I’m handed several room keys and told that we need to be down for dinner and the murder mystery event by 7pm. This means I have to try and harness their energy for the next three hours or else they’ll all peak too early and be sleeping before dinner.
I hand out the room keys and tell them all to separate out in rooms of two. I’m sharing with the bride-to-be but she has no intention of going to the room.
“Let’s just drop our bags at reception and head straight to the hotel bar,” she suggests. “We don’t want to waste pertinent drinking time going up the room.”
The hens roar in agreement so I ask the man behind the welcome desk if there’s a room we can abandon our belongings in for a while.
He agrees and before I know it, I’m sitting in a very brightly coloured bar on a Saturday afternoon with twelve rowdy women and a group of men who are trying to watch a rugby game on the television.
They don’t look too happy to see us, though no one else seems to notice, or care, but me. They start ordering rounds of cocktails and the bartender looks crestfallen at the thought of having to prepare all the ingredients for each different one.
The drinks are slow to appear and a few of the girls are being vocal about the sluggish service. I’m mortified when I hear them but the bartender must be used to this passive aggression and simply smiles as he delivers the cocktails to the table.
I apologise to him on behalf of the table but he tells me not to worry.
“I’ll get my revenge tonight when this place is really busy and I ‘can’t see them’ in among the crowd,” he says with a big smile.
“Touché,” I reply as I raise my glass to him.
With my first sip of the Cosmopolitan cocktail, my body starts to relax. I have achieved the first goal: getting them here in one piece and handing over everyone’s money without losing any of it.
I have been having stressful dreams of us arriving and there being no booking found, or the hotel was closed for emergency fumigation. I needn’t have worried, the hotel is as nice as Dermot said, the price was reasonable for a group booking and I have the entertainment sorted. For now, all I need to do is relax and not spend my night fixated on the fact that my relationship is in ruins. Just have fun: easy.
I nurse my drink for longer than usual because I am determined not to get drunk. As much as this is a ‘party’ it is my responsibility to make sure that everyone else has a good time. I don’t mind, the thought of travelling back to Kilkin on that mini bus with a hangover isn’t remotely appealing.
I switch to water after my cocktail but tell the other hens it’s vodka, straight-up. Some are actually impressed at my hard-core drink of choice for a Saturday afternoon.
I suggest we take a look at the spa treatments instead of sitting in the bar but no one is interested.
“We can do that tomorrow before we head back,” says Siobhan. “A morning at the spa will do wonders for a hangover.”
They all agree with her, so I settle in my seat and accept that I’m outnumbered.
I’ve brought along a ‘Mr & Mrs’ quiz to help pass the time and I learn altogether far too much about my little sister’s sex life – including the fact they’ve had sex in every room of our house.
“Even mine?” I ask, horrified.
“Yep,” she laughs. “More than once, you’re always in Dublin at the weekends so it’s quite easy.”
“Gross,” is all that I manage to say to that particular confession.
I don’t want to continue the game after this disclosure so I try to zone out as much of her answers as I can. The more the game goes on, the louder they get. I think the sport spectators at the bar are going to complain, but as soon as the game is over, they order us all a round of drinks and pull up a couple of chairs to join us.
“We always come to this bar because there’s usually a hen party at the weekends,” says one of them. “They’re the best of craic.”
We laugh, a lot, and when the time comes to leave and get ready for the dinner, the men seem disappointed at our leaving.
Siobhan promises them we’ll be back tonight for the karaoke at the bar, but I don’t hold out much hope for Siobhan being sober enough to stay awake by that time of night.
I’ve booked the bridal suite for the two of us as an extra treat and Siobhan is delighted.
There’s a huge, four-poster bed in the room and I’d like to think the champagne in the ice bucket waiting for us makes up for the fact she’ll have to share the bed with me.
We used to share a double bed when we were younger, until we both wanted our own space – and rooms. I hope that Siobhan is much less fidgety than when we were kids.
There’s a tap at the door and with it, brings Siobhan’s next surprise. I have organised the in-house beautician to call to the room and touch up Siobhan’s make-up. I thought it would be a nice touch but it turns out to be a necessity. Siobhan’s usually impeccable make-up has been smudged with each drink and the more alcohol she consumes, the less she cares about what it looks like.
I can do my own make-up but nowhere near to Soibhan’s standards. I would have been sunk if she’d been expecting me to help.
