Here’s Roxy’s latest diary entry. Roxy is a thirty something, single mother, looking for her Prince Charming.
She has four kids (Matilda, 18, Harry, 12, Toby 10 & Hope 18 months), works in her mother’s coffee shop and has some wobbly bits on her hips and thighs, which no diet can get rid of.
Roxy has met a farmer called Tom and is about to go on a proper date with him.
Explaining to Tom for the hundredth time today, how I am cursed when it comes to spending romantic nights away in posh hotels.
We are about to leave for a night in a fancy hotel. Tom’s treat after our eventful farm date with my four kids.
My mother has kindly agreed to babysit. Whilst the kids are upstairs she plans to invite my ex-landlord Brian round for dinner. She assures me, her and Brian are ‘just good friends,’ after their passionate kiss at the speed dating event.
“Tell me more about this curse, which you have been going on about all day?” Tom says, draping his huge arm across my shoulders.
I take a deep breath. “Well, in the past, whenever I have been taken away for a romantic night in a hotel, things have always gone wrong.”
“What do you mean, gone wrong?”
Toby looks up from his football sticker book. “Bob the rat hid inside Mam’s purple frilly knickers in her case. He escaped in the hotel room.”
“Yes, thank you, Toby,” I say, with a nervous laugh.
Tom’s bushy eyebrows rise up his forehead.
“She had food poisoning and vomited all over my Dad’s shoes,” explains Harry, chucking his football against the kitchen wall.”
“Thank you, Harry,” I say, keen to move the conversation on.
“Mam got drunk, got a tattoo, which was meant to say, ‘Marcus’, but there was a mix-up and she got the name of her ex-manager at work tattooed on instead. At the hotel Marcus discovered the name ‘Martin‘ on her shoulder,” explains Matilda, without looking up from her phone.
Currently staring at an interesting part of the kitchen floor tile.
“Well, I can’t wait to get to our hotel,” laughs Tom, “this should be quite a night.”
Still staring at the kitchen tile.
Tom and I have just sat down to dinner. He won’t stop grinning at me.
“Here’s to our eventful night,” he says, clinking his wine glass against mine.
“Are you not worried about the curse?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I am ready for anything, Roxy Collins.”
The sight of his boyish wide smile and those pink, kissable lips sets off a tingling feeling, in a place of me, I cannot possibly divulge in a diary.
“So, tell me all about your singing dream,” Tom takes my hand and kisses the back of it.
I wonder whether I have heard him correctly. “You want to hear about my love of singing?”
He nods. “You were on some singing talent show, tell me what happened?”
This is a first for me. I am on a date with a man who wants to find out about my singing dream and is not boring me silly with stuff about himself.
Just finished telling Tom about my experience with the TV show ‘Search For a Star.’
He raised his eyebrows at the bit where I accidentally fell into the lap of music industry mogul, Hugo Rocco and he gave me an awkward look on hearing about Marcus encouraging me to give up on my dream.
“So, nearly two years later, Roxy, are you going to go back and chase your singing dream?”
I choke on my Sauvignon Blanc. “Tom, I now have four kids and I work in my mother’s coffee shop. There’s no time for singing or record deals.”
He leans over and plants a delicious kiss on my lips. “I disagree. You should do something about your dream. I have heard you singing in the coffee shop and you have such a beautiful voice.”
Trying to refrain from standing up in the fancy hotel restaurant and shouting, “I HAVE FINALLY FOUND A DECENT MAN!”
“Oh, Tom,” I say, shaking my head. “That’s so sweet, but I have finally accepted that the singing train won’t be stopping at my station, anytime soon, if ever.”
Tom holds my gaze. “There’s something special about you, Roxy Collins, you were not put on this planet to work in a coffee shop.”
“Or on a farm,” I add, with a smirk.
He throws back his head of curly brown hair and laughs. “I swear seeing you, in your disco boots, get chased by my friendly chickens was probably one of the funniest moments of my life.”
I give him a playful napkin swipe.
