Tales From a Hen Weekend (35 page)

Emily tiptoes into the lounge as I’m leaning on the windowsill, looking out.

‘How are you feeling?’ she whispers.

‘OK. Thanks. Why are we whispering? Is Jude still asleep?’

‘No. I’ve got a thumping headache. And Jude can’t even bear the curtains open yet.’

‘Blimey. I’ve got off lightly, then.’

‘Yes. Amazing. You zonked out almost as soon as the film started. Not that I can remember what the film was. Jude covered you over and you snored all the way through it. We shared another bottle of wine.’

‘What! You pair of lushes!’

‘Ouch! Keep your voice down for Christ’s sake!’ She sits down on the sofa and rubs her head slowly. ‘Well, we eventually staggered off to bed and left you where you were, as you were so completely out of it. Looks like you’ve slept it off!’

‘Well, I did wake up once.’ I give her a quick sideways glance. ‘Harry came back with Jude’s crutches. He knocked on the window to wake me up.’

‘Oh yes?’ says Emily meaningfully.

‘I thought he was a ghost. I didn’t mind, though.’

‘No, I bet you didn’t. Nor did he, I don’t suppose, seeing you in those pyjamas.’

I tug at the pyjama top ineffectively, shaking my head.

‘No. It wasn’t like that. I got up to let him in, but I passed out. He looked after me, Em. He put me back on the sofa and made me tea and . . . everything.’ How do you describe the gentle touches, the tender looks, the feeding of tissues and glasses of water, the silent, patient waiting while I cried and blew my nose? ‘He was… like a nurse.’

‘A
nurse
.’

‘Yes. Don’t say it like that. He was lovely. He made me feel better.’

‘Hm. And what exactly does his
night-nursing
routine consist of, eh? Any snogging involved in that? Any quick groping under the duvet?’

‘Emily! You are
so
distrustful. There was no snogging, no groping, and nothing of the kind whatsoever. He said he wouldn’t take advantage of the situation.’

‘Really?’ She sounds quite taken aback. I must admit, thinking about it now in the cold, sober light of day, so am I. ‘Well, I could have sworn he was waiting to make a move on you, Katie.’

So was I. Actually, if it wasn’t for the fact that I’ve just had my heart completely broken by the love of my life and am never getting involved with any man again for as long as I live, I’d have felt quite gutted, thinking about it, that he didn’t seem to want to make a move on me after all!

We get Jude up, despite her protests about the light from the windows sending her half blind and mad with pain, and make her practise using her crutches to take herself into the lounge, while we rummage around in the kitchen and find eggs and bacon in the fridge, sliced bread and cook-from-frozen sausages in the freezer, baked beans in the cupboard and all the utensils we need to cook a massive post-alcohol breakfast.

‘If I could only open me eyes,’ says Jude mournfully as we carry her plate through to her on a tray, ‘I could tell you if it looks as good as it smells.’

‘Just get it down you,’ retorts Emily jokingly. ‘If you could open your eyes you’d give us grief about the state of the kitchen.’

Her eyes fly open straight away and we all start to laugh.

‘Don’t worry. We’ll clean up afterwards. It’s not that bad,’ I reassure her.

I’m actually laughing. I’m shocked at myself. I stop, quickly, look down at the floor, waiting for the realisation to dawn again, that my boyfriend has dumped me, that my relationship is over and everything in my life has come unravelled like a terrible old cardigan. I wait for my eyes to fill up with tears again, the way they should be doing. Nothing happens. I must have cried myself out last night. I must be in shock.

‘Mind the carpet,’ Emily warns me as I squirt a good dollop of tomato ketchup onto my plate. ‘You’re not at home now, you know. Jude wants to keep her flat looking half decent!’

‘Well, I’ve no idea how I’m going to keep it looking half decent while I can’t even stand up on me own, never mind push the hoover around,’ complains Jude with her mouth full of bacon. ‘The place will go to rack and ruin, so it will.’

‘It won’t do it any harm,’ says Emily mildly. ‘Ours only gets a hoover once every few weeks, normally when the crumbs on the carpets get so bad we feel like we’re walking on the beach.’

