by Sandie Jones
I groaned. ‘Please tell me you asked Adam for inspiration, at least. If anyone has any idea of what I like or what suits me, he’d be the first person to go to.’ I looked pleadingly at Seb, but he just smiled and turned to look out of the window as the distinctive orange flash of an EasyJet tailgate flew low over the field beside us.
I was blindfolded again as the car pulled into the drop-off area outside the south terminal. ‘I can’t imagine security is going to let you get away with this,’ I mused, as Seb pulled it tight. ‘This takes people smuggling to a whole other level.’
He laughed as he guided me through the entrance tunnel and into the departures concourse, my hearing heightened to the buzz of excited travellers all around me. We veered left, and then off to the right, before we came to a halt when it was suddenly deafeningly quiet.
‘One, two . . . three!’ shouted Seb, as he pulled the blindfold off. I stumbled as the cheers and catcalls propelled me backwards. My eyes couldn’t quite focus on all the faces that were milling in front of me, their wide grins looming, like caricatures of themselves.
The bundle of people was upon me, ruffling my hair and offering air kisses. I couldn’t begin to ascertain how many were there, let alone who they were.
‘Hey, here she is,’ called Pippa.
‘Oh bless, she looks like she’s going to cry,’ said Tess, my work colleague.
I spun round, disorientated, desperately trying to match all the faces to the voices, the thousands of pixels floating in front of my eyes slowly beginning to form real features.
‘Oh, darling, you look shell-shocked,’ said Mum, laughing. ‘Are you surprised?’
‘I can’t believe how many of you there are,’ I said.
‘There’s nine of us,’ said Pippa. ‘Well, there was, but now there’s ten.’
I raised my eyebrows questioningly.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she mouthed.
I looked around the bustle, my eyes settling on Pammie. It was no big deal. After talking to Mum, I’d resigned myself to her being there. There was no real way around it.
‘It’s okay,’ I whispered to Pippa, but she looked away, her face fraught with tension.
And then I saw her. Just standing there. Her blonde curls bouncing around her shoulders, a simpering, almost pitying smile playing across her full lips.
Charlotte.
My heart felt like it had come to a standstill. Like a hand had reached inside my chest and squeezed the last beat out of it.
Everything around me seemed to stop: the noise, the light, the air, all I could see was her, as she came slowly towards me with outstretched arms. She could only have been three or four steps away, but my brain was computing everything in slow motion and it seemed to take an eternity for her to reach me.
‘Hello, Em,’ she whispered in my ear as she embraced me, a waft of fresh citrus encircling us. Jo Malone’s Grapefruit was obviously still her signature scent.
‘It’s been such a long time. Too long. Thank you so much for including me in your celebrations.’
The last time I had seen Charlotte, she was naked and straddling my boyfriend, Tom. I’d never got that image out of my head, yet my mind had gone some way to protecting me, by only recalling the shock on their faces and the stereotypical covering up with a sheet. I’d eventually found it laughably ironic that I’d seen both of them naked more times than I’d had hot dinners, yet they’d deemed it necessary to mask their upper bodies rather than extricate their genitals from one another. Which, let’s be honest, were the two parts that were the deal-breaker. He was still inside her, no doubt not quite so firmly, when I walked out again.
I’d thought I was going to marry Tom. We were practically living together, yet that night, he’d called me from work to say he wasn’t feeling well and that he thought it better, and kinder, if he spent the night at his place.
‘Believe you me,’ he’d said, sniffing. ‘You don’t want to get this.’
I remember thinking how considerate he was being.
‘But it’s probably just a common cold,’ I’d implored, in the hope of changing his mind. ‘It may feel like full-blown man-flu to you, but if I, as a woman, was to get it, I’m sure it’d amount to no more than a little snuffle.’
‘Oh, piss off.’ He’d laughed. ‘Here’s me trying to be thoughtful, and all you can do is take the mickey.’
‘If you come over to mine, I’ll rub some Vicks on your chest.’
‘Tempting, but I really don’t think it’s fair on you. Honestly, I feel like shit,’ he’d said.
