Mad Love by Nick Spalding

Author:Nick Spalding
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9781503941113
Publisher: Amazon Publishing
Published: 2016-12-06T05:00:00+00:00

ADAM

Q. Do you love the sun? Or are you a winter snuggler?

A. The sun, thanks. In small doses, though. I’m not a lizard.

9 April

‘Would you like the Continental breakfast, or the full English, sir?’

‘Do either of them come with butter?’

The flight attendant blinks at me a couple of times. I doubt many people are that concerned with the butter content of their in-flight meal. ‘The Continental breakfast does, sir,’ she reliably informs me.

‘I’ll have the full English then,’ I decide.

I have resolutely gone off butter. Once a food product has caused you public humiliation and hearing difficulties, it’s a little hard to maintain a healthy relationship with it.

Speaking of finding it hard to maintain a healthy relationship, I think I’ve made a big mistake when it comes to the one I’m currently in.

I didn’t really know what kind of woman I wanted to marry, but I’m fairly sure I wouldn’t have stipulated that she’d be the type to ply me with alcohol until I nearly killed myself with a drinks trolley, just to see whether I’m any good in bed or not.

I confess I still haven’t been able to work the logic out in Jessica’s plan, but then again, from talking to her about the whole debacle the next day, neither has she.

Okay, I kind of get what she was trying to do.

I cheerfully confess to being royally confused about this entire marriage so far, and have been more wishy-washy than Widow Twankey’s eldest son, so Jess trying to force the issue is understandable. She seems to have a clear idea of what she wants from this relationship, even if I don’t. I know she wants love and romance – whereas I don’t know if I want sex, romance or just the opportunity to keep a West London postcode.

This all seemed a lot more straightforward before I said ‘I do’, but since then my life has become a jumble of very perplexing emotions.

Is this marriage something I want to make an effort with any more?

Or should I just call it quits and move on with my mercifully butter-free life?

There’s those living arrangements to take into consideration, of course. If I do walk away from this thing, I am homeless. Calvin and those other nobs have already replaced me in the house over in Croydon, so I’d have to move back in with my parents – and suffer a two-hour commute every morning from the coast. You can imagine how keen I am to avoid that.

Then there’s my cut of the thirty grand, which I’ve spent hardly any of yet. There are important things I need that money for, and I’m sure Cassie (who I can currently hear behind me, complaining about the quality of her airplane coffee) would whip the cash out of my bank account before you can say boo to a goose, if I decided I wanted out.

All of this means that I’m going to continue to live under the same roof as a woman who would have got me killed, if the railings around the patio had been a foot lower.

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