Authors: Mandy Baggot
‘We don’t need them. They’re useless and they just get in the way,’ George told her.
‘But we can’t do all the serving on our own at the wedding. I mean, if we do, we’ll be moving up and down the tunnel like a Eurostar on speed,’ Marisa continued.
‘Best start practicing then,’ George answered as the bell on the oven went off, indicating the readiness of the canapés.
‘Marisa, why don’t you take the food up to the castle, see if any stags have arrived. The Chinese food will be here any minute and you never know, Belch might be there,’ Helen suggested to her daughter.
‘You mean bachelors Mother, not stags,’ Marisa said with a shake of her head.
‘Here, put them on this platter and take them up,’ Helen instructed as George began to rifle through the fridge for anything remotely alcoholic.
‘You won’t be long will you? I m
ean it’s only me and Adam and...
’ Marisa began.
‘Marisa, I’m putting you in charge,’ Helen told her seriously.
‘In charge?!’ Marisa responded predictably.
‘Yes. Now go and make sure everyone has enough to eat and check what needs restocking,’ Helen ordered.
‘OK. Will do,’ Marisa replied.
She took the tray and hurried out of the wagon, the air of managerial status flying out with her.
‘Why the f**k isn’t there anything in here? Where’s the white wine?’ George questioned, turfing out ingredients and not caring.
‘George, you have to calm down,’ Helen told her kindly.
‘Why? Why do I have to calm down?’ she asked, glaring at Helen.
‘Because if you don’t, you’re in danger of ruining the reputation of Finger Food. A reputation you’ve worked so hard to build up,’ Helen continued.
‘Who cares?’
‘You do.’
‘Yeah well, maybe not as much as I used to,’ George replied, pulling out a bottle of white wine from the back of the fridge. It was supposed to be used in the sauce on wedding day, but what the Hell!
She
un
screwed the lid and took a long swig from it.
‘George, he’s engaged to someone else. He’s getting married in two days. Whether it’s a sham or not, that’s what’s happening,’ Helen reminded.
‘Don’t you think I know that? I can’t get away from it. The whole wedding thing is going on twenty four hours a sodding day and I’m catering it!’ George said, drinking more of the wine.
‘It’s going on twenty four hours a day because we’re in the middle of it aren’t we? Was it going on when you took the job? You and Quinn?’ Helen questioned.
‘I didn’t want the job, not really. You and Marisa persuaded me it was the best thing to happen to the company. We were all going to get rich and well
-
known and win lots more lucrative contracts,’ George spoke.
‘That’s unfair. We didn’t know you were sleeping with the groom,’ Helen retorted.
George chose not to reply and took another drink of the wine.
‘Getting drunk and showing yourself up, isn’t going to make any of this easier. I mean it might have worked at th
e pub back in the day but now...
’ Helen started.
‘What will make it easier then Helen? Because I could really do with knowing that right now.’
‘Nothing will make it easier I’m afraid, not if you love him,’ Helen told her.
‘Then what’s the point?’
‘The point is Finger Food. It’s your business. The business you built up from nothin
g. You’re a successful business
woman George, with everything going for you. Don’t lose sight of what’s important. Think of all the hours you put in studying, getting that catering qualification, begging the bank for a loan. You made them all believe in you,’ Helen told her.
‘Oh Helen it isn’t just this mess, it’s everything else on top of it! It’s Adam and it’s my mother. I mean - get this - my mother has cancer and I don’t feel a thing!’
‘What do you mean?’
‘My mother, she’s ruined me! She’s made me like this, the way I am! Did you know she spent every waking second since I let her down hating me? And now she has cancer she wants to let bygones be bygones and for me to tell her it’s OK. Well it isn’t f**king OK. She did this when she pushed me away. I’m co
ld and barricaded by some force-
field for the emotionally inept. That’s what you do you see, when you’ve given and been rejected. Up go the shutters, no admittance, sorry no second date. A nice kiss on the doorstep and a fumble in the car, but that’s your lot,’ George continued.
‘Quinn got through the shutters didn’t he,’ Helen remarked.
‘He burst through them Helen. He shattered them, tore them down, until there was nothing left,’ George admitted, trying hard to stop the tears filling up in her eyes.
She couldn’t give in to the tears. They made her feel weak and pathetic and she didn’t want to feel like that. She wanted to feel angry and she wanted that rage to fill her up, right to the top.
‘Oh George, I’m sorry if I sounded harsh,’ Helen sympathised.
‘Don’t be nice to me. I don’t deserve it. It’s just no one’s ever done that to me, not since Paul. And that was such a long time ago, I’d almost forgotten what it felt like,’ George said.
She was shaking now and the bottle in her hands felt heavy.
‘Why didn’t you tell me when it started?’ Helen asked her.
‘Because I was finding it hard enough to admit what was happening to myself, let alone anyone else.’
Marisa burst into the wagon, hair flying across her face and beads of sweat glistening on her forehead.
‘Can I like have some help now?
Bachelors
have arrived and they’re already drunk. Belch has pulled down some of the drapes, Taylor’s doing her nut and they’re stripping Michael!’ she said breathlessly.
Thirty Three
‘This is like Archie Reeves’ birthday party all over again, except we’ve got pink drapes instead of blackout curtains,’ George remarked as she, Marisa and Helen re-entered the room where the parties were in progress.
‘What should we do?’ Marisa enquired.
Michael was in the middle of the room, stripped down to his lilac silk boxer shorts. He was being given the bumps by Belch, Eddie the drummer and Manny the keyboard player. A group of thirty other men were egging them on, chanting loudly and waving their beer bottles in the air. It was like a cross between the aftermath of football celebrations and an 18-30 pub crawl.