Not quite shit enough, it seemed, to stop my best friend writhing up and down on him when I paid a visit with some medication and a batch of Sainsbury’s oven-ready lasagne. All I thought of as I let myself in was whether or not I could pass the pasta off as my own. Surely that would make me a much more considerate girlfriend, I’d thought to myself, quietly laying my keys on the window ledge, and tiptoeing up the stairs.
I think I heard the noises as I was about halfway up, but my naive brain translated his groans into coughs, and her panting into a shortness of breath. Maybe I ought to get him a glass of water, I remember thinking, as I hesitated on the top step, still unsuspecting. I sometimes pretend that I had gone back downstairs to get him a drink, and, by doing so, had alerted them to my presence. I imagine her being stuffed unceremoniously into his wardrobe whilst we embarked on a caper of Carry On proportions.
Maybe, then, I’d be blissfully ignorant to this day, about to go off with my fellow hens to celebrate my final moments of freedom before our impending marriage. Charlotte would have been my chief bridesmaid, and I’d be none the wiser.
She was still clinging onto me when Pippa yanked my hand and pulled me away.
‘Come on, we need to check in,’ she said.
I’d lost the ability to function, and stood there, dumbstruck.
‘Just keep smiling,’ Seb said. ‘I have no idea what the hell is going on.’
‘But her . . .’ I faltered. ‘How did this even happen?’
‘I really haven’t got a clue,’ he said. ‘It’s always been nine of us. Pippa says she just appeared out of nowhere.’
‘What do you want to do?’ she asked, ushering me towards the waiting clerk at the Monarch desk, whose thin lips were pressed together in impatience. I was vaguely aware of the Faro sign behind her, but nothing was sinking in. All I knew was that I wanted to get as far away from there as possible. Alone.
‘What are my choices?’ I asked sarcastically. ‘Right now, I can’t see that I have any.’
‘We can tell her to leave,’ said Pippa. ‘I don’t have a problem doing that, if that’s what you want.’
I couldn’t think straight.
I wanted to cry, but I’d be darned if I was going to give Charlotte the satisfaction. Her face was a smiling blur over Pippa’s shoulder.
‘I can’t believe this is happening,’ I said.
‘So, what do you want to do, Em?’
I looked around at all the excited faces, knowing that, for Trudy, Nina and Sam, my old workmates, this would be the only break they had all year. They’d paid good money for their flights and accommodation. It wasn’t fair of me to ruin it before we’d even got off the ground.
‘Do you want me to tell her?’ asked Pippa.
I stopped my brain from racing ahead and tried to remember who I’d told about Charlotte and Tom. Right now, it felt like they all knew, and were laughing about it whenever my back was turned. But once I thought about it rationally, I realized that it was only Mum, Seb and Pippa. I had felt ashamed and embarrassed at the time – I hadn’t shouted it from the rooftops. If I caused a scene now, everyone would find out, and it’d be the talk of not only the hen weekend, but the wedding as well.
‘Let her come,’ I said sharply. ‘I’ll deal with it.’
I’d spent so long imagining this moment, wondering what it would be like to bump into her again. What would happen? Would I launch myself at her and want to tea
r her hair out? Or would I ignore her? It turns out, it was neither. I just felt numb.
‘Where are we even going?’ I asked glumly.
‘Portugal!’ said Pippa, over-enthusiastically.
I could tell she was trying to buoy me, to keep my spirits up, but my mood was going to be hard to lift.
I tried to concentrate on what people were saying to me as we sat in the departure lounge, a couple of bottles of prosecco already drained. They were all so happy, so keen to make it special, even competing, it seemed, for my attention. I turned my head this way and that, smiling, offering over-exaggerated gestures. But it all felt false, as if I was trying too hard, for fear of the elephant in the room making itself known.
Carrier bags clinked as everybody went to get up as our flight was announced, our duty-free purchases bumping into each other. ‘I think we’ve got enough booze here to sink a battleship,’ said Pippa. ‘Cliff Richard needn’t be worried about us drinking his vineyard dry.’
