by Lisa Young
Best Woman Duties
A FEW DAYS later, and desperate for distraction, Lottie reluctantly went to work. She ran the gauntlet of the call centre, and Alicia threw her a sympathetic glance and patted the desk space next to her as an indication that Lottie should join her. Glad of the friendly gesture, as others avoided eye contact with her, Lottie guessed that her boss Ann had spread the news of her father’s death.
As if on cue, Ann appeared in the doorway of her office.
“Lottie, a word please,” she said, squeaking a little too perkily.
Lottie reluctantly dragged herself into the shuttered room, where she noticed that the wedding photo of Ann and Greg had disappeared, to be replaced by a larger photo oozing with the blatant sexual vibes of a topless dark-skinned man.
Noticing that Lottie was looking at the picture, Ann became giddy. “Oh, now of course you won’t know about my Arzum, will you?”
Without waiting for a response, she grabbed the ornate frame and thrust it into Lottie’s face, where her nose met with his very obvious trouser bulge. Lottie tried to avert her eyes, feeling that she may now know too much about the bronzed alpha male, and unpleasant images crowded her mind.
Ann chatted on, distracted from her original intention in summoning Lottie. Deciding that this wasn’t going to be a quick word as she’d hoped, Lottie resignedly sat down in the visitor’s chair, which was deliberately set lower in order to give Ann height advantage during meetings.
She struggled to focus on Ann’s mundane chatter.
“So anyway, it was only my first day in Marmaris and I was just getting a drink from the bar, when Arzum accidentally stood on my foot. I turned around with the intention of giving him a mouthful but, well...” giggling, she turned a shade of pink. “Instead it was me that got the mouthful, if you know what I mean!”
Lottie inhaled in complete trauma. Please, God, don’t let her go into the gory details of her sordid encounter!
Leaning in, Ann mouthed incredulously. “Four times! I came four times!”
“Oh.” Lottie managed, as she shifted to remove her face from the crotch of Ann’s holiday conquest.
Stroking the photo absent-mindedly, Ann appeared lost in her own thoughts.
“When I read the cards, they told me, they really did!” said Ann, referring to her well-known preference for all things mystical.
Lottie was all too aware that a large part of Ann’s social life consisted of visiting spiritualists and mediums, whom she considered her colleagues in the world of the psychic, as she also considered herself to be gifted in this area.
Lottie cleared her throat and Ann seemed to become present again.
“Did you want me for something?” Lottie enquired.
“Ah, yes. I just wanted to say I was so sorry to hear about your father. Alicia told me the sad news. Dreadful losing a parent—part of life though, eh?”
Glad that Alicia has pre-empted the inevitable platitudes from her work colleagues by telling Ann, Lottie found comfort in the kindness of her thoughtful friend.
“Err, yes.” Lottie replied dutifully.
“Well, anyway, Lottie, I’ve let that bunch outside know. Nothing worse than having to spread the news yourself. Hope that’s okay?”
Lottie nodded.
“Very well. Anyway, work’s a good way to lose yourself for a bit, so let’s get to it. Those adverts won’t frame themselves, will they?” She gave Lottie a patronising pat on the shoulder.
Glad to escape, Lottie nodded in assent and silently reminded herself to try and upsell at least one advert including a white spaced border in order to keep the psychic cougar off her back.
Slipping into her seat opposite Alicia, she switched on her monitor.
An internal message alert popped up from her friend Virginia.
Hey mate, so sorry about your dad. Here if you need to talk, V xx
Alicia pushed a post note under her nose.
I’ll do the In Memoriam adverts this week xx
Lottie shot her a grateful smile.
Leonard gave her an awkward nod as he passed but seemed to have developed some sensitivity in the situation and didn’t attempt to engage her in any salacious conversation.
Lottie sank her head into her hands. Everything had been so happy, and now this.
Angrily, she logged onto her computer and took calls on autopilot. She plugged away at her keyboard, racking her brain for how she could turn the clock back to happier times.
