The Stag and Hen Weekend (2 page)

Phil didn’t laugh.

‘What?’

‘You know.’

Caitlin tutted loudly. ‘Not this again! I’ve promised that I’ll try harder with her. Isn’t that enough?’

‘Well actually, no,’ snapped Phil glancing over at the kitchen door, ‘not unless you follow through with it.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Look, Helen inviting you on her hen weekend is her way of saying that she wants to make a fresh start. Surely the least you could do is meet her halfway by not turning up late for her hen weekend?’

‘Listen to yourself!’ snapped Caitlin. ‘She’s got you so wrapped around her little finger that you don’t even know it! Less than a couple of minutes into what was supposed to be a pleasant phone call to wish you well for the weekend it’s an argument with you taking her side over mine!’

Phil had heard this accusation many times before and he was having none of it. ‘Oh come off it Cait, what are you, six? It’s not a question of me taking sides. I just want the two of you to get along, that’s all. This time next week, whether you like it or not, she’ll be family and I want you both to make the effort.’

‘So you’ll be giving her a stern talking to as well I hope?’

Exhausted at the prospect of this war between Caitlin and Helen carrying on throughout his married life Phil sat down on the stairs and rubbed his eyes. He didn’t want to be having this conversation so early in the morning and certainly not at the beginning of a weekend that would see his fiancée and his sister spending the weekend together without him present to act as referee. He needed to make peace with Caitlin if only because it fell to him as her older brother to lead by example. ‘Look, I’m sorry, okay? You’re right. I shouldn’t have doubted you. You turn up when you can and I’ll keep my big nose out of it. So are we good?’

‘Of course we are,’ reassured Caitlin. ‘We’re always good. So come on then, tell me more about your plans for the weekend. How raucous is it going to be? Bit different from Helen’s weekend.’

‘It’s a stag do in Amsterdam,’ sighed Phil, ‘How good can it be?’

‘You’re not looking forward to it?’

‘It’s not that. It’s just I’d rather stay at home.’

‘But I thought it was going to be a no strip clubs, no coffee houses, strictly classy affair.’

‘That’s how it was sold to me. But you know what the boys are like. On their own they’re fine but together they’re experts at whipping each other into a frenzy. Put them in a place like Amsterdam and well . . . pretty much anything could happen.’

They talked for a while longer about arrangements for the wedding but Phil’s heart wasn’t in it. Ending the call with one last plea to Caitlin to be on her best behaviour, Phil returned to the kitchen where Helen was standing over a chopping board making the very sandwiches for which he had earlier mocked her.

‘What’s up with the little princess now?’

‘Nothing,’ said Phil leaning on the granite counter top, ‘she was ringing to wish me well for the weekend. She sends her love by the way.’

Helen rolled her eyes. ‘I bet she does,’ she said sarcastically. ‘Is it too late to beg you to take her with you? I’m sure the boys won’t mind having someone as glamorous as your sister about.’

‘I couldn’t think of anything worse. It’s all I can do to stop them drooling over her whenever they see her.’

‘Well, she’s coming with me so you’re safe on that score. Not that any of your mates would be up to her usual standard anyway. What was it the last one did for a living?’

‘I don’t think he actually
did
anything,’ replied Phil. ‘He was always whisking her off somewhere exotic in a bid to impress her, seemingly oblivious that when it comes to blokes my sister takes being unimpressed to such a high level that it’s practically an art form.’

Helen sliced through the sandwiches she had just made and looked up at Phil. ‘Do you think she’ll ever settle down?’

‘Who knows?’ said Phil helping himself to a sliver of pre-sliced Gouda. ‘Maybe if she bags herself a minor royal. But until then I think it’ll strictly be the handsome and the unattainably rich that do it for her.’ He took a huge bite from the cheese, chewed and then folded up the remains and dropped it into his mouth.

‘You’ll give yourself indigestion,’ said Helen moving the cheese out of reach.

‘Maybe,’ said Phil, ‘but the thought of you and Caitlin carrying on the way you do is absolutely guaranteed to do so.’

