Tales From A Hen Weekend

by Olivia Ryan

  ‘I’ll be fine, so I will,’ she says cheerfully. ‘I’m just sorry I didn’t get to say me goodbyes to you all, but hopefully…’ She falls silent. I know what she’s thinking, too. ‘Hopefully I’ll see you again very soon, Katie.’

  ‘Yes. Sure you will. But who says you’re not saying goodbye to us? Did you hear that, girls?’ I demand, holding out the phone over the table. ‘Jude doesn’t think we’re going to say goodbye to her!’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Jude!’ shouts Lisa.

  ‘Of course we’re coming to say goodbye!’ yells Emily.

  ‘We’ve got to sign your plaster, you silly girl!’ laughs Mum.

  ‘We’ll be there in half an hour,’ I tell her, ending the call and putting my phone away. ‘Come on, you lot, drink up your coffees, we haven’t got all day! Can we have our bill, please? We’ve got a patient to visit, and a plane to catch!’

  No rest for the wicked – and we should know.

  ‘You’re doing brilliantly!’

  I’m watching Jude with genuine admiration as she swings herself along the ward on her crutches for the third time since we’ve been here. Only two visitors are allowed in at a time, so we’ve been taking it in turns to wait outside. She’s had to do another demonstration of her prowess each time someone different comes in.

  ‘It’s desperate hard work though, Katie, so it is,’ she puffs, flinging herself back onto her bed and throwing the crutches on the floor. ‘Sure I’m going to end up with arm muscles like a fecking wrestler by the time I’m finished.’

  ‘So what’s the problem? Some men find muscly women quite a turn-on, so I’m told.’

  ‘Yeah, well, some men will find anything a turn-on, by all accounts. There’s an old boy with no teeth and his how’s-yer-father drooping out of his pyjama trousers keeps wandering around the ward pestering the poor old ladies in their beds. I’ve told the sister twice, and she keeps sending him back to the men’s ward, but it’s no good – yer man just comes back again. I had to tell him meself to piss off just now when he started bothering the deaf old one in the next bed here. Fair play to her, though – she didn’t half give out to him. Told him if he didn’t put it away and do up his trousers she’d pull it off with her crochet hook. He’s not been back since.’

  ‘Could you, though? Could you actually pull it off with a crochet hook?’

  ‘Jesus, I don’t know, Katie. I’m not into crochet myself.’

  We laugh together for a minute. Lisa, who’s just come back in to replace Karen, holds up her watch to show me the time.

  ‘We need to get going, Katie. We’ll only just make the check-in time.’

  The laughter stops. Jude and I can’t look at each other, for a minute.

  ‘I’m sorry this is how it’s ended up,’ I say. ‘It’s not been much fun for you.’

  ‘Are you kidding me? I’ve had the most desperate time, Katie.’ She reaches out to pull me towards her, and suddenly now we’re hugging each other, tight, and I’m trying not to cry.

  This wasn’t how it was meant to be, I don’t care what she says. She wasn’t supposed to wind up in hospital with a broken ankle on the last day of my hen weekend – to say nothing of suffering concussion and having an overdose scare.

  ‘Take care, OK?’ I mutter against her hair. ‘And if your parents can’t come and pick you up tomorrow…’

  What? Walk? Hire a bike and cycle back to County Cork with your leg in plaster and your crutches hanging over the handlebars?

  ‘I’ll be fine, so I will. Stop your worrying and be off to catch your flight, or it’ll be gone before you miss it.’

  Irish logic. Wonderful, isn’t it? I kiss her quickly on both cheeks and hurry out of the ward before I start us both off snivelling.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ says Emily as our taxi speeds off on the motorway towards Dublin airport. ‘Jude’s parents will come and get her tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s just the thing, though,’ I say, staring out of the window. ‘They might not.’

  ‘Of course they will! They won’t leave her languishing in hospital, will they.’

  ‘It’s not as easy as that. They’re not well off, and her dad’s just started this new job. Her mum can’t drive.’

