Ursula shook her head slowly. ‘Tell you what, Hattie, Jojo Fitzroy’s got nothing on you. Cal’s going to be blown away when he sees you in that.’
‘What does our foremost wedding cynic think?’ Hattie asked, turning to Bridie.
‘I think… this is the one,’ Bridie said in a hushed voice. She came forward to run soft fingers over the chiffon skirt. ‘Sweetie, you look incredible. Absolutely perfect.’
Hattie raised her eyebrows. ‘Bride, are you crying?’
‘No.’ She dashed away the tear at the corner of her eye. ‘That’s just… hay fever.’
‘In September?’
‘Yes. Shut your face.’
‘Aww, Bridie.’ Hattie gave her a hug, being careful not to crush her dress between them. ‘I can’t wait to see you in a big white dress of your own one of these days.’
Bridie smiled as she hugged her back. ‘You know I don’t do dresses except under extreme duress. Or weddings either, for that matter.’
‘I’m still positive there’s someone out there wonderful enough to change your mind. Who knows, eh? Maybe this time next year, we’ll be back here for another fitting.’
Bridie laughed. ‘Yeah, and maybe I’ll have made a fortune pursuing my new career as a professional unicyclist for the Moscow State Circus.’
‘We’ll see, that’s all I’m saying, Ms Morgan. We’ll see.’
Twenty-Four
‘All right, you lot! All aboard the Debauchery Express!’ Bridie clapped her hands to attract the attention of the assorted stags and hens milling around the coach they’d hired to take them to Blackpool, most already in their pink and blue T-shirts and sipping a pre-Sten glass of bubbly each.
Hattie and Cal were there, of course, as well as Meg and Ursula. The parents of the bride and groom had all sent a pass on their invitations, presumably feeling that the presence of mums and dads might put a bit of a dampener on the young folks’ fun. Some of Hattie’s cousins were coming, however, and a handful of Cal and Ben’s buddies from the climbing group they both belonged to, plus three of Hattie’s friends from yoga and a couple of Cal’s mates from the car repair shop he ran. Adrian Verges had been invited too, and of course Pete Prince from the Garter: always to be found where there was any chance of a good time being had. In a place like Messington, the local pub landlord was everyone’s mutual friend and Pete had been on more stag dos than he’d poured cold pints – including three of his own. Altogether, there were twenty-one of them set to paint the town red that weekend.
Well, twenty at the moment, since Ben wasn’t here yet. Bridie had to keep stopping herself from looking around to see if he’d arrived. They both knew they needed to act just the same as normal if they weren’t going to arouse any suspicion in their friends this weekend – which, of course, meant not appearing to be too nice to each other.
‘Ben.’ She beamed when he appeared at her elbow in his stag T-shirt, then quickly rearranged her face into the more usual pre-shagging expression of curt irritation. ‘You took your bloody time, didn’t you? We’re supposed to be coordinating this thing together. Typical of the best man to leave the maid of honour doing all the hard work.’
He glanced behind her at Cal and Hattie, who were pulling on their bride and groom T-shirts before getting on the coach, and assumed his old expression of cocky indifference.
‘I had to make myself all sexy for the hen side of the party, didn’t I?’ he said, gesturing down his body.
Bridie nodded solemnly. ‘I can see why that might take you a while.’
He patted her bum. ‘Got your pulling pants on then, Sweet Pea?’
‘Of course.’
Ben clasped a hand to his chest. ‘What, not the beige M&S ones with the tummy-flattening panel and reinforced gusset? Be still my beating libido.’
She smiled drily. ‘You’ll be commando for ease of access, I suppose?’
‘Naturally. You can’t expect a man of my virility to be contained by mere underpants.’
Ben watched as Cal and Hattie boarded the coach. When he and Bridie were alone and unobserved, he bent down to give her a quick kiss.
‘Missed you,’ he whispered.
‘I missed you too, love,’ Bridie said, returning the kiss. ‘You’re not really commando, are you?’
‘Would it turn you on if I was?’
‘Er, definitely not.’
‘Oh. Then no.’ He trailed his fingers over her hip. ‘I hope you’ve really got your sexy knickers on though. Thinking about them is the only thing that’ll make the long journey bearable.’
