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

Tasha ran a finger along the spines of Leila’s books – even having books on display would be wonderful, but Patricia-the-designer said they would look untidy and mess up her scheme. Her scheme. So, what books they had were hidden behind the ‘concealed storage’ doors. Apart from the massively heavy hardback book on Chanel that was gathering dust on the big glass coffee table. Glass. In a house with three kids in it. That was a clever purchase Patricia.

‘Honestly Leila, this is perfect for you, it’s just beautiful.’ Tasha said as they stepped out into the garden. Leila had flicked the outdoor gas heater into life and despite it being early February, it was a beautifully crisp day. Tasha didn’t need too much persuading to celebrate it being a Saturday without her kids by indulging in a glass or two of the champagne she’d brought with her. She reached over and touched her sister’s wine glass with hers. ‘I’m buying you champagne flutes as a housewarming present by the way.’

‘But I don’t drink champagne normally.’

‘Well then, at least you’ll have them ready for the next time I come over,’ Tasha smiled. The sisters were sat at the little round white wrought iron table in the garden. What was left of the afternoon’s sunlight was dappling the flagstones with specks of light. ‘You seem very together, considering.’

‘Considering, what?’ asked Leila.

‘Freddie. I know you liked him.’

‘Not anymore.’

‘Well no, obviously, but it’s ok to be honest with yourself and grieve for a future you’re not going to have.’

‘Wow, a future I’m not going to have! Alright, Ms Doom and Gloom, I’m not terminally ill!’

‘I know! I just mean, I know you, and in your head you’d have arrived in India thinking that he was going to twirl you around until your feet left the floor’ – at this, Leila looked a little sheepish – ‘before he booked the rest of the week off work and whisked you to the Taj Mahal where you’d get photographed on the same bench where Princess Diana sat, and then he’d take you to a Maharaja’s palace where he’d booked a candlelit meal on a roof terrace festooned with fairy lights, which is where he’d propose. Am I close?’

Leila stuck her nose in the air. ‘Not remotely.’

‘I had it spot on, didn’t I?’

There was no point pretending otherwise to her sister, she could always see straight through her.

‘But he wasn’t right for you Leila,’ Tasha continued earnestly. ‘You do this, you hop from boyfriend to boyfriend, pinning unrealistic expectations onto each of them. Writing the script in your head of what you want them to say and how you want them to act, and if you keep doing that you’ll always end up being disappointed.’

‘Ok, oh wise one. How have you stayed married to Alex all these years then? What’s the secret to finding and keeping the right one?’ That stopped Tasha in her tracks. Running through Tasha’s mind was the old predicament, to tell the truth or the heavily edited soft-focus version she usually wheeled out. The trouble was, Leila was the only one in the family who knew exactly how she and Alex got together seventeen years ago, and had kept the secret too, so fobbing her off with platitudes almost never worked. If their parents ever found out that their daughter had been Alex’s mistress for a couple of years and was the reason for the breakdown of his marriage they’d be horrified. They didn’t even know their son-in-law had been married before, let alone that he’d got Tasha pregnant which is why he had to divorce his first wife to marry her. But, that was fifteen years ago, so absolutely no point raking it all up now.

‘Top me up before I answer that,’ Tasha held out her empty glass, ‘and can I just say how impressed I am that you have an ice bucket.’

‘Thank you. Now stop changing the subject. You and Alex, what’s your secret?’

Tasha sighed. ‘Oh God Leila, I don’t know. We don’t expect too much from each other I guess.’

‘That’s romantic.’

Tasha laughed. ‘I mean, we don’t conjure up ideals that we know the other one can’t live up to. We just get on with it, and have a lovely life, and don’t think too much about the stuff we can’t change.’

‘Like what?’

But that was it. The shutters had come down and Tasha shook her head, ‘Look at me, getting all deep and serious. But you need to move on from Freddie Leila, you’ve been hibernating here since you got back from India and it’s not right or healthy.’

‘I have not been hibernating! You don’t see me sat here in tracksuit bottoms and unwashed hair sipping super-strength cider through a straw do you?’

‘Well, no, but you missed the last family Sunday roast, and that’s unheard of.’

