Friday Night With The Girls: A tale that will make you laugh, cry and call your best friend!

by Shari Low

  It was a bit of a recurring theme these days.

  Two huge Spanish ladies in a canoe inadvertently nudged our boat, snapping me back to the present, to this crisp but sunny March day in New York.

  ‘How long have I put up with you now?’ I asked him. Without removing the hat this time, he stretched up and, by some freaky power of cognisance, managed to flick me smack bang in the middle of the forehead.

  ‘That takes true skill,’ I giggled. ‘You could be a superhero with powers like that. Flickman: Brings Criminals Down with Just One Hand.’

  I said the last bit in the voice of the guy who used to narrate the old Batman cartoons. The hat came off and he flashed one of his lazy grins, the ones that still made my knees turn to mush.

  ‘Four months tomorrow,’ he answered my original question.

  ‘No way! Is it that long already? Only another decade or so and Ginger will begin to get used to the idea.’

  ‘You think?’ he replied, still smiling.

  ‘Nope. Better give her a bit longer.’

  I leaned down and kissed him, thinking that it just didn’t get any more amazing than this. It didn’t get any sweeter than feeling his hand move through my hair and his flick-finger stroke the side of my face. However, after a few moments, I was forced to give in to the pain emerging from the unnatural spinal curvature, straighten up and confine myself to returning his gesture by tracing the contours of his face with my fingers.

  ‘Mmm, I like that,’ he murmured. ‘But you didn’t finish your story.’

  ‘What story?’

  ‘About almost getting married. So why didn’t you go through with it?’

  I thought about it for the first time in years.

  ‘I couldn’t. Don’t get me wrong, I can’t think of anything more beautiful than getting married here, but he just wasn’t the right guy. Marc had this image of how he saw me and I always felt it didn’t match who I was. Does that make sense?’

  He squinted up, his hand shielding his eyes from the sun.

  ‘Of course it does. My last girlfriend saw me as Brad Pitt. She was gutted when she realised the truth.’

  Did I mention that Flickman had his limitations? We were going to have to work on his capacity for emotional depth and appropriate responses in situations that required insight and sensitivity. I went back to my story and this time went for the practical. He was better in that area.

  ‘OK, well apart from that, Josie, Lizzy and Ginger weren’t here and I couldn’t even contemplate getting married without them.’

  He was silent for so long that I thought he’d nodded off again.

  ‘So if they were here then you’d, say, marry me?’

  Always the comedian. Well, two could play at that game.

  ‘Of course. I’ve always wanted to marry a superhero and Spiderman’s always sneaking out at night. No telling what he gets up to.’

  ‘He’s shagging Wonder Woman.’

  ‘That explains it.’

  The two large Spanish ladies performed a turning movement that resulted in a full-scale ramming of our boat, making it rock violently from side to side. It didn’t help that one of them was getting hysterical.

  ‘I told her, we need man to do this. Two fat ladies in boat no good,’ one of them yelled. ‘One hour going round and round. Blessed Jesus and the Virgin Mary!’

  ‘Do you want to go back into the side?’ I asked.

  ‘Of course!’ the hysterical one screeched.

  Red sat up and took charge. ‘Give me one end of your oar,’ he told them. When they pushed it over, he grabbed it, then used his scarf to tie it to the rope hook on the end of our boat. Then he took our oar and paddled us all to dry land.

  Yep, that was the kind of guy I’d fallen in love with and for the first time I knew . . . I knew that he’d never hurt me. I knew that he would never try to change me. I knew that we had an equal relationship. I knew that he’d never lie to me.

  I had no idea that only a few days later, I’d realise that one of those assumptions was wrong.

  Thirty

  The noise of the door slamming woke me and I pushed myself up and rubbed my eyes.

  ‘Morning, babe. Where have you been?’

  ‘Running,’ Red replied. Actually the answer was fairly obvious. There was a towel slung around his neck and his pale-blue T-shirt was stuck to his finely toned torso.

  ‘But you ran last night too. Are you having an affair?’ I eyed him with mock suspicion.