‘Tell you what, I wish we’d known when we drew up the room-sharing list that we’d be sleeping together by the time the trip came around.’
‘If Future Us had turned up to tell Past Us about it, I very much doubt we’d have believed them.’
She smiled. ‘That’s true. Gender-segregated twin rooms aren’t the best idea for anyone hoping to smuggle someone in for hanky-panky though, are they?’
‘I’m sure Hattie won’t mind letting me have her bed. She can swap you for Cal.’
She prodded his arm. ‘But then we’d have to ’fess up about our naughty bedroom shenanigans, wouldn’t we?’
‘And submit to the merciless mockery we so richly deserve. Yeah, I know.’
‘Come on, let’s get on the coach. Don’t forget to be mean to me.’
Hey, babes, did you get my message? Up your way again in a couple of weeks if you want to meet. Still thinking about last time xxx
The message had come through about an hour ago. Cal’s finger hovered over the keypad on his phone. He knew he needed to reply, but what to say? He’d really hoped Joanna’s sudden curiosity about his life now had been exorcised the last time they’d seen each other. He’d ignored the previous message about meeting she’d sent him, hoping she’d take a hint, but apparently she wasn’t going to just let it drop.
He glanced at Hattie, at the front of the coach queueing for a couple of hot drinks from a tea urn someone had had the foresight to arrange, then back to his phone.
Cal hadn’t told Hattie that Joanna had messaged him again. Perhaps he should have – she was right, it wasn’t good for them to have secrets from one another. No doubt she’d be peeved if she found out he’d kept this from her. He just knew that if he told her, she’d start doing that thing she did: comparing herself unfavourably to his ex. He wished she wouldn’t – she must know she was more beautiful in his eyes than Joanna had ever been – but he guessed it was human nature. Anyway, it’d be bound to take some of the shine off all the exciting things they had planned in the run-up to the wedding. Better to just fob Joanna off and hope that this time she’d take the hint.
He had no idea why she was so keen for another meeting. The way they’d ended things last time, Cal had been pretty certain he and Joanna were on the same page about it being a bad idea to ever see each other again.
Me and Hat are pretty booked up with wedding stuff, to be honest, he typed at last. Maybe another time.
Hopefully she’d realise that maybe another time actually meant the exact opposite. Cal was careful to emphasise me and Hat too. He didn’t want to be rude, but Jo must know perfectly well why he didn’t want to be alone with her again.
A reply pinged through almost immediately.
OK. Just thought we should probably talk now we’ve had chance to process what happened, that’s all. We were pretty drunk at the time, weren’t we? x
Cal winced.
I’d rather just forget it, he messaged. You should too, Jo. I’m getting married in three weeks and I really want to focus on that. Sorry.
He watched the screen for a moment, but no reply appeared. Was she upset? If she was he was sorry for it, but she needed to understand.
‘What are you up to?’ Hattie asked as she joined him with a styrofoam cup of tea each for them. Cal jerked guiltily, turning the phone over so the screen was facing down.
‘Oh, nothing. Just amusing myself with Candy Crush while I w
ait for my gorgeous wife-to-be to join me.’ He held down the power button to switch off his phone and shoved it into his jeans pocket, then turned to give her a kiss. ‘You shouldn’t stay away from me so long.’
She laughed, handing over his tea. ‘Cal, it’s been ten minutes.’
‘I know, and that’s still too long.’
‘I wonder if you’ll be talking this way when we’ve been married twenty years.’
‘I’ll be talking this way when we’ve been married a hundred. I know when I’m onto a good thing.’ He nodded to Ben and Bridie, sitting together near the front of the coach. ‘Speaking of true love, look at that, eh? Seat buddies.’
‘Apparently as the organisers, they have to sit together to “discuss the arrangements”,’ Hattie said. ‘They don’t want to, naturally. It’s entirely through necessity.’
‘Well, obviously. They seemed to be extra sarcastic when they met today, didn’t they? It’s clear they can’t stand each other’s company.’
‘Absolutely.’ Hattie lowered her voice. ‘They are so sleeping together.’
‘Yep.’
‘When do you think they’ll tell us?’
‘When they think we won’t take the piss, I guess,’ Cal said, shrugging.
‘Right. So, never then.’