The once-a-month family roast dinner was sacrosanct. It had had a strict compulsory attendance order slapped on it for as long as Leila could remember. Making the trek from her university in Bristol down to Dartmouth every month for a slap-up free feed was a welcome respite from her usual daily diet of Super Noodles and breakfast cereals, but now she lived in London, the journey, and the time away from her friends, and boyfriend, when she had one, was a bit annoying sometimes. Not that she needed to worry about having a boyfriend now. Or ever again.

She knew that it was a cop-out, but heading down to her parents’ hotel in Devon to be guest of honour at a pity-party just a couple of weeks after the Jaipur fiasco was not something Leila wanted to put herself through. Her mother Judy would no doubt have had her head on the side for her entire visit, while repeating the words ‘plenty of fish’ and her dad would simultaneously give her a smile and a wide berth should her emotions suddenly get the better of her. Her brother Marcus would have found it impossible not to make lots of barbed references to her disastrous love life, and while she normally would have batted these back quickly and effortlessly, this latest dating catastrophe had affected her more than any of the others. Not that she was able to say that out loud yet.

‘So are you here as Mum’s spy to report back on the state of my sanity then?’ Leila asked.

‘No! Not at all! Not really. No. Well, maybe a bit. But mainly I wanted to see my little sister and offer my shoulder, should you need it. It’s ok to show your emotions you know Leila, you don’t need to pretend everything’s alright, when it’s not.’

Later that afternoon, when the sun had disappeared for the day, two empty champagne bottles were upended in the ice bucket and Tasha had reluctantly left, Leila thought about what her sister had said. She was known amongst her friends as the Bounce Back Queen, never letting anything get her down, being ridiculously cheerful in the face of adversity, but she absolutely never wanted to feel as stupid as she did leaving that hotel in Jaipur again. It was mid-afternoon on Christmas Day in England when she had skyped her parents from India. Her mum, dad, sister, brother, nephew and nieces all squashed their faces onto the small screen, colourful cracker hats adorning each one of them. She should have been there. She should have been working her way through her dad’s wine cellar with them, playing silly board games and listening to Radio Devon’s festive party mix. But instead she spent the day alone, huddled on a grimy corner of the airport praying for a standby ticket to get her home.

She had stayed awake for every minute of the thirty-hour journey from Freddie’s hotel room in India to her own bed in London, where she slept for almost two days straight. She didn’t cry. She didn’t even drink herself into oblivion with the free booze on board the flight. She just felt numb. And foolish. And she knew that she didn’t want a man to make her feel like that ever again.

Chapter 2

A few weeks later…

‘I reckon his photo was easily taken twenty years ago.’

‘No!’ Jayne cried. ‘Who would do that?’

‘What did he think?’ Amanda asked, blowing the froth off her cappuccino. ‘That you wouldn’t notice that he looked nothing like his advert?’

‘Profile,’ Shelley sniffed, looking affronted. ‘It’s not an advert, I’m not advertising for dates, like you would a car, it’s a profile. Anyway, thankfully he didn’t see me as I’d chosen a table behind a pillar – thanks to Leila’s suggestion – so I was able to leg it before having to spend an evening with him.’

Although this time it was her friend Shelley recounting this story of dating woe, it was a carbon copy of numerous blind date disasters Leila had suffered in her time. Brad Pitt morphing into Danny DeVito, Single Solvent Lawyer mutating into Married Bankrupt Loser.

‘Do you remember me telling you about that guy who, when the bill came, put down a coupon he’d cut out of the paper for his half of the meal?’ Leila added, to the shrieks of hilarity from her best friends. ‘And he didn’t even know why I didn’t want to see him again!’

Shelley picked up the baton, ‘What about those twins we met at that dating in the dark night, Leila, who said they were thirty-something bankers who lived in Canary Wharf and then at the end of the night we saw their mum picking them up?’

‘Are you sure you two don’t make some of these stories up to make me and Amanda a little bit envious of your exciting single lives?’ Jayne asked smiling. ‘I mean it puts my normal night of watching box sets in my pyjamas with Will a little in the shade.’

‘And me and Paul. The most excited we’ve been in months is when a new series of 24 was announced.’

