Tales From a Hen Weekend (11 page)

As arranged, we meet up again at half past seven in the hotel bar, and the first thing I notice when I walk in is that Emily’s got another big carrier bag under the table. Surprisingly, and I know this makes me sound slightly dim, only the
second
thing I notice is that everyone is in school uniform.

‘Oh, no,’ I say, weakly. ‘What the bloody hell…?’

Everyone – even Mum and Auntie Joyce. They’ve got fishnet tights on, white shirts and school ties, and Joyce has even managed to get her hair into pigtails which must have taken some doing as it isn’t very long.

‘But Jude hasn’t…’ I begin, and then I realise why Jude told me to go on ahead as she hadn’t finished getting dressed. ‘The crafty minx!’

‘Come on, let’s go back to your room and see how Jude’s getting on,’ says Emily with a wicked gleam in her eyes, picking up the carrier bag.

‘I know what’s in that bag.’

‘It could be worse,’ she says, laughing, pushing me ahead of her. ‘We considered Naughty Nurses or Mischievous Maids, but we thought Sexy Schoolgirls would be less embarrassing for you.’

‘Nice of you, I’m sure. Why?’

‘Wait till you get the outfit on. You’ll thank me for it.’

It’s a micro-gymslip, barely covering my bum. Fortunately it comes with matching navy-blue knickers, but I’m tugging it down as I walk and terrified to bend even an inch from the waist. To go with this trendy and sophisticated garment are: a pair of knee-high white socks, black plimsolls, a regulation blue school shirt, striped tie and a school hat. I look at myself in the mirror and see a reflection of the most unpopular prefect at my school looking back at me.

‘Brilliant!’ says Jude, who’s already got herself kitted out in a blazer and skirt.

‘Terrific!’ agrees Emily, holding me at arms’ length and surveying me. ‘Now we just need the badge.’

She pins a big badge on my tie that says
NAUGHTY SCHOOLGIRL BRIDE.

‘It’s too early for dinner,’ she says. ‘We need to work up an appetite.’

‘Doing what?’ I ask warily. ‘I am
not
going to the gym on my hen weekend.’

‘They wouldn’t let us in, dressed like this,’ points out Helen. ‘Over eighteens only.’

‘We’re going to have a treasure hunt,’ announces Emily, ushering us all back to our tables in the bar and handing out sheets of paper. ‘Winner gets to choose where we go for dinner.’

Everyone goes quiet as we study the papers.

‘So what’s the idea?’ we’re all saying at once – but Auntie Joyce, surprisingly, is one step ahead of us.

‘I know. I’ve been on car rallies like this, with my ladies’ group. You have to run around and find all the things on the list. The first one back to base with all the items is the winner.’

‘Bloody hell,’ is all I can say. Most of the others are stunned to silence. ‘Are you
sure
, Emily?’

‘You’ve got half an hour,’ she says cheerfully. ‘Get as many of the things as you can, but you must be back here at eight-fifteen. OK?’

‘Hang on, hang on,’ says Mum, looking worried, and who can blame her?

‘Do you not want to play, Margie?’ asks Jude sympathetically. ‘Sure you could just sit here with Emily and be one of the judges, could she not, Emily?’

‘Don’t be silly, Jude – of course I want to play!’ she retorts indignantly. ‘I just think – the way we’re dressed – don’t you think we’d be safer, Emily dear, in a strange city like this with so many drunken savages on the streets, if we go out in twos?’

‘You’ve got a point, actually, Marge. Good idea. But don’t go straying too far from the hotel, anyway. You should be able to find most of these things without leaving the building.’

Speak for yourself. There are things on this list I wouldn’t know where to look for even if I had the whole world at my disposal!

Lisa pairs up with Mum for the game, and I find myself with Auntie Joyce.

‘Come along, dear,’ she says, gamely, grabbing the list from me and pulling me out of the door. ‘Let’s show them what we’re made of!’

‘But where the hell are we going to find a red thong, for a start?’

She looks at me in surprise.

‘Well, that’s probably the easiest one on the list, Katie. I’ve got one in my room. Come along!’

I should have learnt by now. However well you know somebody, you can
always
be surprised by their underwear.

We’ve got the red thong, a chocolate condom, and we’re on our way to the kitchens to ask for a phallic-shaped vegetable when Joyce suddenly takes hold of my arm and says:

‘I’m only going to say this once, dear.’

