‘Tony! Don’t say nipper, it’s so common,’ scolded Meryl.
Rosencrantz is just giving him a bath,’ I said. ‘They’ll be down in a minute.’
‘How is ’e?’ said Ethel. ‘Not started boozing again?’
‘Is Little Adam boozing already?’ grinned Tony.
‘Tony, don’t be so silly,’ hissed Meryl. ‘She means Rosencrantz.’
‘He’s great thank you,’ I said.
‘Glad to ’ear it love,’ smiled Ethel.
‘Now Coco I’ve brought some hand me downs of Wilfred’s for Little Adam…’ said Meryl putting a pile of beautiful little clothes on the kitchen table.
‘Ooh lovely,’ I said. ‘He’s outgrown so much already.’
‘Where’s Wilfred?’ said Adam.
‘Tony’s sister Diana is babysitting, which I’m not happy about…’ said Meryl.
‘What’s wrong with Diana?’ asked Tony.
‘What’s wrong with Diana?’ said Meryl. ‘Well for starters her husband has a Third Reich tea set!’
‘It’s not as if they drink out of it! It’s locked away in storage… You know they’re very valuable,’ he explained.
Angie was staring at Meryl and Tony.
‘You should turn those two into a book,’ she whispered. ‘I guarantee it would be a best seller.’
Rosencrantz came in carrying Little Adam who was looking all cute and sleepy in his green babygro, and Rocco trotted behind. Everyone went mad cooing and tickling. Little Adam looked a little bewildered.
‘It’s like he’s the newest member of One Direction,’ grinned Rosencrantz.
‘’As Little Adam still got the little duck I gave ’im?’ said Ethel.
‘Yes Nan, Dickie the Duck is his number one confidant,’ said Rosencrantz.
‘You look lovely too, I like yer ’air long,’ said Ethel ruffling Rosencrantz’s thick mane.
Daniel then arrived with Jennifer – cue more cooing, she is five months pregnant – and I told everyone the news of my book deal. Adam opened his latest batch of beer for us to try, which is outstanding. He is hoping that we can launch our first ale next year – which he wants to call The Steeplejack.
‘Note everyone, I’m having Schloer,’ grinned Rosencrantz.
Marika finally arrived with Milan as the guys, Angie and Ethel were lighting the bonfire. Meryl had the sausages sizzling on the grill, and jacket potatoes crisping in the oven. Jennifer was buttering rolls.
‘Before I say hello to anyone I have to pee!’ announced Marika. She is quite enormous now being seven-and-a-half-months’ pregnant.
‘It’s just outside the kitchen door hun,’ I said. She groaned and waddled off out the door. Milan put down a huge pregnancy pillow, and a big Tesco bag full of snacks.
‘Sorry we’re late. We had to stop in six lay-bys for Marika to pee,’ said Milan. ‘We were questioned by the police in the sixth because they thought we were dogging.’
The toilet flushed and Marika came waddling back in.
‘Did you tell them about the police?’ she snapped. ‘Bastards. I said, you try having twins dancing around on your bladder all day!’
‘They made her get out of the car to prove she was pregnant,’ said Milan.
‘Of course I look pregnant!’
‘You do and you’re blooming,’ said Milan putting his arms round her.
‘Don’t hug me, I’ll need to go again,’ she said kissing him, and eased herself onto the bench.
After we’d eaten, everyone went back outside for the fireworks. Marika, Chris and Ethel stayed with Little Adam and me at the kitchen table. Through the long window we could see everyone bathed in the glow of the huge bonfire. The first firework shot up and exploded above their heads, and for a brief second illuminated their happy upturned faces.
‘I want to be you Coco,’ said Marika. ‘I want these babies out, now!’
We all stared at Little Adam sleeping peacefully.
‘In six weeks time you’ll wish you could pop them back in for an hour and get some peace,’ I said.
‘Gawd, I’ve give anything to be a baby again,’ said Ethel.
‘Why would you want to be a baby?’ I asked.
‘I’d do things properly the second time round. I’d see the world, I’d be a right slag…’
We all laughed.
‘I mean it! You can get away with bein’ a slag these days ’an I was a right looker. I turned down some cracking lads… I did!’ she insisted.
‘How is Rosencrantz doing?’ asked Chris.
‘He did his ninth step and is friends with Wayne and Oscar again,’ I said. ‘He’s so happy and relaxed here. He wants to help Adam with the microbrewery, and there is a very handsome lad in the village who is very interested in him.’
‘The guy who empties the septic tanks?’ asked Chris.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘He’s assured Rosencrantz he washes his hands thoroughly.’
‘I wish I could be young again too,’ said Chris wistfully.
‘Yer loaded love, you can buy yourself ten ’andsome lads!’ said Ethel. Little Adam woke and began to scream.
‘Oh God. How the bloody hell am I going to juggle two babies?’ asked Marika.
‘You’re meant to hold them. Not juggle with them!’ grinned Chris.
‘And we’ll be here for you, always,’ I said.
