Tales From a Hen Weekend (25 page)

‘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 confirmation 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?

‘What’s the one thing, Kate?’ asks Emily mildly.

‘Just that I’m not. I’m not really the bride.’

‘Has she had a couple of drinks already, Em?’ mutters Suze. ‘What’s she on about?’

‘I’m not the bride,’ I say, a bit louder. ‘Not any more. I didn’t want to tell you all, you see, and spoil your weekends. I’m not going to be a bride, because there isn’t going to be any wedding. It’s off.’

I look around at the sea of astounded faces. Their mouths are all open, their glasses all hovering, like mine, in mid-air. Mum looks like she’s going to cry. Lisa’s shaking her head. Emily’s frowning at me, panic in her eyes. I take a large gulp of my wine, and bang the glass down, making everyone jump.

‘The wedding’s off,’ I repeat. ‘Sorry. Maybe I ought to explain.’

‘Yes,’ says Lisa, putting her hand on Mum’s, both of them trembling visibly. ‘Yes, Katie; an explanation would be a good idea, I think.’

I want to tell her not to worry about the wedding dress. She can sell it.

It’s not that I don’t feel bad for them all. Of course I do. Look at Mum – she’s devastated. I knew she would be; why do you think I’ve put off telling her? All that planning: the church, the reception, the flowers, the photographer and the printed invitations. It’s all been cancelled. We’ve lost deposits left, right and centre. Mum paid for some of it but I’ll pay it all back to her. Bad enough losing your daughter’s wedding day without losing half your life’s savings on it too.

And look at Emily’s face. I know what she’s thinking.

No, Emily – it’s nothing to do with what you told me last night. Of course it’s not. That just made it even worse – finding out that
you
knew there was something wrong between Matt and me even before I did. If you’d told me, maybe I’d have called off the wedding sooner than I did. Maybe I’d have cancelled the hen weekend. But is that what you would have wanted? The way I looked at it was – we all deserved a good weekend away so why should I ruin it for everybody? Soon enough to come clean when it’s all over.

So now they all need to know what happened. And where do I start? How far back do I go? Back to the beginning? The story of Katie and Matt. In my mind, it becomes a popular paperback romance.

Katie and Matt.

They loved each other passionately. But could their love stand the test of time?

Apparently not. No need to read to the end, really.

I’ve spent so much time wondering when it all started to go wrong, I’ve almost driven myself mad. The rows about Prague were just the catalyst. Being so angry about Prague, if I’m honest, almost came as a relief. It finally gave me a chance to turn on Matt and shout at him. I’d wanted to do it for weeks – maybe even months! – but I hadn’t had a reason. If I’d suffered from PMT it might have been better: at least I could have had a good screaming, crying session, let it all out (whatever it was), and then made my excuses. Hormones. Women have used them as an excuse for bad behaviour since the beginning of time, haven’t they. What excuse have men got?

If you want to know what was wrong between me and Matt, I’ll tell you: nothing. We’re perfect together. Perhaps we should have bickered, like other couples do. We should have had disagreements, irritations, things that drove us mad about each other. We should have snapped at each other when we were in bad moods, or sulked and not talked to each other for days. Look around you – that’s what normal people do. Normal people who get married, have kids and grandkids and live to a ripe old age together: the reason they manage it is because they’ve seen the very worst of each other and decided to put up with it. I don’t believe those ninety-year-olds you read about in the local paper who celebrate their diamond wedding anniversaries and try to tell the world they’ve never had a cross word. They only say that because they’ve got Alzheimer’s and they can’t remember what they had for breakfast yesterday, never mind the fights they had when they were newlyweds sixty bloody years ago.

Emily and Lisa have always been right about me: I’m too romantic. I found someone who was so perfect for me, we couldn’t even find anything to argue about. We couldn’t bear to be apart. Yes, it was wonderful. It was what I’d dreamt about, all those years, reading Mills & Boons under the duvet with a torch when I was a teenager. It was romantic, it was exciting, it was… do you know what? I think it was beginning to get on our nerves. I think it was a
good
thing we started to argue.

If I tell you that during the last few months, in the lead-up to the wedding, I’ve been feeling like an over-inflated balloon, I’m not just talking about my waistline and the tightness of the wedding dress. It’s as if all the little bubbles of happiness and excitement about Matt, about our relationship, our love for each other, our life together – had filled me up so full to the brim that I was already about to explode. Then I was pumped up with stress about the wedding, the wedding, the wedding. The church, the caterers, the flowers, the bloody dress. When Matt told me about Prague it was as if he’d found exactly the right pin to burst my balloon. Thank God! I let off steam with my anger and suddenly, our relationship stopped being perfect. We were arguing and bickering like any other couple. I was terrified. What was happening to us? We weren’t supposed to be like this. We were nearing the most important chapter in our story and I’d suddenly lost the plot!

All the time, Emily was trying to reassure me.
Don’t worry, love – it’s normal. Everybody gets stressed out just before their wedding day. It’s only nerves. You’ll be fine.
And all the time, she was hiding something from me. She’d noticed something wrong with Matt and she’d actually gone out of her way to ask him about it – without telling me. Oh, I suppose she thought she was helping. I suppose she thought she was going to get him to see the error of his ways; make him cancel the ten days in Prague and take his mates for a sedate weekend on the Isle of Wight instead. And we’d all live happily ever after.

I knew it was about more than that. I knew he wasn’t happy; but then again, neither was I. I’d even asked him outright whether he was seeing anyone else.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he flared. ‘We spend our entire lives together! What opportunity would I have?’

‘So it’s only the opportunity you’re lacking? Not the intent?’

‘Katie, for God’s sake! I am
not
having an affair and I don’t
intend
to have one! What are you talking about?’

‘Something’s wrong.’

‘Yes. It is.’ The look he gave me was very pointed. It was saying:
And what’s wrong is that you’ve turned into someone who accuses me of having an affair.

‘We never used to argue like this.’

‘You never used to be suspicious and distrustful.’