Coco Pinchard's Big Fat Tipsy Wedding: A Funny Feel-Good Romantic Comedy (6 page)

‘How did you get here?’ I said.

‘A dodgy mini-cab, with a driver who was willing to risk it.’ I took them through to the kitchen. They were all grinning oddly.

'It’s a nice gaff you’ve got Mrs. P,' said Oscar unzipping his jacket.

‘It’s elegant, homely,’ said Wayne unwinding his scarf theatrically. ‘Is the kitchen Ikea? Klöepenklund? Flöngenfart? Skänka?’

‘Um, I don’t remember,’ I said. ‘Rosencrantz picked it out for us when he was thirteen.’

‘It’s a Conran kitchen,’ said Rosencrantz. ‘And the grooves on the draining board were cut with a laser.’

‘That’s really cool,’ said Oscar. I didn’t understand why they’d trekked across London in the snow to admire the kitchen, and Rosencrantz was still rugged up in his huge winter coat.

‘Have you had any breakfast?’ I said. They all shook their heads, smirking.

‘Why not put the kettle on mum,’ said Rosencrantz knowingly. I turned to fill the kettle and when I turned back, there was a tiny Maltese puppy sitting on the kitchen island.
 

‘Do you like him Mum? I had him in my coat,’ said Rosencrantz.
 

‘What are you doing getting a dog?' I said. 'Do you know how much work a dog is? And you’ve just gone and got a job!'
 

'He's for you,' said Rosencrantz. 'So you won't be lonely.' The little dog stared up at me with eager little eyes and a tiny black button nose. I opened my mouth to say,
I can't have a dog, I haven't got time
! But, I have got time. Too much time.
 

The boys were watching curiously, much like they do when a new animal is introduced into a cage at the zoo. I reached out and the little white pup licked me, and then put his tiny furry paw in my hand. I gently scooped him up. He was so soft and beautiful and he snuggled into the crook of my arm. I started to well up.

‘Don’t you want him?’ said Rosencrantz anxiously.
 

‘Yes, he’s perfect,’ I said. ‘I’m just… I haven’t slept much.’ Wayne pulled a lace hanky from his bag and handed it over, Oscar patted my shoulder.

The puppy stood up in my arms with his front legs on my chest and licked my tears with a tiny pink tongue.

'He's so cute!' said Oscar ruffling his little mop of silky fur.

'He's a matinee idol!' declared Wayne clasping his hand to an imaginary décolletage.
 

‘He’s a pedigree,’ said Rosencrantz. ‘His parents are show dogs… Oscar’s Mum is a breeder.’

‘We all chipped in,’ said Oscar.
 

‘Thank you boys,’ I grinned. ‘I never dreamed I’d get a dog… What should I call him?'

‘We thought you could call him Rocco,' said Wayne.

‘In tribute to Rocco Ritchie,’ said Oscar.

‘Madonna’s son,’ added Rosencrantz.

'Hello Rocco,' I said. Rocco sneezed in approval, gave me another lick and I put him on the floor. I made the boys tea and toast, and we spent a happy hour watching Rocco sniff and explore the kitchen. Then they said they would leave me to bond with him.

‘We’re going to have a walk through St. James Park and take some snowy photos,’ said Wayne pulling a camera out of his bag. ‘These two are my models.’

‘Thanks boys, for everything,’ I said tearfully as they left. They waved, then pulled up their hoods and crunched off in the snow.

 
When they’d gone, I realised I had no food for Rocco; no bed or bowl, lead or coat. The poor little thing was starving, but the cupboards were bare. I scrabbled around the kitchen as he shifted on his little paws snorting and wuffling impatiently, and finally unearthed some of those little UHT milk creamers you put in coffee. I opened one and knelt down offering him the tiny pot of milk. He went crazy for it lapping away hungrily, all the time watching me with his little brown eyes. I opened another and another and soon he had drunk six. He licked my hand happily, then stretched out on the kitchen floor and fell asleep. I’m just about to brave the snow and stock up on doggy things.

Friday 3rd December
 
14.56

TO: [email protected]

Rocco won’t eat! I’ve made him beef stew, grilled chicken, pork chops, all in his lovely new red bowl; all of which he’s sniffed dismissively then turned on his little paws and pranced off. Not only that he’s rejected all forms of dog food, from the big butch tins to the little gourmet foil containers.
 

