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

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

November 2010

December

January 2011

February

March

April

May

June

July

August

About The Author

Coco Pinchard’s Big Fat Tipsy Wedding

By Robert Bryndza

Copyright © Robert Bryndza 2013

First Published by Team Bryndza Books June 2013

Edited By Ján Bryndza

Cover Design Dan Bramall
www.thescribbler.co.uk

Kindle Edition

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to the vendor and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

To everyone who loved the first book, thank you for all your wonderful letters, emails and tweets - this is for you.

November 2010

Sunday 14th November
 
21.56

[email protected]
 

Dear Chris,

Today was the day. Rosencrantz left home. Of course, my only son flying the nest happened at the worse time. I’m a week over the deadline to finish my new novel, The Duchess Of York: Secret Agent. So I spent most of the day holed up in my little office, having to watch him lug boxes past the door aided by his father and Adam.
 

He kept popping in to show me things he’d unearthed whilst packing, including his first teddy bear, a Christening present from Meryl and Tony. How has Rosencrantz grown up so quickly? It was like yesterday I remember the Vicar asking him what he wanted to name the teddy,

'How about something from your Sunday School class,' he said sipping his tea by the buffet table. 'Noah? Jacob? Job?'
 

The guests watched on, charmed by my cute little boy dressed in a miniature black suit and furrowing his tiny eyebrows deep in thought.                        

'I’m going to call her… Bitch!' he squeaked, causing the Vicar to choke into his cup. 'Meet my new teddy bear Bitch! Bitch, bitch, bitchy, bitch, BITCH!'
 

Several guests froze with their fruitcake mid-air, and a lady in a big hat gasped in horror.

'He just loves the word, Bitch,’ I said grinning awkwardly. ‘Of course, he doesn’t know what it means. I’ve been reading that Jackie Collins novel
The Bitch
.’

‘Not as a bedtime story, I hope?’ said the Vicar irritably, mopping tea off his cassock. Suffice to say Rosencrantz never went back to Sunday school…

I looked fondly at Bitch, now a bit threadbare and faded sat beside my computer screen; she came with us on every family holiday and was even admitted to hospital with Rosencrantz when he had his appendix removed.
 

Just then, the phone on my desk rang. I wiped away a tear and picked it up. It was Angie.

‘Alright love. You finished the bloody book yet?’ she said, exhaling cigarette smoke down the line.

‘I’m trying to finish but you keep ringing me to ask if I’ve finished…’

‘I need you to come up with a new title,’ she said.
 

‘You said
The Duchess Of York: Secret Agent
was perfect?’
 

‘Oh it is,’ she said. ‘I love it. The PR people love it. Your Editor thinks it's genius.’

‘Then what’s the problem?’
 

‘Well, your publisher thinks that for twittering purposes, it's too long.’

‘I don’t understand?’

‘Twitter is playing a big part in your book launch next year. A tweet can only be a hundred and forty characters. They think using thirty-three of them for the title is a waste.’

‘We’ve sat through twelve meetings about the title, where everyone has agreed that they love
The Duchess Of York: Secret Agent
. As my Literary Agent can’t you put your foot down?’
 

The low drone of a drill started up. Angie is having the basement of her new house excavated for a swimming pool and hot stone massage room.
 

‘Look, Coco,’ she shouted above the noise. ‘When you get a six figure advance — you're in hock to the publishing house. If they say it has to be shorter, it has to be shorter. You think you can come up with something by tomorrow?’
 

The drilling moved to a higher octave. I felt like telling her it was thanks to my six-figure advance she would soon be splashing about in a private swimming pool, but she started shouting at her builders so I put the phone down.
 

Rosencrantz poked his head round the door.

‘That's the last of the boxes Mum,’ he said. ‘All that’s left is Bitch, do you want her to stay here?’

‘No, she belongs with you.’ I gave Bitch a last cuddle and he took her downstairs.

I stared at my screen for a few seconds then switched it off. I went to Rosencrantz’s bedroom — all but empty apart from a Diex Du Stade calendar hanging on the wall. A naked French rugby player smouldered back, glancing over his muscled back and impossibly perfect behind.
 

From the window, I could see Daniel and Adam down in the driveway, helping Rosencrantz fit his boxes into the boot of Daniel’s car. Another tear escaped my eye.
 

‘Ere love,’ said Ethel appearing at my elbow. I jumped. She has real stealth for a decrepit old bag. She pulled a tissue from her sleeve. I took it and blew my nose.

‘I knew this day would come, just not this quickly,’ I said.

‘E's twenty-two love... E's gotta spread 'is wings.’

‘Why does he need to spread them south of the river? It's so rough.’

‘It'll toughen ‘im up, put hairs on his chest. Or at least now e's payin’ rent e'll not be able to afford Veet, the hairs on his chest'll grow back.’

Down in the driveway, Rosencrantz loaded in the last box and Daniel closed the boot. The moment had come. All that stood between now and empty nest syndrome was a warm glass of Asti Spumante.

‘Oh lord, you'll be fine love,’ said Ethel. ‘You'll do the Shake n' Vac and move the toy boy in, speak of the devil.’
 