Without warning, Lottie felt a warm pair of arms around her neck, holding her in a stiff embrace. A cloud of perfume which she remembered well from the nineties overwhelmed her, and she felt wet kisses on the back of her neck. Struggling to break free and getting tangled in her headset, she turned in irritation to meet the distraught eyes of Linda Lovely, streaks of mascara running down her cheeks.
“My God, Linda! Are you okay?” Lottie voiced genuine concern.
Linda snorted loudly, and Lottie almost gagged as she watched a trail of snot disappear back into her right nostril.
Trying to gather herself, and fanning her face wildly with a cardboard folder, Linda gulped. “Oh, it’s just dreadful, Lottie. Just dreadful!”
Lottie nodded sympathetically and pulled up an empty chair onto which Linda collapsed dramatically, continuing to fan frantically. Sniffing loudly, she leaned into Lottie and planted a kiss squarely on the side of her nose, before stroking her face.
Lottie breathed deeply and gently rubbed Linda’s knee as sympathetically as she could muster given that it was her who had had the loss.
Linda clutched her hand gratefully. “I haven’t slept since I heard, Lottie. I mean it’s just a tragedy. Such loss!”
Lottie stroked her hand kindly. “Oh Linda, I’m so sorry you’ve taken this so badly, but you know, well my dad was a bit of a drinker. It was fairly inevitable he’d go at some point.”
Linda nodded frantically, obviously trying to take comfort from Lottie’s words. “Well yes. Of course, he must have died as he lived, a hero.”
Hardly, Lottie thought with some sarcasm, but she nodded along hoping to allay this very public display of emotion that she had been so keen to avoid.
Virginia appeared behind Linda, rolling her eyes and mopping invisible sweat from her brow. Lottie took the escape route offered to her.
“Thanks so much for your concern, Linda, but I need to go on my break now. V’s here.”
Linda swivelled on her chair, eyeing Virginia with mistrust. “Hmm, yes, well it helps to have something to take your mind off things I’m sure. Make sure you have some sugar and get some cake. That will help you keep your strength up.”
Lottie was on her feet when suddenly Linda shrieked. “Oh no, oh NO!”
Lottie waited.
“The wedding, oh Lottie, the wedding! I expect we’ll have to postpone it!”
“We?” Virginia mouthed rolling her eyes again.
Lottie drew in a sharp breath, and, struggling to hide her irritation she stated firmly. “Absolutely not, Linda. My dad would not have wanted that. In fact, Alice and I have decided to go ahead and get the arrangements sorted. You have a hen night to organise!”
Virginia and Alicia exchanged a look of horror. The words fell out of Lottie’s mouth and a silent scream reverberated around her brain.
No, No, No! Don’t ask Linda to organise the hen do!
Linda clutched at her ample bosom. “Me? You want me to start to arrange the hen do? That means I must be your best woman!”
With renewed sobbing, she threw herself into Lottie’s arms
Lottie panicked as the horror of the situation dawned on her. Alice was going to kill her! While she’d never met Linda Lovely, she had heard all about her and Lottie was sure that this was not the sort of hen night that Alice was likely to want.
Linda pushed Lottie to one side, instantly discarded, as she rummaged around to find a notebook, ideas already running through her hea
d.
“Charlotte, leave it with me, leave it all with me. Don’t even think about it! Your best woman is on the job!”
Virginia giggled. “That’s right, Lots, you’re in safe hands now, that’s for sure! Come on, that slab of lemon cake won’t eat itself.”
This was met with a steely glare from Linda, as she cast her final words to Lottie’s retreating back, “Waistline! Remember the dress!”
Lottie and Virginia barely made it around the corner of the office before collapsing into hysterical laughter. “Dress!” they both screamed simultaneously.
Tears streamed down Lottie’s face. “Oh Lord, what have I done?”
The pair giggled their way into a more private corner of the cafeteria. Virginia looked with concern at Lottie and enquired how she was.