The only thing he will touch is those little milks. I have to open each one individually and hold it out for him to lap at. Myself and Chris have made frequent trips to the coffee shop in Regent’s Park, the only place we can get our hands on the little milks. With all this snow London is eerily empty, well the bits I’ve seen, the parked cars are covered in a glittery layer of ice.

Despite his disinterest in food, Rocco seems to be thriving. He showers me with affection, he never leaves my side, he’s even taken to toilet training. Every two hours he gives a little bark and I let him out in the back garden. I have dug a little path for him in the snow, and he scampers along it to do his business, then scampers back, and I wrap him up in a towel to keep warm. He even sleeps on the bed curled up beside me!
 

How are you enjoying your school being closed? I wish you could make it across here. I’ve got a big fire roaring in the living room.

Monday 6th December
 
16.14

TO: [email protected]

After a weekend of Rocco still not eating, Chris came with me to take him to the Vet. The snow is so deep and he is so tiny that I carried him in a little wicker basket. Hey lay there happily with his head poking out from under a blanket. The Vet said that Rocco seems to be growing and is perfectly healthy. She suggested I try and hide cottage cheese or peanut butter in the little milk containers, and then normal food, in the hope he’ll start eating properly. The Vet is a beautiful young Irish woman, her examination room was filled with pictures of her and a dashing dark haired chap.

I don’t think she’s been in London long. As she put Rocco back in his basket she asked me and Chris how long we’d been together.

'We’re both single,' I said, which hung desperately in the air and I saw a tinge of pity in her eyes.

‘How has
she
got a man?’ said Chris when we were back out on the snowy pavement. ‘She must spend half of her time with her hand up a cows backside.’

‘I doubt that’ I said. ‘She’s a central London Vet, she makes a fortune immunising handbag dogs, course she’s a catch!’

We needed cheering up so we went for a coffee at Insomnia Cafe on Marylebone High Street. It’s full of twits on laptops and a latte costs £4.75, but they’re the only place apart from Regents Park Cafe who have a big basket full of those little milks. Whilst I went and ordered, Chris filled up his pockets for me. We found a table in the corner and I put Rocco, who was asleep in his basket, on the chair beside me. Christmas music was playing and some of the Barista’s were hanging lights and decorating a large tree.

'I’ve got no work on the horizon,' said Chris, staring blankly at a pile of Christmas Pannetone. 'No plans.'
 

'How did Macbeth go?' I said.

'It went by without a blip on the radar. No reviews, no press, nothing…'

'And Julian?'

'He’s moved out. I miss seeing our iPods, side by side on their little docks,’ he said.

'I’ve still kept Adam’s toothbrush, I can’t bring myself to throw it away.’ Just then
Lonely This Christmas
began to play in the coffee shop.

 
‘Look, why don’t we spent Christmas together?’ I said. ‘We always talk about, but we’ve never done it.’
 

'That’s another sad story,' he said. 'I got drunk the other night and had a blackout. When I woke up I found an email confirmation. I’d booked Christmas in an ice hotel in Lapland.'
 
I asked him why he would book an ice hotel, as we both know he loathes the cold.

'I vaguely remember sitting on the remote, and the Pingu DVD I have for when my niece comes round started playing.'

'So you fancied spending Christmas with a little plasticine Penguin?’ I said.
 

'It’s not funny. They've already debited six grand out of my bank account.'

'Six grand!'

'Of course, me being an idiot, I booked the penthouse.’
 

Rocco woke up and sneezed loudly. I lifted the blanket and he was lying on his back, four paws in the air. He shook himself, rolled over onto his front, and tugged at my sleeve with his teeth.

'He needs feeding,' I said and opened a couple of the little milks. 'It takes him a few times to latch onto the carton.’
 

'Oh my God,' said Chris. 'My life is flashing before my eyes. This same cafe, twenty years ago, you feeding Rosencrantz; although back then the milk was in different packaging.'

'I remember,' I said wistfully. ‘Back then I was a natural blond, Amazon was a rainforest, and google was the noise a baby made…’

‘And here you are with another baby, of sorts. You've moved on with your life but I'm just as rudderless as I was then.’
 

‘You’re not rudderless Chris,’ I said.

 
‘Sorry Cokes, I’m gonna go,’ he said. ‘I told Rosencrantz I’d pop in to see him at Abercrombie and Fitch, he’s going to let me use his staff discount to buy my Christmas presents. My mother wants a new baseball cap, for when she goes shooting.’

