I don’t know how Mum had become involved in the organization of my hen do. I’d officially handed the baton to my chief and only bridesmaid, Pippa, but then Seb had put his two cents in, and Mum two cents more, and suddenly we all found ourselves tiptoeing through a minefield.
Pippa was bitching about Seb’s need for control, Mum was moaning that Pippa was keeping things from her, and I was just a pawn in the middle, not knowing whether I was coming or going.
The only stipulations I’d given them were no strippers, no matching hen T-shirts, and definitely no blow-up dolls. “Less is more,” I’d gently encouraged, hoping for a slightly classier occasion than my brother’s wife Laura had had. She was taken to Blackpool for the weekend, had all of the above, but thankfully had no recollection of it. Still, there were at least six of us at the wedding who’d not consumed quite enough alcohol to erase the memory of her sliding up and down a pole and being given a lap dance.
Of course, the four-day bender that Stuart and twelve of his mates had had in Magaluf went by without incident, it seemed. For them it was, apparently, rounds of golf, early dinners, and quiet nights in. That’s the fundamental difference between them and us: men do what they do, not a word is whispered, and they carry on as if nothing happened. “What goes on tour, stays on tour” is the mantra we’re all supposed to live by, and us women could, if we didn’t come over all nostalgic two bottles of prosecco in and decide to video it all for posterity, and to show our kids how wild we used to be.
“I really don’t mind,” I said to Mum when she called up to ask if I’d like it to be abroad or somewhere in the UK. “I think you’ll find Pippa’s already on it.”
“Well, she is,” she said, “but she’s not making it very easy for people who don’t have the money to be swanning about all over the world. She’s suggesting a yoga thingy in Iceland, or Las Vegas even. Some people just don’t have that kind of money, Emily.” And nor would Pippa, usually; her dad was treating her.
“I know, Mum. I don’t want anything too extravagant either, and besides, Adam and his mates are going to Vegas, so that rules that one out.” I laughed, but she just tutted. “Look, Pippa knows what she’s doing and I’m sure she’ll take everyone into account.”
“Well, Pammie wants to go to the Lake District,” said Mum indignantly. A bolt shot across my chest.
“Pammie? What’s she got to do with anything?” I asked. I’d hoped that by giving the job to Pippa I’d be exonerated of all responsibility as to who was invited and who wasn’t. That way, if Tess, my rather dreary work colleague, didn’t make the cut, it wouldn’t be my fault—and I couldn’t imagine Pammie being on the list.
“She called yesterday to ask what the plans were,” said Mum. “She wanted to arrange a little something for you, if nothing else was being organized.”
So, Pippa hadn’t invited her, it was my mother who had put her foot in it. I groaned inwardly.
“What did you say to her?” I said, keeping my voice chirpy. I hadn’t told Mum about my run-ins with Pammie because I didn’t want to worry her. I also didn’t want to create any unnecessary tension between them. I’d be stressed enough for everybody on our wedding day. I just wanted my family, especially Mum, to enjoy herself, without having to worry about what was going on behind the scenes. Pammie was my problem, and I’d deal with it.
“Well, I told her that your friend was making inquiries,” she answered defensively. “Was I not supposed to say that? See, I don’t know what I’m allowed to say to whom. It’s all getting a bit much.”
“No, that’s fine, Mum. You can say whatever you like. Probably the only person you shouldn’t say too much to is me, because it’s meant to be a surprise.”
“Yes, I know that, dear. I’ll just keep it between me, Pippa, Seb, and Pammie.”
I put the phone down and thought about calling Pippa or Seb, just to check how things were going, but I fought the control freak in me down and left them to it.
There were still whisperings of discord right up until the day I embarked on my mystery tour. I’d tried to ignore them, but the pettiness was beginning to get to me. “Your mum says I shouldn’t invite someone I want to invite,” moaned Pippa. “I think your cousin Shelley should be coming, but Seb says Pippa doesn’t think you’d want her there,” said Mum, sounding exasperated. By the time I went to bed the night before the six A.M. start, I was ruing the day I ever agreed to a bloody hen do.
