The Stag and Hen Weekend (25 page)

The hour and a half that followed was like a montage from a chick flick. Not just any chick flick montage. The ultimate chick flick montage with the best bits from
Dirty Dancing, Thelma and Louise, Beaches
and
Mamma Mia
with all the associated tears, laughter, lip-syncing dance sequences and gratuitous displays of female bonding that such a description implies. And at the end of it all as Helen admired herself in the mirrored wardrobe in her new sleeveless embroidered black top, skinny leg trousers and black heels, standing next to her impeccably dressed and beautifully made-up friends as the final chorus of
Relight My Fire
played loudly from the wall mounted stereo system, she knew it would be a night to remember.

The five friends were still laughing and joking with each other when they emerged from the lift and clicked their way across the marble tiled lobby until they reached the Silver Lounge.

Again the Manor website photographs didn’t do justice to the true opulence and sophistication of the Silver Lounge. Perfectly air-conditioned, with walls alternately painted in a gun-metal grey and brilliant white, furnished with sumptuous velvet sofas arranged around low gloss white tables and with lighting so subdued that even seven thirty on a summer’s evening could have passed for three in the morning, it was every inch the perfect place for the five friends to start their evening.

Spreading themselves across two of the huge velvet sofas the girls pored over the cocktail menu before jointly making the decision that they would each order something different. Drinks orders were taken and then taken again because half the group had changed their minds before the waiter had even left their table and then the girls settled into a quarter of an hour of gentle banter before their drinks and several small platters of olives and nuts were presented to them.

‘We should have a toast,’ said Kerry raising her glass. ‘Here’s to our girl Helen, one of the best friends a girl could have!’

Clinking glasses, the girls ploughed headlong into more laughter and conversation while exchanging sips of cocktails with each other along the way. This resulted with almost indecent haste in a table full of empty glasses and a call to the waiter for the return of the drinks menu. He arrived to the eruption of a cacophony of screaming and laughter that could only mean one thing: more of Helen’s weekend hen party guests had arrived.

The three new arrivals were friends who for one reason or another (most often a clash of schedules) Helen rarely got to see. There was Dublin-born Ros, a tall and elegant Cambridge-based former magazine journalist turned web-developer who was currently in the middle of a divorce. Then there was Heather, a Bournemouth-based former paediatric nurse now a happily married full-time mum of four who Helen knew from her sixth-form days. Finally there was Carla, a part-time social worker and single mum of two who she’d known since they both started Brownies together at the age of eight and with whom she had recently reconnected via Facebook after a fifteen-year gap.

Helen raced over to the girls, hugged them and ushered them over to the sofas to be introduced to the rest of the party.

‘Everyone,’ said Helen eagerly, ‘this is Ros, Heather and Carla.’ The girls all waved their hellos. ‘Ros, Heather and Carla, meet the girls!’

As she caught up with everyone’s news Helen remembered the reservations she had had about the weekend. Surrounded by some of her oldest and closest friends, watching them all laughing and joking together, it seemed impossible that she had entertained such thoughts. This weekend couldn’t be more different from that raucous night in Liverpool all those years ago. More importantly, this time she wasn’t marrying an egocentric idiot who would break her heart.

Tapping her engagement ring (a platinum four-claw mount with a single carat diamond ring that Phil had surprised her with the weekend after she proposed) on the side of her glass, Helen rose and called the girls to attention.

‘I just wanted you all to know how much it means to me that you’ve come this weekend. We’ve all got such busy lives and hardly a scrap of time for ourselves, so the fact that you’ve all arranged baby-sitters, put off spending time with husbands and partners for the weekend just to be here means a tremendous amount to me. And, well, I think you’re all amazing!’

A tearful Helen sat down while the girls all applauded, Yaz joking that secretly they had only come for the pampering, and as they raised a glass for yet another toast the waiter arrived to inform them that their table was ready.