‘Are we seeing Cliff Richard?’ piped up Mum.
‘No,’ I said. ‘He makes wine out there, doesn’t he?’
‘I can’t be drinking too much,’ said Tess, as we all started walking. ‘I’ve got a big presentation next week.’
We all groaned. ‘I see what you mean about her,’ Pippa said, laughing loudly as she slapped my back, her edges already blurred by alcohol.
‘What a surprise to see Charlotte,’ said Mum quietly, hanging back to catch me on my own. ‘Everything okay now?’
I smiled tightly.
‘I’m so pleased you sorted everything out. You should have told me.’
I didn’t know what to say. I was too dumbfounded to even begin to piece together what was going on here.
I managed to avoid Charlotte for the entire journey, side-stepping every time I sensed her sidling up to me. Pippa and Seb were my buffers, although the constant supply of in-flight drinks was doing nothing to help their judgement.
‘I promise I’ll be more reliable tomorrow,’ Seb slurred, as he gave up on the fight for my case as Charlotte eagerly made a grab for it on the conveyor belt.
I took it without saying a word. I couldn’t even look at her, because I knew that if I did, the vision of what she’d done would come back and hit me like a tonne of bricks.
I made sure I was the last one onto the minibus, so I didn’t run the risk of her sitting next to me. I couldn’t go on avoiding her like this for four days – this was supposed to be my happy time. Something had to give. I could almost hear myself laughing wryly at the thought of Pammie being my biggest problem this weekend.
22
I could see Charlotte’s reflection behind me, as we both looked out of the window into the dark, curious as to where we were going. I wondered if, like me, she remembered the last time we’d done a journey like this, as a pair of innocent eighteen-year-olds, about to enter the lion’s den of Ayia Napa. We’d cruelly laughed as our fellow holidaymakers had been dropped off at their hotels by the coach, each place looking less salubrious than the one before. ‘I’m glad we’re not staying there,’ she’d shrieked. ‘I’d never get in that pool.’
Our naivety wasn’t lost on the coach driver, who kept looking at us in his mirror, smiling and shaking his head. Clearly he knew something we didn’t, because when he dropped us off, in the middle of nowhere, he’d laughed at our confused faces.
‘No, this can’t be right,’ insisted Charlotte as we stepped off the coach and straight into squelching mud. ‘The brochure said it was in the heart of things.’
Our driver, who we now saw from his name badge was called Deniz, shook his head and smiled.
The harsh spotlight glaring above the porch guided us down the narrow path, sending geckos scurrying out of our way, as we forlornly dragged our cases.
‘Ciao,’ shouted Deniz cheerily, before pulling away, and all I wanted to do was run after him. Even with his twirled moustache and beady eyes, he seemed a safer option than the matronly-looking woman who was sitting behind the reception desk, sweating and swishing away flies with a swatter. It had taken three or four rakis to see the funny side of things, and I’m still not quite sure how many more before we passed out, waking up on a mouldy sunbed the next morning, with the heat of the Cypriot sun burning down on us.
We’d referred to it ever since – well, at least until we stopped talking – as our ‘coming of age’ journey: a mystical escapade of raki, riot and rampage. I smiled, despite myself.
Pippa’s excited voice invaded my thoughts, bringing me back to the present. ‘This looks like it,’ she said. ‘We’re here!’
The villa, with its peach-coloured walls gently illuminated by uplighters, was beautiful. But I wanted to be here with the people I loved, not a psychotic future mother-in-law and a woman who had slept with my last boyfriend.
‘Wow!’ cried everyone in unison.
‘Not too shabby, eh?’ said Pippa.
They excitedly crowded round the front door as she fumbled with the lock. I held back, desperately fighting the urge to get on the departing minibus, though to where, I didn’t know. I batted away stinging tears and then felt a hand in the small of my back.
‘You okay?’ Mum asked gently.
I managed a nod and swallowed down the lump in my throat. My mum was here. Everything would be okay.