“Do you think Hugo whatever his name is would still remember you?” Tom asks, before handing me my colourful cocktail.
I laugh. “It was two years ago and I got through to the semi finals, Tom. He’s seen lots of pop stars since then and I read online he’s going through another messy divorce to his third model wife.”
“He might remember you, especially after your accident?”
Shaking my head, I take a sip of my cocktail. “If Hugo Rocco remembers me I will go skinny dipping, naked in the hotel lake.”
Tom’s face lights up. “I might hold you to that.”
Dare I say it – things have so far gone to plan.
Maybe there is no curse?
Tom and I kissing are each other, fully clothed, I might add, on the hotel bed. The TV is on in the background.
“So, Roxy Collins,” says Tom, seductively stroking my red hair, “what happens next?”
Just as I am about to whisper to Tom my thoughts on our next activity, my ears pick up on a TV interview. I can hear a familiar voice.
Turning round I see that Hugo Rocco, music industry mogul and probably the world’s most attractive man, bar Tom of course, is talking to a reporter.
Tom follows my gaze. “Is that the famous Hugo Rocco?”
I nod and without thinking grab the TV controller to turn up the volume.
“So, Hugo Rocco, what’s been happening in your world?” asks the pretty, blonde reporter, holding up a microphone.
Hugo Rocco sweeps back his sculptured brown hair. “Well, Sophie, I have something which has been bugging me for a long time and I need to talk about it.”
Sophie, the reporter raises her perfectly arched eyebrows at Hugo.
“Well, I can’t stop thinking about this singer who auditioned a few years ago. She got through to the semi finals and had to pull out due to personal reasons.”
My heart has stopped beating.
“Is he talking about you, Roxy?” Tom has cranked up the volume.
“She was called Roxy Collins.”
My jaw is on the floor.
“I want to get in touch with Roxy and persuade her to come to my studio. It would be scandalous to not record a voice like hers.”
“Oh my goodness,” I mutter, trembling with shock. “Hugo Rocco remembers me.”
I can hear my mobile phone going berserk inside my handbag.
Tom turns to me. “This is your chance, Roxy Collins, go get that singing dream.”
“But I can’t,” I mutter, as a thousand worries bombard my brain, “I am just a normal mother of four, who works in a coffee shop and who, has just started a new relationship with…”
Tom leans in close. “With a man who believes in you and wants to see you record your own single.”
I stare at him. “But…but…”
He kisses me on the lips. “Contact him, Roxy.”
“I’m scared, Tom.”
He wraps his big arms around me. “Opportunities like this don’t come along everyday. You have to grab it with both hands. I mean your singing career, not Hugo Rocco of course.”
I pull away. “But what about us?”
“We make a good team.”
“I know that, but if my world goes crazy, I won’t get to see you much and…”
Tom gets off the bed and gives me his hand. I stand to face him. “We will make it work, Roxy. I promise you.”
I fall into his embrace and send God a silent prayer of thanks for finally sending me a good man.
“Now, you owe me a skinny dip,” chuckles Tom.
“Tom – where are our clothes?” I shriek, shivering with cold and desperate for warmth.
We had left them in neat pile by the edge of the hotel lake and now they’ve disappeared.
He wades out of the water to check. “Where have they gone?”
“Did you see anyone, whilst we were….” My teeth are starting to chatter.
“No, I was too busy…showing you how to swim properly,” says Tom, hunting for our clothes. “Oh no, my room key was in my jeans!”
“You mean we have to go to reception with no clothes on? I don’t want the hotel guests to see my naked wobbly bits,” I gasp.
He splashes back into the water and places his arm around me. “You did warn me about the curse, Roxy, I only have myself to blame.”
The light from a phone screen on the river bank catches my attention. “Your phone, Tom, it must have dropped out, when they stole our clothes.”
“I see it.”
“Call Brian,” I shout. “Brian will rescue us, he’s seen me naked before.”
There will be more Roxy next week!
Out every Monday.