Marry Me Tomorrow: The perfect, feel-good read to curl up with in 2017!

‘Well yes, actually.’ He turned to look at me, walking backwards for a few steps.

‘And that all this goes against your beliefs?’ I switched the sarcasm up a notch.

‘Yeah.’ He bent his head towards me a little and nodded.

‘So what are your beliefs, Sam? What are your plans? Do you intend to live your life on the streets for ever? How are you going to get back on your feet if you won’t accept help?’

‘I’ll be back living on the streets after Christmas, won’t I?’

‘I wouldn’t bank on it,’ I muttered, pushing the shop door open and going inside. ‘I’ll probably have killed you by then if you carry on like this.’

‘Charming!’

‘Right, what size shoe do you take?’

‘Eleven.’

‘Do you like them?’ I said, taking a pair of trainers from the shelf.

‘Yeah. No. Fuck! Have you seen the price?’

‘Shh. Which ones then?’

‘I don’t know. They’re all too expensive.’ He scanned the shelves.

‘Look, I like these. We’ll get these. They’re not that dear considering the price of some of them. And they’re reduced, see?’ I showed him the label inside and turned to the shop assistant who was hovering nearby. ‘Can we have these in a size eleven, please.’ I turned back to Sam. ‘Do you want to try them on first?’

He shook his head and I shrugged. ‘Okay.’

We paid and then went to get some clippers to cut his hair. ‘I meant, borrow some, not buy some,’ Sam muttered, looking sulky.

‘Where am I going to borrow clippers from on a Sunday? We’ve got to pick Mum and Len up in a few hours’ time.’ I glanced at my watch.

‘Okay, okay!’

He was quiet all the way home and I began to feel bad, thinking I must have offended him. It must be difficult to watch someone flashing their credit card around when you couldn’t afford a place to sleep at night. I glanced across at him, but he kept his face averted, staring out of the window at the fields passing by.

I tried to throw his old coat away when I got home, but Sam said someone else could benefit from it so I washed it instead. I washed most of his old clothes, in fact. Even though he could get them washed at one of the shelters in town, they’d been stuffed into his bag and smelled damp.

Sam was in the lounge, unboxing the clippers. Placing a cup of tea down in front of him, I said, ‘Do you want me to cut your hair?’

‘No, I’ll do it. I’ve done it before.’

‘Are you sure? Only, don’t do it too short, will you? I don’t want you looking like some sort of neo-Nazi skinhead.’

Sam sighed and squinted up at me. ‘All right, you do it then, seeing as you’re so fussy.’

‘Okay. Go into the bathroom.’ I took the clippers in my hand, suddenly nervous, and went to get a chair from the dining table. ‘Here, sit on that,’ I said, placing it in the middle of the bathroom, in front of the mirror.

‘Have you done this before?’ Sam said.

‘No. But how difficult can it be?’

‘Oh shit.’ Sam passed a hand over his face and sighed. ‘Put it on a high number first. I don’t want any bald patches.’ He pulled his tee shirt off over his head and sat back down, bare-chested. I was suddenly hyper aware of our close proximity in the small bathroom, my stomach on a level with his bare shoulder blade, my breasts next to his head. I attached the number seven comb to the clippers and switched them on. They whirred into action and I placed a hand on the side of Sam’s head. His hair felt soft and slithery between my fingers and I was momentarily regretful that I was about to cut it off. I quite liked his floppy brown hair.

‘Should I start at the back?’

‘Yes.’ He tensed as I put the clippers to the nape of his neck. ‘Don’t cut me or anything!’

‘I won’t.’

Strands of brown hair fell to the floor as I ran the clippers up the back of Sam’s head. Instead of leaving a bald stretch of bright white skin like I’d feared, it left only neatly clipped hair behind. I breathed out a sigh of relief as I moved the clippers around his head, aware of his dark eyes watching me in the mirror. It was quite therapeutic, watching the hair fall to the floor, and it was strange to be touching his head, holding his ear, my body pressing against his shoulder as I reached for the comb. I was unprepared for how intimate it felt. ‘There. How’s that then?’ I said when I’d finished, meeting his eyes in the bathroom mirror.

‘Yeah, looks all right.’ He leaned forward and pulled at his fringe – or rather, lack of one. ‘Could do with a bit more at the front but I suppose it will grow.’

‘What do you mean? A bit kept longer?’

‘Yeah, but no worries.’

‘Sorry, you should have said.’ I brushed the hair of his shoulders, feeling his smooth soft skin beneath my fingertips. The bathroom floor was carpeted with his hair.

‘It’s not a problem. I’ve had it shorter in the past. Besides, it’s not like you’re a hairdresser, is it?’

‘I suppose not.’ I smiled at him in the mirror. ‘I think it looks good anyway. You look miles younger.’

He snorted.

‘Anyway, I’ll get the vacuum to hoover this hair up and then you can have a shower.’

‘Okay.’ He scratched his shoulder and then rubbed the ‘Jessica’ tattoo before standing up and brushing the hair off his jeans.

‘I should have put a towel over you really,’ I said, coming back with the hoover and plugging it in.

‘It doesn’t matter.’

I smiled at him and started hoovering around his feet while he did his best to brush loose hair from his clothing.

‘Right, I think that’s it.’ I stepped out of the bathroom and pulled the door closed. ‘We’ll be leaving in about an hour, okay?’

Sam nodded, his eyes lingering on mine, and shut the door.

CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_c108e40b-fab0-550c-b8dd-361aae2434d8)

The journey to Manchester was awkward and silent. Determined to prove myself a good driver, I concentrated completely on the road ahead while Sam clutched the seat with white-knuckled hands. What was his problem? His tension made me jittery, and the closer we got to Manchester, the more nervous I became. Would Sam behave himself? Would Mum like him? Would Len? I hardly knew my new stepfather. I couldn’t decide if he would like Sam or not. One thing was certain, however – I could do without Sam muttering about my taste in music as he tried to Bluetooth it from my phone to the car stereo. By the time I’d parked the car and found the arrivals lounge, I was so tense I wanted to kick something. Preferably Sam.

My knee jumped rhythmically as I sat, gazing up at the arrivals board, too agitated to read what it actually said. In contrast, now that he was out of the car, Sam looked relaxed and unconcerned. He sat well back, legs extended in front of him, hands deep in the pockets of his new coat, seemingly oblivious to my mood.

‘You all right?’ he said, his voice unconcerned.