Coco Pinchard, the Consequences of Love and Sex: A Funny, Feel-Good, Romantic Comedy

Coco Pinchard, the Consequences of Love and Sex: A Funny, Feel-Good, Romantic Comedy by Robert Bryndza

Book: Coco Pinchard, the Consequences of Love and Sex: A Funny, Feel-Good, Romantic Comedy by Robert Bryndza Read Free Book Online
Authors: Robert Bryndza
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green, I don’t care!’
    ‘It’s just a tooth brush.’
    ‘It’s not, it’s everything. It’s you. I love you. I’m sorry…’
    ‘I’ve taken the other photo down,’ he said.
    ‘No let’s have them up. I like them. I like Nanette,’ I said. ‘I just feel like I can’t cope with anything . ’
    Adam sat me down and we had a long talk. He told me to try to enjoy life and live in the moment. Stop trying to be perfect at everything.
    ‘You are a great writer. A great mum. And I’m not going anywhere,’ he said.  

    Monday 27th February

    Living in the moment is tough. I’ve spent the past few days trying to appreciate the simple things. Trying not to worry that I haven’t heard from Angie, or that Adam hasn’t had any job interviews, or what it will be like when this baby stops being a bump and becomes, a screaming baby. Then I had a phone call this morning, which really made me appreciate what I have. It was Chris saying his father had a colossal heart attack on the golf course this morning and is dead.
    ‘I have to come back to London,’ he said listlessly.
    ‘What can I do to help?’ I asked.
    ‘Can I stay with you, just for a bit? My house is all closed up.’
    ‘Of course. Aren’t you going to your parents, I mean your mother’s house in the country?’
    ‘No. Not right away. I just need somewhere to… She’s already telling me I’m now the head of the family.’
    ‘She’ll need help to organise the funeral,’ I said.
    ‘No, that was arranged years ago. My mother booked the cathedral back in the 1980s… It’s just… ’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Coco. I’ve inherited his title. I’m now Lord Cheshire.’  
    I didn’t know what to say, congratulations? Chris mumbled that he’d let me know the flight times then rang off.

    Tuesday 28th February

    There was a piece on the BBC News website today;

    Sir Richard Cheshire, businessman and entrepreneur who patented the ‘Cheshire napkin’, has died aged 79. He suffered a heart attack during a game of golf at the Brookwood Country Club in Surrey. Despite efforts to revive him on the fourteenth hole, he was pronounced dead at the scene.  

    Richard Cheshire may not be a familiar name, but it is estimated that at least 80% of the UK population has used one of his super-strong super-absorbent napkins.  

    Born in 1943 to a working-class family in Kent. He was educated at Thornton Heath Grammar, and went on to read Chemistry at Oxford, developing a groundbreaking method of manufacturing a plastic/paper hybrid. This, coupled with a keen business acumen, led to the birth of the Cheshire durable paper napkin.

    In 1963 Richard married the honourable Edwina Roquefort, herself an outspoken and controversial figure. In 1990 she was given a four-year suspended sentence and 300 hours of community service for shooting her gardener in the tentacles. She maintains it was an accident, and that the gardener in question “got in the way of the pheasant.”  

    In 1981 Cheshire was created a Baronet for services to manufacturing. One of only two people to be bestowed this honour since 1964.  

    He leaves his wife, Lady Edwina, two daughters, and a son Christopher who inherits his title.

    It’s a shock to see it in print. Chris is now Sir Christopher 2nd Baronet of Borringbrook!   I’m also a little shocked at the lack of proofreading at the BBC. Lady Edwina shot her gardener in the testicles, not the tentacles.

March

    Thursday 1st March

    Marika and Rosencrantz came round at six, bringing some of Chris’s favourite sushi, and four bottles of champagne. They busied themselves putting it out on plates, whilst Adam rooted round in one of the unpacked boxes and found some extra glasses. We were all a bit tense, not quite knowing what we were going to say to him.
    ‘What time does he land?’ asked Marika.
    ‘He told me five o’clock, so he should be here around seven,’ I said.
    ‘Who’s picking him up?’ asked Rosencrantz.
    ‘I booked him a

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