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

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Endpages (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_089589d2-470f-54a1-8da2-4ab8714debe4)

‘Will you marry me?’

The question hung between us, as tangible as the snowflakes floating around our heads. We were standing on the Eastgate, beneath the clock, and the picture postcard streets of Chester were filled with Christmas shoppers. Somewhere in the distance, The Salvation Army brass band struck up ‘Oh Come All Ye Faithful’, and the fairy lights strung between the black-and-white timber buildings glowed gold in the early evening darkness.

‘I’m sorry. What did you say?’ Sam was looking at me as though I’d gone completely, stark raving mad.

Taking a deep breath, I twisted my gloved fingers together. This was much harder than I thought it would be. ‘Well, what I mean is, will you pretend to be married to me? Just until after Christmas.’

He straightened up from the railing he’d been leaning on and looked away into the distance as though that’s where he wished he could be. I studied him for a moment. He looked so tired and pale and thin. Purple rings circled his brown eyes and stubble darkened his jaw. I didn’t know how old he was, but I thought he was probably in his late thirties. I wondered where he’d slept last night and when he’d last had something warm to eat. His dirty coat looked too thin to protect him from the winter weather and there were holes in his jeans.

‘It would be like a job, see?’ I said.

His eyes returned to mine, narrowed and suspicious. ‘Why?’

‘I lied to my mother about being married, and now she’s coming to visit and I need you to help me.’

He stared at me, his face creased with disbelief. ‘That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,’ he said. ‘You’re a grown woman. Why are you lying to your mother about being married?’

Shaking my head, I rubbed my face hard as though I could rub it all away. ‘It’s a long story,’ I said. ‘But basically my mum lives in New York, and she’s been driving me mad with questions about getting a boyfriend and settling down and not being “left-on-the-shelf”. So one day, after she’d got back from being on a cruise for like eight weeks or something, I told her I’d met someone, had a whirlwind affair and got married. I said it as a joke, you know, just being sarcastic, but she completely bought it and went absolutely mad with joy. So I thought, if it makes her so happy I’ll go with it.’

Sam was still staring at me as though I was crazy. His eyes were slightly narrowed and he was shaking his head. I was starting to regret asking him now.

‘That’s really sad. You know that’s sad right?’

‘Yes. Yes I do. But I hadn’t seen her in so long I thought I’d just… I don’t know. I suppose I thought I’d get a convenient divorce if she ever made noises about coming to visit. But then she phoned up last night and she’s coming tomorrow so now I’m stuck.’

‘Ha! Busted.’ Sam grinned, showing surprisingly clean white teeth. ‘So hasn’t she been asking questions about him? Didn’t she ask to see wedding photos? Wasn’t she pissed you didn’t invite her?’

Shaking my head, I said (a little too seriously), ‘We got married as a spur of the moment thing. No guests, no photos, no fuss. He doesn’t like his photo taken, so I don’t have any.’

‘Oh dear.’ Sam scratched the stubble on his cheek and gave me a knowing look. ‘I think someone’s buying their own made-up story.’

‘I am not!’ I bristled.

‘That’s really fucking sad.’ He laughed. ‘Jesus! That’s sadder than me; you know that? Well, thanks for making me feel better about my own life.’ He turned away and started to walk off.

‘What? No. Wait. Where are you going?’

‘Somewhere else. Anywhere away from you and your nutcase fantasy life.’

‘That’s not very nice,’ I said, hurt. I couldn’t believe he was acting this way. Somewhere in my head, in between the panic brought on by my mother’s impending visit and the euphoria of thinking up a solution to my problem, I’d decided that Sam would jump at the prospect of pretending to be my husband, even if it was just on the basis that he would get to sleep in a warm bed. Maybe that was the problem? Maybe he thought he’d have to share the bed with me? ‘You wouldn’t have to sleep with me, you know,’ I bawled after him, ignoring a couple of tourists who turned to look at me.

