All Chapters of Always Finding Mr Wrong: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

“STEVE!! WAKE UP, STEPHEN! YOU LAZY PRAT. WAKE UP, WILL YOU?” I’m standing outside of my brother’s semi detached house, throwing flower buds at his bedroom window. “STEVE, THIS IS REALLY IMPORTANT. PLEASE LET ME IN.” He surfaces like a hibernating bear, “What do you want?” He says grumpily as he emerges from behind the curtain. His neighbours are treated to a view of his naked upper half which is an alarming shade of burnt reddish orange. He’s clearly fallen to sleep on the sun bed again. Fixing his boxers, he opens his window and scowls down at me. “Seriously, what the actual fuck?” “Please open the door,” I reply urgently. “This is important.” “It can’t be more important than me getting some sleep,” he grumbles. “It’s only six pm,” I tell him exasperated. “Who bloody sleeps at this time?” “I’ve only just got back from a conference in Poland, you moron.” I don’t even feel the tiniest bit of guilt about ruining his beauty sleep, he’s clearly just overdone it on a

Scott’s at home tonight and it feels strange. Not just because he’s so often at Katie’s place these days, but also because I’m an emotional and physical wreck whenever he’s near. I find myself either talking like Forest Gump or a sports commentator on speed, other times es I hardly able to talk at all. I’m filled with longing for him, desperate to reach out and touch him, kiss his lips, feel his arms around me. I’m consumed with jealousy about him and Katie. And shame that I could feel like this about two of my best friends. This episode has brought out a wicked witch side of me, that quite frankly I can’t stand. She’s a bitch. And a miserable bitch at that. Scott wanders into the kitchen and takes out a fillet of fish and some vegetables as I’m preparing my dinner. “That looks….. appetising,” Scott says. I look at my bowl of breakfast cereal. It’s only 130 calories with the milk included. I’d feel very saintly and committed to my diet if I hadn’t already devoured four mini q

I honestly can’t really remember the last time I watched Scott play sport, it’s probably been almost five years. I can’t help but think that if I’d have continued watching him, I’d have realised how attractive he is. Today I’m watching him play rugby with his friends and, he’s sensational. Tackling fearlessly, scoring effortlessly, playing faster and harder than anyone else. As he celebrates another try – his fourth of the match – I squeal with pride as his teammates dive on top of him. Then I remember that he’s not mine. His rippling, muddied biceps aren’t mine. His toned torso under his gloriously sweaty shirt isn’t mine. The long, muscular legs aren’t mine. They’re Katie’s. Along with the gorgeous smile and and gentle personality that make him unconcerned about what anyone thinks as he waves to me energetically at the sidelines. “What a brilliant surprise,” he says, running over as soon as the whistle blows. “I didn’t think you were interested in rugby.” “I hadn’t rea

Chris isn’t as good looking as I remember, but that doesn’t put me off. His behaviour this evening is so close to perfect he should write a textbook on dating etiquette. Since we arrived at the comedy lounge an hour ago, I can’t fault him. He’s complimented my dress, enquired about my work, leaped to the bar every time I attempted to. He’s made me feel attractive and clever, when I was feeling about as irresistible as a bloody warthog. For that, I owe him a lot. With five minutes to go before the first act, he turns and smiles. “I feel like an idiot, Emma.” “Oh. Why?” “For not phoning you after the Beverley races. You must have thought I was right twat.” “Well… yes,” I agree, but without any venom. He looks embarrassed. “I’ve always had this problem with commitment,” he explains. “Whenever a woman likes me, I feel the need to create some space – to take a breather.” “Hey, don’t worry Chris,” I laugh, gently. “It’s not like you broke my heart.” “Of course,” he says, una

Our new home is everything I’ve ever wanted in a home: it’s huge, open and light, two master bedrooms, with a small home above the garage, and in a great location within a fenced community. I wander into my bedroom which is twice the size of my old one and at least ten times more luxurious. It’s expensive of course, but anything would be expensive compared to the house I shared with Scott. That was my foot on the ladder home. It was a bargain when I found it, even more so now that the mortgage is paid and I’m now earning by renting it out. Or at least I will be once the tenants sign the paperwork. I just couldn’t stay there, everywhere I looked I saw him. So I’m moving in with Dani, in her new build, with the intention of buying a new home for a fresh start. I open the balcony doors, a breeze skips across my bare arms and lifts my spirits. But it’s short lived. Even this isn’t enough. I should be buzzing with excitement, but I’m not. Because I won’t be living with Scott any longer.