Coco Pinchard's Big Fat Tipsy Wedding: A Funny Feel-Good Romantic Comedy (17 page)

‘So? I’ve had enough of that old bag, acting as if this is some luxury five star retirement village when it’s a bloody allotment! Do you know what she said? ‘See me’ as if I’m some school kid…'

When we were dressed, I marched up the hill to Agatha’s shed, my heels sinking into the soil, which was now melting in the morning sunshine. Adam hurried along behind, tucking in his shirt and doing up his flies.

I reached the door to Agatha’s shed and barged in without knocking.

'I’d like to ask why you brought a load of people to look at my shed!' I said. Agatha looked up from using a little silver spoon to measure tealeaves into a pot.
 

'Mrs. Pinchard,' she said not missing a beat. 'The reason I did, is because you no longer have an allotment. They were prospective tenants.’ Adam caught up, and sheepishly waved hello. Agatha picked up a piece of paper.

'I take it your new address is 12A Berry Road, Honor Oak Park, London SE23 1BZ?'

'Yes,' I said. 'I left a message on your answering machine. A message you never bothered to return.'

'Mrs. Pinchard,' she said removing her glasses. 'You are only eligible for an allotment if you live in the NW1 postcode.’

‘I am. I own a house here,' I said.

'But you don’t
reside
here Mrs. Pinchard.’

‘That doesn’t sound fair!’

‘I don’t make the rules Mrs. Pinchard. For example, The Sultan of Brunei owns a very nice house overlooking Regent’s Park, but even he couldn’t have an allotment because he doesn’t
reside
here. Having said that The Sultan Of Brunei would do a much better job of weeding.'

'Yeah he does have an awful lot of wives,' said Adam. I turned and looked at him incredulously.

'I’m just saying,' he said.

'Well don’t!'
 

‘You have seven days to vacate Mrs. Pinchard,’ said Agatha. ‘Good day.’

It seems after a couple of years Agatha finally has her wish. She has forced me out. I no longer have an allotment. We trudged back down the hill, doing the worst walk of shame.

As we waited for a taxi in the freezing wind, I could just make out the roof of my house between the bare branches of a tree in the distance. I had an image of Salvo Trattore sitting by a roaring fire, my roaring fire, all cosy with a slice of pannetone.

'I’m sorry,' said Adam as he followed my gaze.

‘You’ve got nothing to be sorry for,’ I said. I clung onto him and I really hoped that love was all I needed.

Wednesday 16th February
 
13.01

TO: [email protected]

I’m just writing to tell you, I’m engaged. None of my friends seem to be overjoyed at this. Chris was rather cool on the phone with his congratulations and then said he had to get back to his rehearsals. I then tried a different tack with Marika, asking if she wanted to be a bridesmaid. She burst into cackles of laughter and then saw I was serious.

‘Are you fucking kidding Coco?’ she said.

‘No. We haven’t set a date yet…’

‘Well, of course you haven’t. He’s nine days away from a Crown Court Trial.’ This stopped me in my tracks.

‘What do you mean? He’s going to be acquitted. Natasha thinks so and she’s the best Lawyer there is.’

‘Oh my god will you listen to yourself,’ she said. ‘Did you ever ask Adam to take that lie detector test?’

‘No.’

‘Exactly. Wake up woman!’

‘Yeah, well. What about Greg!’

‘What about Greg?’ Snapped Marika, her eyes flashing dangerously.

‘You’ve moved him in pretty quickly!’

‘It’s my flat!’

‘We’re paying half the mortgage! What’s he paying? He barely chips in for milk let alone anything else!’

The door went and Greg came bounding in. Talk about timing, the stupid prat had milk, bread and a newspaper in a plastic bag from the newsagent.

‘Hello darling,’ said Marika. ‘Oh look what Greg bought,’

‘Yeah, well I thought it about time I chipped in,’ he said.
 

‘Coco has some news,’ said Marika. Greg looked up at me. It’s funny how the people you are closest to can hurt you the most. I felt like I was back in the playground. Marika was bearing down on me like Sabrina Roffey, a girl who used to bully me.
 

‘I’m engaged,’ I said in a small voice.

‘To, Adam? Oh congrats,’ said Greg. He moved in for an awkward peck on the cheek. “We should go and celebrate.’

