The Stag and Hen Weekend (28 page)

Still, there was no doubting the emotional veracity of her reaction towards him. This man, this stranger, whom she had succeeded in telling herself she could barely even recall, had turned her world upside down. First, by re-entering her life and second, by exposing her to an unwelcome truth: after all these years he still had the power to upset her.

It wasn’t fair. Aiden meant nothing to her, she was sure. How many times as she skimmed the daily newspapers for her show had she come across reports of Aiden in the tabloids and not felt a thing? How many times had she heard his disembodied voice promoting some new car insurance product or cat food on TV and dismissed his rude interjection into her life without a second thought? He meant nothing to her. Absolutely nothing. And yet seeing him in the flesh at the same hotel changed everything. No longer an easily dismissed abstraction from the past, he instead became a living, breathing reminder of one of the unhappiest periods of her life, a time when she had been prepared to hold back nothing from someone whom she believed she could trust completely and who had thrown it all – the love, the trust, the devotion – back in her face.

At the time Helen had wanted revenge, for Aiden to endure first-hand the torment that she had lived through as she cried herself to sleep night after night. But as time progressed and her desire to heal overcame her craving for justice, she finally reached the point where she knew the only way for her to move forward was to let go of the past – and that included all feelings of hatred towards Aiden. So she let go. Or at least she thought she had.

But did her reaction to Aiden the night before mean that she hadn’t quite left him behind? Did the surge of anger and the flood of adrenalin she had felt as she beheld the face that she had once loved mean that she had been in denial all this time? She thought about Phil’s:
You know as well as I do that this is all about him. It always has been and it always will be
. Had Phil been able to see the truth when she had been blind? The idea made her shudder. Whatever the answers to these many questions, she needed to stay away from Aiden and talk to Phil as soon as possible.

She dialled Phil’s number and again the call went straight through to his voicemail. She opened her mouth to leave a message but the words wouldn’t come and after a number of moments listening to the silence that she was supposed to be filling she ended the call.

He was fine, she reassured herself. The most likely scenario was that his battery was dead and he had forgotten his charger. Half convinced by her reasoning she tried to recall if Phil had told her the name of the hotel they were staying at but nothing sprang to mind. She’d asked several times and he’d replied that it was ‘all in hand’ – whatever that meant. She wondered if Simon had told Yaz where he’d be, but given her friend’s recent news she could never ask the question.

She told herself to remain calm and turned on the bedside light. She was immediately cheered by the sight of the illuminated room as its luxury reminded her that she was supposed to be having a good time. With this in mind she climbed out of bed, made her way to the bathroom and turned on the shower. The rainfall showerhead burst into life forcing out sizzling jets of steaming water on to the zinc floor beneath. Helen shed her pyjamas, laid them on the ornate bench at the side of the shower and strode into the revitalising waterfall. Some fifteen minutes later, having been pummelled by the pounding water, Helen re-emerged feeling like she was ready to take on the day ahead.

With her hair done, make-up on and having spent longer than was strictly necessary working out what to wear to breakfast, Helen had tidied her room so as not to totally disgust the chambermaid when there was a sharp knock at the door. She cursed herself for not having woken up earlier, dashed into the bathroom to pick up yesterday’s knickers from the floor, tossed them under the duvet and opened the door.

‘Yaz,’ she said breathing a huge sigh of relief. ‘Come in.’

‘Who were you expecting?’

‘Long story.’ Helen fished out her underwear from beneath the duvet and tucked it into the bottom of her case. ‘I just wish I’d got up earlier that’s all. Sleep well?’

‘For what felt like the ten minutes I was there, yes.’

Yaz sat down on the edge of the bed, cupping her head in her hands, while Helen opened a bottle of water, poured some into a glass and handed it to her friend.

‘I take it that it was a bit of a rough one then?’