  ‘Yep. Those women from the boat lake the other day. They’re using me as the filling in their sandwich.’ I put the duvet back over my head for a few moments to give my brain the chance to dispose of that mental image.

  ‘I was thinking we could to go to Yankee Stadium today,’ he announced. ‘There’s a daily tour and the concierge can get us tickets. Is there anything you’d rather do?’

  ‘Stay in bed, order room service and watch reruns of Cheers.’

  From my position under the duvet, I reached for the remote control and started flicking through the channels. American TV was beamed direct from heaven. At home we had four channels of predominately doom and gloom. Here there were so many options, with a completely addictive mix of genres, old reruns and new shows. Cheers, NYPD Blue, Cagney and Lacey, The Late Show, The Tonight Show, Nightline, MASH, Friends, Frasier, Twin Peaks, Seinfeld . . . And don’t even get me started on the talk shows. Between Rosie O’Donnell, Oprah, Maury Povich and the other dozen shows just like them, I had no idea why anyone even left the house. Yesterday I’d been involved in a violent custody battle, an alcoholic intervention, two confessions of adultery and a lesson in clog dancing before I’d even left the comfort of my duvet. We only had two days left of our fortnight holiday and much as I loved every single moment of the New York experience, I was perfectly happy where I was right then and there.

  Red jumped on the bed beside me and snogged me while attempting to remove the remote control from my grasp. I slipped it under my buttocks and he laughed. ‘I’m not scared to go in there after it, you know.’

  ‘Oh really?’ I asked archly. ‘Well, make it quick because Ricki Lake is on in three minutes and she’s got a female who’s been screwing her twin sister’s husband. And his dad. I can’t tell you how much I want to come and live here.’

  ‘Three minutes?’

  ‘Three minutes. OK, ready, set, GO!’

  He catapulted himself up on top of me and suddenly Ricki’s slapper lost all appeal. I’d just re-evaluated what I wanted to do that day. All day. Many times. So deliciously intoxicating were the things that my boyfriend was now doing that it took me a moment to register the sound of the doorbell.

  ‘Room service!’ shouted the voice.

  ‘Did you order anything?’

  ‘Just some breakfast. Omelettes. Hash browns. Toast. Juice.’

  I contemplated the options. Sex. Food. Sex. Food.

  My ravenous appetite took over. I would go on a diet the minute I got home but right now my body seemed genetically predisposed to sampling every dish that New York had to offer.

  Red got up, pulled his discarded shorts on while I clambered back into my T-shirt and boy-pants and dived back under the duvet. It was just as well.

  ‘SURPRISE!!!!!’

  If I had a dodgy heart I’d have been clutching my left arm and gasping at that very moment. A surprise it definitely was.

  Josie. Lizzy. Ginger. The three of them stormed in the door in a flurry of shrieks, cackles and massive hugs as they launched themselves on top of me where I lay. They looked fabulous: all of them sporting large sunglasses and clutching bags from Ginger’s Louis Vuitton collection.

  ‘But . . . but . . . but . . . ?’ Neither speech nor understanding was coming automatically to me at that very moment. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘We’ve come for your wedding!’ Josie’s voice came to us from the depths of the minibar, where she’d already located a miniature bottle of Scotch and a large Toblerone.

 
; ‘For my . . . what?’

  ‘Cheers, Josie, I hadn’t actually got to that part yet,’ Red told her.

  ‘Well, hurry up, that’s the best bit!’

  Red fished in the pocket of his shorts then froze, an expression of utter panic crossing his face. He frantically glanced around, then lifted one side of the duvet, delved under, rummaged around next to my body, then, with a beaming smile and a huge exclamation of relief, pulled out a small square box.

  ‘I don’t even want to know where that was,’ Ginger said dryly.

  Actually, I was pretty curious. But there were far more pressing questions hurtling around in my head.

  ‘OK . . .’ He took a huge breath, like he was about to dive from a deadly height. ‘Lou, I’m hopeless at things like this . . .’ True. Even in my startled state, I could see what was coming and realised that it required a huge romantic gesture. Not one of Red’s areas of expertise. ‘But I love you more than anything. Marry me.’

