Runaway Bride: A laugh out loud funny and feel good rom com

‘Well. Weddings are always traumatic, aren’t they?’

He blinked. ‘Seriously?’

‘Seriously.’ I gave a bleak laugh. ‘Today’s my wedding day. This is my wedding dress. And my fetching wedding wellies. It was on a farm, we had this whole quirky hayride-themed thing.’

‘Jesus, Kitty! That’s… God.’ He shook his head in shock. ‘So, what, you’re running away from home?’

‘That’s about the size of it, yeah.’

‘But you’ll have to go back eventually, won’t you? You can’t run forever.’

I glared darkly at a little Fiat bobbing along ahead of us. ‘I’m never going back. Trust me on that.’

‘What happened?’

‘Please don’t ask,’ I said, my voice strangled. ‘I mean, thank you. I am grateful for the lift and I know you’re just trying to be nice and everything, but I really can’t. Not now.’

‘But you’ve come away with nothing. Have you got a bank card on you? Anything?’

‘No. But I’ll be fine. Just get me to my aunty’s, please.’

‘Can I do anything to help?’

He meant it too. I could hear it in his voice, see it in the concern etched into his face. It was funny – I mean, I’d only met him an hour ago – but I couldn’t help trusting him.

And why not? Why not trust a stranger as well as anyone? He’d been kind to me. He’d sounded like he understood – and what’s more, like he cared – when I’d told him what I was running from. He’d even managed to make me laugh a few times, on what was without competition the single most miserable day of my life. On the other hand, I’d known Ethan for ten years when he’d solemnly promised to love and cherish me till death, and he hadn’t even been able to make it to the end of the reception without a metaphorical knee to the groin.

My world was so different, suddenly. I wouldn’t be sleeping next to Ethan tonight, as I had done for the best part of a decade. Wouldn’t be feeling his safe, treacherous arms around me. Wouldn’t be going back to the house we’d shared. If I had my way, I’d never set eyes on either house or Ethan again. How was it possible my life could change so drastically in just a few short hours?

‘That bastard,’ I muttered to myself. Every time I thought about Ethan, the shock and disgust hit me afresh.

Jack blinked. ‘Pardon?’

‘Sorry,’ I said, with an apologetic grimace. ‘Just thinking out loud.’

‘So can I help? Whatever I can do, Kitty.’

‘Yeah.’ I mustered a smile. ‘You can talk about something completely different the rest of the way. Something fun. Something… not about me. Please.’

‘That’s what you need?’

‘I need to keep my mind off it till I’m alone, or I might go insane. Just talk to me, Jack.’

‘Here then. Something that’ll make you smile.’ He made a clicking noise and in the mirror I saw Sandy’s ears prick up. ‘You in the mood for a performance, girl?’ he called out.

Sandy didn’t answer – because dogs can’t talk, obviously – but Jack seemed to take her silence as a yes. He fired up the CD player and skipped to the third track.

I raised one eyebrow. ‘The Neighbours theme?’

‘Yeah. She’s a funny dog, this is one of the only songs she’ll perform to. Right, Sand, after three.’

He counted her in and I laughed as the two of them performed an impromptu duet for me, Jack on vocals and Sandy on hound-dog backing.

Neighbours…

Hooooowl!

Everybody needs good neighbours…

Owoooool!

With a little understanding…

Owowohowoool!

You can find the perfect frieeeend…

When they’d finished, Jack grinned at me.

‘So? Reckon we’ve got a shot at Britain’s Got Talent?’

I smiled. ‘Wouldn’t hold your breath. Still, impressive. Can she sing anything else?’

‘She quite likes Radiohead, but she only gets that on her birthday. I’m not a fan.’

We sat in silence a while, listening to the music. White Lace and Promises by The Carpenters came on next, which for my benefit Jack quickly skipped over, then some Tony Bennett. P!nk, Green Day, a bit of Paul Simon…

I nodded to the CD player. ‘That’s some eclectic music taste you’ve got going on.’

‘Not mine really. Someone I once knew made me this mixtape – well, mix-CD.’ He shot a curious glance my way. ‘How old are you anyway?’

‘Twenty-six. Why?’

‘You know what a mixtape is?’

‘Yeah. I saw one once in a museum, sandwiched between a dial-up modem and a copy of The Breakfast Club on Betamax.’

‘Funny.’

‘How old are you then?’ I asked, looking him up and down. I’d guessed he was a few years older than me, but I was finding it hard to put my finger on just how many.

‘Twenty-one.’

‘That’s a whopping fib.’

‘Okay, twenty-one and a half.’

I flashed him a smile. ‘You’re an odd bloke. Have you always lived like this, just going from one place to the next?’