Read Online The Armchair Bride by Mo Fanning - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Mo Fanning
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stuffing,’ I say to Sharon. ‘I’ll pay you back.’
It gives me the perfect excuse to escape back into the ticket room and close the door. I read Nina’s email and as I close it, another message pops up.
From: Brian Hawkins
To: Lisa Doyle
Subject: Lunch Lisa
About the other night, I don’t even know where to start with the apologies. Please let me buy you lunch so we can talk.
Brian
I ought to answer it, but doing so would drag me into something I’d do well to avoid. Sharon taps on the door.
‘He was out of chicken. How about we go out for lunch, it’s been ages since we did anything together. You can tell me all about Audrey’s cooking.’
‘You know I’d love to,’ I say. ‘But I’ve got to pick up a pair of boots I’ve had repaired.’
‘I’ll walk up with you. Get a wiggle on. I’m starving.’
I glance back at the screen. I don’t owe Brian any favours, but something tells me I should give him the chance to tell his side of the story.
‘I’m not sure the shoes will be ready yet,’ I lie.
Sharon gives me a strange look. ‘Are you trying to tell me something?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’re meant to be one of my best friends, but every time I suggest we do anything together, you come up with an excuse. You ditched me on Saturday. Now you don’t even want lunch?’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I really do have to get this finished. I honestly don’t mean to keep letting you down. How about we do something one night this week?’
‘I don’t know.’ She tries to look annoyed, but we’ve known each other too long for either of us to get away with play acting.
‘I’ll pay for pizza,’ I say and she smiles.
‘OK, it’s a deal. I’ll see you later.’
When she’s gone, I hide myself away in a stock room and pull out my mobile to call Brian’s number.
‘I got your email,’ I say.
‘I don’t suppose you could meet me in the Laurel Tree in thirty minutes?’ he says.
‘It’s the other side of town, how am I supposed to get there?’
‘Get a taxi, claim it back. I’ll sign it off.’
The Laurel Tree has a reputation for being hideously expensive and the chance of a free lunch is too much to pass up. After Saturday, he does kind of owe me.
‘Fine,’ I say. ‘I’ll see you there.’
I give Sharon ten minutes head start and call a cab. Secretly, I’m excited by the thought of a clandestine meeting for a slap up lunch with a married man engaged in an affair with his secretary. A good-looking married man at that. Then I cop on to myself and remember my part in all of this is that of innocent bystander wrongly accused of sleeping with the aforementioned good-looking married man.
At the Laurel Tree a waif-like girl greets me with little more than a sneer. Her mid-Atlantic drawl sounds somewhat odd amongst the flat Manchester vowels that drift from tables of businessmen enjoying expense account blow-outs.
I spot Brian and wave and she looks me up and down, her eyes spending a little too long on my shoes - clearly she’s unconvinced a frump like me can be invited to lunch in a place like the Laurel Tree. A wave of her skinny hand ends our interaction as she turns her attention to the next person in line.
Despite telling myself it’s no big deal, it feels like I’ve been let into an exclusive club. A bit like the time Andy and I bluffed our way into the Take That after show party and spent the evening being uncool, nudging each other every time we spotted someone famous.
Brian stands to shake my hand. It feels a bit formal. I consider curtsying.
‘Thanks for coming,’ he says.
‘Thanks for inviting me. I’ve always wanted to come here.’
‘Well I thought, after the other night…’
‘Oh forget about it.’
‘I feel so mortified about what Audrey said. To go accusing you like that ...’
‘Your private life is your private life. I’m not going to go running around telling everybody what happened.’ He looks relieved. ‘And
It gives me the perfect excuse to escape back into the ticket room and close the door. I read Nina’s email and as I close it, another message pops up.
From: Brian Hawkins
To: Lisa Doyle
Subject: Lunch Lisa
About the other night, I don’t even know where to start with the apologies. Please let me buy you lunch so we can talk.
Brian
I ought to answer it, but doing so would drag me into something I’d do well to avoid. Sharon taps on the door.
‘He was out of chicken. How about we go out for lunch, it’s been ages since we did anything together. You can tell me all about Audrey’s cooking.’
‘You know I’d love to,’ I say. ‘But I’ve got to pick up a pair of boots I’ve had repaired.’
‘I’ll walk up with you. Get a wiggle on. I’m starving.’
I glance back at the screen. I don’t owe Brian any favours, but something tells me I should give him the chance to tell his side of the story.
‘I’m not sure the shoes will be ready yet,’ I lie.
Sharon gives me a strange look. ‘Are you trying to tell me something?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’re meant to be one of my best friends, but every time I suggest we do anything together, you come up with an excuse. You ditched me on Saturday. Now you don’t even want lunch?’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I really do have to get this finished. I honestly don’t mean to keep letting you down. How about we do something one night this week?’
‘I don’t know.’ She tries to look annoyed, but we’ve known each other too long for either of us to get away with play acting.
‘I’ll pay for pizza,’ I say and she smiles.
‘OK, it’s a deal. I’ll see you later.’
When she’s gone, I hide myself away in a stock room and pull out my mobile to call Brian’s number.
‘I got your email,’ I say.
‘I don’t suppose you could meet me in the Laurel Tree in thirty minutes?’ he says.
‘It’s the other side of town, how am I supposed to get there?’
‘Get a taxi, claim it back. I’ll sign it off.’
The Laurel Tree has a reputation for being hideously expensive and the chance of a free lunch is too much to pass up. After Saturday, he does kind of owe me.
‘Fine,’ I say. ‘I’ll see you there.’
I give Sharon ten minutes head start and call a cab. Secretly, I’m excited by the thought of a clandestine meeting for a slap up lunch with a married man engaged in an affair with his secretary. A good-looking married man at that. Then I cop on to myself and remember my part in all of this is that of innocent bystander wrongly accused of sleeping with the aforementioned good-looking married man.
At the Laurel Tree a waif-like girl greets me with little more than a sneer. Her mid-Atlantic drawl sounds somewhat odd amongst the flat Manchester vowels that drift from tables of businessmen enjoying expense account blow-outs.
I spot Brian and wave and she looks me up and down, her eyes spending a little too long on my shoes - clearly she’s unconvinced a frump like me can be invited to lunch in a place like the Laurel Tree. A wave of her skinny hand ends our interaction as she turns her attention to the next person in line.
Despite telling myself it’s no big deal, it feels like I’ve been let into an exclusive club. A bit like the time Andy and I bluffed our way into the Take That after show party and spent the evening being uncool, nudging each other every time we spotted someone famous.
Brian stands to shake my hand. It feels a bit formal. I consider curtsying.
‘Thanks for coming,’ he says.
‘Thanks for inviting me. I’ve always wanted to come here.’
‘Well I thought, after the other night…’
‘Oh forget about it.’
‘I feel so mortified about what Audrey said. To go accusing you like that ...’
‘Your private life is your private life. I’m not going to go running around telling everybody what happened.’ He looks relieved. ‘And
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