Pippa had booked a table at BJ’s, a restaurant on the beach, for dinner. ‘Appropriate name,’ called out quiet Tess, as we navigated the steep steps from the dusty car park. ‘Going down!’
‘Bloody hell, how many has she had?’ Pippa laughed.
I felt a tug on my hand, pulling me back, and, on turning round, I realized it was Charlotte. ‘You haven’t said a word to me, not even hello,’ she said.
‘Not now,’ I replied. ‘I’m not in the mood.’
‘So why did you invite me, then?’
I stopped in my tracks and turned to face her.
‘Invite you? You think I invited you?’ She looked like she’d been slapped in the face.
‘Well, yes, that’s what Pammie said . . .’ she faltered. ‘Didn’t you?’
A heat rushed to my ears. Charlotte’s mouth was moving but her words became muffled. Pammie? I couldn’t even begin to comprehend how this could have happened. I searched for a connection, some way of putting them together. My brain whirred with images of Pammie, Adam, James, even Tom. They were all laughing, their features contorted like Spitting Image puppets, rocking back and forth. I felt like they were trampling me underfoot, but I couldn’t see who was pulling the strings.
Do they know each other? How did they meet? When? My mind was racing as it struggled to make sense of it all.
A moving image of Charlotte sitting astride Tom played out in front of me, and it took all my resolve not to push her over the edge and into the sea below.
‘Pammie?’ I asked, praying that I’d heard wrong. Every fibre in my body was preparing for fight or flight. I hated myself for being so weak. I needed to stay in control.
‘Yes, she said that she was inviting me on your behalf.’
‘What? How?’ I asked, shaking my head.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I just know that Pammie called me and said you’d like me to come to your hen weekend. I asked if she was sure she’d got it right. She said yes, and I was over the moon. I couldn’t believe it.’
‘But how can you think that I’d ever want to see you again, after what you did to me?’ My eyes filled with tears as I looked at her properly for the first time. I felt a jolt as my confused emotions poisoned my brain with an overwhelming desire to hug her. I fought the urge back down, but it wasn’t easy. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed her until she was in front of me.
Her eyes fell to the floor. ‘I’m truly sorry,’ she said in barely more than a whisper. ‘I still can’t believe I did it.’
‘But you did,’ I said tightly, before turning and walking down the stairs.
I needed a drink and, thankfully, our glasses had
already been filled with wine by the time I reached the table. I took a large slug before I’d even sat down.
‘Okay, so who’s up for Fuzzy Duck?’ called out Tess. ‘Line your glasses up, ladies.’
‘And gentleman,’ Seb said, correcting her.
I could only smile and look straight ahead because, if I looked left, I’d see Charlotte, and if I looked right, I’d see Pammie, and I couldn’t look at her face right now as I was frightened of what I might do.
‘What about truth or dare?’ chipped in Seb.
‘Yesss!’ shouted Tess.
I kept my smile fixed firmly on my face, only parting my lips to take another mouthful of wine. It was already going some way to numbing my nerve endings.
The terracotta bottle that had so recently been filled with Lancers Rosé rocked and rolled as it spun, before slowing down and settling on Seb.
‘Truth or dare?’ asked Pippa.
‘Dare!’
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘When the waiter asks what you’d like to eat, you have to do your best to order in Portuguese.’
He smiled and called the waiter over.
‘So . . . I’d like ze, how you say, spaghetti bolognesia con pan du garlic as un aperitif.’
We couldn’t contain our giggles. ‘There must be three different languages in there, but I’d bet my life that none of them is Portuguese,’ sniggered Tess.
‘Would you like parmesan cheese as well, mate?’ asked the smiling waiter, in a cockney accent.
Everyone laughed, though all I could hear was the loud silence coming from the end of the table. I refilled my glass, drank it, and looked at Pammie. She glared back at me, with a look of defiance, as if calling the fight on.
No one else would have noticed, but then no one else knows her like I do. They don’t know that the sweet old woman, ambling along, playing the martyr, is actually a calculating, scheming bitch. But if she wants to play that game, to systematically chip away at me until she hopes there’s nothing left, then I’m ready.