“Wakey, wakey, sleepyhead,” whispered Adam as he kissed me. “The day for us to make our last mistakes before we get married is here.”
I gave him a sleepy punch. “You’d better not,” I threatened, before turning over and pulling the duvet up around my ears.
“Come on.” He laughed. “You’re being picked up in an hour.”
“Can’t we just spend the next four days in bed?” I asked.
“You’ll be fine once you get going. I, for one, am actually looking forward to my last hurrah,” he teased.
“That’s because you’re flying to Las Vegas!” I exclaimed. “I, no doubt, am headed to Bognor Regis. But don’t you worry about me. You go have the time of your life, gambling, haggling, and shagging your way around Nevada.”
“Hey, less of the gambling and haggling,” he called out from the bathroom. “I won’t be doing any of that there.”
We both laughed, but there was a part of me that felt unsettled, not just about Adam and what he might get up to, but at the thought of where I might be heading and with whom.
Fifty minutes later, after saying goodbye to Adam—who looked smartly casual as he walked across the road in his chinos and polo shirt, with a weathered brown leather weekend bag in his hand—I found myself being propelled into the back of a car, blindfolded.
“Is this really necessary, Seb?” I laughed. “Are you sure you don’t want to handcuff me as well?”
“That’s not really my thing,” he said.
“Is there anyone else here? Hello? Hello?” I called.
“We’re on our own, you bloody fool.” He laughed. “Any idea where we might be going?”
“I’m hoping for a hedonistic paradise in Ibiza, but knowing you lot, I’ll probably end up on a pottery course in the Shetland Islands.”
He untied the blindfold once we were on the M25 and, as soon as I worked out we were heading west, I knew that Gatwick Airport was a possible destination. And by the time we veered left onto the M23 slip road, it was either that or Brighton.
I envisaged the inside of my suitcase, its contents looking like I was heading to a festival in an unpredictable British summer. Boots, sarong, a mac, and denim shorts were the last thing I threw in as I panic-packed, not knowing whether I was going skiing, sunbathing, or somewhere in between.
“What if I haven’t brought the right stuff?” I implored Seb, turning to him.
“Don’t worry, it’s all been taken care of,” he said mysteriously. It had all been taken care of by whom? If it were left to Pippa, she’d have ferreted in the depths of my wardrobe and found the items that I vowed to get back into someday, those jeans from when I was nineteen, which I refused to believe had seen their last wear. The fact that they were two sizes too small and hideously old-fashioned, with their boot-cut bottoms and fly buttons, seemed lost on my ever-optimistic pride. If, God forbid, Mum had had a secret root through, she’d have picked the floral playsuit and the wrap-over cardigan, which had been bought in a fit of pique in the end-of-summer sales. Both had the tags still on, because both made me look like a twelve-year-old.
I groaned. “Please tell me you asked Adam for inspiration, at least. If anyone has any idea of what I like or what suits me, he’d be the first person to go to.” I looked pleadingly at Seb, but he just smiled and turned to look out the window as the distinctive orange flash of an easyJet tailgate flew low over the field beside us.
I was blindfolded again as the car pulled into the drop-off area outside the south terminal. “I can’t imagine security is going to let you get away with this,” I mused, as Seb pulled it tight. “This takes people-smuggling to a whole other level.”
He laughed as he guided me through the entrance tunnel and into the departures concourse, my hearing heightened to the buzz of excited travelers all around me. We veered left, and then off to the right, before we came to a halt when it was suddenly deafeningly quiet.
“One, two … three!” shouted Seb, as he pulled the blindfold off. I stumbled as the cheers and catcalls propelled me backward. My eyes couldn’t quite focus on all the faces that were milling in front of me, their wide grins looming, like caricatures of themselves.
The bundle of people was upon me, ruffling my hair and offering air kisses. I couldn’t begin to ascertain how many were there, let alone who they were.
