12 Months to ' I Do '

had ordered a red wine and started acting like she was wine tasting, smelling it and swishing it around in the glass. She then took a sip and just nodded and put it back down on the table. We were at the equivalent of a pub chain where you can get two meals for a tenner, not the Ritz. It was at this moment my mum let out the loudest fart you had ever heard. The waiter was so shocked he knocked the glass of red wine all over Debbie and of course she would be wearing a white floral top to make matters worse. She was mortified, lost for words I could see that she was about to blow when Jodie piped up, “You know the best thing for getting red wine out?” She then threw her glass of white wine at Debbie, but instead of going in the same place as the red wine, it got her in the face. She stormed out and everyone just fell about laughing. My mum was mortified as she thought the fart was going to be a silent one. I ran after Debbie but she was too angry to speak, so thought best to leave her be. This night had been ruined, was supposed to be all about me, and now it had become about her, even with her not being the she was still the main topic of conversation.

The next day I felt down and even cried. I had been awake half the night as we had a storm and the wind whistling was doing my head in. I’m surprised it had kept me up, the amount of drinks I mixed. But no, wide awake, lying there with the room spinning. The thought of a drink now literally made me heave. Debbie hadn’t returned any messages I had sent her and I had the worst hangover in history. It was eight-thirty in the morning and I had already puked six times. The only time my head would not pound was when I was laying down with my arm pressed firmly against it in front of an open window, with the cold air hitting my face. The mixture of prosecco, whiskey, beer and tequila was not the greatest idea I blame Chynna, it was the shots that done it, I’m sure, and they were always her idea. When I looked out of the window, when I could eventually stand up without running to the loo to be sick, our fence had blown down. Great. Well, they say things come in threes: the same day our oven and kettle decided to pack up too.

I was definitely feeling sorry for myself that is why I was crying. It has dawned on me that we had eleven months to pay for everything. We had no spare cash lying around and we are saving as much as we could as it was. Please would someone just give us a fucking break. I called Spence and he was no help. He just said to postpone it. I think people forgot that this was our wedding. If it was theirs, I wouldn’t dream about being unenthusiastic about what they wanted. I would be a friend and do everything I could to help, whether I liked their ideas or not. Don’t get me wrong, Chynna, Jodie, my brothers and both sets of parents had been amazing and supportive. Why couldn’t everyone be? But at the end of the day, it was our wedding, we had to pay for it.

Sure, we were getting help, which we were extremely grateful for, but we still had to put in a large chunk. It was harder when work had become more demanding too and I dreaded going in. I didn’t know how I got through the day at that moment when you have nothing to look forward to but a wedding in a year’s time, which I know is a big thing to be happy about, but at what cost? No holidays or breaks, barely see my fiancé as he works overtime all the time to pay for this wedding, and Malcolm constantly in the back of my head. Why did memories of him keep coming back to me clearer and more frequent? I needed to talk to someone about it as it was beginning to drive me crazy, needed to get these thoughts out of my head. I needed my mum.

November

I had arrived at mum’s house. I don’t remember the journey as I had done it so many times before. I sat in the car outside for what seemed like hours, when it was literally minutes. Thinking about Malcolm and all the other men in my past. What was it about me, did I do something? From Uncle M’s kisses to Malcolm, to a family friend who was kind to me and always paid me compliments, but when his wife was out of the room would touch my boobs. One of my auntie’s boyfriends would stare at me and stick his tongue out suggestively in a sexual way and try and get my attention when no one was looking by whispering dirty things to me. I was doubting myself again. Was it me after all? Was I just taking it the wrong way? Maybe it wasn’t sexual and it was me over thinking again. I was about to drive away but then I saw my mum peeking through the blinds. Pushing the window in the front room open she shouted, “Hello, love, give me a minute.”

Okay this was it; I was going to finally tell my mum what had happened to me all those years ago it was now or never. Maybe telling her the truth would help me to deal with the abuse, as I had felt tremendous guilt for not being able to talk to her about it all these years. But she had been ill, suffering with depression, during that time