Oh boy. I don’t like the sound of this.

‘Don’t be too hard on your mum.’

‘I presume you knew all about this? This stuff about my dad?’

‘I’ve known for a good few years. Don’t forget I was only a little girl when she got married.’

‘To be honest, Auntie Joyce, I can’t even begin to get my head round it at the minute.’

‘Of course not. It was bad timing, telling you this weekend. She’s absolutely beside herself with guilt for upsetting you just before your wedding.’

‘It’s OK. I’m not upset. Right now I’m just numb. I’ll have to deal with it when I get home, I suppose.’

‘You’re not angry with her?’

It’s nice of Joyce to be concerned; she’s probably worried that there’s going to be a major family bust-up and no one’s going to be speaking to each other on the wedding day.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ I tell her, calmly. ‘I’m not going to freak out. I’m here to have a good time, and that’s what I intend to do.’

‘Good girl,’ she says, squeezing my hand.

I’m just ignoring the wobble in her voice.

Everyone gets a bit emotional on hen weekends, don’t they.

It’s a laugh and a half when we make it back to the bar just before eight-fifteen. We’re the last-but-one pair back; the only ones still missing are Helen and Jude.

‘You haven’t got Number Six – Most Gorgeous Bloke You Could Find,’ says Emily accusingly.

‘Sorry. Ran out of time. Who’s that sitting next to Mum?’ I ask, dropping my voice.

‘The most gorgeous bloke she and Lisa could find, obviously.’

‘Christ. I don’t think much of their taste!’

But then again, what could you expect, considering Rick the Prick?

We’re comparing notes with the others while we wait for Helen and Jude. Everyone seems to have raided the kitchen for carrots, cucumbers and bananas, and we all seem to have managed to get our photos taken with someone young enough to be a real naughty schoolgirl; but it looks as though the only ones to have brought back a sex toy are Karen and Suze. I really
don’t
want to ask whose it is… they’re sharing a room for God’s sake!

‘It’s not
mine
!’ says Karen indignantly in response to the look I’m giving her.

‘I only brought it along,’ says Suze, trying her best to look prim and proper about it, ‘because I’ve been to these things before and there’s
always
a game where someone needs a vibrator.’

I raise my eyebrows at her.

‘And I won it in the raffle at an Ann Summers party,’ she adds, raising her eyebrows back. ‘Before you ask!’

‘What about the phone number?’ says Emily, ignoring us all. ‘Did anyone manage that one? I thought that’d be the hardest.’

‘Phone number of a guy who speaks Irish? Yep! Got one!’ I say, triumphantly. I wave the piece of paper in Emily’s face. ‘Bet no-one else has.’

‘Yes we have,’ retorts Mum. ‘It was easy. Nowadays they all seem to be learning it at school over here.’

‘We’ll check those in a minute,’ says Emily. ‘And: Gorgeous Man – you seem to have cornered the market there, Marge and Lisa. Well done.’

Their Gorgeous Man (who so
isn’t
) gives them a smarmy grin, showing no sign of wanting to leave. Obviously got nothing better to do on a Saturday night.

‘And where are those other two?’ says Mum, looking a bit anxious. ‘They’re very late…’

Right on cue, in come Jude and Helen, huffing and puffing as if they’ve run all the way back, dragging behind them a tall blond guy who makes everyone in the room (even Mum’s Gorgeous Man, I’m afraid to say), sit up very straight and do all the smoothing of hair, blinking of eyes, crossing of legs and stuff that goes on when you see somebody really,
really
sexy.

‘Bloody hell,’ whispers Emily in my ear. ‘They’ve won. No contest!’

‘But they’re late!’

‘Who cares?’

‘And what about all the other items?’

‘They don’t count!’

‘Huh!’ I mutter, but to be honest, right at that moment, looking at Mr Totally Sexy, who’s walking across the bar towards me, I have to admit I agree with her.

‘Hi!’ Jesus, his voice is as sexy as he looks. Shouldn’t be allowed! ‘I take it you’re the bride-to-be?’

‘Y..y..yes!’ Haven’t blushed and stuttered like this since I was about thirteen! ‘I’m Katie.’

That’s about all I can manage to say. I
so
wish I wasn’t wearing a gymslip and holding Joyce’s red thong on my lap. I stuff it down the side of my chair but I think, from the smile in his eyes (
gorgeous
) and the crinkle of his mouth
(breathtaking)
, he’s already noticed.