  ‘So they’ll ask someone else to come and pick her up. Or maybe the hospital will arrange something – an ambulance. Or Fergus will get her messages, and give her a call tonight. He’ll come for her.’ She nudges me, making me turn away from the window. ‘Come on, Katie – don’t be upset about her. She’ll be OK. Someone’s going to get her home, whatever happens.’

  ‘Yes,’ I say. I nod, slowly, looking at Emily thoughtfully. ‘Yes, of course someone’s going to get her home, Em.’

  Why have I only just thought of this? It’s obvious, isn’t it. I should have said so all along.

  ‘Someone’s definitely taking her home,’ I repeat, as Emily looks at me in confusion. ‘Me. I’m going to.’

  ABOUT CANCELLATIONS

  It’s pandemonium at the airport. There’s Lisa raising her voice to me as if I’m a naughty child, telling me not to be so silly. There’s Karen and Suze with their arms round me, shushing me like a crying baby (I don’t think I’m crying), and Helen holding up her hand, ticking things off on her fingers:

  Number one: her parents are probably already on the case;

  Number two: her boyfriend needs to get his act together;

  Number three: it’ll cost you money to change your flight;

  Number four….

  Then there’s Mum shaking her head, holding her hand to her mouth like she’s just had a really bad shock that she can’t get over, and muttering about the wedding, the wedding, the wedding.

  ‘The wedding’s not until next month, Marge,’ says Joyce quite crisply. ‘Stop fussing.’ She looks at me for a minute, hesitates as though she’s considering saying more, but just repeats, louder, for everyone’s benefit, ‘Stop fussing.’

  ‘Yes,’ I say, shaking Karen and Suze off my shoulders as gently as I can. ‘Thank you, Joyce. Stop fussing, everyone. I’ve made up my mind. It’s what I want to do.’

  ‘In that case,’ says Emily as the wails and protests die away and I suddenly realise she’s the only one who hasn’t said anything – not even in the taxi when I ranted at her for the last ten minutes of the journey about why I wanted – indeed needed – to do this. ‘In that case, Katie, then I’m coming with you.’

  At this there’s a fresh outburst of disapproval.

  What are you both thinking of?

  What’s the point? She’s got her boyfriend, her parents, her friends in Ireland to look after her.

  You don’t have to feel guilty about Jude. It’s not your fault.

  She’s a big girl. She can sort herself out.

  She won’t expect… she’ll be upset… she’ll be offended…she’ll be worried…

  And what about your jobs?

  And WHAT ABOUT MATT?

  ‘What did you say?’ retorts Lisa sharply, bringing me out of the jumble of my thoughts. Thoughts about cancelling flights, booking new ones, organising a hire car, getting a road map of Ireland. Everyone’s looking at me like I’ve just stripped naked, pulled out my hair in handfuls and sworn my soul to the devil.

  ‘I said, fuck Matt,’ I replied quite calmly. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Katie, honestly, that’s not very nice,’ says Mum. ‘Just before your wedding.’

  ‘You ought to phone him, Kate. Before you make any decisions,’ says Lisa.

  ‘Lisa, he’s still in fucking Prague. He will be for another two days. What difference is it going to make to him? He doesn’t care whether I’m in Dublin, or Cork, or…’

  I tail off, aware of the silence – the hush of disapproval – surrounding me. Emily slips her arm through mine.

  ‘Come on. We need to see about the flights. Otherwise they’ll think we’ve just missed the check-in.’ She turns to the others. ‘And you lot will miss the check-in if you don’t get in that queue in a minute.
We’ll meet you in the bar – OK? The one next to the Duty Free.’

  She shepherds me in the direction of the Ryanair booking desk.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say. I can’t think of anything else. I’m not even completely sure whether this is a rational decision. My head isn’t entirely straight.

  ‘Don’t mention it. I wasn’t planning on doing anything special for the next couple of days,’ she says with a grin.

  ‘Oh, Em – I hadn’t even given that a thought! What am I like?’ I drop my bag on the floor and stare at her, mortified. ‘You can’t come! The girls are right – what about your job?’

  ‘What about yours?’ she counters, picking up my bag and pulling me on through the crowds. ‘I’ve got a few days’ leave owing. I’ll only have to make a quick phone call to John, my manager. It’ll be fine. Will Helen sort it out for you at Bookshelf, do you think?’