‘Exciting single lives?’ Leila yelped. ‘Have you not been listening? Nothing about being a thirty-something, single woman in London is remotely exciting. Soul-destroying yes, exciting, no.’

‘Oh I don’t know, it has its moments.’ As Shelley was a statuesque redhead with measurements Marilyn would weep for, her experiences tended to sometimes be a tad different to Leila’s.

‘Honestly, you two don’t know how good you have it,’ Leila said, pointing the end of her croissant at Jayne and Amanda. What she wouldn’t give to spend evenings in her pyjamas with the love of her life rather than trundling down to a personality-less wine bar to speed date, or spending hours swiping left and right on Tinder. Trying to locate her future husband was more or less a full-time job, and she was sick of it.

‘You know what?’ Leila said, slamming her croissant down on the table. ‘I’m done. Finito. Caput. No more, I’m taking some time out from dating.’

‘You always say that. Every time you have a bad date, or your boyfriend turns out to be a dick, you say that that’s the last time,’ Amanda said. ‘You’re still in shock about careering halfway across the world for Freddie, you’ll be fine in a few weeks.’

To be fair, her friends had tried to warn her not to follow Freddie to India. ‘Men don’t like to be surprised,’ Amanda had said, ignorant of the irony in her statement seeing as she had proposed to Paul, and not the other way round. And Jayne didn’t understand either, with her perfect marriage to Will, Richmond’s very own Mr Darcy. It was only a matter of time before Shelley joined their cosy married club and Leila would have to fly the spinster flag alone.

***

As Leila walked the few streets back to her flat after their breakfast her phone vibrated in her bag. ‘Layles, flying back to London in a couple of weeks, let’s hook up and I can explain. Miss you XOXO’

Her stomach lurched and she didn’t know whether to hurl the phone into the nearest wall or hug it close to her body in relief. In the first few weeks after coming back from India she’d replayed the hotel room scene over and over in her mind constantly, even sometimes concluding that maybe, just maybe, she might have been too quick to flounce off in a huff. Perhaps the girl wasn’t completely naked, she could have been wearing one of those nude catsuits, so she was actually fully dressed, and possibly she worked at the hotel and had just delivered his room service and then was trying to fix his TV for him, which is why she was sat on his bed with the remote. Put like that, she occasionally felt a bit sorry for the short shrift she’d given him. She had even gone as far as to punch out a text to him that remained unsent, wondering if maybe she did owe him the opportunity to explain. But for him to suddenly get in touch now, a couple of weeks before his arrival in London, with his fancy bit thousands of miles away, just made her mad and not in the slightest bit sentimental.

‘No thanks.’ She pressed Send.

‘Don’t be like that babe, doesn’t suit you. See you in a couple of weeks XOXO’

Her fingers hovered over the keypad. If she was angry before, it was nothing compared to the white-hot rage that coursed through her veins now. How dare he? What planet was he on that he thought it was ok to treat her like that, then have complete radio silence for two months and then resurface like nothing had happened? She wouldn’t rise to it and send him a message back. Shaking, Leila slammed her front door behind her and threw her coat and keys down on the floor in the hallway. She was worth so much more than him. More than this ridiculous, fruitless man-search that made a little bit of her die inside with every unhappy ending. She’d had enough.

***

‘Celibacy?’ Thomas heaped two more roast potatoes onto her outstretched plate. ‘As in, become a nun?’

Leila rolled her eyes, ‘No, Dad, as in a man ban. I have taken a vow of chastity to sort my life out.’ She ignored her older brother Marcus’s immature guffawing next to her and passed the gravy boat on to her mum, Judy, who was sat on the other side, remaining uncharacte‌ristically silent.

‘Well I think it’s a great idea. You’ve been like a beacon for complete prats for the last two decades, and it’s time you concentrated on understanding your own energy field and what you’re putting out to the universe.’ Ever since her sister Tasha had decided to study Mindfulness and Visualisation to fill the void left by her youngest child reaching school age, she’d been peppering all her sentences with words like ‘emotional intelligence’ and ‘cognitive defusion’.

‘Thanks Tash. I feel very positive about it actually, it’s going well.’

‘So, when did you start this man-ban?’ Judy finally ventured, rolling the last two words around her mouth as though they were part of a foreign language.