“You’re kidding!” she shouts. “This is amazing! Thank you so much. One of my fake eyelashes has been threatening to come off all afternoon. I love you Jane, but you’d be more likely to gouge my eye out rather than get it in place.”
I laugh at her spot-on assessment of my abilities and leave them to it while I take the opportunity to check my phone in the privacy of the bathroom. There’s a message from Helen. As soon as I see her name on the screen, my heart leaps.
Have fun tonight, you deserve it x
I reply telling her that I miss her. I don’t care if it makes me sound desperate, all I care about is that she knows that I’m still madly in love and despite this break I have no desire to make it a permanent one. I watch and wait for the three dots to appear so I know she’s writing. It’s a quick turnaround and I feel much better when she tells me she’s missing me, too. I promise to call her tomorrow so we can talk properly. I’ve no idea how the conversation is going to go, but I’ve had enough of not seeing her. We need to sort this out once and for all and it will be better to do it face-to-face. One way or the other I will break this stalemate by the end of the week.
Buoyed by my assertiveness I start to get ready and pull out my red flapper dress, which is my new favourite purchase. I like to watch the tassels shake with even the tiniest movement.
Clearly, I’m easily pleased.
I re-join Siobhan and the beautician just as they’re finishing up. The bride-to-be is back to her usual neat self and laughs when she sees my dress.
“I got a white one,” she says. “I love how the tassels move.”
“Me too!” I say, delighting in the fact I’m not a complete weirdo.
I help her get into her dress and attach the novelty veil to her hair, making sure not to pull out any of the pins keeping her bun up.
When I finish, I can’t help but feel slightly emotional at the sight of her in a veil. Here is my little sister, the one who would always be a teenager in my eyes, getting ready for marriage.
She is going to be a stunning bride and I’m so pleased that I get to be here for it. For years our relationship had always been a superficially pleasant one, mostly because I was only home at holidays and we did little to keep in touch throughout the year. Now, we are genuinely close and I am so happy to be part of the big day.
“Suits you,” I say.
“Doesn’t it?” she replies, a smile beaming from ear to ear. “Now, let’s get out of here and see the stripper.”
She sips the last of her drink and grabs her handbag.
“Good one,” I laugh. “Thank God strippers aren’t your thing. I don’t think I’d be able to look at you again without seeing some strange man in a G-String gyrating on top of you.”
“Wait, what? There’s really no stripper?”
I stare at her, dumbfounded.
“You wanted a stripper?”
“Yes! I want all the hen party cheese! I’ve overlooked the distinct lack of novelty penis’ everywhere because I assumed it was all going to show up in the party room.”
“Party room?”
“Isn’t that where we’re going?”
“No, we’re going for dinner and doing a murder mystery event.”
My voice is getting smaller as I speak, the more Siobhan’s eyes widen at hearing our plans.
“Murder mystery? So there’s really no strippers or inflatable penis’ anywhere?”
I gulp and brace myself for her reaction when I explain that it’s really just a nice evening with food, a bit of a game and karaoke at the bar.
She looks at me, her facial expression unreadable, then bursts into laughter.
“You really think I’m much classier than I am,” she smiles. “I’m sorry, Jane, I thought you knew your sister is much more of ‘party girl’ than ‘nun’. I’m sure this murder mystery is going to be great fun and if the food is half as nice as the hotel itself, then it will be delicious.”
I breathe a sigh of relief and ask, “Will the others be disappointed?”
“Nah, leave it to me. This is already much better than the other hens we’ve been on. One had us go to a silent retreat for hers.”
We walk down to the lobby to meet the other hens; we clearly have all gone to the same website for our outfits and are all delighted at the flowing tassels.
We are led by the host of the murder mystery into our private function room. He looks like a low-rent version of Jay Gatsby and Siobhan is taken to a large throne-like chair at the head of the table.
Soon after, the first course arrives and I hope that it will help sober up some of the more worse-for-wear hens before the entertainment starts.
Alongside our plate of chicken Caesar salad, is a small red envelope and inside it are our character details for the game ahead.
My character is ‘Rena Faylur’, a mousey girl from Louisiana who dreams of becoming a big star. I refuse to attempt an American accent of any kind; I know my limitations as an actress.
Plenty of the others dive into their characters and don’t shy away at their attempts at an accent. Most are pretty horrendous.
After dessert, the dishes are cleared away and suddenly the lights go out. When they come back on, one of the hens, Claire, has been ‘murdered’.
