Four Bridesmaids and a White Wedding: the laugh-out-loud romantic comedy of the year!

by Fiona Collins

  She was staring at him. Rose bet Wendy was already comparing his cute, salt and pepper curls to Frederick’s close-cropped and corporate short back and sides; his tall and well-built frame to Frederick’s wiry one, and hoped Frederick wasn’t coming off too badly. They were quite, quite different, yet Wendy had fallen in love with both of them.

  Steve was staring back at Wendy and started very subtly looking her up and down. Rose suddenly felt she was interrupting something, that she was in some kind of charged vortex. Immobile, she flicked her eyes over to Sal, and then to JoJo – they looked frozen, too.

  Tamsin appeared beside them. ‘All done,’ she said. ‘That net’s really secure now . . .’ From the uncomfortable look on her face she seemed to realise she’d interrupted some strange, emotive tableau.

  ‘Good morning,’ said Steve. ‘I don’t believe I know you. I’m Steve.’

  ‘I’m Tamsin, ‘said Tamsin. ‘You know everyone else then?’ She looked confused.

  ‘Yes,’ said Wendy. She was struggling, thought Rose. She appeared quite unwell, and who could blame her? ‘From university,’ she muttered. ‘Who would have thought it?’ She laughed that unusual, trilling laugh again. ‘We all knew Steve, didn’t we, girls? He was a friend of ours.’

  ‘Oh, right,’ said Tamsin. ‘Small world.’ Rose didn’t dare look at her; she didn’t want to witness that Tamsin could somehow tell what they all knew – that this man was a potential danger to Wendy’s future with her brother.

  There was a prolonged, awkward pause. ‘We’ll have to chat later, Hammy,’ said Steve. ‘And the rest of you. I’ll look forward to it,’ he added, leaving Wendy looking even worse than she had before. ‘But now,’ he said, clapping his hands together, ‘we have an assault course to crack on with!’ He suddenly switched to a scary drill instructor voice that Rose didn’t much like the sound of. ‘OK, PEOPLE! Line up, over there, in front of the COMBAT wall! On the double, hup, hup, HUP!’

  They all looked at each other in bewilderment.

  ‘Why are you running the assault course,’ asked Sal quickly, ‘if you own The Retreat? Couldn’t someone else do it?’

  ‘Because I love it!’ shouted Steve. ‘Now MOVE it!’

  Startled, and not a little terrified (well, Rose was, anyway) they all jogged over to the nearest end of the muddy trench and Steve directed them to stand with their backs to the wall, on a narrow ledge facing the water. He came and stood in front of them.

  ‘Here’s what we DO!’ bellowed Sergeant Major Steve. He was marching up and down in front of them, far too close, and barking in their faces. ‘We wade through the WATER, we climb the SCRAMBLE net, we JUMP down the other side, we go on our elbows UNDER the commando net, we come back round and go through the tubes on our BELLIES, we climb the wall and DOWN the other side, we go BACK through the water and over the scramble net again, we finish with a Tarzan-like swing across the water on ROPES, then a hop through the TYRES. Are we clear?’

  ‘Er . . . yes?’ they all mumbled. Rose nearly said no, for a laugh, but she was petrified of Scary Steve at this precise moment in time.

  ‘Are we CLEAR?’ He was shouting, but amusement danced in his eyes. He was thoroughly enjoying this, thought Rose, and the presence of his long-lost ex didn’t seem to be having much effect on him, not like it was on Wendy. Their good friend was alternating between pale and blush in colour and was fidgeting like crazy with the hem of her knickers. From the look on her face, she needed to lie down in a darkened room for at least six days . . . Six days – God, it was only that till the wedding; what a terrible time for Steve Marsden to turn up like a bad penny! Rose sincerely hoped Wendy knew just how shiny and fabulous the penny she was about to marry was, although that could be entirely the problem.

  ‘YES!’ they all shouted.

  ‘Then go! Go, go, GO!’

  They wavered, poised in a hesitant line at the edge of the swampy water. No one wanted to go in first; it looked horrible. Then Tamsin took the plunge. With a mighty splash, she was in the water, up to the middle of her thighs, and wading briskly through it. Wendy jumped in after, squealing as she did so. Then JoJo was in, gasping as the water swallowed her legs. Sal and Rose looked at each other.

  ‘Geronimo!’ cried Sal and, with a flap of her ninja curtain tie, she was in.