‘I know we’ve got lovely treatments and everything booked for the weekend,’ said Yaz, as the girls finished off their drinks and gathered their things, ‘but do you think it’s wrong for me to be looking forward to this meal most? I’m tingling with excitement at the prospect of a nice meal that I didn’t cook!’

Herded by Yaz, the party made their way into a large modern dining room where various tables of diners were already eating. One of the waiting staff checked their reservation and showed them to their table, which Yaz noticed immediately was too small.

‘I think there must have been a mistake. This is a table for six.’

The waiter nodded, returned to his station to pick up the reservation book and then consulted it in front of her.

‘You are?’

‘Mrs Collins.’

‘And the number in your party is?’

‘Eight.’

The waiter turned the book sideways to show Yaz what number was written down next to her name. There was no doubt about it. It was a six.

‘But that can’t be right! Yes, initially it was only going to be six tonight but then about three weeks ago I called and changed the number of guests to eight. Whoever took the call must have forgotten to change the booking.’

The waiter smiled apologetically. ‘I’m so sorry about this Mrs Collins but I’m afraid I can only go with what’s down in the book.’

Yaz looked as if she might explode. ‘Okay, fine, can you at least find us another table?’

‘I am afraid I can’t do that madam as we are fully booked this evening.’

Helen stepped in. ‘Okay, so we can’t have another table. How about if we all squeeze up a bit? Do you think you could get in another couple of chairs and two extra settings?’

The waiter offered what Helen hoped would be his last conciliatory smile. ‘I’m afraid, madam, that’s not The Manor’s dining policy. Might I suggest that you divide your group into two sittings?’

This suggestion was the final straw for Yaz. She glared at him and barked loudly enough to grab the attention of half the room: ‘What a stupid idea! We’re on a hen weekend, not a school trip! We’re not going to eat in two sittings, we’re going to eat all together at a table for eight because I don’t care what’s in that book of yours, that’s what I asked for!’

Helen quickly put her arm around Yaz. ‘Look, I’m really sorry. As you can see my friend’s quite upset by all this. We’ll just do the two sitting thing, okay?’

‘No, we will not!’ yelled Yaz. ‘You all think that I’ve cocked up somehow, well I didn’t! I booked a table for eight!’

‘It’s fine, babe, honestly,’ said Helen quickly, ‘No one blames you for anything.’

‘But that’s not the point!’ snapped Yaz, ‘The point is that I called and altered the booking three whole weeks ago and they told me there would be no problem and lo and behold there is one! It’s just so typical! You do everything to have things planned out and through no fault of your own it all falls apart! I’m absolutely bloody sick of it!’

Yaz was always forceful but this was far from being her normal behaviour. Helen drew her aside. ‘Listen, let’s go outside and take a breather for five minutes.’

Yaz didn’t reply. She pushed past the waiter and stormed out leaving Helen and at least half the dining room wondering what in the world was going on.

5.

Helen exchanged glances with the rest of the girls. There was something about the way Dee, Lorna and Kerry avoided her gaze that indicated they had more than an inkling of what was really going on.

‘Okay, which one of you is going to tell me?’

Dee reluctantly met Helen’s gaze. ‘She made us promise not to say anything.’

‘About what exactly? Has something happened?’

Dee’s face fell and she bit her lip.

‘She’s fine and I’m sure you would have been the first person she told had the circumstances been different.’

‘What circumstances?’

‘The wedding. You getting married.’

‘What’s that got to do with her storming off like that?’

‘Simon’s moved out.’

Helen couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘No! When?’

‘Three weeks ago.’

‘Are you sure?’

Dee nodded. ‘She told us all a few days ago but swore us to secrecy.’

‘But that doesn’t make any sense. Only this morning she was telling me this long and involved story about how disorganised he was today getting his stuff together to pick up Phil. Why would she make that up?’