“Hey, here she is,” called Pippa.
“Oh, bless, she looks like she’s going to cry,” said Tess, my work colleague.
I spun round, disorientated, desperately trying to match all the faces to the voices, the thousands of pixels floating in front of my eyes slowly beginning to form real features.
“Oh, darling, you look shell-shocked,” said Mum, laughing. “Are you surprised?”
“I can’t believe how many of you there are,” I said.
“There’s nine of us,” said Pippa. “Well, there was, but now there’s ten.”
I raised my eyebrows questioningly.
I’m so sorry, she mouthed.
I looked around the bustle, my eyes settling on Pammie. It was no big deal. After talking to Mum, I’d resigned myself to her being there. There was no real way around it.
“It’s okay,” I whispered to Pippa, but she looked away, her face fraught with tension.
And then I saw her. Just standing there. Her blond curls bouncing around her shoulders, a simpering, almost pitying smile playing across her full lips.
Charlotte.
My heart felt like it had come to a standstill. Like a hand had reached inside my chest and squeezed the last beat out of it.
Everything around me seemed to stop: the noise, the light, the air, all I could see was her, as she came slowly toward me with outstretched arms. She could only have been three or four steps away, but my brain was computing everything in slow motion and it seemed to take an eternity for her to reach me.
“Hello, Em,” she whispered in my ear as she embraced me, a waft of fresh citrus encircling us. Jo Malone’s Grapefruit was obviously still her signature scent.
“It’s been such a long time. Too long. Thank you so much for including me in your celebrations.”
The last time I had seen Charlotte, she was naked and straddling my boyfriend, Tom. I’d never got that image out of my head, yet my mind had gone some way to protecting me, by only recalling the shock on their faces and the stereotypical covering up with a sheet. I’d eventually found it laughably ironic that I’d seen both of them naked more times than I’d had hot dinners, yet they’d deemed it necessary to mask their upper bodies rather than extricate their genitals from one another. Which, let’s be honest, were the two parts that were the deal-breaker. He was still inside her, no doubt not quite so firmly, when I walked out again.
I’d thought I was going to marry Tom. We were practically living together, yet that night, he’d called me from work to say he wasn’t feeling well and that he thought it better, and kinder, if he spent the night at his place.
“Believe you me,” he’d said, sniffing. “You don’t want to get this.”
I remember thinking how considerate he was being.
“But it’s probably just a common cold,” I’d implored, in the hope of changing his mind. “It may feel like full-blown man-flu to you, but if I, as a woman, was to get it, I’m sure it’d amount to no more than a little snuffle.”
“Oh, piss off.” He’d laughed. “Here’s me trying to be thoughtful, and all you can do is take the mickey.”
“If you come over to mine, I’ll rub some Vicks on your chest.”
“Tempting, but I really don’t think it’s fair on you. Honestly, I feel like shit,” he’d said.
Not quite shit enough, it seemed, to stop my best friend writhing up and down on him when I paid a visit with some medication and a batch of supermarket oven-ready lasagna. All I thought of as I let myself in was whether or not I could pass the pasta off as my own. Surely that would make me a much more considerate girlfriend, I’d thought, quietly laying my keys on the window ledge and tiptoeing up the stairs.
I think I heard the noises as I was about halfway up, but my naive brain translated his groans into coughs, and her panting into a shortness of breath. Maybe I ought to get him a glass of water, I remember thinking, as I hesitated on the top step, still unsuspecting. I sometimes pretend that I had gone back downstairs to get him a drink, and, by doing so, had alerted them to my presence. I imagine her being stuffed unceremoniously into his wardrobe while we embarked on a caper of Monty Python proportions.
Maybe then I’d be blissfully ignorant to this day, about to go off with my fellow hens to celebrate my final moments of freedom before our impending marriage. Charlotte would have been my chief bridesmaid, and I’d be none the wiser.
She was still clinging on to me when Pippa yanked my hand and pulled me away.
“Come on, we need to check in,” she said.