Jude looks absolutely appalled.

‘Sorry,’ shrugs Emily cheerfully, ‘but we’re not bothered about that sort of thing.’

‘We’re all different, Jude,’ I tell her gently as she continues to stare at Emily in horrified silence. ‘Matt and I don’t do a lot of housework either…’

The silence becomes even more horrified. The other two look at me in alarm, waiting for me to realise my mistake and start blubbing. I take a deep breath, concentrate for a second or two on dipping a piece of toast in my egg yolk, and then start again:

‘I mean
I
don’t.
I
don’t worry much about housework, in
my
flat. I like it to be a bit lived-in. Or maybe I’m just lazy. But now, seeing how lovely your place is because you look after it so well, I’m thinking perhaps it’s me that’s got it wrong.’

The other two have gone back to eating their breakfast, looking relieved. Thank God Katie isn’t having a nervous breakdown. Not at the moment, anyway.

Maybe that’s still to come.

Poor Jude. After a lifetime of care and attention to every detail of her personal grooming, she’s now reduced to balancing on one leg in the shower, propped up against the wall, doing the best she can in the circumstances with her soaping and shampooing. By the time she comes out of the bathroom she’s so knackered she actually tells us she can’t be bothered putting on make-up or blow-drying her hair. I look in on her, where she’s collapsed on the bed in her own room.

‘Let me do it for you.’

‘No, honest to God, Katie, leave it. After you and Emily have gone home I’ll have to find a way of managing on my own till Mum gets here, so it’s no good you nursemaiding me.’

Emily brings her a cup of tea and looks at her worriedly.

‘Seriously, Jude, are you going to be OK when we’ve gone?’

‘Sure I am. Mum phoned this morning. She’s coming down for the rest of the week and after that, I’m hoping to get back to work, as long as Brendan from my office can give me a lift. While Mum’s here, I’ll start working out how to cope with everything.’

‘Did the doctor at the hospital say how long you’ll have the plaster on?’

‘No. I’ve got to go to the local hospital here next week for a check-up. They said when the swelling’s gone down the plaster might be too loose. Then they’ll X-ray me again after a few more weeks and decide if I can start weight-bearing.’

‘Poor you. What an absolute pain.’

‘It could’ve been worse. The doctor said they quite often have to operate on broken ankles, but mine didn’t need that, at least. And I haven’t got to worry, now, about missing the wedding…’ She stops, glancing at me guiltily. ‘Ah, shit, Katie. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.’

‘It’s OK. No, really, it is.’ They’re both looking at me, eyes wide with distress on my behalf. I can’t bear it. ‘Look, please, both of you. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life – or even the rest of today – being treated like an invalid with an incurable disease that no-one dares to mention. I’m all right at the moment. I don’t know why – maybe I’ve gone into shock and it’s all going to hit me again when I get home. I don’t particularly want to talk about it, but you don’t have to tiptoe around the subject and worry that I’m going to suddenly fall apart.’

‘Well, I’m glad about that anyway, Katie,’ says Jude, still looking a bit uncomfortable.

‘Me too,’ says Emily, giving me a quick hug, ‘because it’s the last day of our holiday, and the sun’s shining out there, and crutches or no crutches, I reckon Jude has to do one final duty as our tour guide, and show us around Kinsale before we go home? What do you reckon?’

‘Absolutely!’ I agree. ‘Stop shaking your head and making all that fuss, Jude – what’s the matter with you? We can help you along, can’t we? All you have to do is lean on us and point us in the right direction!’

And we’re making so much noise, laughing together about a tour guide on crutches showing able-bodied visitors around the town, that we only hear the doorbell at the second or third ring. Looks like we’ve got company.

I’d forgotten what Harry said about coming back this morning, and certainly didn’t realise he was bringing his cousin with him.

‘This is Conor,’ Harry introduces him, pushing him forward through the front door.

He seems to need the push. He’s a smaller, darker version of Harry. At first glance I think they have the same eyes, but it’s hard to say because as soon as we’re introduced, Conor goes red and looks at his shoes.

‘Don’t be shy, mate – they won’t eat you,’ says Harry, slapping him on the shoulder.