‘So that was what the call was about? Her complaining about me? What am I supposed to have done now? Dared to breathe while in her presence?’

Phil walked over to Helen and put his arms around her. ‘Come on you, I know she’s a pain in the arse sometimes, I know you haven’t exactly got much in common but will you find a way to make this weekend work? Just for me? I don’t know whether it’s that I won’t be there to pull the two of you apart if it comes to blows, but I’ve got a horrible feeling that this weekend is going to be make or break for you.’

‘It’ll be fine,’ said Helen. She kissed his neck. ‘I promise, I’ll be on my best behaviour and no matter what she says or does I won’t let her get to me.’

Chuckling to himself, Phil sneaked a final slice of cheese and retreated to the bedroom to recommence packing for the weekend.

2.

Phil dropped three pairs of Calvin Klein briefs into the bag and hovered over it staring at them. Were three pairs of pants enough to cover all manner of potential underwear emergencies? Deciding to err on the side of caution he added an extra pair and then picked up his trainers from the floor and dropped them in too. A couple of pairs of socks were next, then he walked over to the wardrobe and picked out three white shirts, three casual tops and his favourite jeans. Placing them on the left-hand side of the bag, he picked up the sheet of paper that had been lying on the opposite side and began to read.

The print-out in his hand was an email Simon, his best man, had sent to everyone listing everything needed for the weekend. Phil had received the list earlier in the week and had scrutinised it carefully in an attempt to deduce what its contents might reveal about the secret plans his friend had organised for the weekend. The list included: ‘clothes suitable for an outdoor sporting activity’, ‘a valid UK driver’s licence’, ‘enough Euros to cover two days of solid drinking’, and a demand that everyone should sort out some form of insurance because ‘A guaranteed way to put a dampener on the whole weekend is to have to fork out for a medical helicopter out of the beer kitty when one of us knocks himself unconscious.’ The stand out item on the list, however, (written in bold with certain sections highlighted with capitals for added emphasis) was the mention of a black suit, black tie and at least three white shirts. Phil had emailed Simon to find out the reasoning behind these items and was rebuffed with the not altogether reassuring response of: ‘All will become clear.’

Phil tossed the list back on to the bed and continued packing. He grabbed a final pair of briefs before making his way to the bathroom for a shower.

While he waited for the water to warm up he looked at his watch. A week and a day from this exact moment he would be getting ready for his wedding. He swallowed hard at the thought but when he looked up at the mirror in front of him, he had a huge grin on his face.

Half an hour later, showered, shaved and dressed, Phil, feeling not unlike a secret agent and/or contract killer in his black suit and tie, descended the stairs carrying his weekend suitcase to the sound of raucous laughter from his best man.

‘And here he is! The man of the hour!’ trumpeted Simon as the two men exchanged man hugs. ‘Are you all ready fella?’

‘As I’ll ever be.’

Helen looked Phil and Simon up and down. ‘What do you two look like in those suits? Are you going to tell me what the whole get up thing is all about?’

Phil shrugged. ‘You’re asking the wrong man.’

‘My attempt to set the right tone for the weekend,’ explained Simon. ‘Amsterdam is going to be full of boys doing the stag weekend thing. But we’ll be the only ones working the
Reservoir Dogs
look the whole time.’

Phil laughed. ‘And the only ones arguing about who’s not going to be Mr Pink – which given it’s my stag do is most certainly not going to be me.’

‘Si was just telling me the story of the stag night you organised for him back in the day,’ said Helen. ‘Apparently you didn’t need themes back then. Just beer money and an evil imagination. I can’t believe how awful you lot were to him.’

‘We were young and over excited,’ explained Phil. ‘He was the first of our lot to get married. To be fair I actually think he got off quite lightly.’