‘I’m always here for you Chris,’ I said. He gave me a hug. ‘Tell Rosencrantz I’ll be in to see him as soon as Rocco is on solid food.’
 

He rolled his eyes and went off into the snow. I sipped my £4.75 latte and caught sight of one of the Baristas behind the counter looking at me. He was dark, well built, and rather handsome. He winked. I looked round but saw he was winking at me! Just then
Rockin’ Around The Christmas Tree
started playing and the lights on the huge Christmas tree switched on. The cafe looked beautiful with the snow falling softly outside.

I am totally unprepared for Christmas. Do you have a tree yet? Have you bought cards? What about decorations? Clothes to wear? Where are you going for Christmas? And what do you want? I can’t think of anything, but I can't just ask people for cigarettes again. Chris did bring round an advent calendar this morning, and I had the fleeting pleasure of opening six doors at once.
 

Tuesday 7th December
 
09.19

TO: [email protected]

I spent ages last night stuffing empty mini milk cartons with titbits of dog food, meat and peanut butter. They were like doggy canapés when I’d finished, but Rocco saw through my attempts to dupe him and barked for milk. He woke me at four, five, and six this morning, there was none left in the house so I had to put him in his little wicker basket full of towels and make a trip back to Insomnia Cafe. It was one of the only places with the lights on so early. The handsome Barista who winked at me was working, and on closer inspection I decided to upgrade his description to
gorgeous
. He smiled the cutest dimples and asked what I wanted.

‘A latte please,’ I said. Rocco poked his nose out from under his blanket.

'What kind?' he said placing a cup under the huge silver coffee machine.

‘A latte… It’s got lots of milk in it,' I said.

'No, I know what a latte is,' he grinned. 'What kind is your dog?'

'Oh, he’s a Maltese,' I said. The guy had on a tight white t-shirt. On his left pectoral a name tag said, ‘Xavier’.

'I've got a large sausage,' he said. My eyes strayed to the bulge in the front of his tight black trousers.

‘Sausage Dog’s are a lovely breed,’ he added.

‘Yes, of course,’ I said, dragging my eyes back up to his. Then I couldn't think of anything else to say. The milk bubbled and squawked as he steamed it in a big jug. When he turned to brew the coffee, I grabbed a couple of handfuls of Rocco’s little milks and slipped them into the pockets of my winter coat. Xavier finished my latte in a swirly pattern, before pressing on a takeaway lid. He leaned over the counter and pulled up the towel. Rocco rolled over and stuck his four paws in the air yawning.

'You be a good guard dog on the way home,' he said. Rocco opened one eye, sneezed on Xavier’s hand and settled back down to sleep. He came round from behind the counter and opened the door for me.

‘Go carefully,’ he winked. ‘I’d hate to see you fall over.’
 
As I shuffled off in the snow, I felt a little thrilled by the encounter.

Back at home Rocco drank and drank until he'd emptied sixteen little milks. He then watched me intently whilst I made him a little bowl of plain rice with some organic wild boar meat puppy food (£7.95 a tin) mixed in, but he sniffed it dismissively, turned on his little paws and pranced out to pee in the hallway. So I've found myself with another man I'm cooking for and cleaning up after.

P.s
 
Would you babysit Rocco for a couple of hours? I promised I’d go and see Rosencrantz at work.

Wednesday 8th December
 
15.37

TO: [email protected]

I’ve just been to the Abercrombie and Fitch store to see Rosencrantz. It feels more like a nightclub than a clothes shop. It’s a huge building on Savile Row with video screens filling the windows and music pumping out. The smell of cologne hits you about five hundred yards before you reach the entrance.

Oscar was stood outside, topless in a pair of jeans and flip flops greeting customers as they streamed past, ogling him.

‘Hey Mrs. P!’ he said with a big grin.

‘Aren’t you a bit cold?’ I said.

‘I’m allowed to wear a wooly hat,’ he said. A group of hysterical Japanese girls appeared and started taking photos.

‘Sorry Mrs. P, I need to concentrate now,’ he said seriously as if he were about to perform a heart bypass. The girls threw themselves at him and he almost toppled over.

Inside the lighting was low, making the artfully laid out tables of folded clothes look even more tempting. The supermodel staff were all dancing unselfconsciously to the music.