Fighting back the real sadness that choked her every time she thought about her dad, she confided in Virginia how difficult the past few days had been as she’d attempted to negotiate with her difficult siblings about the sort of tribute they would like to have for their father. Her mum had eventually declined to return from abroad, telling Lottie that she had tried to move on with her life following her abandonment by her estranged husband. She told Lottie that, while she appreciated the upset her children were experiencing, they were all adults and capable of managing this for themselves.
Lottie was more than a little perturbed by her mother’s subsequent cold-hearted approach to the situation, but then she supposed that she hadn’t lived with her father as a partner and had not experienced the constant and bitter disappointment which that experience had inevitably brought to her mother. The responses of her brother and sister had been generally impassive. Although each had received their own version of the letter, along with mementos from their father, each had stated a general consensus of opinion that he had given little consideration for their needs as children, and that they felt inclined to treat his departure as unexpected, but not entirely unsurprising, given his chosen lifestyle.
Virginia nodded and listened sympathetically, as Lottie unburdened herself of the unfolding events.
Taking her hand, she counselled her. “Babe, how awful for you. I suppose everyone’s had their own experiences of your pop. Why don’t you concentrate on what you want to do to celebrate his life, and let them do it their way?”
This sensible suggestion from her kind friend immediately resonated with Lottie. After all, who was she to dictate the way other people grieve? Giving up on the idea of a forced family ceremony, she resolved instead to honour her father’s memory in a way she knew he would approve—by having a short trip in the campervan, in due course, with her own family.
Willy Hoopla
FROM BEHIND THE heavy purple velour curtain of the department-store changing room, Lottie struggled to remove the red dress that she had been cajoled into trying on by the overexcited Linda Lovely. Against her better judgement, she had been persuaded into a girly shopping trip to find a suitable outfit for her hen night. After a confession to Alice about Linda Lovely’s new role, Alice had reassured her that she would not have to go it alone, and a joint hen do was duly confirmed. Despite Alice’s reassurances, Lottie was concerned about the expectations of her friends and colleagues, who clearly had no idea what a gay hen do was likely to entail.
At a pre-hen do gathering the previous evening, Lottie and Alice had gathered their friends for what turned out to be several bottles of prosecco, and a lengthy discussion about the type of evening they were hoping to have.
Linda Lovely, the self-appointed officiant of all things wedding could barely contain her excitement as she produced her heart covered notebook and proceeded to trawl through a list of unsuitable venues, which included a spa, and a booze cruise to Amsterdam. Seeing Alice’s patience rapidly waning, Lottie had rashly agreed to a follow-up lunch with Linda and the gang to find an outfit, and hopefully steer the evening towards a more realistic version of the event she and Alice had hoped for.
Lottie was quickly beginning to regret the shopping trip though, as detecting a whiff of her own body odour, she hastily rummaged through her bag for her rescue deodorant which she always carried for emergencies such as these. Usually it was only required following a particularly stressful supervision meeting with Ann, or a painful group meeting with Pru, but more recently she had found she was replacing it with some frequency as the impending nuptials approached.
From behind the velour curtain, the noise of her entourage’s chatter was increasing to an almost unbearable high-pitched cacophony. She strained to hear the discussion of the hen do conspirators, but she could only make out snatches of the conversation. She was horrified to hear discussion of hen do games and she was sure she heard mention of a stripper. Surely not! Her gentle perspiration was transforming into full-on body odour and she fished out a packet of anti-bacterial wipes stretching to reach the innermost recess of her especially shaved armpits.
Suddenly, a loud ripping sound brought her attention starkly to the seam of the red dress she had poured herself into. With dismay she noted an obvious tear to the seam. Hastily struggling to exit the garment she caught sight of the price tag, £159.99.
“Fuck!” she muttered.
“Everything okay in there, lovey?” the anxious voice of Linda Lovely drifted along to the changing room.
“Oh yes. All tickety-boo, just tickety-boo, Linda,” Lottie attempted to inject her voice with the required amount of cheer.