Cal smiled. ‘We’ll catch them in the act eventually. They’ll never be able to keep their hands off each other for this whole trip – I guarantee it.’
The coach arrived in Blackpool around two hours later and everyone piled out.
‘All right, you lot,’ Bridie barked, clapping her hands. ‘Get into groups. Hens on one side, stags on the other. It’s time for some strictly regimented good-time-having.’
‘Ooh, yay. Organised fun, my favourite,’ Hattie muttered to Meg.
‘I knew you’d made a mistake putting her in charge. She enjoys this stuff far too much.’
Bridie glared at them. ‘Oi. No talking in the ranks.’
‘Sorry, Sarge,’ Hattie said, saluting.
‘All right, best man, your go.’ Bridie nudged Ben at her side.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘After much discussion, Bridie and me thought it’d be good for the stags and hens to separate and enjoy a bit of male/female bonding time before we all meet up later for a night on the town. To please the traditionalists among us.’
‘So, lads, you’re free to do whatever you want, just so long as you don’t get completely trollied and you stay out of the strip clubs,’ Bridie said. ‘This is a high-class Sten do.’
‘Oh, what, no strip clubs?’ Pete muttered.
‘Sorry, mate,’ Ben said. ‘Tried my best for us. Bossy Knickers here overruled me.’
Adrian raised his hand.
‘Yes?’ Bridie said.
‘Um, am I a stag or a hen?’
‘Eh?’
‘Well, I’m in the bride’s party, aren’t I? I’m Hattie’s friend, not Cal’s.’
Bridie turned to Ben. ‘It’s a point. We didn’t think of that.’
Ben shrugged. ‘I’d say he can take his pick. If he prefers cocktails and cake with the lasses to beer and boobies with the lads, he’s welcome to go with your lot.’
‘Suits me,’ Adrian said, slipping an arm around Meg. ‘This side comes with boobies supplied.’
‘Well it doesn’t suit me.’ Meg patted his cheek. ‘You go drink beer with the other boys. I want some girly time where I can talk about your bedroom performance behind your back. Sorry, Ade.’
Hattie nudged Cal, who had a vacant look on his face. ‘What’s up with you? Scared I’m going to be sharing notes on your bedroom performance with the other girls? Because you’re right, I am.’
‘Hmm? Oh, nothing.’ He leaned down to kiss her. ‘Bye, love. I’ll see you this evening, eh? Behave yourself and don’t tell that lot too much about my willy.’
‘All right. Same goes for you though.’
‘Hat, I swear I won’t tell the boys a thing about your willy,’ Cal said, crossing himself.
She smiled. ‘I’m glad to hear it. And no strip clubs, remember?’
‘Hey. Why go out for hamburgers when you can have steak at home?’
She patted his arm. ‘Well said, future husband. See you later.’
‘Yeah. See you, Hat.’
He headed off with the other males of the party.
‘What’s up with him today?’ Bridie asked. ‘He looked like he was on another planet all the way down here.’
‘Not sure,’ Hattie said, watching him walk away. ‘I guess he’s just stressed out with the wedding planning.’
‘Well, where are we off to then, ladies?’ asked Samantha, one of Hattie’s yoga pals.
‘Are we allowed to go to strip clubs?’ Meg asked.
‘Seems a bit unfair us going out for a letch when we just banned the lads,’ Ursula said.
‘Nah, that’s all right. When they do it, it’s misogynistic male-gaze exploitation of female sexuality. When we do it, it’s redressing hundreds of years of sexual repression. Very liberating.’
‘I’ve got a plan,’ Bridie said. ‘I made a list of fun stuff we could do today and I think I know just the place to take you randy mares first.’
‘Will there be men with no clothes on?’ Meg asked hopefully.
‘Well, not quite the full monty, I’m afraid, but there’ll certainly be plenty of sexy fellas with flesh on display.’
‘What is it, like the male version of Hooters or something?’
‘Better. Come on.’
Twenty-Five
‘All right, who else feels like they’ve been swizzed?’ Meg muttered to Hattie as they watched an act called Dolores de Luxe gyrating around a pole.
Bridie shrugged. ‘You wanted sexy men, you’ve got sexy men. What’s the problem?’
‘It’s a drag club, Bride.’
‘So?’