‘ “Rough” would have been a welcome mercy,’ said Yaz. ‘I have nothing but admiration for your decision to go to bed early last night. Honestly, if it wasn’t for the fact I’m looking forward to a day of pure, unadulterated relaxation rather than sitting at home screaming at the kids to stop killing each other I’d be feeling pretty sorry for myself.’

‘But you had fun?’

Yaz nodded wearily and between sips of water said: ‘Best. Time. Ever.’

‘So what happened then?’

‘Obviously the girls were really sorry that you didn’t come but I think they all sensed why and for a little while we all felt out of our depth. But then Aiden came over and introduced himself and his friends and from then we didn’t look back. Honestly, it was like a walk through the pages of
Heat
magazine. The girls and I would be talking to one famous guy and another would appear out of nowhere and offer to top up my champagne glass.’

Helen winced. The thought of her friends being plied with alcohol by a group of Aiden’s friends on the first night of their stag weekend made her feel queasy. ‘They were on their best behaviour, weren’t they?’

Yaz cackled and Helen felt glad to have her old friend back. ‘Sadly they were all absolute gents. Even that Irish comedian fella – who we all had down as a bit of a letch. In fact all he did was show us pictures of his kids on his phone. It was a great night though, Helen, you should have come. All we did was laugh, knock back champagne and listen to their absolutely outrageous stories about other celebrities.’

‘And Aiden?’ Helen hated herself for asking the question but she knew it had to be done.

‘Do you really want to know?’

‘No, you’re right,’ said Helen quickly. ‘I don’t.’

Yaz tried to read her friend’s mind. ‘He was fine,’ she said. ‘He did ask after you, and I don’t think he was taken in by your headache story but I can’t fault him as a host. He looked after us well, kept us entertained and didn’t ask about you at all.’

‘Nothing?’

Yaz shook her head. ‘Only why you weren’t there.’

‘Good,’ said Helen even though she was sure it didn’t all add up. ‘Then let’s go and get some breakfast. I’m starving.’

Helen could barely keep a straight face as she and Yaz entered the restaurant and spotted the girls at the rear of the room looking like they were at death’s door.

‘You know I love you lot dearly,’ said Helen as she sat down at the table, ‘and it pains me to tell you this, but you look terrible!’

‘Just sit down and stop bellowing, Richards,’ wailed Lorna, who had been resting her head on her folded arms. ‘Some of us are hurting inside.’

Helen squeezed into the banquette seating next to Lorna and Dee and then stroked Lorna’s head mockingly. ‘Awwww, did someone have a few too many shandies last night?’

Lorna groaned and pushed Helen’s hand away. ‘This is your revenge isn’t it for that time I made you go clubbing last summer.’

‘Oh, yes, indeed,’ grinned Helen, ‘you’re the reason I haven’t been able to go anywhere near a vodka gimlet for the last year without immediately feeing nauseous. How does it feel now, my friend?’

‘You do know that I hate you, don’t you?’

‘Well if I didn’t,’ said Helen kissing the top of her friend’s head, ‘I certainly do now.’

Breakfast for the majority was brief as might be expected with such a high concentration of hangovers, and mainly consisted of black coffee, roughly three quarters of the fresh fruit that had been laid out on the buffet and wholemeal toast all round. But despite the low moans alternating with various pledges to never touch the demon drink again, Helen could see that her friends were secretly rather pleased that they still had what it took to party like nineteen-year-olds.

The girls’ account of the night before pretty much mirrored Yaz’s. Aiden had been sweet, his celebrity friends entertaining and the evening so far removed from their everyday lives as to make it an anecdote they would be dining out on for a long while. None of them, even in passing, mentioned Aiden asking questions about Helen.

‘Are you sure?’ asked Helen as she and Kerry picked at a bowl of blueberries. ‘Not a single question about me?’

Kerry raised an eyebrow. ‘You sound almost disappointed. Are you sure there was never anything between you? I can easily imagine you being his type.’

‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’

‘You know. Beautiful and feisty. Those girls that he’s always falling out of nightclubs with, they’d be no challenge. But someone like you, someone he’d have to work hard to impress, oh, you’d be right up his street.’

Helen laughed. ‘I think someone’s watched one too many Sandra Bullock movies!’

‘So why the interest in what he talked about last night?’

‘Because.’

‘Is that all I’m getting? Now you’re really starting to worry me. You don’t fancy him do you?’

‘No, of course not.’

‘Then what?’

‘Look,’ sighed Helen. ‘Back when I knew him he did some pretty awful things to a friend of mine that I find it hard to forgive him for. If he’s being nice to me, it’s only because he’s trying to get to her, the person he knew all that time ago, and well, I know for a fact that she’s not interested so I’d prefer it if we all keep him at arm’s length. Is that okay?’

Kerry nodded. ‘Of course. I had no idea he was like that. He seems like such a nice bloke.’

‘They always do,’ said Helen, ‘in the beginning at least.’

Helen plucked another blueberry from the bowl, coating her teeth with its sweet, gooey flesh, while much to her relief Kerry was drawn into a discussion Dee was having with Lorna about the best place to buy MAC make-up in Nottingham. Helen wished that she had never brought up the subject of Aiden; it was telling how in the space of a few moments she had already amplified Kelly’s innocent comment far beyond its worth. The madness from which she was trying to protect herself was already leaking out into the real world and if she wasn’t careful more would follow.

Yaz stood up and called for everyone’s attention. ‘You should have received emails confirming what treatments you’re booked in for during the weekend and when but I’ve got copies for anyone who hasn’t brought theirs along. The first session is a group mani-pedi at eleven on the dot but for those who need a detox beforehand – naming no names – some of us are heading to the steam room in ten minutes so if you do want to come along grab your things, and we’ll all head down to the spa together.’

Relieved to have someone taking charge the girls began making their way back to their rooms, slowing down only to congratulate Yaz on being so organised and to tell Helen what a good time they were having.

‘How right they are,’ said Helen as the last of her friends disappeared. ‘This weekend is amazing. I honestly don’t think anything could—’

‘What is it?’ asked Yaz as Helen stopped abruptly. ‘It’s not lover boy and his mates again is it?’

‘No,’ sighed Helen as every iota of positive energy she possessed drained from her. ‘You know how it is when you’re having such a great time that you totally forget about the fact that you invited your scheming bitch-faced sister-in-law on your hen weekend until the moment she arrives? Well that’s what.’

8.

There were very few people whom Helen actively disliked. In fact if she had to name them individually (with the exception of Aiden Reid) only three people would spring to mind. The first was Chantelle Roberts who made the list because from the day Helen met her at Edgehill infant school until the day she left to go to a nearby private school Chantelle made it her mission to make Helen’s life a living hell with a subtle but none the less destructive cycle of constant befriending and defriending. On any given day the six-year-old Helen would turn up to school expecting to spend her break time playing ‘In the witch’s den’, only to discover that for some reason known only to Chantelle, Helen had fallen out of favour and would have to spend break walking around the playground looking up at the sky so that no one could see she was crying.

The second person on her list was Morwenna Kavell, who was Helen’s boss for six months when she worked at Cardiff FM. Helen never knew exactly what it was that this woman hadn’t liked about her (although she speculated about it frequently) but it seemed to be more than enough to turn someone who on the surface seemed both reasonable and professional, into a scheming psycho who devoted every waking moment during the time that they worked together to finding new and inventive ways of making Helen’s life unbearable.

The third and final person was the regional sales director of a Milton Keynes based communications solutions firm, a mistress in the ancient art of one-up-manship and a total cow who happened to be related to the man Helen loved. Worse, she was currently making her way across the restaurant towards them.

‘Caitlin,’ said Helen kissing her sister-in-law-to-be on the cheek. She stood back to take in Caitlin’s immaculately groomed form and felt instantly depressed. ‘How are you? How was the journey?’