Tales From a Hen Weekend (24 page)
‘Of course I do. They’re part of our heritage,’ says Lisa huffily. ‘Kids need to hear…’
‘What? Stories about elves and goblins and fairy princesses and magic spells?’
‘Yes!’
‘Good triumphing over evil? All that crap?’
‘Yes! And it’s not crap!’
‘So you reckon you believe in happy ever afters?’ persists Helen, giving Lisa a challenging look. ‘Do you?’
Lisa drops her eyes.
‘I’d
like
to.’
‘We all would, Lisa. But you have to grow up some time, unfortunately, and leave the fairy tales behind.’
And the romantic fiction, presumably. The trouble with happy endings, I suppose, is that you never get to find out what happens after the last page of the book.
I call the hospital while we’re having our coffee, and get put through to Jude’s ward. The nurse tells me to hang on and she’ll get her to the phone. It seems to take forever.
‘Well, I had to walk to the phone with my crutches, Katie,’ she says at last, panting with the effort.
‘Is it really that difficult? It always looks like fun.’
‘Yes, you would say that if you’ve never tried it. It’s as much fun as wearing too-tight shoes. D’you remember the three-legged race we used to have at school when we were little ones? Well it’s like doing that, but without the other person to hold on to. Sure I’m going to break me neck before I’m much older.’
‘Ankle’s bad enough, Jude. Neck’s out of the question. Behave yourself.’
‘Jesus, God, I’d like a chance to do anything else, so I would. The nurses in here are like the devil himself, with their fuss and their bossiness.’ She drops her voice a little. ‘But there are plenty of nice-looking doctors if you’ve half a mind to look around.’
‘I think we’d better get you out of there, love, before you start getting carried away.’
‘Well now, that’s the best suggestion I’ve heard today. But unless you’ve got ideas for hiring a private helicopter and landing it on the hospital roof, then I think I’m stuck in here for a bit longer, I’m sorry to say, Katie.’
‘Why? What do you mean? Isn’t Fergus coming to pick you up? I thought he’d have been there by now.’
‘There’s a bit of a problem, you see, now. Fergus is working away and I can’t get hold of him. Sure he’s probably in some boring meeting or other, and hasn’t got his phone on. You know what they’re like.’
‘You can’t get a message to him or anything?’
‘I’ve tried, Kate, but so far I haven’t succeeded. I was thinking maybe I could get Dad to drive up and bring me back, but he’s out on a job and me Mam never learnt to drive, bless her. It’s also a fierce long drive in the dark for them so I’ve a mind to leave it till the morning and see if they can work something out then.’
‘But Jude, I’m sure they’d drop everything like a shot to come and pick you up if they knew you were stuck in hospital!’
‘To be sure, they would, but it’s powerful unfair to ask them, when me dad needs to keep this job so badly, Katie – you know how it is.’
I do. Jude’s father was made redundant from his previous sales job last year and was out of work for months. He hasn’t been in this job for very long so I suppose I can understand why Jude would be reluctant to ask him to take time off.
‘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…’
