Nothing New for Sophie Drew: a heart-warming romantic comedy

singleton cliché.”
“I think you’re confusing singleton cliché for happiness,” I countered, reaching for the bright yellow box and a bowl. “Say hi to Tawna for me and have a good night.”
“I’ll have a drink for you,” Eve promised. “I’m certainly in need of one.”
“Everything okay?” I asked cautiously. “Is it your mum?”
For the past few years Eve’s mum had been struggling with forgetfulness. Initially everyone put it down to her taking on too much – Lucille McAndrew was one of life’s do-ers and she worked long hours as a carer at a nursing home. The residents had loved her for her warm heart and good humour. It had come as a shock to us all when she had been diagnosed with early-onset dementia.
As her mum’s condition deteriorated, leaving her incapable of looking after herself let alone the vulnerable elderly people at the nursing home, Eve had had to accept she wasn’t able to hold down her job as a research chemist and care for her mum. She’d made the difficult decision to move Mrs McAndrew into a care home the previous autumn.
“You know how it is,” Eve replied bravely. “Good days and bad days, and today’s been trying. Anyway,” she added, with a bravery I was convinced was just for show, “I’d better get ready, I’m meeting Tawna in an hour. Have fun with Milo.”
“Oh, I will.”
After we said our goodbyes, I poured the chocolate puffs of cereal into the bowl, drowned them in milk, grabbed a clean spoon from the draining board and dug in. It wasn’t the healthiest tea and I knew it wouldn’t fill me up, but that didn’t matter. It tasted of childhood. Innocent times. Easier times.
When I finished the bowl I refilled it, wolfing down the second helping too, not feeling remotely guilty about my greed because the Coco Pops had been a bargain price (due to the box being dented. The inner wrapper had been intact though, I’d made sure of that. I had my limits).
After both bowls, the waistband of my work trousers was cutting into my stuffed stomach. It was a relief to change into my loose-fitting paisley pyjamas, wipe my make-up from my face and pull my hair into a rather severe and unflattering ponytail. Not that it mattered, no one was going to see.
Once I’d settled into full relaxation mode, I climbed under the duvet, flipped open my laptop and checked my online credit card statement one more time. It reassured me that I was doing the right thing by staying in.
I clicked on my chosen entertainment icon, and the familiar Gilmore Girls theme filled the room. I sank back into my pile of pillows and allowed myself to escape to Stars Hollow. It felt comforting and comfortable, and I was glad not to be heading out into the meat market that doubled as Newcastle city centre on a Saturday evening. Eve and Tawna could keep their nights on the town. I was saving money, avoiding hangovers and drooling, uninterruptedly, over my fave celebrity.
What could be better than that?

April


Chapter 5
Seven weeks and two payments had passed since the initial phone call which set my money-saving actions into motion, and other than going to work (which I’d have got out of if I hadn’t needed the money it brought in), I’d barely left the house.
Painting my nails and binge-watching Netflix were losing their appeal. It didn’t help that I’d reached series five of Gilmore Girls – the lack of Milo definitely lessening my viewing pleasure. I’d even tried defecting to Party of Five to drool over Scott Wolf instead, but it hadn’t helped. Truth be told, I was bored, and I knew I’d have to brave going out sooner or later.
My excuses were wearing thin and Tawna and Eve were continually haranguing me – we’d not seen each other in over a month, the longest we’d ever gone without all being together. It was easier to avoid temptation from within the safety of my own four walls, but Tawna declared my suggestion of a girls’ night in as “boring” and my resolve had come close to cracking. So far I’d managed to stay focused, clinging tightly to the warm glimmer of pride that swelled within me whenever I checked my online statement, something I’d never have expected to get from being frugal, but it didn’t stop me feeling guilty for being a flaky friend.
Sunlight streamed into my bedroom heralding a glorious Saturday morning and, after a week of cloudy gloom, with no hangover keeping me bedridden I pulled back the covers to face the day. My next-door neighbour, dressed in an ill-fitting vest and shorts, both an unflattering shade of grey that reminded me of over-masticated bubble-gum, was washing his car for the third time this week. He looked like he’d stepped out in his oldest, saggiest underwear.
The glorious spring weather propelled me, pushing me towards leaving the house. I decided I’d head to the shops, something I’d deliberately been avoiding because it had the potential to be dangerous to my bank balance. Internet shopping was a temptation, but I was a tactile person by nature. It was easier to resist an on-screen image than an actual object that I could physically smell and touch.
I couldn’t hide away forever. There were things I needed to buy. Toothpaste for one, and shampoo for another. Necessities not luxuries, although I needed to look at cheaper brands. I’d used the same shampoo for years, since giving in to my hairdresser’s hard-sell. Whenever I went back to the salon she’d compliment me on my hair’s condition and put another bottle behind the counter for me to collect when it was time to pay for my cut and colour. I’d find myself thanking her, as though she was doing me a favour, not adding twenty-five quid to the cost of my haircut.
My honey-blonde hair was lying just below my shoulders rather than neatly on them as it did when I kept up with my