‘Last Tuesday.’ Leila replied.

They all erupted in the type of laughter that makes furniture shake. Even Tasha’s three children joined in, the younger two, being only four and seven, had no idea what the hell they were howling about, but that didn’t stop them. Marcus’s annoying new girlfriend Lucy was chuckling away with the rest of them too, her perfect flicky-out hair bobbing along in time with her giggles.

‘I’m glad that I amuse you all so much.’ Leila huffed. ‘Next time one of you makes an important life choice remind me to be equally as supportive.’

‘Sorry darling,’ Judy rested her hand on her daughter’s arm. ‘We are supportive, it’s just that you haven’t got a great track record with seeing things through.’

Leila put her hand on her chest in mock disgust. ‘I am offended by that, Mother.’

‘Violin. Ice skating. Veganism. Boot camp. Spanish. Watercolour painting. Salsa. Am I missing anything Thomas?’ Judy had seven fingers outstretched in front of her as she counted off all the pursuits Leila had let trail off after getting bored.

‘Ryan. Carlos. Simon. Steve. Robbie. Luke. Oliver. Liam. Freddie.’ Marcus added. He always took sides with Judy. Such a mummy’s boy. ‘And those are the only ones you introduced us to. There must be more that never got to the meet-the-family stage.’

‘That’s not the same! At all! I have been very unlucky in love, and I haven’t found the right hobby yet. Two completely different things.’

‘You are a bit fickle sweetheart,’ Thomas topped up her wine glass.

‘Adding the word “sweetheart” at the end of that damning insult does not lessen it Dad. And I am not fickle. I am merely seeking perfection in everything I do.’

‘And every one,’ Alex, Tasha’s husband chimed in.

‘Alex!’ Tasha and Judy exclaimed at the same time.

‘Let’s not lower the tone, Alex, it is Sunday after all.’ Leila thought Tasha’s remonstration based on it being the Sabbath was a tad hypocritical – the last time her sister had attended church was her own wedding fifteen years ago.

‘Right, let’s change the subject. Yummy roast Mum, new chef?’ It was a running joke in the family that because Leila’s mum and dad ran a hotel, they got all their meals cooked for them, whereas in fact, apart from the occasional Ploughman’s that Thomas would surreptitiously steal from the kitchen downstairs, Judy made all their meals.

It wasn’t a spur of the moment decision, becoming celibate, despite what her family thought. Leila had always been interested in reading about women embarking on periods of self-discovery and contemplation, but had always measured her own sense of self-worth by leaping from one relationship straight into another rather than taking some time out. Admittedly, when she’d called for silence by pinging her mobile against her wine glass and giving her impassioned declaration to Jayne, Amanda and Shelley last Tuesday, she was fuelled by a few gin and tonics, but that was coincidental.

They too had followed a stunned silence with stomach-grabbing laughter. Then they’d laid bets on the table about how long she’d last. It was perhaps testament to her track record of inconsistency that there was currently £4000 in the pot. ‘This is a bet I have to take!’ her former flatmate Amanda had squealed. ‘So if by some miracle and personality transplant, you pull it off, we give you a grand each, and if you don’t then you have to pay each of us a grand.’

‘Which basically means you’ll have to sell a kidney,’ Jayne warned. ‘Don’t take the bet Leila, you’re just reeling because of what twatty Freddie did, in a couple of weeks, you’ll think differently.’

‘I will not,’ Leila replied haughtily. ‘My mind is set, and ladies, I take your bets. Start saving your pennies.’ Leila had told them what she found herself trying to articulate to her family now. This man-ban was not a whim. And although she usually thought most of what her sister spouted about ‘sending messages to the universe’ was a bit far-fetched, Leila completely recognised that something needed to change, and this seemed a good place to start.

***

As much as Leila would like to think that it was her cooking and fantastic hosting skills that prompted Tasha to pop around unannounced later that week after work, she knew that her sister had an ulterior motive, which she wasted no time in spelling out.

‘Now look, I want to talk to you about this celibacy thing.’

Leila leant her head back on the sofa and moaned. ‘Oh no, not you as well, I’ve already had Mum’s take on how ridiculous I’m being, I don’t need you joining in the chorus too.’