Adam came through the door, all lithe and muscular in a tight t-shirt and jeans.
 

‘Hey come on, what’s this?’ he said, pulling me into his arms and planting a soft sweet kiss on the top of my head. ‘He’ll only be twenty minutes away by car.’
 

‘What about rush hour?’ I sobbed. ‘The journey time across London doubles.’
 

‘Let it all out love,’ said Ethel proffering another tissue from her cardigan. ‘I was the same during the change.’

‘I am not going through the change!’ I snapped, blowing my nose.

‘If yer say so,’ she said, winking at Adam.
 

‘Ethel I am not going through…
Anything…
’
 

‘What's going on?’ said Daniel coming in with Rosencrantz.

‘Just your Mother, ill-informed as usual,’ I said.

‘ 'is just basic science Coco,’ said Ethel lighting up a fag. ‘The only women 'avin babies at your age are Italian and pumped full of hormones.’

‘Let's talk about something else. Like when do I next see my gorgeous son?’ I said pulling Rosencrantz into the hug with Adam.

‘You mean
our
son,’ said Daniel.

‘We all know who you are,’ said Rosencrantz shooting him a look.

‘Well, I seem to have been airbrushed out of existence in this house,’ said Daniel sulkily. ‘I've just noticed the photo of me from the downstairs toilet has gone.’

‘We all got sick of you grinning down at us when we took a dump,’ said Rosencrantz.

‘It
was
a creepy photo Daniel,’ I said. ‘You unshaven and hung over with your arm around Minnie Mouse.’
 

‘We had a lot of fun at Euro Disney,’ said Daniel. ‘It holds very happy memories for me… When we were a family.’
 

‘Yeah you should have thought about that before you got caught bonking that bird in the bedroom,’ said Rosencrantz.

‘Rosencrantz! Don't talk to your father like that!’ I said.
 

‘Yes, it’s all been forgotten Rosencrantz,’ said Daniel.

‘Well, hang on, I haven't forgotten about it,’ I said.

‘Well, you're moving him in pretty sharpish,’ said Daniel pointing at Adam.

‘Adam and myself have been together for over a year, and
we’ve
been divorced for eighteen months Daniel. What’s sharpish about that?’ I said.

The three men in my life were all puffing out their chests and shifting on their feet. Ethel's beady eyes were lit up in anticipation of a fight.

‘Look, let’s all calm down,’ I said. ‘It's all water, almost, but not quite under the bridge. Let's go downstairs for a nice drink.’ On the way out Ethel said,

‘Thas' a cracking backside, Oo is 'e?’ We turned and regarded the naked French rugby player on the wall.

‘That's Pierre Rabadan, Nan, ‘ said Rosencrantz unhooking the calendar, removing the last thing that showed this was his bedroom.

‘Yours 'aint bad neither,’ Ethel said winking at Adam. ‘I could balance my mug of Bovril on there. Do yer do keep fit?’ Adam regarded his bottom bashfully saying he’s started doing Jiu-Jitsu a couple of times a week.

‘Don't you dare fall for her charm,’ I hissed at him as we all went downstairs, Daniel moaning that his mother hadn't complimented his bottom. I took a last look back at Rosencrantz's room, now the spare room — and shut the door.

I held onto Rosencrantz for a long time before he got in the car with Daniel and Ethel for his drive across the river, and I kept up my waving and happy smile until they were out of sight.

‘Come on now. No crying,’ said Adam slipping his arm round my waist.

‘He’ll be all right, won’t he?’
 

‘He’s got your brains, Daniel’s cunning and Ethel’s gift of the gab — he'll be fine.’ We came back inside and I closed the front door.

‘It’s just me and you now,’ said Adam. ‘We have the whole house to ourselves.’ He tucked a lock of hair behind my ear, and leant in for a kiss.
 

‘I have to finish the book,’ I said weakly.

‘Sorry the book will have to wait,’ he said flashing a devilish grin. ‘I’m taking you upstairs… Now.’ I shrieked as he chucked me over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift and climbed the stairs as if I weighed nothing.
 

‘Ethel’s right,’ I said squeezing his impossibly pert behind. ‘You could balance a mug of Bovril on there,’

‘It’s all yours,’ he growled chucking me on the bed. He made me very late for my deadline… I’ve only just finished the book and emailed it off to Angie.

Love Coco xxx

PS We must arrange to meet up soon. It’s been ages since I saw you and Marika. I feel I’ve been neglecting my best friends.

Monday 15th November
 
08.14

TO: [email protected]

Rosencrantz,

How was your first night in your new home? Did you go out? Be careful on the streets of South London late at night and please remember to carry the little travel size can of Dove antiperspirant I got you from Superdrug. It's just as good as mace.

Phone me when you get this.

Love Mum xxx

PS the new title of the book is
Agent Fergie
. I think there is now going to be confusion between Fergie the Duchess Of York, Fergie from the Black Eye Peas and Alex Ferguson Manchester United Manager. Angie, however, is thrilled we have lopped off thirty-three characters for twittering purposes.