A Catherine Wheel began to spin and fizz, lighting up the kitchen. Milan, Daniel, Rosencrantz and Adam all came to the window. They pulled faces through the glass. I grinned back and held Little Adam up to see them. His big brown eyes settled on his gorgeous dad, bathed in the glow of the fire and he stopped crying. I went close to the window. Adam winked at us and mouthed, I love you. I smiled back, and was suddenly so excited about the future.
A note from Rob
First of all, I want to say a huge thank you for choosing to read Coco Pinchard, The Consequences of Love and Sex. If you did enjoy it, I would be very grateful if you could write a review. I’d love to hear what you think, and reviews really help new readers to discover one of my books for the first time.
If you want to drop me a line, you can get in touch on my Facebook Page, through Twitter, Goodreads or my website www.robertbryndza.com. I love to hear from readers, and it blows me away every time I hear how much you’ve taken my books into your hearts. There are lots more to come (including, yes, more adventures from Coco Pinchard) so I hope you stay with me for the ride!
Rob Bryndza x
Also by Robert Bryndza
The Coco Pinchard series
The Not So Secret Emails Of Coco Pinchard
Coco Pinchard's Big Fat Tipsy Wedding.
Coco Pinchard, The Consequences of Love and Sex
A Very Coco Christmas: A Coco Pinchard Christmas Novella
Stand alone novels
Miss Wrong and Mr Right
Lost In Crazytown
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Here is a sneak peek of Robert Bryndza’s delightful new romantic comedy, Miss Wrong and Mr Right…
Miss Wrong and Mr Right
By Robert Bryndza
Prologue - The Players
My wedding dress burned easily.
I stood in the field behind the farmhouse on that summer afternoon, the afternoon of my wedding day, with my Mum, my Gran, and my best friend Sharon. It was almost two o’clock.
My wedding invitations stated that at two the reception would begin. I should have been sitting at the top table with my gorgeous new husband Jamie, listening to my Dad make the speech he’d stressed over for the past few weeks. Instead, I was peering into an old oil drum, and watching with morbid curiosity as the satin and lace of my dress puckered and curled, appearing for a moment like caramel, before crinkling, singeing, and then igniting with a whoomph.
The flames shot up high, and our view of the hills beyond r
ippled and distorted in the heat.
‘Natalie…What are you doing? This is madness!’ cried my Mum.
‘I didn’t even get a photo of you in it,’ said Sharon sadly, her camera hanging off her wrist. She was still wearing her peach-coloured bridesmaid dress.
‘It vas just a dress Natalie, and it made you look like a cream cake,’ said Gran lighting a cigarette. She snapped her gold lighter shut and stuffed it back in her fur coat. My Gran, Anouska, is Hungarian. She came to England as a young girl but has stubbornly held on to her accent.
‘I don’t know how you can say that. She looked beautiful!’ said Mum.
‘She did look beautiful, like a beautiful cream cake, offered up to be gobbled down,’ said Gran. ‘Is that how she vanted to begin her life as a married vooman, as a sugary insignificant object?’
‘Do you know how long it took old Mrs Garret to sew all that lace?’ asked Mum. ‘It cost a fortune! If I’d got here five minutes earlier, I’d never have let you do this.’
The breeze changed direction, blowing a toxic plume of smoke at us. We coughed and flapped for a moment.
‘Natalie didn’t vant to get married!’ snapped Gran. ‘And I paid for the dress…’
‘It doesn’t mean you can burn it. I would have liked to have kept it,’ said Mum.
‘Yes, only to remind the poor girl you think she should hev gone through vith it,’ said Gran. There was a fizzing popping noise as the flames worked their way down to the fake pearls on the bodice. I didn’t say anything; I was still numb with shock. Mum went on.
‘What were you thinking, Natalie? You walked down the aisle on your father’s arm, in front of half the village, and two minutes later you run back up it and out of the church.’
‘I thought you had a tummy upset, Nat,’ said Sharon.
‘How will I show my face in the village? And poor Jamie! That handsome lovely boy,’ cried Mum.
‘Annie, put things in perspective,’ said Gran, flicking the butt of her cigarette into the oil drum. ‘Didn’t I say Natalie vas too young to get married? She’s nineteen. She needs to get out into the vorld…’ She squinted at me against the sun. ‘You’ve got your whole life ahead of you my darlink. You need to try out some different men for size.’
‘She’s not trying any men out for size,’ hissed Mum. ‘She needs to…’
‘What about what I want to do?’ I shouted suddenly. ‘You’re all talking about me as if I’m not here! Can’t you ever be a normal family, and try to understand how I feel? All you’ve done is shout and persuade me to set fire to my dress!’
‘If you didn’t vant me to burn the dress, you should hev opened your mouth, Natalie,’ said Gran.
‘Like the poor girl had a choice. Once you’ve got a bee in your bonnet there’s no stopping you!’ countered Mum. There was an awkward silence. Sharon leant over and grabbed my hand.
My Dad approached us, picking his way across the muddy field. He still had on his morning suit and smart shoes. When he reached us, he peered into the oil drum in disbelief. My dress was now a blackened lump.
‘Bloody hell, is that…?’ he began, but Mum cut him off.
‘Martin, I thought you were going to get changed?’ She slapped at his lapels, brushing imaginary dirt off his suit.