‘Far from it! I’m completely supportive of you, I actually think you should step it up a gear.’

‘In what way?’

‘Well if you’re serious about remaining single, and are genuinely doing it for reasons of empowerment and regaining control of your life, and getting to know yourself better, and all the other reasons you got on your soapbox about at the last Sunday lunch, then take it more seriously. Do something that’s going to change your life, rather than sitting at home being celibate listening to sad songs and lamenting your crap choice in boyfriends.’

‘I am not listening to sad songs! I have a very upbeat music collection.’

‘But put an end date on it, so that you have a period of time for self-discovery. You and I both know that you’re not intending to be single forever, but why not do it for six months, or a year even. Twelve months of finding yourself. Make it formal. Write a blog about it, start a group. Make this year count.’

‘You know what? I really like that idea. A year of me. Starting tomorrow. April 1st. April Fool’s day. How ironic.’

‘Maybe there’s a group nearby you can join?’

‘I’ll have a look this week.’

‘Have a look now.’

‘I’ll have a look later.’

‘Now.’

Leila threw a cushion at her sister’s head. ‘If we’re going to do this, can we do it in the garden? That’s my happy place.’

‘It’s still March. Do we have to?’

‘It’s the last day of March, which is Spring time, and if you’re making me do this, then yes, we do.’

Leila pulled on a sweater, lit a couple of candles in lanterns that were dotted around the courtyard and sat down next to her sister. She opened the computer and started typing. Celibacy London. Chastity. Sisterhood. Female solidarity. The sisters navigated their way through a bottle of red wine and sites selling promise rings written by the Christian far right and web pages for spurned women vehemently (and often violently) advocating a life of no-sex after vicious break ups. But they couldn’t find a site, or group, or club for women like Leila who wanted the happy ever after, but just wanted to dedicate a chapter of the fairy tale to themselves first.

‘So what now?’ Leila asked.

‘You make your own.’

‘Just like that?’

‘Just like that. It’s very easy. I made a blog recently for my Mindfulness group. It’s amazing how like-minded people find you if you put yourself out there.’

Leila drained her glass, and rested her chin on her hand. ‘But I don’t know that I want to be a beacon for every single woman out there.’

‘It’s not about everyone else, it’s about your own journey and documenting it, and learning from it, and sharing it with other women who are in the same position. Do it. I think it would be really good for you.’

‘You’re so bossy.’

‘I know. Now do it.’

Hello. My name is Leila, I am 32 years old and this is my first blog post.

‘You shouldn’t really give out personal information like your name and your age. And it’s obvious that it’s your first blog post as it’s the first post on the blog.’

Leila slammed the laptop shut and glared at her sister. ‘See? I knew I’d be rubbish at this.’

Tasha leaned across and prised open the screen again. ‘As you were.’

‘I used to think that it was you that was the saint, but now I realise it’s Alex.’

‘Leila,’ Tasha said gently, ‘Carry on.’

Leila gingerly started typing. Somewhere around the fourth line Tasha started stroking her sister’s hair and by the time the last full stop was added, both sisters had tears pricking their eyes.

In the last fifteen years I’ve dated two cheaters, one closet homosexual, a man that spat out watermelon pips across a restaurant, another that referred to his man parts as Peter Pecker. One that cried like a baby during love-making, another that had four tattoos of different women’s names on his arm (he wasn’t related to any of them), one that tried it on with my friends, one that tried it on with my sister, and one that used to follow me home from work ‘to keep me safe’. There was one that broke my toe (very bad dancer), another that broke my nose (very bad temper), and two that broke my heart. There was one that proposed to me every day for 87 days then married someone else two weeks after my final no, one that wanted me to wee on him, and in the process of chasing the last one across India I contracted amoebic dysentery and lost my luggage. I think it’s fair to say me and dating aren’t natural companions. Which is why I’m opting out for a year. Celibate. Chaste. Call it what you will, I’m staying single for 365 days to give my sanity a rest. I don’t know what this year of self-discovery is going to be like, but I know one thing - it’s going to be a whole lot more fulfilling and fun than being with, and getting over, all the men listed above. The journey begins here…

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