The Armchair Bride Read Online Free PDF

buy things I just wouldn’t wear. He’s got his eye on a tarty red evening gown in Primark.’
    ‘So tell him red isn’t your colour.’
    ‘It’s for him. He thinks I’ll let him go down the Bricklayer’s Arms dressed as Glenda.’
    ‘Glenda?’
    ‘That’s his female name. They’ve all got one. They seem to think by shoving an ‘a’ on the end of their names it makes them more feminine. You should see his best mate Briana. He’s got a jaw line like Desperate Dan and insists on wearing hot pants. I wouldn’t mind, but he’s awful hairy.’
    Back then, I didn’t know what to say. Part of me wanted to laugh and ask indiscrete questions, but Amy made me swear on a stack of bibles not to tell Mam. Instead we cooked up some story about how he might be having an affair and stayed silent when Mam cursed his name. Eventually, Amy and Glen sorted things out and she returned home, but Mam still hasn’t quite forgiven Glen for what she believes he did.

    There’s a thud at the door and I flick off  the TV. After about a minute of muffled laughter, the bell rings. I pull on my dressing gown and open the door.
    It’s Andy, but he’s not alone.
    ‘This is Fahad,’ he says and I shake hands with a short Asian guy dressed from head to toe in black leather.
    ‘The kettle just boiled if you want tea,’ I say.
    ‘I think we’ll turn in, if it’s all the same to you,’ Andy slurs. ‘OK, sleep well.’
    ‘That’s the last thing we plan on doing,’ he stage whispers.
    Tea still sounds like a good idea and maybe a pick at Cantonese spare ribs. The sound of the microwave drowns out the sex noises from Andy’s room.
    I take my plate to the living room and soon I’m back on-line, picking apart the profiles posted by old school friends.
    Does ‘entrepreneur’ mean unemployed? Does ‘fulfilling and rewarding job’ mean low-paid skivvy? I scribble notes and plan to pimp up my own profile, when there’s an almighty crash.
    There’s an awful silence in the hallway. I tap on Andy’s door.
    ‘Are you OK?’
    ‘I think so,’ a muffled voice replies.
    ‘Are you sure?’
    ‘Erm, Lisa, could you come in please?’
    ‘Are you decent?’
    ‘Not really. Don’t put the light on.’
    ‘OK, here I come.’
    I push open the door and see Andy’s wardrobe lying across the bed. Feet and handcuffed wrists poke out.
    ‘Andy?’
    ‘We’re under here.’
    One of the hands waves.
    I try without success to move the wardrobe. It isn’t one of those nice modern flat-pack jobs, it’s a heavy oak thing we lugged back from a second hand shop in Rusholme. At the time, he laughed about hanging from it while someone has his wicked way. It doesn’t take much to work out this is what happened.
    ‘I can’t shift it,’ I say. ‘I’ll have to go and get help.’
    Andy groans his agreement and I run across the hall to summon help from a neighbour.
    When the pair are finally freed, it becomes clear from the unusual angle of the bone in Andy’s wrist a trip to casualty is in order. I dress and put a by now almost hysterical Fahad into a taxi with a handful of Panadol Extra.
    ‘If you let me down over the wedding, Andy. I’ll never forgive you.’ I say as I lock the front door.
    ‘I’m sorry. I really didn’t do this on purpose.’
    He holds up a deformed wrist to elicit sympathy and a single handcuff bangs against it, causing him to wince in pain.
    ‘Bloody serves you right, what were you thinking?’
    ‘I don’t know. I’d been drinking Bacardi Breezers, you know they send me loopy. Ouch!’
    Andy has apparently also twisted his ankle. I allow him to lean on me and we shuffle into a waiting cab.

Four

    The first working day of any New Year drips misery. It marks the end of the season to be jolly. Everyone loses the urge to party, kiss perfect strangers and force money into charity tins. January almost always starts the same. It’s dark and cold and people look fed up. There’s an unwritten rule that my bus must run