‘Maybe she wanted to protect you,’ said Lorna. ‘Maybe she didn’t want you worrying about her on what’s supposed to be your special weekend.’

Helen’s mouth felt dry and she wanted to sit down. ‘Is he seeing someone else?’

Kerry shrugged. ‘We don’t know. She wouldn’t give specifics. She talked about it like it was a trial separation so I’m guessing there’s still hope.’

‘A trial separation? Why would they do that? They’re happy. I know they are. I’ve got to go and find her. I’ve got to find out exactly what’s been going on.’ She looked over at Lorna. ‘I’m probably going to be a while and I’d hate for you girls to just be sitting around all night. Can you make sure that everyone gets fed and if there are any more problems . . . I don’t know . . . order room service and get them to put it on my bill.’

Leaving them to smooth things over with the waiter Helen rushed out of the dining room and frantically scanned the lobby. Hazarding a guess Yaz might have gone for a cigarette she made her way outside and finally caught sight of her friend heading along the path to the river. Helen called out at the top of her voice drawing the attention of a number of people sitting out on the terrace but she didn’t care what they thought of her. All she cared about was Yaz.

‘You okay?’ asked Helen when she finally caught up with her friend.

Without acknowledging her question Yaz gazed up at a flock of Canada geese flying overhead. ‘This place really is amazing isn’t it?’ she said. ‘How great would it be to wake up every morning and see this from your bedroom window?’

Helen put her arms around Yaz and held her tightly. ‘It’s perfect. You were so right when you chose here.’

Arm in arm they began walking along the river’s edge and then out to the sun-bleached jetty where they stood watching the dying embers of the day’s light dancing on the water’s surface.

‘The girls told you then,’ said Yaz. She pulled out a lighter and a pack of Silk Cut, lit one up and took a long, deep pull on it then exhaled, sending a plume of smoke up into the air.

Helen nodded. ‘Don’t be mad at them. I practically had to drag it out of them.’

‘I was going to tell you,’ said Yaz, ‘ . . . it was just . . . I don’t know . . . I really wanted this weekened to be special. I didn’t want anything to spoil it. The last thing I wanted was to turn a weekend that was supposed to be all about you into a weekend that was all about me. I just wanted you to be happy.’

‘And I will be. You’ve already done such a fantastic job that it will be one of the best weekends of my life. But I really wish you hadn’t kept this from me. We’re friends. We take the good with the bad. That’s how it works.’

‘You’re right and how I ever thought I’d keep it from you for the whole weekend is anybody’s business. I suppose I thought if I crossed my fingers and tried to keep a lid on it everything would be okay.’

Helen smiled. ‘And how’s that plan working out?’

Yaz’s weak smile faded to nothing. ‘You must have been mortified to see me go off like that. And in front of all your friends.’

‘Don’t even think about it. They’ll all be fine with it. I promise.’ She hesitated unsure whether to say more. ‘Did you see it coming?’

Yaz began to cry. ‘I had no idea,’ she sobbed. ‘It just came out of nowhere.’

Helen felt awful for making her relive the moment but now Yaz had confessed, the dam seemed to burst.

‘I’d just finished putting the boys to bed when he came in and asked if he could have a quick word downstairs. I could see something wasn’t right so we went into the kitchen and he just came out with it – he wasn’t sure he wanted to be married any more – those were his exact words. It was horrible Helen, really horrible. And all the time he was talking I kept thinking to myself, “Please let me wake up and this just be a dream.” ‘

Through her tears Yaz continued to pour her heart out. Simon had gone to live in the empty flat of one of his work colleagues who had just moved in with his girlfriend and had yet to get around to renting it out. They hadn’t told the kids, so every morning he’d come over to help get them ready and every evening he’d come over to help tuck them into bed.

Helen was stunned. It didn’t sound like the Simon she knew. She wondered if Phil knew and had been keeping it a secret all this time. The thought made her stomach tighten and she squeezed her eyes shut until the sensation faded.