15

The flights to Tenerife kept going up and up, even after I cleared my cookies twice. Well, I didn’t clear them, Mammy did. When she first brought it up, I thought she was talking about the Viscounts I hoovered up the other night when she wasn’t looking.

‘No, love, it basically tells your computer to forget all the times you’ve been checking the Ryanair website,’ she explained patiently. It’s amazing what she’s picking up on the computer course. ‘They’ll keep increasing the price if they know you’re looking, the feckers.’

I hope Michael O’Leary dies screaming, I honestly do. It’s now costing €230 a head just to get from Ireland to Tenerife. I’m terrified to tell the women so I’ve decided to absorb the increase myself. Between the thirty-two travelling from Ireland it’s costing me just under €5,000, but honestly, it’s a small price to pay not to listen to Aunt Shirley and co. giving out yards and I don’t want anything negative getting back to Majella. I swear Fionnuala would have me done for false advertising anyway. She’s so tight she used to keep her own stash of brand-name toilet roll under the bed and leave Maj and Mairead with the one-ply when they all lived together. It was practically see through.

I settle into James’s couch and bite the bullet. ‘Ladies, our flights and rooms are finally booked!’ I type into the WhatsApp group. Aeroplane emoji. Cocktail emoji. Flamenco dancer emoji. ‘I think I’ve managed to accommodate all your travel requests but just PM me if you have any more. Except you, Aunt Shirley!’ Frazzled face emoji. ‘Can anyone who still hasn’t paid their deposit pop it into my account? Thanks!’ Smiley face. ‘Next up: the itinerary! I’m thinking “casual dinner” Wednesday night, “activity” Thursday, “mad night” Thursday night, “activity 2” Friday, “optional dinner” Friday night and “leaving” Saturday? Sound good? LOL.’ Smiley emoji.

I slump back in my seat, turn my phone face down and brace myself for the reaction. I had to leave the predominantly Spanish group Pablo’s relatives added me to, which is always awkward, so I set my alarm for 3 a.m. and did it then. Truth be told, I was still awake. In fact, I’ve barely slept the past three weeks with the stress of organising this hen and getting everything booked and confirmed in Tenerife. I’m a bit panicky about using my credit card at the best of times – it normally only comes out for emergencies or when I’m abroad – and for some reason I kept putting off booking the flights. It’s my own fault it’s costing me an arm, a leg and a head, and that’s before I had to add on my two extra suitcases for all the props. I really shot myself in the foot ordering those light-up shot glasses you hang around your neck. Two AAA batteries in each one – the weight of them! But Maj loved Roisin Rice’s so I couldn’t not get them, or the hairband zogabongs, the forty-eight T-shirts or the inflatable shamrocks. You only get one hen.

The Paradise Aqua debited the money from my account mere seconds after I made the booking but I haven’t seen sight nor sound of a receipt in my inbox yet. I’m sure Flo isn’t trying to scam me though. She called me ‘poppet’ twice on the phone. And besides, I have a bloodhound nose for scams.

James kept asking me if I was sick when I couldn’t finish my fillet steak last night but, sure, I couldn’t admit I was stressing about the whole thing. I had to pretend my period was coming. He didn’t say another word, only disappeared and came back with a tub of Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food twenty minutes later. I had to take a picture and put it straight up on Facebook. The boy done good.

I take a deep breath and flip over the phone. Forty-two WhatsApp notifications. Mother of God.

‘Are we wearing the Tenerifian get-ups to the casual dinner or the mad night?’ Dearbhla, a Moran cousin, wants to know. ‘When are we wearing the T-shirts?’

‘Put me down for everything but the optional dinner,’ Danielle says. ‘I think I’ll do a bit of sightseeing.’ By herself on a Friday night in a place where she knows no one? She really is a strange fish.

‘Is the activity costing extra? I hadn’t budgeted for extras.’ Two guesses who that is.

Then there’s a lot of toing and froing in Spanish between Juana, Maria and Pablo’s assorted relatives. I’m not too up on my Español – I did German, full sure we’d all be speaking it by 2005 – but the word abuela keeps popping up and I get the distinct impression Pablo’s granny is a bit of a weapon.

‘Sounds fab, hun, I’m bringing my kit so I can do our make-up and lashes xxx.’ It’s a small gesture from Sharon, but I immediately feel tears pricking my eyes. Everything has been so stressful lately, it doesn’t take much to set me off. I’m starting to feel bad for the amount of times I’ve chastised Pablo for bursting into tears at the drop of a hat.

‘What’s the activity, Ais?’ Denise Kelly wants to know. I didn’t make it to her hen due to a clash with my great-aunt’s ninetieth birthday party, but apparently they did archery, a cookery class, zip-lining and a make-up masterclass over two days. It was all anyone could talk about. Dee Ruane ended up having to leave early due to exhaustion.

‘I’ve a few ideas lined up.’ Smiley-face emoji.

‘Can I get a double room, Aisling?’ This is the first I’ve heard from Majella’s cousin Bernadette. I had her in the No Hassle column in my notebook but I’ll be moving her to Low Hassle now for this. If she wants her own room, who am I going to put in with Ellen? She and Teresa fell out last weekend over one of them underpaying for a Westlife comeback concert ticket and now they’re not speaking. It’s thrown my sleeping plan into chaos. ‘Also, would you mind if I brought my new boyfriend?’

At 3 a.m. I’m still wide awake while James snores softly behind me, one arm casually flung over my waist, his breath warm on the back of my neck. I’m so tired I even eyed his drowsy Sudafed in the bathroom press but I couldn’t bring myself to take one. Next thing you know I’d be buying poppers and yippers behind the chipper in Knock. It’s a slippery slope.

I was complaining to Sharon when she was giving me a head massage on Saturday that I was having trouble switching off and she said to write out a list of my worries, stick it in a drawer and come back to it the next day. She swore blind it works for her and she gets her full nine hours every night.

Holding up James’s arm, I slither out of bed and fumble around in the dark until I find my negligee on the floor. There’s absolutely no heat in it but he looked so hopeful when he gave it to me, and the quality was so good, that I just kicked my Harry Potter pyjamas – €12, Penneys – into my overnight bag and threw it on.

I grab a hoodie off the chair in the corner and tiptoe out to the living room, lifting a sheet of paper and a hard A4 folder from James’s desk, and sink onto the couch, pen poised over the accusingly white page. I stare at it. It gets bigger and wider before my eyes. Where do I start? I look around the room and feel the panic slowly rising in me. What if the Paradise Aqua doesn’t have another double room free for Bernadette and this lad she met last weekend at a wedding? I don’t know if I have it in me to tell her he can’t come. What kind of hen has a man on it – apart from maybe a Gay Best Friend, but Sadhbh tells me that’s an offensive stereotype, and anyway I’m probably too late to make friends with Brendan Courtney? What if Sharon’s make-up weighs more than 20kg? And, worst of all, what if Majella doesn’t have a good time because her cousins are fighting and her grandmother-in-law is as mad as a box of frogs? I’m the only bridesmaid, the chief bridesmaid. It’s all on me.

‘Ais?’ James is standing in the doorway rubbing his eyes. ‘What are you doing? It’s nearly four.’

‘Sorry. Couldn’t sleep.’

‘Are you … drawing something?’

I look down at the paper and realise I’ve been scribbling on it. Not my usual name and address or the classic ‘this is a nice pen’ but the full-on scratchings of a mad woman.

‘Just taking the pen for a walk,’ I say with a smile before getting up. ‘Now, I’d better call it a night.’