Tickety-fucking-boo? Where did that come from? Lottie fumed as she struggled into the next overly-feminine outfit, and hurriedly replaced the damaged garment on the hanger behind the previous six dresses that had failed to make it into the top two.
Silently, she willed expedition dress to be through, and plotted a swift exit from the shop before the eager shop assistant had time to assess the damage.
Struggling to walk in the fishtail dress that she had carelessly chosen, Lottie swore once again under her breath, as she perfected a shuffle towards her waiting crowd, turning the corner to a collective gasp of delight at her feminine attire, as her excited wedding groupies took it in turns to paw the material, simultaneously spinning her in a circle that nearly knocked her off balance.
Continuing to turn uncomfortably under the glare of this unexpected spotlight, she caught Mel’s eye. Noting the look of bemusement that crossed her face, before she caught herself and adopted a dutiful smile. Lottie was fully aware this related to the fact that for the past hour she had been trying on a range of the shop’s finest dress. She had been friends with Mel long enough to know that her quizzical expression related to her confusion about Lottie’s intention to wear a dress to the hen do.
Mel had long been aware of Lottie’s desire to fit in, despite her inevitable discomfort at the thought of a night out with a gaggle of female divas in heels and dresses. This had been the driving factor behind her sudden interest in all things floral. But as their silent interchange played out, Lottie shrugged ruefully at her dear friend and her plea for support was duly acknowledged.
Mel jumped to attention and declared in an authoritative voice. “Enough dresses, Lots. I think we need to revisit this at lunch. Come on, girls, let’s hit the pub!”
Grateful for Mel’s instant understanding, and suitable distraction technique, Lottie painfully waddled back to the changing room, taking half the time to shed the hideous article before gathering up her less-than-helpful entourage as they headed to the pub for much needed sustenance, during which she hoped to persuade her well-meaning friends into a more realistic venue and hen do outfit. Gap, or possibly just a new pair of Converse had been her original thoughts.
Determined to quash any further discussion about strippers or horrendous Willy Hoopla games, she cornered Linda Lovely to ask her advice about possible hairdos for the wedding. Linda, undeterred by Lottie’s short hair, and therefore the limited opportunities for embellishments, was easily distracted.
MANY HOURS LATER—it had seemed like a
lifetime—the amicable crew parted ways to return back to their individual corners of the Scottish Highlands. Lottie was in a trance-like state as she loitered uncomfortably on the train station platform, juggling her rash purchases with a heavy bag of hen do favours, which included sombrero hats, an acceptable alternative to the penis hats that had been the group’s first choice. Her cheeks ached from the fake smile she had adopted throughout the entire proceedings, grateful for the support of her friends, but equally mortified by the horror of the evening that she must now explain to Alice.
A buzz in her pocket alerted her to an incoming message and checking her phone, she noticed a text from Alice who, thankfully, wanted to tell her that she wouldn’t be home until the small hours of the morning as Mr. McDonald’s herd of Highland cows had been struck down with a mystery virus. Lottie knew from experience that Alice would remain with the animals until she was assured that each and every one was pain free. Her dedication to her profession was one of the many things that Lottie admired about Alice. She was also glad that the boy’s trip to their father’s that weekend meant that her limited culinary skills would not be required. It would give her time to hide the hideous sombreros until she mustered up the courage to do a sales job on Alice. This was going to be a two-bottle-of-prosecco conversation, she felt. Typing out a quick reply, as she could hear the train approaching, she returned her phone to the limitless depths of her bag and struggled to adjust the heavier of the carrier bags onto one arm as she hurriedly boarded the train.
Finally seated, she took a moment to ensure that her cumbersome purchases were tucked safely out of the way. She fervently hoped for a few moments of silence before a fellow traveller joined her on the adjacent seat. Congratulating herself on her luck at getting a seat on the busy Saturday train, she closed her eyes for a moment and tried to dispel the inevitable images of fishtail dresses from her mind. She soothed her fraught nerves with a renewed focus on the rhythmic rocking of the train as it sailed towards her destination and the comfort of home.