‘I just sort of thought there might be more lunchboxes packed into tight Speedos and fewer sequinned feather boas,’ Ursula said, watching Dolores strut her stuff across the stage while she belted out ‘I Am What I Am’ from La Cage aux Folles. ‘God, girls, wouldn’t you kill for those pins though? Lucky bastard.’
‘I’d kill for those boobs,’ Meg said, eyeing Dolores’ impressively horizontal rack enviously. ‘I mean, I know they’re not real, but she knows how to work them.’
‘I’d have been a great drag queen,’ Bridie said, smothering a slight hiccup as she sipped her mojito.
‘You’re missing a few key ingredients, Bride,’ Hattie said.
‘Discrimination.’
‘Plus you can’t sing, you can’t dance and you don’t like crowds. Or people,’ Hattie went on. ‘I can’t help feeling it’s not the job for you.’
‘Yeah, but I’ve got…’ Bridie waved a hand vaguely. ‘Presence, that’s it.’
‘Presents?’
‘Presence. Like, sass or whatever. I’m well sassy.’
‘You mean you’re a sarky cow.’
‘Pretty much. I do fancy the wig and make-up though. That’d be such a rocking look on me.’ She slapped the table with her palm. ‘Right. Games. Fun. Debauchery. Dares. As chief hen I demand there to be dares.’
‘Here,’ Ursula said, twisting around so Hattie could see the back of her T-shirt. ‘Read us the dares, Hat.’
‘Right.’ Hattie skimmed down the list. ‘Photobomb a stranger. Make a prank phone call. Get someone to buy you a drink. Get a selfie with a celebrity…’ She glanced at Dolores. ‘Is she a celebrity?’
Bridie shrugged. ‘Kind of, I guess. It says on their website she’s been on that RuPaul thing. She’s a bit busy though, Hat.’
‘Oh look,’ Meg said, leaning around to look at the back of Ursula’s T-shirt. ‘Answer any question you’re asked truthfully or you have to down your drink, it says here. What do you say, Bride, are you up for a bit of Truth or Dare?’
Bridie frowned. ‘Eh? We never put that on there.’
‘It’s true, honestly. Says it right here.’
<
br /> Bridie tried to twist so she could read the back of her own T-shirt, but all that achieved was to make her head, slightly woozy after two cocktails, spin a bit.
‘Why do I have to go first?’ she demanded.
‘Because you insisted we all had to do dares. It’s only fair you get the ball rolling.’ Meg turned to the others. ‘What do you think, hens? What shall we ask her?’
Hattie smiled. ‘Oh, I think she can guess what we want to know.’
‘Yep,’ Ursula said, grinning. ‘Come on, Bride, who is he? You’re bound by the unwritten rules of hen-do sisterhood and therefore compelled to confess the name of your secret boyfriend to us.’
Bridie opened her mouth to deny any such person existed, but was interrupted by Meg.
‘And if you fib when the rules of the game state you’re obligated to tell the truth, you’ll be cursed.’ She licked her finger and made a squiggly occult-style symbol in the air. ‘Seven years of bad sex if you lie. Better tell the truth, Bride.’
‘What was the alternative? Down my drink?’ Bridie picked it up and squinted at it. There was quite a bit left and she’d definitely get brain freeze from the crushed ice in the bottom, but if it was between that and telling them it was Ben who’d been putting the smile on her face this past month…
‘Aw, come on, Bride, tell us,’ Hattie said, fluttering her eyelashes. ‘We’re your best friends, you have to share. We promise we won’t spread it around, don’t we, girls?’
‘At least tell us if there really is someone if you won’t give us his name,’ Ursula said.
Bridie flushed. ‘Well… all right. Yes then.’
‘Ha!’ Hattie clapped her hands. ‘I bloody knew it. You’ve been at it like a soon-to-be-disgraced MP, haven’t you?’
‘I may have been having a moderate amount of intercourse, yes,’ Bridie informed her loftily. ‘I’m entitled. It’s been ages since I last had sex.’
‘Is it just sex or is it more serious than that?’ Meg asked.
Bridie felt her cheeks heat, and she sipped her icy drink in an effort to cool them down. ‘I only have to answer one question, don’t I?’
Love at First Fight Page 21