Conor laughs but still doesn’t meet our eyes. I think he’s frightened of us. Maybe he’s frightened of girls, full stop.

‘Nice to meet you, Conor.’

He smiles at me shyly and looks back at the floor. This is going to be hard work.

‘We were just on our way out,’ says Emily, giving me a warning look.

I ignore it. I know what her warning look’s all about. It’s about her not wanting Harry and his cousin with us on our last day. It’s about her still not really trusting Harry and certainly not trusting Conor who we’ve never met before and who doesn’t seem to be able to speak.

‘Well, we’re only going for a little walk,’ I tell them brightly. At least, I’m telling Harry, because it’s kind of difficult to talk to the top of Conor’s head. ‘Jude’s going to give us a tour of Kinsale. She might not be able to get further than the end of the road with her crutches but we’re taking our chances!’

The warning look Emily’s giving me is now being accompanied by kicks to my ankles. I’m pretending not to see the look or feel the kicks, although if she kicks much harder I’ll be plastered up the same as Jude.

‘But I’ve got a better idea,’ adds Harry before we can get any further injuries. ‘Why don’t you all pile into the car, and we’ll have a guided
drive
around Kinsale. Jude doesn’t look too safe on those crutches yet, if you ask me. I wouldn’t trust her to walk down that hill outside!’

‘Well, I’ve been having the same thought meself, thank you very much for caring!’ says Jude, sounding relieved. ‘Only you can’t say anything to this shower here, sure they’ve not an ounce of sympathy for a poor girl with an impediment, they’d have me climbing mountains with me crutches strapped to me back, so they would.’

‘Never let it be said, Jude,’ says Harry solemnly, ‘that Harry Cornwell doesn’t have sympathy for people with impediments. Your carriage awaits you.’

‘Just come in for a minute, then, while we get our coats and shoes on,’ says Emily with an air of resignation.

Seeing the speed at which this has been agreed, Jude makes a little squeak of dismay and swings herself off into her bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind her. She’s still in there when Emily and I are ready to go out.

‘Come on, Jude!’ I tap on the door. ‘Are you ready?’

I peer round the door. She’s sitting at her dressing table frantically tugging at her hair.

‘Jesus, God, will you look at the state of me? Did I ever look such a mess? I’ve hardly a scrap of make-up on yet, you’ll have to wait…’

‘Aw, Jude, leave it out – you look gorgeous. We’re only going for a drive around the town. Come on – if we don’t get going, we’ll run out of time. We’ve got to head back to Dublin this afternoon.’

She flings her hairbrush down and sighs.

‘Oh, to hell with it, then. I’ll put a scarf over me face, shall I not, and if anyone looks at me…’

‘They’ll think you’re beautiful, like you always are. Come
on
, Jude! Stop rabbiting on about scarves on your face. I’m not going home without seeing Kinsale! Let’s go!’

Hallelujah. I never thought it’d happen – but I’ve just got Jude Barnard out of the door without spending two hours doing her hair and make-up. Definitely a first! Whatever next?

‘No, not really. In fact…’ I shuffle across the back seat to leave room for Jude, ‘I think I’d rather hang upside down on a skewer over a barbecue than talk about it at the moment, if you don’t mind. I just want to enjoy my last day in Ireland.’

Thinking about it now, I’m relieved to realise that I’m actually feeling more angry than upset already. How dare he! Over the
phone
! What a complete bastard!

‘Fair enough,’ says Harry as he helps Jude into the car. ‘Subject closed.’

There’s not enough room for us all in the car, what with Jude’s leg, so Conor sets off at a jog to meet us down at the harbour. The road into the town centre from Jude’s flat is all steeply downhill and I realise with a pang of guilt how impossible it would have been for Jude to manage it on her crutches. She’d have fallen headfirst down the slope.

At the bottom of the hill there’s a little square flanked by pretty green, yellow and red-painted touristy shops and dotted with tubs of spring flowers. The shop windows are full of Celtic jewellery, slate paintings and hand-knitted sweaters.

‘It’s lovely, Jude!’ exclaims Emily. ‘I can’t believe you live here!’