  I sat there, gobsmacked, my mouth opening and closing like a puffer fish on acid. I finally managed a strangled, ‘But . . . erm . . . When?’

  ‘Shit, I forgot that bit. Tomorrow. At the fountain in Central Park. I know you said the boat lake would be perfect but I figured that was a bit unoriginal after the whole Armenian pizza thing. So. Will You? Marry me?’

  I couldn’t believe I was in this situation again! What was it with men I bloody dated thinking that they could just bloody steam in and arrange things without giving me choices? What if I wanted options? What if I wanted a whole big bloody wedding palaver with the big dress and the cakes and all the old dears doing the Slosh to ‘Hi Ho Silver Lining’? What if I wanted that?

  But . . . I didn’t. That was for people with families and parents who had been saving for years to give them a huge send-off. My dad had told me in no uncertain terms that I shouldn’t come looking for any money from them for a wedding because they had better things to spend it on. I was ten. I got over it, but he repeated it often enough over the next few years for it to become ingrained in my mind.

  All I wanted was me and the guy I loved, with my best friends in the most romantic setting on earth. All I wanted was this.

  ‘Lou?’

  Red was looking worried now and the others were starting to shuffle on the spot in anticipation of something either really good or really bad. Except Josie who took another slug of Scotch while staring transfixed at my face.

  ‘I’m only doing it if I can wear my jeans and my Converse and we can go to that little deli on 75th afterwards for cake.’

  This was a true test. It would determine whether I was contemplating marrying Control Freak Groom or someone who wanted me to have my idea of nuptial heaven.

  ‘We can wear anything you like and go anywhere you choose afterwards. Just marry me.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Absolutely yes.’

  He dived back on top of me and wrapped his arms around me while I deafened him with an amplified yelp of excitement.

  ‘No tongues! No fricking tongues in front of your sister!’ Ginger yelled, but even she was grinning from ear to ear.

  Lizzy opened the room door, reached into the corridor and brought in an ice bucket with a very presumptive bottle of champagne.

  ‘Oh my God, you had all of this planned?’

  ‘I called them and wired the tickets after we’d been at the boat lake. They got on a flight three hours later. Then I arranged everything else last night and this morning.’

  ‘While you were supposed to be out running?’

  He had the grace to look sheepish.

  ‘You lied to me?’ My tone was clearly sharper than I intended, as there was a sudden silence in the room as Red nodded with just a trace of apprehension.

  ‘Well, feel free to do that again if it results in jewellery and a party,’ I told him, before going in for a long, schmoozy snog.

  ‘Urgh, I wish they wouldn’t do that,’ Ginger said, then consoled herself by knocking back a full glass of champagne.

  I decided not to comment. I didn’t want our newly imminent in-law status to get started on the wrong foot.

  Suddenly Lizzy spoke up. ‘Jewellery! You didn’t give her the ring! Give her the ring!’

  ‘I hope you’re better at taking photographs than you are at proposing, love, otherwise you two had better get used to living on one salary.’

  The others laughed at Josie’s wit, but I was too distracted by the little velvet box that was being opened in front of me. On the inside of the lid, I could see the words Tiffany & Co., and they headlined a simple silver-coloured band with a square diamond set into the metal. I gasped. If I had to design my own ring, that was exactly how it would look. Not big, or showy, or studded with stones that would catch on things while I worked. This was a ring that I could put on and never take off again. It was perfect.

  Tears sprung to my eyes as I realised that I had never experienced happiness like this. I came here on holiday and I was going to go home as someone’s wife.

  ‘Right, I’m taking charge today,’ I announced, jumping out of bed and casting aside all thoughts of a day sponsored by the television and the dysfunctional specimens of the nation.

  ‘Fine, but we need to go register everything at the marriage bureau this morning.’

  ‘OK, but after that it’s girls only this afternoon. We need spa, we need lunch and we need cocktails. And then we’re going shopping.’