  Rose took a deep breath – there was nothing for it but to jump in after her. She thought the water would be freezing but it was actually sludgy and warm, which was possibly worse; it made her think of crocodiles. The others seemed to be almost running through it; she couldn’t manage more than a cumbersome trudge. It was disgusting and the bottom of the trench was startlingly uneven. Rose tripped on something and nearly went under. Wendy, who had somehow been looking back at the time, was suddenly beside her and hauled her upwards.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, fine,’ huffed Rose, wiping mud off her face.

  ‘Stick with me,’ said Wendy. ‘Only halfway left to go.’

  ‘Are you all right?’ asked Rose, as they trudged. She was so out of breath . . . she really must start doing some exercise, one of these days. ‘About Steve, I mean,’ she added. Her foot got stuck in a swampy bit of mud at the bottom and she had to use both arms to pull it out.

  ‘Not really,’ breathed Wendy, giving her a hand. ‘I’m shocked! That’s all I can say at the moment. Come on, keep going.’

  They made it – somehow – to the edge of the swamp. Tamsin was doing surprisingly well – she was already halfway up the scramble net and was really throwing everything into it. Sal and JoJo were standing at the base of the net, hesitating. They all watched as Tamsin scaled the net easily.

  ‘I don’t know if I’m going to be able to do that,’ said JoJo.

  ‘Me neither,’ said Rose, ‘but maybe we could try and help each other, Officer and a Gentleman style? You be Seeger, I’ll be Mayo.’

  JoJo laughed. ‘They had weeks of training – we’re just a couple of exercise-shy lightweights down for the weekend! What chance do we have?’

  ‘Why are you just standing there? Climb that NET!’ boomed Steve’s horrible, shouty voice. Rose leapt on it, JoJo to her left, Wendy and Sal to her right. Together, they placed their feet roughly where they thought they should go and hauled themselves up, step by step. It was bloody murder and it took ages. At the top, Rose didn’t think she could swing her leg over and Sal, already miraculously astride the wooden pole, like a bloody pirate, grabbed her and dragged her over. She’d done it. She was over. Now she just had to jump off it, onto the ground. She looked out over the Shaded Glen of Torture. Tamsin was already easing her way under the commando net; Sal and Wendy and JoJo – clearly finding some sort of superpower from somewhere – had just jumped. She had to do it. She had to do it. She took a deep breath, and flew through the air.

  This was not fun, she thought, as she flew. Right about now she should be face down on a padded table having her shoulders pummelled by a Finnish lady with an impeccable bedside manner and a supply of luxury lozenges. She should be soothed by soft music and the gentle hiss of a steaming hot stone in the corner of the room, the blinds drawn, the world and all its worries shut away.

  Not hurtling through the air at the speed of light to her certain death in highly unflattering undercrackers . . .

  This was some hen weekend.

  Chapter Eight

  JoJo

  ‘Come on, ladies, put some WELLY in it! If you put as much effort into this as you put into drinking at uni, you’d be finished by now! MOVE it!’

  JoJo was sick and tired of Steve’s voice. She hadn’t really liked it that much in the old days at Warwick either. And who called university ‘uni’, except the younger generation? They’d never called it ‘uni’! Steve was always far too cocky for JoJo’s liking. Too sure of himself, and nothing much seemed to have changed. This was the perfect role for him, she thought. Showing off and shouting at people. He was clearly in his element. Poor Wendy! From
the look of her when she saw him, the man obviously still had a great effect on her and JoJo wished he hadn’t. Actually, she wished for a lot of things right at this moment, mostly that she wasn’t struggling inside a giant metal tube like a trapped sausage.

  She was breathing heavily and forcing herself to the other end by sheer, flagging force. This was so not her. This was nothing like her, and she bet her appearance didn’t much resemble the real JoJo at the moment either. She was soaking wet, covered in mud and stinking to high heaven, and the chirpy bunches she’d put in her hair in a vain attempt to get into the spirit of things had slipped from their bands whilst under that sodding commando net, so her stinky, muddy hair was now all over her face and going into her mouth. She was fed up and way out of her comfort zone; her fragrant bridal studio with its soft lighting and iridescent fabrics seemed light years away. How could she have been so stupid! How could she have been so stupid to book the wrong package? She was still utterly kicking herself over it.

  ‘Motivation, motivation, MOTIVATION!’ Steve was caterwauling.

  ‘Oh, sod off,’ JoJo muttered under her breath. She finally reached the end of the tube and came out, gasping for air. She’d done it, thank God. Now for the bastarding wall.