‘I’ve been trying to sort out what to do with my parents,’ he said, fending her off. ‘I dropped them at the Travelodge, they want to know if we’re still having the sit down meal at the pub?’
‘Of course we’re not still having the sit down meal at the pub!’
‘I’m trying to get my head around this, Natalie, did Jamie do something?’ asked Dad. They all turned to look at me. I opened my mouth. Nothing came out for a few seconds.
‘I just, don’t feel ready…’
It sounded whiny and pathetic.
‘When would you feel ready?’ shrilled Mum. ‘Tomorrow? Next week? It would have been nice to know when we were booking the bloody wedding!’
‘I’ll pay you back, all the money,’ I said.
‘With what?’ asked Mum. ‘Money from the DSS? You’ve got no job. You failed all your exams because you were so in love with Jamie. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?’
‘Of course I know what I’ve done!’ I shouted. ‘You think I did it just to spite you?’
‘I wouldn’t put anything past you right now!’ roared Mum. ‘I can’t look at you.’
‘You need to calm down, Annie,’ said Dad putting a hand on my mother’s shoulder.
‘Don’t you dare tell me to calm down,’ said Mum shaking him off.
‘She vas always highly strung as a child,’ said Gran watching my mother impassively. ‘Some mornings I’d sprinkle a little of my Valium in her Ready Brek, just for some peace and quiet…’
Mum pulled away from Dad and marched off back towards the farmhouse.
‘I’m sorry I never got to hear your speech, Dad,’ I said.
He took one look at the charred dress, shook his head, and followed. Tears began to stream silently down my face. Gran pulled a lace hanky from her handbag and handed it to me.
‘Do you vant a moment, Natalie?’ she asked. I took the hanky, pressed it to my face and nodded.
‘Sharon, let’s go back,’ she said.
Sharon smiled and squeezed my hand. They followed after Mum and Dad, who were halfway across the field to the farmhouse in the distance. I grabbed a stick and poked at the now blackened lump in the oil drum. The tip of the stick caught, and as I pulled it away a string of melted material came too.
After running out of St Bathsheba’s church, I had found myself on a deserted country lane. The local bus had stopped, probably because they didn’t often see a bride in her wedding dress and veil, waving madly from the pavement. I didn’t have any money, so had to exchange my bouquet for a ticket (the driver was off to see a sick aunt when his shift ended, and needed some flowers to take to the hospital). As brides, we’re told it’s so important to have something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue… but what about a bit of cash – if we don’t go through with it?
When I walked into the kitchen, Mum was making a very angry cup of tea, furiously spooning leaves into the pot. Dad had changed out of his suit and was at the table with Sharon and Gran. They were sitting in silence, looking up at the three elaborate tiers of my wedding cake, which had been placed in the middle.
‘The lady from the pub just brought it over,’ said Sharon apologetically. I stared for a moment at the flawless royal icing, topped with a crown of delicate yellow sugar roses. Mum came up to me and held out a long knife.
‘You want me to cut it? Now?’ I asked.
‘Yes, it’ll have to be frozen. We won’t get through it all,’ said Mum.
‘Annie, she doesn’t have to do it right now,’ said Dad.
‘Well, when, Martin? She was happy to let her Gran chuck her wedding dress on the bonfire! When is an appropriate time to…?’ Mum was cut off by a knock at the back door. Through the frosted glass was a peach-coloured blur.
‘Micky! We forgot about Micky!’ cried Mum, running to the door and opening it. My fourteen-year-old sister Micky was standing outside in her bridesmaid dress. She had a pair of white shoes in her hand, having taken them off to wade through the mud up the driveway.
‘Micky, where did you go?’ asked Mum. She put down some newspaper by the door and Micky hopped onto it.
‘And she tells me I vas a bad mother,’ muttered Gran lighting another cigarette.
‘I had a wander through the graveyards, and then got a lift with the man who digs the graves. He had spades in his boot!’ said Micky excitedly.
‘You see Annie, Micky is just fourteen, and already she’s seeking out interesting men,’ said Gran.
‘Oh will you shut up!’ said Mum. She went to the sink, filled a bowl with warm water and set it down by the door. We watched Micky as she washed her feet.
‘What’s going on Nat?’ asked Micky looking up at me. ‘I thought
you and Jamie were in love?’
There was a silence. I jumped as the phone rang. Dad went and answered then came back.
‘It’s for you, Natalie. It’s Jamie.’
I shook my head.
‘He’s at the end of the drive, on his mobile phone. He says he won’t leave until you talk to him,’ explained Dad.
‘That poor lad, you at least owe him the decency of an explanation,’ said Mum.
‘Okay… Tell him I’ll come outside,’ I said.
I pulled on some plastic wellies. Mum made a fuss about my hair. I batted her hand away and stepped outside.
Jamie was standing behind the gate at the end of the drive, tall, lean and heart-stoppingly handsome in his wedding suit. He was still wearing his rose buttonhole with a spray of gypsophila, and the sun glinted off his chestnut hair. I walked towards him, my wellies sloshing through the mud…
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Robert Bryndza, Coco Pinchard, the Consequences of Love and Sex
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