Pixie was the only other person who ought to be taking control and she looked wasted. She was trying to encourage the bored looking bachelorettes to get into the mood of the evening. She was stood on a table, a rose between her teeth, battering out a rhythm to the flamenco music the guitarists were playing.
There were upended chairs and tables, platters of food sprayed around the floor and some of the men were trying to pull the bachelorettes onto the dance floor.
Taylor was stood. Her shift dress was immaculate, her hair in an elegant chignon and her mobile phone pressed to her ear.
‘What is she doing about it?’ George asked Marisa.
‘She started freaking out when the décor was being pulled down, but nothing’s happening. That’s why I came to get you,’ Marisa explained.
‘Great, just what I need,’ George said and she walked towards Taylor.
‘Oh I’m not sure this is a good idea. Adam, perhaps you should do something, not George,’ Helen suggested.
‘Why me? She’s the boss.’
‘...
no Daddy, I need you to come now. They’re messing everything up, we need security - no I cannot handle it. Quinn’s not here and they’re out of control
...
’ Taylor squeaked into the phone.
‘Sorry to interrupt, but I really think we need to sort this mess out,’ George said firmly, breaking into Taylor’s phone conversation.
‘Hang on Daddy
-
I realise that Ms Fraser, I’m on the phone trying to organise something,’ Taylor informed, taking the phone away from her ear and glaring at George.
‘Well, if you don’t get something arranged pretty quickly, it’s going to turn into a free for all,’ George continued.
‘I am well aware of that too,’ Taylor retorted.
Michael was beginning to yelp like an abandoned puppy and his face had turned the same colour as his underwear. Vomit was ensuing.
‘Can you
start by tidying up the food and arranging some replacements? Security will deal with the guys when they get here,’ Taylor told George, looking over at the group of men, who were swinging Michael around by his ankles.
‘Are you serious? We don’t have replacements. We were lucky to get the food we did,’ George reminded her.
‘Yes Daddy, I’m still here - yes I know but
...
’
George let out an angry sigh of disapproval and she grabbed hold of Adam.
‘She isn’t going to do anything so we’ll have to. The next time Michael bounces up, we’ll put a stop to it. We can’t wait for security to arrive, it’s already turned into chaos and he looks like he’s about ready to throw up. I can’t cope with mopping up canapés mixed with Lilt,’ George told him.
‘I tried to stop them trashing everything, but there were too many of them,’ Adam spoke.
‘Don’t worry - OK guys, I think that’s enough bouncing about for poor Michael here don’t you? He looks a bit puce. How about I organise some cocktails, before the strippers arrive?’ George suggested to the men, clapping her hands together and trying to divert their attention.
‘Strippers huh? Oh man, you mean Uptight Panties over there has dropped her ‘no strippers’ clause?’ Belch replied.
‘Yes, they’ll be here any minute. So shall I make cocktails?’ George asked as Michael scrabbled out of their clutches and began picking up his clothes.
‘No, I’ve got a better idea. How about you strip for us? That waitress outfit really does it for me,’ Eddie the drummer told her, a lecherous look on his face.
‘I don’t think so boys. I’m more cooking than stripping to be honest,’ George said, trying her best to remain calm.
‘Why don’t you let us be the judge of that?’ Belch asked, letting out a disgusting burp and grabbing George roughly by the shoulders.
‘Hey, let go of her!’ Adam ordered, taking hold of Belch’s arm.
‘Hot for her yourself are you?’ Belch enquired, swaggering around and enveloping George away from Adam.
‘I said get off her!’ Adam ordered, pulling at Belch’s t-shirt.
‘Adam!’
Marisa yelled, joining the mêlée
.
‘Marisa! Come back!’ Helen called frantically as Marisa disappeared into the throng.
The Spanish guitarists seemed oblivious to what was going on and were still strumming at a frantic pace. Some of the bachelorettes were now stood up practi
s
ing flamenco moves. They all looked
the
wor
se for wear and there were half-
filled bottles of Cristal everywhere.
‘You lay one finger on her and I’ll kill you!’ Adam yelled at Belch his eyes flashing angrily.
‘Adam, it’s alright. Everyone’s just had a bit too much to drink and they’re getting a little overenthusiastic, that’s all,’ George said, struggling away from the guitarist’s clutches and trying to regain control.
Perhaps this hadn’t been such a good idea. Maybe she should have waited for security. She hadn’t bargained on being the entertainment.
‘See, she likes it. Don’t you George? Let’s take your shirt off and see just how much you’re really enjoying it,’ Belch said, fingering the buttons on George’s top.
As the guitarists launched into one of the G
i
psy Kings’ best known numbers and the bachelorettes started stamping out a beat, Quinn entered the room.
‘Quinn, thank God you’re here. Everyone’s got out of control and Daddy’s busy in a meeting about Saturday. Michael’s left and I need you to sack the cater
er. She’s been rude to me and...
’ Taylor began to bleat, taking hold of Quinn’s arm and gripping onto it.
‘They all got pissed in town. Belch almost got arrested,’ Quinn informed her.
‘Well get them to stop. I’ve got the flamenco demonstrators arriving soon and they’re ruining everything,’ Taylor told him.
Quinn’s eyes were drawn to the centre of the room and anger swelled over him when he saw what was going on. Belch was mauling George and she was desperately trying to get out of his reach, whilst trying to stop Adam getting into a fight over it. Marisa was being pushed from one bachelor to another, squealing and yelping like a human skittle.
‘Quinn, the flamenco...
’ Taylor began.
He wasn’t listening. He shrugged her off and marched up to the group of bachelors.
‘What the f**k do you think you’re doing?!’ he yelled at the top of his voice.