How Not to be a Bride. Portia MacIntosh

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      ‘Yes,’ I reply, a little too excitedly. ‘I need a white one, please.’

      ‘What size?’ he asks.

      Shit. Leo was right, I should have written this down.

      ‘Erm… So, I think it’s 60x40 or 40x60. So, whichever one of those is a real size.’

      ‘We actually do both of those sizes, miss,’ the employee points out.

      Double shit.

      ‘Erm…’

      Come on, Mia. You’ve got this. Just think about what numbers he said – he even said them twice.

      ‘40x60?’ I tell him, although it sounds more like a question than an answer.

      ‘Are you sure?’ he laughs.

      ‘Positive,’ I reply.

      With an unconvinced laugh, he tells me where to find what I need and, as I walk there, I can’t help but think about how much my life has changed since I moved back to the UK. If you’d told me four years ago, when I was living in the Hollywood Hills, hanging out with movie stars, and playing the dating game to the best of my ability, that I’d be living in Canterbury, in a house that needs a lot of work, spending my days procrastinating and my nights watching Netflix, I would have laughed in your face – and probably threatened to do something drastic to save myself from such a life. Don’t get me wrong. I love Leo so much, and I’m so lucky to have him, but my life has changed so much and I’m really starting to feel it. My day-to-day life has changed, my hobbies have changed – even my looks have changed, which I can’t help but notice, standing here in front of this full-length ISFJORDEN mirror. Gone are the days I’d spend hours at the gym, eating clean and tanning regularly to maintain my toned, LA body, and since I stopped dropping triple digits on my long, blonde locks at a swanky salon, instead going to a cheaper, local place, I’ve had what’s known in the trade as a chemical cut, which basically means they’ve been using such strong peroxide on my hair that it has broken off, leaving me with much shorter locks. As superficial as it sounds, I took such confidence from these things, and now I feel kind of unremarkable by comparison. I don’t look bad, I just don’t look like me.

      Finally through the checkout, I spy Leo standing over by the door, finishing up a hotdog. It took me all this time to find one item and here he is, his trolley piled high with things, finishing up his dinner. This is further proof that he’s some kind of Ikea wizard. He just seems to know how to manipulate the place, to bend it to his will, whether he’s modifying furniture or taking the little shortcuts he knows to get from sofas to plates in a matter of minutes.

      ‘There you are,’ he says as I approach him. ‘I was just about to come looking for you – I half expected to find you curled up in a bed somewhere.’

      ‘What would you have done then?’ I ask, adopting a more flirtatious tone.

      ‘Probably napped with you,’ he replies. ‘Maybe.’

      I see that little glimmer in his eye that I love so much.

      I laugh to myself. Sex in an Ikea bed, in Ikea, is probably Leo’s number-one fantasy. It would probably make his day to find me in one of the fake bedrooms, whispering sweet Swedish nothings into his ear before some post-coital meatballs.

      ‘OK, we need to go if you’re going to get to Boots before they close,’ Leo says with a clap of his hands.

      I absolutely need to get to Boots before they close. It might feel like it’s been a really long time since we had sex, but there’s no time for flirting if I’m going to get the things I need for my trip tomorrow. Plus, we’re not going to have sex in Ikea, are we? Our naughty days are a thing of the past. Well, when you’ve been together for four years you don’t really do wild any more, do you?

      ‘Here, I got you one,’ Leo says, handing me a hotdog.

      ‘I’m OK, thanks,’ I reply. ‘I need to watch what I eat.’

      ‘No, you don’t. You’re as sexy as the day I met you,’ he insists sincerely.

      I smile.

      ‘I’m not really hungry,’ I reply, giving his arm a squeeze.

      Leo shrugs his shoulders before eating it himself.

      I know it’s easy to put on a little weight when you’re comfortable in a relationship, but my super-sexy boyfriend is just as hot as the day we first met. I suppose being a fireman helps with that. He has to keep fit, and the uniform still lights a fire in my downstairs. I, on the other hand, work from home, so I’m not as active as I used to be. I’m a healthy-ish weight; I’m just nowhere near as toned as I used to be.

      Finally at our car, Leo begins loading things into the boot as I plonk myself down in the passenger seat, exhaling deeply, relieved to have survived another trip to Ikea.

      ‘Erm, Mia,’ Leo calls from behind me.

      ‘Yeah?’

      ‘You’ve got the wrong size,’ he tells me.

      I massage my temples.

      ‘Can’t you make it work?’

      ‘I mean, it would be better to just have the right one. Shall I run back in?’

      ‘Leo, I need to get to Boots,’ I tell him.

      ‘I know, I know,’ he calls back. ‘I just really wanted to do some work on the kitchen today. Aren’t you sick of eating microwave food and takeaways?’

      ‘Well, yeah, but we’re going away tomorrow,’ I reply.

      ‘To Cornwall,’ he reminds me. ‘Where they have plenty of Boots… I’ll make sure we stop at one on the way to the beach house and you can even give me a list of what you want and I’ll get it… and I’ll buy you some Daim chocolate.’

      ‘OK, fine, go,’ I tell him. ‘I’ll stay here.’

      Leo gives me a kiss on the cheek before dashing off back inside, leaving me sitting in the car. I know he just wants to get the house finished so that we can get on with living a happy life in it. I guess I’m just impatient and growing tired of the constant DIY.

      Perhaps the kid with the helicopter arms was on to something. That’s why he’s probably in Toys R Us right now getting whatever toy he wants, and I’m still stuck here, in Ikea purgatory, waiting for a kitchen door.

Chapter Two

      Isn’t it weird how, when you visit somewhere you haven’t been for a while, it seems so familiar and yet so alien. Like it’s something you saw in a movie once.

      Being back in Cornwall, back at the beach house where my sister got married, is making me feel exactly that. I want to say it hasn’t changed at all, because it hasn’t, but what happened here during her wedding week feels like something that happened to someone else.

      My sister, Belle, and her husband, Dan, tied the knot here four СКАЧАТЬ