‘Katie,’ he says, as if it’s the name of an exotic foreign holiday destination or a really expensive perfume. ‘Katie, it’s great to meet you.
Love
the uniform!’ He looks me up and down. I give the mini-gymslip a futile tug in the direction of the knee socks. ‘I’m Harry, by the way. Hope you’re having a good weekend?’

‘Yes! Thank you! Great, really great!’ I gabble, unable to take my eyes off him. I can hardly wait to ask Jude and Helen where the hell they found him. ‘Are you… um… on holiday in Dublin yourself, or do you, like, um, live here?’ Shit, if I can’t manage to utter a proper sentence in a minute I’ll die of embarrassment. ‘Only you don’t sound very… er…’

‘Irish?’ he says, with another smile. ‘No, I’m not; I’m over here for my friend Rob’s stag do. They’re all going wild down at O’Grady’s, just round the corner. I’d probably better be getting back there or they’ll think you lot have kidnapped me!’

‘We have, actually,’ smirks Helen, coming up behind me. ‘And I do believe you’ve won us the treasure hunt.’

‘That is
so
unfair,’ says Lisa, who’s still hanging on to her own trophy male as if he was anything to be proud of. ‘We’ve got Ernest.’

Ernest?

‘
And
we’ve got Number Three,
a pair of men’s underwear
,
preferably warm.
’

‘Which no-one else seems to have managed,’ joins in Mum.

I’m just thinking
please don’t let them be Ernest’s
when Harry, without saying a word, strolls into the centre of the group and, quick as a… well, quick as a
flash
is quite appropriate, really… unbuckles his belt, unzips his jeans, drops them to the floor and does a twirl on the spot, exhibiting a snug-fitting pair of black shorts that don’t leave a lot to the imagination. Laughing out loud at the shocked silence and sea of stunned expressions, he whips his jeans straight back up again, zips and buckles and saunters off.

‘
Nice
,’ says Karen breathlessly in my ear.

‘Very
nice!’ I agree.

‘Catch you later, girls!’ he calls back over his shoulder. ‘Have a great evening!’

‘Jude and Helen win,’ announces Emily. Her voice is slightly hoarse. ‘
Absolutely
no contest!’

Hardly surprisingly, nobody argues.

‘Up to you two to decide where we go for dinner, then,’ Emily reminds Helen and Jude as we make our way out of the hotel.

‘Oh! Well, now, that’s a difficult one, isn’t it, Jude?’ says Helen, standing still and putting her finger to her chin as if she’s pondering the situation.

‘Difficult in me arse!’ snorts Jude, marching out of the door without looking to see if any of us are following. ‘Sure I’m heading over to O’Grady’s for the craic, and it’s got nothing to do with yer one that just walked out the door, there, if you’re thinking, so!’

‘Yeah, right!’ says Emily, nudging me, and imitating Jude. ‘In yer arse is it not, so!’

‘So, to be sure, will we go?’ I say in the same lousy accent, and we follow Jude out of the door, giggling together.

‘What’s all this about
crack
?’ says Mum, complainingly, tagging along behind.

‘Don’t worry, Marge,’ says Joyce, linking arms with her. ‘We’ll come home if there’s any drugs going on.’

‘I’m not altogether sure about getting involved in
drugs
,’ calls out a worried voice from the back of the group.

Shit. Ernest is still with us.

‘This is a hen party, Ernest,’ Emily tries to tell him kindly as we find a table for dinner. ‘It means girls only.’

‘But I was invited!’ he says, genuinely taken aback.

‘Only for the bloody treasure hunt,’ mutters Mum, who’s apparently washed her hands of him now the game’s over, and who can blame her?

He stands, stricken, at the end of the table, looking around at us all uncertainly. We’re being a lot of bitches, really, I suppose. He was probably looking forward to a nice meal. But it’s no good – it just won’t do. I can’t spend the Saturday night of my hen weekend with a bloody
Ernest
in tow.

‘Sorry, Ernest,’ I tell him, trying to sound as if I mean it. ‘But – you’re not dressed appropriately. This is a school reunion.’

‘Ah!’ he says, looking relieved. ‘I see! No problem!’

‘I’m not sure about that,’ says Emily thoughtfully as she watches him toddle off out of the door. ‘I’ve got a horrible feeling he might be going back to his hotel to get changed…’