Free Yours Truly by Kirsty Greenwood

the window. “ You shouldn’t have. ”
    Meg leans down into her bag and pulls out a family sized pack of Maltesers. She opens them with her teeth and passes them over to me.
    “ I am sorry, Nats, ” she says. “ Are you still my friend? Here’s a peace offering of Maltesers. Will you forgive me? ”
    I hear a hint of mirth in her voice. What a manipulative bugger! “ Of course, ” I answer in truth. “ Yup. Your best friend. And yes, you know full well I'll forgive you. ”
    She grins at me, mouth full of Malteser. “ Do you see what I did there? ”
    “ Yes I did. I’m not impressed. It's not on to take advantage of someone under a hypnotic spell. ”
    “ Cos THAT happens all the time . ”
    I roll my eyes and pull out my phone again and type out another message to Olly.
    I love you. Please just forget what I said this morning. I’ll come to yours later. Please ring me. N xx
    As the message sends I feel a rollercoaster type lurch in my stomach. What if he can’t forget what I said? What if he calls the wedding off? What happens then?
    “ We’ll get this sorted, Nat, ” Meg interrupts my thoughts as if reading my mind. “ We’ll be there soon. We’ll get Brian to clap or do whatever he has to do to unhypnotise you, you can stop spilling all your secrets and it’ll be absolutely fine. ”
    “ I know, ” I say, quickly brushing away a tear from my eye. “ Everything will be fine. ”
     
     
    A while later we come off the motorway and navigate long twisting roads surrounded by fields and farms. As we drive further north, the weather turns colder, and the roads are laced with a thin coat of ice. Meg slows down, manoeuvring the winding roads with caution.
    We pass a sign welcoming us to the civil parish of Apperdale. I begin to feel a lift in my mood. We’re near to Little Trooley now. And to Amazing Brian. And with Brian, the return of my mind and mouth control.
    It is going to be okay. I keep my fingers crossed.
    I roll the window down and enjoy the feel of the icy wind stinging my face. Meg flicks the iPod onto some ninetie s Britpop and blasts it up. Halfway through Blur’s Parklife we come across a rickety white post with the words ‘Welcome to Little Trooley – Home of Hobbs Yorkshire Bread’ .
    “ Ooh, look! ” I exclaim. “ This is where Hobbs Yorkshire Bread comes from. I love that stuff. ”
    “ Maybe they’ll sell it cheap here, ” Meg ponders. “ See? There might just be a bright side to this disaster. ”
    I tut.
    “ Yay. My fiancé might call off our wedding and I might never get my job back because my boss thinks I can't get through the day without illegal substances. But at least I’ll be able to console myself with carbs. Lots and lots of carbs. ”
    Meg smiles in sympathy. “ We’ll sort it, Natty. We will. We’re here now any- … oh, wow, look at this place! ”
    I sit straight up in my seat and gasp as, quite unexpectedly, we drive through a small, tree- lined clearing and straight into a fairytale.
     
     
    Little Trooley village green is seriously attractive. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life. Actual chocolate box cottages of all colours surround us, dotted in a haphazard semicircle around a large pond that leads off to a narrow river winding its way through lawns and vibrant flower beds. T o the left of us there’s a post office and a busy little newsagents, outside of which stands an old fashioned red phone box. In between the shops a slender path slopes steeply upwards and is lined on one side with a long row of beautiful honey-coloured stone houses with pointy roofs. It’s like something from Midsomer Murders , only without the terrifyingly high rate of homicide.
    “ Ooh, look at the pub! ” says Meg clapping her hands together in glee.
    In the centre of the village green directly behind the pond stands a pretty pub declaring itself ‘The Old Whimsy’ with a small black and gold painted sign. Its large pale bricks and navy painted bay windows