‘Yes,’ said Marika and me quickly. I blinked back tears, scooped up Rocco, and took him for a long walk.

Thursday 17th February
 
22.22

TO: [email protected]

I tweeted to my seven hundred Twitter followers yesterday that I was engaged; I had more excitement from people I don’t know. Then Adam’s daughter Holly saw it and tweeted the following;

#Congrats 2 my new step-mum @cocopinchard and 2u dad… When does ur trial for fraud begin?
 

When I saw it on my iPhone, I panicked and went to send her a message to remove it, but by mistake I retweeted it. I finally got a direct message to her, but it took over an hour for her to pick it up and delete the tweet. I couldn’t bear the tension so I took Rocco for a walk. Halfway along Brockley Rise, I had a phone call from Angie to say that the release of Agent Fergie is being postponed.

'For how long?' I said.

‘Well, until the trial is over and we know what’s happening with Adam… Thanks to his moron daughter and her stupid tweet. your publishing house knows what’s really going on.’

‘Is Adam’s trial that big a deal?’

‘Normally they wouldn’t care, but they’re in talks for a merger with Tranzplanet Publishing which has to be approved by the government…’

‘And they don’t want to be seen to support a writer who is dating a criminal?’

‘Yep. That’s about it. Course you’re not just dating him, you’re
engaged
to him…’ I told Angie she was being harsh.

‘Well, we’ve been here before,’ she said. “And I’m fed up, you seem to court disaster and it’s tedious for those of us who have to rely on you. You know now the final part of your advance is gonna be delayed. Which means my commission gets delayed too…’
 

I don’t know what I’m going to do now. I think I’ll have to sell the car.
 

Saturday 19th
 
February
 
16.22

TO: [email protected]

Things are getting very awkward here with Marika. She has been watching Kung-Fu movies all day with Greg. (As you know, Marika hates Kung-Fu movies).
 

Adam and myself have spent the day in our room. Not having your own space means we can’t argue. So we’ve been hissing at each other quietly.
 

He had a big row on the phone yesterday with Holly. I’ve never heard him shout at her before. He says he doesn’t want me to sell the car. But I say we don’t have a choice. Besides, I don’t use it. It’s £45,000 worth of metal just sitting outside the flat. It was broken into again last night. The front windscreen and passenger window were smashed. All that was stolen was a map of Slovakia I bought at Christmas. They left the map for the Czech Republic, which shows whoever took it failed Geography at school. You have to drive through the Czech Republic to get to Slovakia.

 
Chris, could I keep the car in your driveway whilst I try to sell it? I want to move it next week when I clear out my allotment shed.

Adam is now napping, and I’ve started to read
Wolf Hall
by Hilary Mantel. She’s such a brilliant writer. She’s much better than me. It’s made me very gloomy about Agent Fergie.
 

I wish I could be like Hilary Mantel, captivate the world with literary fiction, and be nominated for all those awards. Although, she is a very odd looking woman, with a tiny pea head, a pouty mouth and a huge halo of blond hair. It made me wonder if you can be talented and attractive. I asked Adam the same question, and half asleep, he told me I’m gorgeous, which I didn’t want to hear.

How is life treating you in Devon?

C xx

Tuesday 22nd February
 
14.44

TO: [email protected]

I emptied the allotment shed today. It was very sad packing up everything; the deck chairs and blankets, the little mini bar stored in an old cardboard box. I thought of all the fun we had there drinking in the long summer evenings, pretending to garden whenever Agatha came past.

When I had taken the last of the stuff I stopped by the fruit canes, all cut back, their thin hairy branches wiggling in the wind. The blueberry bushes were skeletons, and the strawberry plants were brown, spidery, and squashed flat. I’ll miss seeing them spring to life in the summer, and the heavenly smell of fresh strawberries.
 

A lone crow landed, all polished beak and feathers and picked around in the bare soil. It was a very poetic end. The cold wind rounded on me and gusted up my coat as if to say, ‘go on, be off with you,’ so I took the cardboard box mini-bar, and hung the key on Agatha’s door as I passed.

Out on the street I discovered I had been clamped.

I walked round to where it was attached to my front wheel, and saw under the dirt was a phone number. I dialled it and after a few rings, Agatha Balfour answered. I quickly hung up thinking I had mis dialled; my fingers were rendered into a little sausage claw by the cold. I dialled again, and again Agatha Balfour answered.