  ‘For what?’ Red asked, aware that I’d already dragged him around every shop in Manhattan and the excess luggage charge may require a small mortgage.

  ‘I’m bloody sick of being the one on the receiving end of the surprises around here so it’s my turn. I’m going to buy you something that’ll rock your world.’

  My brand-new fiancé laughed. ‘OK, but here’s a pointer – if it comes from a soft-furnishing department it’s going back.’

  I made a mental note not to tell him about the four leopard-print cushions and the gold silk bedding set that were due to be delivered to the concierge for me that day by those nice people at Bloomingdale’s. There were some things he could hear about when we were in the first flush of married life and anything would be forgiven as long as I was naked when I told him.

  I headed for the shower, giddy with excitement, determined to spend the day tracking down something that showed Red exactly how much he meant to me. A wedding ring. A gorgeous watch. An amazing camera.

  But in the end his wedding gift was none of those. It was so much more.

  Thirty-one

  ‘Fuck, my feet are killing me. I only came for the spas and the cocktails and the wedding bit. No one said anything about strutting around Manhattan until my feet bled.’

  Ginger pulled off her spiky heels and let out a deafening sigh of relief as her feet were soothed by the cold floor.

  ‘Tell me again what you think about the ring,’ I squeaked, beyond excited at the prospect of seeing Red’s face when he opened the box. I just hoped he would love it. It was a white gold band like mine, but instead of a diamond, there was a setting of three black sapphires. It was stunning.

  A waiter appeared and positioned himself at Ginger’s side. He didn’t get the order he’d been expecting. ‘S’cuse me, but can you please tell her that her husband-to-be will like his ring because she’s been asking us every hour all day and we’ve now lost the will to live.’

  ‘Certainly. My name is Justin, I’ll be your waiter for tonight. The specials are corn-fed teriyaki beef on a bed of fusion soy noodles, Malaysian curried chicken with spinach and chickpea rice, and that ring is divine so if he doesn’t like it then please leave it as my tip.’

  God, I love New York. The only city on earth where the waiters come with a sharp line in dialogue. Justin retreated with an order for four cosmos and a beer in preparation for the arrival of my fiancé. Did I mention I now had a fiancé? I seemed to remember informing every person I’d spoken to all day. In fact I may have invited th
e staff of the jewellery counter in Sacks to the ceremony.

  I was getting married.

  Me. Lou Cairney. Was going to become Lou Jones. And the thought of that didn’t scare me. For the first time I felt ready to stop basing my view of relationships on the twisted dysfunction of my parents and start believing in those who made it work. Marc was happy with Emily. Ginger was happy with Ike. Until she mentioned that one blip in the hospital, Lizzy and Adam had always been in a permanent state of contentment. It could work. Red and I could make it work.

  ‘Back in a sec, I’m just going to the loo,’ Lizzy announced, just as Josie reached over the table and squeezed my hand.

  ‘Listen, love, you know I don’t go for all the mushy stuff, but I’m really proud of you and not just because you landed a bloke who had the dosh to fly us all over here for a jolly. Although that helps.’

  ‘The genetic source of my shallow gene, ladies and gentlemen,’ I joked.

  ‘God bless the gene pool. Seriously though, Lou, I’ve absolutely no idea how it happened given the idiots that raised you, but you’ve turned out great and I couldn’t be more proud if I’d shot you out of my own uterus.’

  ‘You should be a speech writer, Josie,’ Ginger piped up. ‘Politicians and heads of state need your services.’

  Dear Lord, if those two ever went head to head in a battle of sarcasm, it would be a long and bloody fight to the death. Thankfully they appreciated each other’s talents. Since we were children, Ginger had hung on Josie’s every word. She was like a role model for the vocally disdainful and disparaging.

  She was also the best aunt I could ever have hoped for. I went round to Josie’s side of the table and hugged her tightly, a huge lump forming in my throat as I thanked her.

  ‘Josie, can I ask you something?’

  ‘As long as it’s not for money.’

  ‘You’re the only parent I could ever have wanted and I can’t tell you how much I love you. Would you give me away?’