Cowboys & Englishmen

Chapter 2.

There's an old saying, that it doesn't rain, it pours. Whoever made up that saying, hundreds of years ago, was no doubt one of my ancestors.

I woke up the next morning wearing the neon-hideous, yellow garment my sister was apparently punishing me with. Worse still, I'd been shot. Or I thought I'd been shot for a moment, because I was covered in red, sticky, syrupy liquid. So much red that my carpet looked like the scene of a vicious crime. And that's when I realised I'd fallen asleep cradling a bottle of red wine. And I don't even like red wine. It just so happened that Scott had left behind a few bottles of vintage Shiraz, which to me tastes like vinegar, and I'd deemed it a good idea or get drunk. Trying to spite him by guzzling down a hundred pound bottle, grinning to myself like I'd just amassed some victory.

Whilst wearing the stupidly expensive silk and chiffon gown.

And it was ruined.

To add insult to injury, my laptop was open. It seems in my infinite drunken wisdom, that I'd messaged Scott on Facebook. A message marked with 'Seen at 01:52am'. This was not good. This was as far from good as you could get. Why didn't Mark Zuckerberg have some nerd intervene, when a weird bunny boiler-esque message entered the system. Some kind of cyber intervention for drunken singletons?!

-You name stealing liar hope you rot you name stealing liar. You stole my name. Ps your wife is ugly.

I hurled the screen away from me, like that would somehow retract the message, my hand clamped over my mouth. This was not happening, surely, I hadn't just messaged my ex boyfriend in a drunken stupor. And then I remembered the dress, the garment I was supposed to wear in two days time for the wedding rehearsal. And while I'm on the subject who needs a rehearsal for a wedding, it's not a freaking broadway performance, just my sister and her drip of a husband gushing about how much they love one another and being charged tens of thousands of pounds for the liberty.

Huge patches of the dress were stained pink. The ghastly gown was now even more repellent. Before this moment I would have deemed that impossible. When I caught the time on the owl shaped clock Donna bought me last Christmas, I nearly had a coronary. I was half an hour late to work. And I smelled like a brewery. Chucking my phone into my tattered rip off Gucci messenger, I didn't bother stopping for breakfast. This meant only one thing. I'd be raiding the corner shop at ten am, wolfing down snickers bars like a rabid dog. It was a compulsion. And the reason why I have the best intentions to join a gym, but just don't have the willpower to lay off those mid morning pick me ups.

I was on probation as it was at work, doing the most mind numbing job, putting away returned library books and printing stickers for the spines of said books. Occasionally I sat at the desk, scanning books. Such a treat. But Paula, my stern, humorless boss would not look so kindly at my hungover, wine drenched self, and that's why I needed to get a wriggle on. I ripped off the dress so fast that I heard a 'ping' noise, but it wasn't like I had time to worry about that now. As it was the dress was destined for landfill, unless I could work some magic with the washing machine when I got home. As unlikely as that was, it was a gamble I'd just have to take.

On the way to work, of course every set of lights I stopped at were red. Sod's law. I plugged in my phone to the hands free kit, drumming my nails against the wheel and wishing they weren't so bitten down. That's when Gerard Butler pulled up alongside me. Of course I don't meant the actual Gerard Butler, I doubt he's ever set foot inside Essex, let alone Southend On Sea. He wore a suit, or the suit wore him, the way it hugged broad shoulders and....

He was smiling at me.

I couldn't remember if I'd brushed my teeth yet, but all the same, I shot him my winning, red carpet smile. Then I caught the twitch at the corner of his sultry, full lips. He was amused, and trying not to laugh. Did I have something in my teeth? Could he see from that far away? Was I playing my Backstreet Boys album too loud? I lowered the volume just as he looked back at me and this time there was no doubt as to where he was looking.