  ‘Yes. She’ll be glad to. She can have Greg to herself for a few days. And then I’m handing in my notice anyway. Helen says she is, but I won’t let her do it. Australia’s ridiculous. I’ll get another job instead.’

  ‘Wow,’ says Emily softly. ‘We have got a lot to talk about on the drive down to Cork, haven’t we.’

  ‘Yes.’

  More than you realise.

  Of course, nothing’s ever as easy as I seem to go through my life believing it to be.

  ‘You mean to tell me we can’t change from one flight to another?’ I ask the girl at the booking desk. ‘Even if it’s the same time, same price, just a different day?’

  ‘In other circumstances, you can, yes, of course. But not at this short notice. Anything up to three hours before the flight time, it’s perfectly possible.’

  Emily looks at her watch.

  ‘Great!’ she says sarcastically. ‘It’s just under two hours to go. I thought the check-in is supposed to be two hours before?’

  ‘Check-in is from two hours before departure, until forty minutes before, madam. But for flight changes, I’m afraid…’

  ‘It’s three hours. Great.’ I sigh. ‘So what happens if we can’t fly out today?’

  ‘That’s not a problem, madam. We’ll just cancel your reservations.’

  ‘What, and we stay in Dublin forever?’ laughs Emily.

  ‘You can then, of course, book onto a new flight for whichever day you intend to fly back.’

  ‘So we pay for two flights instead of one?’

  ‘Well, unfortunately, if you choose to cancel your reservation, madam…’

  ‘Sod it,’ I tell Emily wearily. ‘They were dead cheap flights anyway.’

  They were. Nine pounds, ninety-nine pence when we booked them, ages ago.

  ‘When are you planning to re-book for?’ asks our little Ryanair friend, tapping something into her computer terminal.

  I glance at Emily. We haven’t even discussed this.

  ‘Two days,’ she announces cheerfully. ‘We’ll drive down to County Cork tomorrow morning, stay overnight, as a little extra holiday with Jude, and drive back on Wednesday. Yeah?’

  ‘Yeah.’ I start to smile. I like the sound of the extra holiday bit. And to think just a little while ago I was getting upset at the thought of my hen weekend being over. I turn to the girl again. ‘Can you book us onto the same time flight on Wednesday evening?’

  ‘Certainly.’ She does a bit more tapping. ‘That’ll be one-hundred-and-thirty-nine euros, ninety-nine, Madam. Each,’ she adds with a glint in her eye.

  ‘What!’ Emily and I both shriek together.

  ‘How can it be?’ I demand. ‘That’s getting on for a hundred pounds, isn’t it!’

  ‘Tonight’s flight was nine pounds ninety-nine!’ agrees Emily.

  ‘Yes, it probably was, if you booked it some time in advance. I’m afraid the prices tend to go up nearer the time, you see, especially as this is a very popular departure time. The next flight, at ten past eight, is only fifty-nine euros, ninety-nine, and the one before…’

  ‘All right, all right,’ I say, a bit snappily, before she can show off her computer prowess and her inflated prices any more. ‘So what’s the cheapest flight you’ve got on Wednesday?’

  ‘Er… let me see…’ She looks up brightly from the screen. ‘The last flight of the evening: nine-forty-five. I can still get you onto that flight for twenty-four euros, ninety-nine, Madam, if there’s just the two of you travelling?’

  ‘That’s about seventeen quid each,’ I mutter to Emily. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Christ, Katie, it’s not really much, is it, in the scheme of things. But don’t forget we’ve still got the hire car to pay for.’

  ‘I pay for it. It’s my idea. You didn’t have to…’

  ‘I want to. But don’t you think we’d better talk to Jude first? Just in case her Mum and Dad are on their way from Cork right this minute, to collect her from the hospital?’

  ‘Oh. Yes. Good point.’

  How typical is that of me, not to think of this? We step away from the desk, leaving the Ryanair girl staring after us in dismay. All that screen hopping and we haven’t even booked!

  ‘Jude?’ I don’t want to shout, with all these tourists and holidaymakers listening to my every word. ‘Jude, it’s me! Katie!’

