.”

”Yep, see you later then.”

Drew put his phone down and stared at the professionally-taken engagement photograph on his desk and wondering for the umpteenth time if that was really him smiling back as though straight out of a catalogue. After a few minutes he shook himself and decided to check out how his fantasy football team was doing. The truly crucial issue of the day.

Chapter Four.

Dear Suzie, I have been going out with someone from work for over six months now and it's been going really well so I decided to invite him to spend Christmas with me and my family. As you can imagine I was absolutely over the moon when he said he'd love to. The following day he sent me a text saying it was all over and he was about to book a Christmas holiday with his mates. He said he didn't tell me the night before because he wanted to have s.e.x. I still really love him and want him back. What should I do?

Yours A Hopeless Romantic She had their undivided attention now. The three men sat motionless, staring at her across the meeting room table, a whole myriad of reactions swarming over their faces as she finished reading out the letter displayed in all its glory on the projector screen behind her.

One look at Gareth, however, sent a wave of panic through her body. He looked confused, on the borderline of angry. Was she making a ma.s.sive mistake? It had all seemed like such a good idea at 3am that morning when she was bouncing off the walls post four pints of coffee, three rolls of wine gums and two bars of Galaxy as a result of a late night garage run. Standing here now on the brink of professional suicide it seemed like the definition of insanity.

”I've realised that no-one gives the type of advice that would really be useful,” she'd said to her bored-looking editor at the beginning of her presentation. ”No-one really tells women how to deal with the men who screw up their lives.”

”Suzie,” Gareth had said holding up his hand signalling her to stop. ”When I said sort out the column what I meant was give me something to read that doesn't make my skin crawl, and something that attracts more advertising. What I don't want is some feminist bulls.h.i.+t.”

”It's not bulls.h.i.+t,” she replied trying hard to control her anger at his harsh words. ”What I was writing before was bulls.h.i.+t. Pathetic, run-of-the-mill, send-for-a-leaflet, go-and-waste-your-money-on-counselling bulls.h.i.+t that every other agony aunt churns out. What good does that do? Have you ever heard of anyone who has saved their relations.h.i.+p by filling in awkward silences in a room with a middle-aged woman who asks about their irrelevant childhood?”

Gareth took a slug from his cardboard coffee mug without taking his eyes off her.

”Continue,” he said putting the coffee back down.

She glanced at Drew for some encouragement but his eyebrows were so far up his forehead they had practically disappeared under is side parting. She'd wanted to run it all past him that morning, but he'd been late in and had come straight to the meeting.

At that point Alex, the third man in the room, was fully absorbed in his Blackberry and barely listening to anything she was saying. She felt a shot of pure anger which gave her the boost she needed. She was still bristling from where he had touched her earlier after he strode into the room, running late.

”Good morning people,” he'd declared as if he didn't have a care in the world. ”Sorry I'm late Gareth, but it's been bedlam. I've been on the phone all morning trying to pull in a mega-advertiser.”

”Don't tell me,” Gareth said through gritted teeth, ”until it's in writing. I'm sick of your half-baked promises. Now sit down and wait your turn.”

She felt Alex walk behind her, clearly unaffected by Gareth's jibe. She hadn't dared look at him, not entirely sure if her emotions were fully in check yet. But before he came into her eye-line she felt his hand on her right shoulder. She leapt up in her chair with surprise before he gave her a sympathetic squeeze and then sat down right next to her.

How dare he touch her? Sympathy and touching was for yesterday when he broke up with her. She looked at him in shock. He stared back and mouthed a silent ”Are you okay?” before reaching out and giving her hand a squeeze and painting a fake concerned look on his face.

He didn't have that look on his face now. He was all white and wide-eyed and slack-jawed. She'd had to cough to get his attention before she read out the letter displayed on screen, explaining that it was a mock letter used to ill.u.s.trate her new style of column. Seeing his stunned face hardened her resolve. He deserved this. She deserved this. At some point in the dead of night she'd come to the conclusion she had nothing to lose. Her love life was a disaster and as for her career, well, writing an agony column wasn't exactly fulfilling her dreams of being the next Kate Adie. So screw it. If it all went belly up she'd go and do an Eat, Pray, Love. Although knowing her luck it would turn out to be more Eat, Pray you don't get fat, Love being obese and a spinster.

There was no going back now. She just had to take a deep breath and go through with it and hope that she came out the other side intact.

”And now I will show you how Dear Suzie will be responding in the future,” she said leaning over to click onto the next screen without taking her eyes off Alex. She read out the reply letter slowly, allowing every word to sink in.

Dear Hopeless Romantic, You are an idiot.

He doesn't give a toss about you.

Please read the above sentence repeatedly until you believe it, because it is true.

My mailbag is full of women like you. Women writing to me seeking hope. Hope that there is something they can do to turn their nightmare into a fairytale so they can live happily ever after. Well listen to this.

Forget Hope.

Hope is not your friend.

Hope is the devil who will lead you to pointless desperate measures.

So move on. BUT not before you show this man that he cannot tread all over your soaring heart. Not before you teach him there are consequences to his actions. Not before you make him suffer in the same way as he has made you suffer. And if you can't do it for yourself then do it for every other woman out there, to teach him that he has to treat the next one better.

So, Hopeless Romantic, your cowardly colleague has to learn not one, not two but three valuable lessons.

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