Crazy Little Thing Called Love: The perfect laugh out loud romantic comedy you won’t be able to put down. Charlotte Butterfield

need to talk about menus Judy as soon as possible so that you can order in the ingredients, I want organic Welsh lamb for mains, and then for dessert…’

      Leila excused herself and carried the empty coffee cups into the kitchen. Thomas followed her carrying the milk jug and cafetiere. She rounded on him before he’d even put them down on the countertop. ‘Dad, you can’t just cancel someone’s wedding because Lucy has decided that’s the date she wants! It’s completely unethical and will damage your business! And you’re talking about a prime date in July – you’d be getting ten grand at least for that date, are you just going to give it to them for free?’

      ‘Calm down Leila, this all needs to be thought through before we make any decisions.’ Thomas started loading the dishwasher. ‘It’s all just been sprung on us and we don’t know any of the answers yet. No point getting all worked up. Pass me those plates there.’

      ‘Well don’t take too long, because I guarantee she’ll have the invites sent out by next weekend, that’s if she hasn’t done so already.’

      Her dad straightened up, ‘Why do you care so much Leila, you’ve never bothered about our bookings or business much before, why now?’

      ‘I just don’t want you and Mum to be completely walked over, that’s all!’

      ‘Feeling jealous is completely natural love, you’re what, thirty-four now?’

      ‘Thirty-two, and I don’t know what that has to—’

      ‘Thirty-two, and your sister is happily settled, and now your brother is getting married, and you’re doing your nun thing, it’s completely understandable you’re going to feel put out and a bit green-eyed. Come here.’ He held out his arms for a hug, and as much as she didn’t want to, she found herself reluctantly falling into them, a little defeated.

       It’s odd making a declaration of how you want to live your life in complete contrast to those around you. Society is completely geared up for a man and woman to meet, fall in love, marry and have kids. Yet there are thousands, millions of us that don’t fit that mould or expectation. I have gay friends, religious friends of different faiths, friends that have married inter-culturally, and each of them in their own way has come up against barriers to their happiness, for no other reason than people not understanding or being judgmental.

       My decision to be single for a year is a personal decision based on my own unique circumstances. I haven’t made a placard, or protested outside the registry office trying to convince couples about to marry to embrace my way of life. Instead, I’m just quietly minding my own business, trying to navigate through a pretty tricky time. I don’t hate men, in fact I like them possibly a bit too much, which made me lose a bit of myself along the way. I’m only forty-two days into the three-hundred and sixty-five, and have been laughed at, mocked, accused of being sad and lonely, and there’s currently a pot with fourteen grand of my family and friends’ money who are fully expecting me to fail. But I’m not going to, and, just for the record, I’m allergic to cats.

      Leila re-read her post from the night before while she was still in her pyjamas eating her rice krispies. She should have matured into more grown-up breakfast cereals by now, but the snap, crackle and pop still made her smile. She was in two minds whether to delete the post or not. Up until then, all her other entries had been so upbeat, extolling the virtues of single life. There were three hundred and three followers now, which was amazing, and the number was growing by a few every day. She got such a pulse of excitement every time she saw the number increase. When it went over the three-hundred mark she did a little celebratory dance in her tiny kitchen. But surely the whole point of writing this blog was to tell her story, describe her journey and the bumps in the road – or was it to paint a picture of a rosier version of her life that wasn’t real? What did the followers want to read, and what did she want to write?

      Leila got dressed and went to work and the post stayed live.

       Chapter 4

      ‘I don’t think your sisters like me very much.’

      Marcus knew that a long pause between his new fiancée uttering this statement and his effusive denial of said statement was not a good thing, but neither could he hand-on-heart disagree with her. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t glimpsed the side-eye glances that batted back and forth between Tasha and Leila when Lucy was around, not to mention the almost imperceptible eyebrow raising and whispered asides. He’d wanted so desperately for them all to get on, but for some reason his sisters, who were normally so warm and welcoming, were being a bit, well, off, with Lucy.

      ‘I wouldn’t necessarily say that I don’t think they don’t like you,’ he finally offered.

      ‘There are far too many negatives in that sentence for me to even begin to decipher it,’ Lucy replied crossly. She slammed the fridge door shut and handed him a cold bottle of white wine. ‘Can you open that? I know they might be protective of you, but I don’t think they’re giving me much of a chance.’

      Marcus unhooked a corkscrew from the wall-mounted metal utensil rod and started turning it in the top of the bottle, pleased to have something to focus on other than forming a response.

      ‘I mean, I think I’ve been perfectly pleasant, haven’t I Marcus? I bring flowers to your mum every time we go down, I’m nice to Tasha’s kids, even though they’re always a bit mucousy, I even told Leila that her haircut suited her.’

      ‘You said that she looked androgynous.’

      ‘I said that the androgynous look suited her. Suited her, Marcus. It was a compliment.’

      ‘I’m just not sure she interpreted it like that darling. They’re different to you, that’s all. They’re not as…’ Again, Marcus paused, and a dictionary of nouns ran like a ticker tape in front of his eyes until he rested on ‘composed.’

      ‘Composed?’ Lucy put down the colander of lettuce leaves that she was swilling water through and rested it on the draining board. ‘What the heck is composed supposed to mean?’

      ‘Composed, calm, ladylike, call it what you will, they’re a bit mouthy and emotional, act first, think later, that sort of thing. They all are, Mum and the girls, you’re much more focused and poised.’

      Focused and poised. Lucy liked that description of herself. It was exactly how she’d like to be thought of. Especially by her future husband.

      ‘Here, get this down you. Cheers!’ Marcus clinked his wine glass to hers.

      ‘God,’ Lucy groaned, ‘I can’t wait until we get the wine glasses on our wedding list, these stems are so clunky.’

      Marcus hovered his hand over the pan that had been warming on the hob to check it was hot enough, before dropping a lump of butter into it, which immediately started sizzling and fizzing around the griddle. He picked up a large wooden spoon out of the china pot in front of him and held it a few centimetres away from his mouth, ‘And today on Marcus and Lucy Cooks, it’s steak au poivre. Lucy, can you tell me how you’re making the sauce?’ He moved the spoon in front of Lucy’s face. She resisted for a couple of seconds then broke into a giggle as they acted out the now familiar cooking routine.

      ‘Well, Marcus,’ she said into the wooden spoon, ‘while you’re searing the steaks with a peppercorn crust, I’m mixing cognac and cream together, then we’ll add this to the lovely pan juices. Back to you.’

      ‘Thank you Lucy, that sounds delicious. Now as you can see, the steaks are browning wonderfully, and I’m just going to flip them over, and ta da!’

      Lucy leaned over to speak into the spoon again, ‘That really does look marvellous Marcus, and so easy to do at home.’

      ‘Absolutely Lucy, even though we are indeed pros, even the amateur cook can master this dish.’