'Who is this?' she said.
 

'It’s Coco Pinchard… Your telephone number seems to be written on a car clamp.' She tersely informed me she would be there ‘in a mo’ and hung up.

She came trudging out of the gate swinging her keys, and without a hello or anything put her muddy boot on the edge of the clamp, inserted a key, and wiggled it free of the wheel. I stood there waiting for an explanation. When none was offered up I said,

'Who the hell are you to clamp my car?'

'You are parked in front of the gate. It’s an access point. I am allowed to clamp people who block the access point.’

'But that’s stupid, surely that makes it less of an access point?’

'What would
you
suggest? I slash their tyres? Urinate on the bonnet?’

‘Why are you saying that?’

‘Mrs. Pinchard, just when I think I have heard or seen the worst, you plumb the depths even further.’

'I parked here for less than an hour!'

‘Parking is the least of it! I’m talking about poor Mr. Rickard.’

‘Adam?’

‘Yes, Adam! He was a respected member of this community. A diligent Allotment Secretary with the finest penmanship I’ve ever seen. Then he meets
you,
and you encourage him to give up his allotment patch. Then I find him
in flagrante
in your potting shed… And now I hear he’s charged with fraud amounting to two hundred thousand pounds!'

'You know nothing about me Agatha!' I said, close to tears.

'Nor do I wish to. Your life is a cesspit! I won’t charge you a release fee. I think of it as a bonus that I never have to see you again.'

 
She turned and walked away swinging the car clamp as she went. I had to steel myself not to cry on the street.

I drove the car over to your place and your sister let me park it in the garage.
 

I know this sounds odd but I just want the trial to start now, we need to move forward. The waiting is unbearable.

Monday 28th February
 
19.27

TO: [email protected]

The trial began this morning. I came up to Southwark Crown Court with Adam early. It was still dark and there was a fine drizzle. My throat was tight with fear when I kissed him goodbye. He had to go in earlier for a last bit of preparation with Natasha. I grabbed a coffee from a tiny pop-up coffee shop manned by a guy with dreadlocks, and sat on a bench by the river and watched the sun coming up. I felt physically sick, so I left my coffee and as a distraction read the final chapter of Wolf Hall. It is a brilliant book.
 

I was just finishing a cigarette when I looked up to see the author herself, Hilary Mantel, ordering a coffee over at the pop-up stand! I grabbed my bag and lined up behind her, she shot me a sideways glance as I proffered my copy of Wolf Hall with a biro.

'I’ve just finished reading your book,’ I said. ‘Would you sign it for me?' Her look darkened further and she said,
 

'I didn’t write Wolf Hall.'

'Didn’t you?' I said holding the book up beside her head. 'The picture looks a lots like you!'
 

'I am not Hilary Mantel,' she snapped, and taking her coffee, she walked off.
 

‘What a snooty cow, who does she think she is?’ I said, a bit too loudly. She stopped and looked round with a penetrating gaze, then turned and walked away.

The Dreadlocked Guy tutted so and I moved off to let him serve the queue forming behind me.

I arrived at Southwark Crown Court at a quarter to nine and joined the queue waiting to get through the metal detectors. I tried to imagine I was passing through an airport and kept thinking positive thoughts. I was then shown into the courtroom. I was sat high up at the back in the Visitors Gallery.
 

The Jury filed in and I had my first chance to get a good look at them. Six men and six women, who were a good mix of race and age. No one really stood out. I hope this is a good thing. Adam then came in with Natasha. I gave him a little wave, which came out all wrong, and looked like I had come to see him in a Nativity Play. A couple of the Jurors clocked me and I remembered I must act neutral. Then the Prosecution entered. A large dark haired woman called Annabel Napier QC. She has slanting eyebrows and feline eyes, and regarded Adam much as a cat would before moving in for the kill.

When we were all in place, we were asked to stand for the Judge, Her Ladyship Dame Ruby Haute-Penguin. The doors were flung open and I nearly died when the woman I thought was Hilary Mantel entered in her judge’s robes.

Fear shot through me. Did I really just call the Judge a snooty cow? Natasha had warned me about the role of the Judge, and even though they don’t have a say in the outcome, they can heavily influence the Jury during the summing up of the evidence.