I’d lost the ability to function, and stood there, dumbstruck.
“Just keep smiling,” Seb said. “I have no idea what the hell is going on.”
“But her…” I faltered. “How did this even happen?”
“I really haven’t got a clue,” he said. “It’s always been nine of us. Pippa says she just appeared out of nowhere.”
“What do you want to do?” she asked, ushering me toward the waiting clerk at the Monarch desk, whose thin lips were pressed together in impatience. I was vaguely aware of the Faro sign behind her, but nothing was sinking in. All I knew was that I wanted to get as far away from there as possible. Alone.
“What are my choices?” I asked sarcastically. “Right now I can’t see that I have any.”
“We can tell her to leave,” said Pippa. “I don’t have a problem doing that, if that’s what you want.”
I couldn’t think straight.
I wanted to cry, but I’d be darned if I was going to give Charlotte the satisfaction. Her face was a smiling blur over Pippa’s shoulder.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” I said.
“So, what do you want to do, Em?”
I looked around at all the excited faces, knowing that, for Trudy, Nina, and Sam, my old workmates, this would be the only break they’d have all year. They’d paid good money for their flights and accommodation. It wasn’t fair of me to ruin it before we’d even got off the ground.
“Do you want me to tell her?” asked Pippa.
I stopped my brain from racing ahead and tried to remember who I’d told about Charlotte and Tom. Right now it felt like they all knew, and were laughing about it whenever my back was turned. But once I thought about it rationally, I realized that it was only Mum, Seb, and Pippa. I had felt ashamed and embarrassed at the time—I hadn’t shouted it from the rooftops. If I caused a scene now, everyone would find out, and it’d be the talk of not only the hen weekend, but the wedding as well.
“Let her come,” I said sharply. “I’ll deal with it.”
I’d spent so long imagining this moment, wondering what it would be like to bump into her again. What would happen? Would I launch myself at her and want to tear her hair out? Or would I ignore her? It turns out it was neither. I just felt numb.
“Where are we even going?” I asked glumly.
“Portugal!” said Pippa, overenthusiastically.
I could tell she was trying to buoy me, to keep my spirits up, but my mood was going to be hard to lift.
I tried to concentrate on what people were saying to me as we sat in the departure lounge, a couple of bottles of prosecco already drained. They were all so happy, so keen to make it special, even competing, it seemed, for my attention. I turned my head this way and that, smiling, offering overexaggerated gestures. But it all felt false, as if I were trying too hard, for fear of the elephant in the room making itself known.
Carrier bags clinked as everybody went to get up as our flight was announced, our duty-free purchases bumping into each other. “I think we’ve got enough booze here to sink a battleship,” said Pippa.
“I can’t be drinking too much,” said Tess, as we all started walking. “I’ve got a big presentation next week.”
We all groaned. “I see what you mean about her,” Pippa said, laughing loudly as she slapped my back, her edges already blurred by alcohol.
“What a surprise to see Charlotte,” said Mum quietly, hanging back to catch me on my own. “Everything okay now?”
I smiled tightly.
“I’m so pleased you sorted everything out. You should have told me.”
I didn’t know what to say. I was too dumbfounded to even begin to piece together what was going on here.
I managed to avoid Charlotte for the entire journey, sidestepping every time I sensed her sidling up to me. Pippa and Seb were my buffers, although the constant supply of in-flight drinks was doing nothing to help their judgment.
“I promise I’ll be more reliable tomorrow,” Seb slurred, as he gave up on the fight for my suitcase as Charlotte eagerly made a grab for it on the conveyor belt.
I took it without saying a word. I couldn’t even look at her, because I knew that if I did, the vision of what she’d done would come back and hit me like a ton of bricks.
I made sure I was the last one onto the minibus, so I didn’t run the risk of her sitting next to me. I couldn’t go on avoiding her like this for four days—this was supposed to be my happy time. Something had to give. I could almost hear myself laughing wryly at the thought of Pammie being my biggest problem this weekend.