  ‘Cardio, cardio, CARDIO!’ Steve hollered, as she ran towards it. ‘Unbeatable for the body and soul! Come on, JoJo – I’ve seen you run to the bar faster than this!’

  The bar had been a destination she’d actually wanted to get to, she mused. She staggered to the wall, every muscle in her body now screaming (mostly things beginning with ‘F’), and if she had any of this ‘welly’ Steve kept going on about, she would chuck one at the back of his head. The wall had ropes hanging from the top of it and footholds sticking out of the brickwork and JoJo attacked it like she hated it (which she did).

  ‘What’s your motivation, JoJo?’ Behind her, somewhere, Steve was still shouting. Why didn’t he just shut up?

  ‘To get away from you!’ she retorted, jamming her foot on another foothold and yanking on a rope.

  ‘Fantastic!’ he replied. Thick skin, thought JoJo, as she levered herself higher; she was almost at the top now. He’d always been the same. ‘What’s your motivation, Sal?’ she heard him yell. JoJo was at the top now. She swung one leg over the top of the wall and sat astride it for a second, catching her breath. Sal was just emerging from the commando net, half of it over her face, and looked startled at Steve’s question.

  ‘Er . . . cake?’ she called.

  ‘No cake allowed on the Health and Rejuvenation Package!’ Steve beamed.

  Sal shrugged, looking totally unimpressed, and lumbered over to the metal tubes.

  ‘Rose?’ bellowed their merciless master.

  Rose was halfway along the net of doom, burrowing like an extremely muddy vole.

  ‘I haven’t got one!’ came a muffled cry. ‘To get through this alive?’

  Steve smirked. ‘That’s one way of approaching it!’ he yelled. ‘You lot were never the fittest, back in the day. What was it, one session of aerobics in the First Year and that was it?’ He chuckled at his own wit and strode around a bit, his hands in his pockets. JoJo was still at the top of the wall. She wasn’t going anywhere for the moment. She’d only climb down when Steve spotted her and shouted at her to move on. ‘I was told you’re booked as a hen party. Which one of you is the bride?’ he hollered. ‘Is it you?’ he barked at Tamsin, the best out of the lot of them, who was on the final hurdle and swinging happily across the water trench on a rope, like an accomplished, female Tarzan.

  ‘Nope,’ she said, landing with a neat thud on the other side. ‘It’s Wendy.’

  ‘Wendy!’ exclaimed Steve. He was pacing now – proper old-school sergeant major pacing. He should have considered a career in the army, thought JoJo, although she imagined there probably wouldn’t be enough women for him there. Steve was a man who liked to be around women.

  Wendy was wading through the trench for the second time. She had mud all over her face and her curls were stuck to her back like red worms. She looked up at Steve and attempted a smile. ‘Well I never.’ Steve nodded. ‘The blushing bride.’ He said like it was a challenge, which didn’t bode well, thought JoJo. ‘Who’s the lucky fella, Hambelina?’

  ‘I’ll tell you later,’ said Wendy trudging through the muddy water. ‘I’m a bit busy right now.’

  Steve stopped the sergeant major act to throw back his head and laugh, and he looked and sounded just like the old Steve. The one Wendy had lost her heart to and taken years to get over. The one Wendy had clearly never forgotten. The ‘blushing bride’ looked up again at Steve and grinned, a grin that worried JoJo. Oh dear, she thought. This was flirting. What Wendy had said was not actually that funny and Wendy’s grin at Steve’s laughter was one JoJo recognised all too well from their student days. It was cheeky, it was slightly naughty, and, despite Steve asking Wendy about her groom-to-be, that grin told JoJo Frederick was the last thing on Wendy’s mind. She was also concerned about Wendy’s ‘tell you later’ – it meant she wanted some kind of a catch-up with him, too, just like he’d suggested earlier, which wasn’t good at all. They shouldn’t be catching up! It was way too dangerous, with a wedding just around the corner.

  Steve turned, laughter still lighting up his charming face, and spotted JoJo at the top of the wall.

  ‘What are you doing just sitting up THERE?’ Sergeant Major was back. ‘MOVE it!’

  JoJo swung her other leg over the top, took a deep breath and started climbing backwards down the wall.