Picking up the shopping bags by my feet, I followed Sam off the Eastgate and onto the city walls, marvelling at how fast he could walk for such a tired-looking man. ‘Hey! Wait.’ He was almost at Newgate by the time I caught up with him, the floodlit remains of the amphitheatre glowing in the darkness. ‘You’d have your own bed,’ I said. ‘You’d sleep in the spare room. My flat’s nice and warm and there’s food and drink and I’ll buy you some clothes and…’

He stopped abruptly and I cannoned into his back.

‘Listen, lady,’ he said, turning and hitching his backpack higher onto his shoulder.

‘Emily,’ I corrected.

‘Listen, Emily. I don’t know you. You don’t know me. Buying someone a cup of coffee every morning does not constitute a relationship.’

‘I know that!’ I said. ‘I’m not completely deranged. I’m only asking you to come and live in my flat over Christmas, while my mum’s visiting, and pretend to be my husband. I don’t think that’s too much to ask, is it?’

Even as I was saying it, I was questioning the validity of that statement. Perhaps it really was too much to ask.

‘Well, it depends how you look at things really, doesn’t it?’ Sam said. ‘You could be a complete nightmare. Your mum could be a complete nightmare. My life could turn into a complete nightmare.’

‘But surely your life already is a complete nightmare?’ I said. ‘Do you really want to live on the streets? I’m offering you the chance to spend Christmas in a warm, dry place.’

He glared at me. ‘You’re asking me to live a lie,’ he said. ‘Lies are how I ended up here in the first place.’

‘Well, maybe lies will get you out of here,’ I said. He turned to walk away and I caught his arm. ‘Wait. What if you come and stay tonight? See how you feel in the morning. Mum will be staying in a hotel anyway, so you won’t be under constant pressure to act like my husband. I don’t even know how long she’s staying yet. But if you could be there when she arrives, that would be really helpful.’

‘You’re really fucking pushy, aren’t you?’

‘I’m really fucking desperate, actually.’ I took a huge breath in and let it out in a sigh. ‘And if you’re not happy with how things are going, you can leave and I’ll say we had a huge row and you’ve left. At least then that clears the way for my divorce.’

He closed his eyes and shook his head. ‘Why don’t you just give him a job where he works away a lot? Say he’s a soldier and he’s been suddenly posted abroad. Or say he works on the oil rigs. Or,’ he added, ‘just say you woke up this morning and found a note to say he’s left you because he’s suddenly realised he’s gay. So he’s left and he’s never coming back.’

I looked away, watching the red tail lights of the cars snaking along Pepper Street. ‘I suppose I could do that.’ I was silent for a moment, biting my lip, aware that Sam was watching me. ‘The thing is, I don’t think Mum would believe I ever did get married if I say that.’

He bent towards me and said in a low voice, ‘You didn’t get married. And besides, she’s not going to believe you anyway. Even if I did come and stay, she’s going to wonder why you picked such a scruffy fucker, isn’t she? I mean, what do you do for a living? You’re always dressed smart when you go to work.’

‘Accountant,’ I said vaguely.

‘An accountant?’ His voice was incredulous. ‘You’re an accountant, and you’re begging a homeless bloke to come and live in your flat? Jeez. You really need to re-evaluate your life.’

‘Well, thanks for that,’ I snapped.

‘Well look at yourself. What the hell are you doing? Just get a grip and fuck off. I don’t need your patronising offers of warm beds and hot meals. Bugger off and ask someone who gives one.’

‘Well, I’m sorry I ever thought you were nice enough to consider asking for help. You’re not getting any more coffees from me, that’s for sure.’

‘You can stick your coffee. I don’t even like fucking coffee.’

‘Well, you could have told me that before, couldn’t you?’ I said, my voice rising to a shout. ‘I’d have got you tea if I’d have known that.’ Tears blurred my vision as I turned and stomped away. What a bastard! I’d been buying him a cup of coffee every morning on my way to work for almost four months now. Four months of buying someone something they didn’t want. What a bloody idiot.