‘It’s true,’ said Simon. ‘My middle brother got hitched the year after me and his mates practically tortured him for the whole of his stag do. At one point they were threatening to strip him naked and abandon him in the middle of Brighton and it was only when I intervened that they settled for shaving off one of his eyebrows instead. You should see his wedding photos – they are the funniest things ever – I think some of them are on YouTube if you can be bothered to look for them. One of his mates uploaded them as an anniversary present a few years ago and put them on a video set to the music of Johnny Cash. Even now whenever I hear the opening bars of ‘‘I Walk the Line’’ I’m practically doubled over with laughter just thinking about his face with a drawn-on eyebrow. He looked like one of the missing Marx Brothers! His missus went mental and didn’t talk to any of us for a good half year after the big day.’

Helen threw Simon a wary glance. ‘I take it you’ve got all that out of your system now? It’s not like you’re in your twenties any more.’

‘True,’ sighed Simon. ‘More’s the shame. I could do with a laugh.’

Phil raised an eyebrow. ‘Everything okay?’

Simon shrugged. ‘Got a lot on at work. It’ll all get sorted but it’s just a bit of a pain in the arse when you’re stuck in the middle of it. Anyway, nothing could put a dampener on this weekend. And I do mean nothing. I don’t want to oversell it, mate, but if this weekend doesn’t make it into your all-time top ten great times I will happily resign as your best man and let Degsy take the lead role.’

‘Well,’ Helen butted in, ‘it better had be the weekend of your life because I promise there is no way that I’m going to let Degsy have anything to do with the main ceremony. He’s not all there, that boy.’

Phil protested. ‘That’s a bit harsh, babe. He’s just a bit special that’s all.’

‘The last time I saw him he licked the inside of an ash tray because one of you lot bet him that he wouldn’t.’

‘And that makes him not all there? He’s just a man who likes a challenge.’

‘Well, challenge or not, he’s not going to be your best man. There’s no knowing what he’d do.’

Phil looked at Simon. ‘She’s right you know. A lot of family and friends would have to die before I’d even consider him and even then I’d still pick a total stranger over him much as I love the guy.’

‘Cool,’ said Simon, ‘then it looks like I’m going to have to stick to my word and pull off the single most amazing weekend of your life.’

‘No pressure there then.’

‘None at all.’

Phil and Simon first met each other back when they were teenagers working as Saturday sales assistants in Sharper Sounds, a Hi-Fi shop in the middle of Derby city centre. Phil hadn’t been all that keen on Simon to begin with mainly because Simon had seemed so much more different from himself than most people he knew. Simon spoke with what to Phil sounded like a posh accent, lived in a big house over in Strutts Park and went to a nearby grammar school while Phil spoke with a Derby accent, attended a local comprehensive and lived on the Brandswood estate where pretty much every shop bar the local chip shop had grilles over their windows. And although they had shared many things from music through to the kinds of girls they found attractive Phil couldn’t imagine how they might ever become friends who saw each other out of the shop, but that’s exactly what they did.

Years later when Carl, the owner of Sharper Sounds announced that he was putting the shop up for sale the two men went to the pub to discuss the news.

‘You should buy the lease and take over,’ suggested the recently graduated Simon. ‘I’ll help you put together a business plan. It’ll be a doddle.’

‘Thanks but no thanks,’ replied Phil who in the intervening years had worked his way up to assistant manager of the shop. ‘It’s too big a risk. I’ve seen the books, you have no idea how close the shop has come to closing in the past.’

Knowing that owning the shop had always been Phil’s dream, Simon refused to take no for an answer and Phil finally caved in, funnelling all his savings and those of his mum into a year-long lease. Within six months of signing the paperwork he produced the most profitable financial quarter in the shop’s twenty-two-year history.

Phil in return had over the years been equally as good a friend to him, not only bailing finance manager Simon out of his innumerable scrapes and situations brought on by his own recklessness, but he was also responsible for introducing him to Yaz, the woman who would one day become his wife.

At the time in question Phil and Simon had both been single and desperate for a holiday, and so when Simon had suggested that they should both book a week off work and fly off somewhere warm Phil had leaped at the chance, and within a short space of time they found themselves heading off for a last-minute break to Crete.