  *

  Finally, it was over. Nets had been climbed and struggled under, tyres had been hopped over, ropes had been swung on and fallen off (that was Rose; she’d done an enormous battle cry, lost her grip on the rope and went smack bang in the muddy trench with a huge splash, which was actually really funny – Rose had certainly seen the amusing side and had come out laughing like crazy); water had seeped into every fibre of their beings. The group lay flat on their backs, in the only patch of dappled sunlight available in the clearing, and swore their heads off. Steve had already gone back to the manor house, thank God. He’d uttered no praise, no medicinal words, no nothing. He’d just put his hands in his pockets and sauntered off. Still, at least there would be no more shouting at them today; it had been almost unbearable.

  When they’d finished swearing, they started to talk.

  ‘Never again!’ exhaled Sal. ‘I can’t feel my legs!’

  ‘My arms are about to drop off,’ complained JoJo. She wasn’t sure about this sore today, strong tomorrow business; she reckoned she was sore today, sore for the rest of the week. ‘It was bloody awful!’

  ‘Mine too,’ said Rose. ‘I ache all over. I don’t think I’ve felt so battered and bruised since childbirth. In a strange way, though,’ she said, propping herself up on her elbows, ‘I kind of feel exhilarated.’

  ‘No!’ exclaimed Sal.

  ‘Yes!’ insisted Rose. ‘I haven’t done any exercise like that for years. It feels quite good to feel so bad.’

  ‘I enjoyed it too,’ said Tamsin, her eyes still closed. ‘That’s actually the best fun I’ve had in ages.’

  ‘You were good at it,’ said JoJo, glancing over at her. ‘I was impressed. And it meant you didn’t look at your phone for a full hour,’ she teased.

  ‘My phone’s in the room,’ said Tamsin, opening her eyes and sitting up. ‘And touché, Madam!’ she teased back. ‘I could say the same to you!’

  ‘True,’ laughed JoJo and it was also true she hadn’t missed her phone or her Blackberry in the slightest. As much as she’d hated every minute of this awful experience, she hadn’t thought about work for a second of it. Not even about Polly Parmenter, a very demanding client who, she’d been alerted by that earlier text, was due in at noon for a crucial fitting. She’d call Tinks about it, when she got back to her room . . .

  ‘He shouts a bit too much but he’s an excellent instructor, that St
eve,’ added Tamsin, stretching her arms out in front of her. ‘Handsome, too. Did any of you go out with him at university?’

  ‘God no!’ spluttered Wendy. JoJo looked across at her; she suddenly had her eyes firmly shut and her arms clamped by her sides – it was as if she dared not move anything but her mouth. ‘None of us fancied Steve!’

  You little liar, thought JoJo, and the rest of them were probably thinking that too. Liar, liar, PE knickers on fire. Wendy had fancied Steve more than any of them had ever fancied anyone!

  ‘No, none of us would possibly fancy Steve, would we, Wendy?’ contributed Sal, from JoJo’s left. ‘We were just good friends with him, the four of us, back in the day.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Wendy. ‘Steve was just a good buddy of ours, like lots of other people. Nothing more ever happened with Steve.’

  They all fell silent and lapsed into either contemplation or downright knackerdness. No, thought JoJo, closing her eyes. Nothing had happened with Steve. Wendy hadn’t been wildly in love with him, sobbed for a year when he left, avoided all men for three more, spent ages and ages opining on the ‘what-ifs?’ and fate and all that rubbish (for a scientist, Wendy was quite big on ‘signs’, unfortunately – JoJo hoped she wouldn’t consider Steve popping up now as one) and finally resigned herself to the fact her One That Got Away wasn’t ever coming back.

  It had been tough on Wendy, JoJo thought, so tough, and there had been a lot of tears, but she could highly sympathise with how awful her friend had felt. When Nick, Constance’s father, had left her, JoJo had been a wreck. It had been a dreadful time – the worst – which had begun when the man she loved asked her whether she was joking or not about being pregnant. As they all lay silent in their own thoughts, in the dappled sunlight, JoJo let the past briefly wash over her.

  JoJo didn’t do well in the law degree she hadn’t really wanted to do; she barely scraped a third and paid mere lip service to it by becoming a very bored legal secretary, a clock watcher, a thumb twiddler . . . a person who could become very easily distracted by an impressive and powerful barrister in a wig and double-breasted waistcoat who knew what he wanted . . . and what he didn’t. When JoJo told Nick she was pregnant with his baby they were in a sandwich bar, opposite chambers, one lunchtime, and as soon as he’d expressed his disgust and displeasure, he didn’t look so impressive any more in his gown and his curly barrister’s wig. He looked like a silly man with not a responsible or decent bone in his body, about to order a tuna mayonnaise on white bread.