  ‘Well, hello yourself! Are you missing me already?’

  ‘Yes.’ I’m smiling with excitement. ‘In fact, Jude, Emily and I are missing you so much we’ve decided to stay for a couple more days.’

  ‘Am I hearing you right, you crazy woman? Have you had too much to drink at the airport, or what?’

  ‘Come on, Jude. You know I’ve given up the drink. We’re not joking. We’re just about to change our flights to Wednesday. We’re going to hire a car, and drive you home. And if you don’t mind, we’ll sleep on your floor for the night!’

  There’s a silence. I’m suddenly worried that the other girls are right. I’ve offended her. She doesn’t need me to nursemaid her. She’s probably got a lift sorted out already and she doesn’t know how to tell me.

  ‘What about your jobs?’ she says in not much more than a whisper.

  ‘Sorted. No problem.’

  ‘And what about your lads?’

  ‘Fuck ’em. They’re still in Prague.’

  ‘Are you sure, Katie? Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?’

  ‘We’d like to, yes. As long as it’s all right with you, and we’re not treading on anyone’s toes. You know – your parents, or Fergus. What do you think?’

  ‘I think,’ says Jude, and her voice is wobbling now as if she’s trying to stop herself laughing. Or maybe crying. ‘I think it’s the best idea in the world. And you’re the best friend in the world! And I’m paying for the car hire!’

  ‘Of course you’re not. It’s an extra holiday for me and Emily.’

  ‘Well, I’m paying half, whether you like it or not!’

  ‘We’re picking you up in the morning, then – OK? Just as soon as we’ve sorted out the car. See you then!’

  ‘Great!’ says Emily, beaming, as I put my phone away. ‘That’s sorted, then!’

  ‘Two more days in Ireland! Yee-hah!’

  ‘Do you want to pay cash or by debit or credit card, Madam?’

  The bar’s crowded. Emily and I get there first and manage to find a table for four, so when the others join us we have to squeeze round the table, perching on the edges of each other’s chairs.

  ‘All checked in?’ I ask them brightly.

  ‘Yes. So what have you decided? Are you going ahead with this crazy scheme?’ says Lisa.

  Why does everyone seem to think we’re crazy, for wanting a couple more days’ holiday? It was OK for Matt to book ten days, apparently.

  ‘It’s not too late,’ points out Helen. ‘The check-in is still open.’

  ‘It is too late, actually,’ says Emily. She looks as excited as I am. ‘We’ve cancelled our flights.’

  ‘And re-booked for Wednesday evening,’ I add triumphantly. ‘Look!’ I wave the booking con
firmation at them.

  ‘And how much did that cost you?’ sniffs Mum.

  ‘Not much,’ says Emily quickly. ‘Now – are we having a farewell drink, or what?’

  ‘I thought you’d all given up the booze!’ laughs Auntie Joyce.

  ‘Well, I think we should perhaps have just one little one this evening,’ I say cautiously.

  At this, everyone starts to laugh.

  ‘Ha! Knew it wouldn’t last!’ says Karen.

  ‘Yeah, trust Katie! One day on the wagon and she’s desperate for a drink again!’ says Lisa a bit unkindly.

  ‘It’s our last evening, all together,’ points out Emily. ‘And we’ve all had a great time, haven’t we? Despite everything! So don’t you think we should all just have a little toast – to the bride?’

  Chastened, they all give their orders. While Emily and Helen are at the bar getting the drinks, the next table becomes free so we’re soon all settled a lot more comfortably, which is probably a good thing, considering what’s coming.

  ‘OK, then, everyone,’ says Lisa, raising her glass. ‘Here’s to Katie! Thanks for inviting us to your hen weekend, love!’

  ‘To Katie!’

  ‘Cheers, Katie!’

  ‘To the bride!’

  I raise my glass, but for a moment I don’t drink.

  ‘There’s just one thing,’ I say, shakily, hesitating with the glass still held up in the air.

  The others, taking their first gulps of their beer or their wine or their vodka, look at me warily over the tops of their glasses. What nonsense is Katie going to come out with next?