Our would-be corpse can’t stop laughing as Siobhan, the detective of the game, tries to piece together the mystery.
There are four murders in all but none of the dead manage to stay dead for very long. By the end of the game, no one remembers who the murderer was. I’m not even sure that Siobhan even tries to guess, she is too busy drinking.
We all totter out of the room and head towards the bar to get some seats before the crowds come in to spend their Saturday night at the hottest hotel in the city.
We needn’t have worried, a VIP section has been set up for us and our table is already waiting.
“Nice work,” says Siobhan’s best friend, Nadia.
The others agree and I feel so relieved that I’ve managed to give her a great party, despite the lack of stripper.
I know I wouldn’t have been able to pull this off if it hadn’t have been for Dermot.
I take out my phone and send a hastily composed message to thank him for the suggestion.
She loves it and the hotel is amazing! I’m taking all the credit for this. Sorry, not sorry lol. The only thing lacking is an inflatable penis which I refuse to even consider.
I smile to myself and feel glad that I have made a new friend in Dermot. Thea wasn’t pleased when I told her that we’d gone out to lunch but seemed satisfied when I promised I wouldn’t be dropping our weekly lunch date in favour of someone new. For someone who seems so confident, she really does have an insecure streak.
My phone vibrates and I open Dermot’s reply.
The night is young and it is a Saturday in Cork, you might get lucky with your (secret) wish for an inflatable willy. Glad she’s having fun, I’ll expect my wedding invite any day!
I tuck my phone back in the bag after I read his reply and look down at the table to find a shot glass in front of me. It’s clear and smells like liquorice, which turns my stomach.
“Come on maid-of-honour,” calls Nadia. “We’re all doing a shot together to toast our lovely Siobhan heading into married life.”
I raise my glass with the rest of them and knock it back in one. It burns my throat and tastes disgusting. I look around the table and notice that everyone is sporting a similar look of disgust. I can’t help but laugh at the state of us.
The speakers behind us suddenly spark to life and we hear the DJ call Siobhan’s name to come up to the stage to sing.
This would be my worst nightmare but she jumps at the chance to show off her vocal abilities.
The crowd cheers as she takes to the stage and all but snatches the microphone from the DJ.
“Let’s do this,” she screams down the microphone.
This is followed by her performing three songs in quick succession before the DJ gently explains that other people want to have a turn. She was good, better than good, but I don’t think the other patrons wanted to sit through her one-woman show.
We all applaud and ‘woo’ as she comes back to the table. She gives a demur curtsy before she demands more shots.
I’m about to go order the next round of drinks when I notice the man from the front desk trying to catch my eye. He’s standing at the doorway of the bar, gesturing for me to come out.
My stomach falls to the floor and I instantly run through possible nightmare scenarios that require my immediate attention. My palms begin to sweat as I approach him but my nervousness disappears as soon as I spot Dermot standing behind him holding a giant inflatable penis.
I burst out laughing as I can’t quite believe what my eyes are seeing.
The hotel worker leaves us to talk as Dermot hands me the giant phallus.
“You are insane,” I say laughing. “Where on earth did you get that?”
“What are you talking about? I just happened to be heading out to a pub nearby, to meet some friends with this in the car. Do you want to borrow my big willy?”
“Ok, first: you’re disgusting and second: yes, please.”
He hands me the ridiculous, pink, inflatable and gives me a wink.
“Take good care of him.”
He walks out of the hotel with his hands in his pockets and I can’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of this whole scene.
It takes quite a bit of skill navigating my way through the crowded bar with it, without knocking over people’s drinks.
As soon as Siobhan spots me she screams in delight.
“I have the best sister ever!”
She grabs it out of my arms and starts to hug it.
“I’m extremely disturbed at the sight of this,” I laugh. “But whatever the bride wants, she gets.”
“Damn straight,” she replies, excitedly. “This is the best night of my life.”
With those words I finally feel like my work is done and I can get into the party mood with the rest of the hens. I don’t match them drink-for-drink and I’m happier for it. Instead, I offer to be the official photographer for the event and I’m constantly being handed phones from various hens. Each time I take a picture I’m instructed within an inch of my life to make sure I’m taking it from the correct angle. Each one also needs crowd approval before I’m allowed to leave and take a different group pose.
After the lights come up and we are chased from the bar I have to try and convince Siobhan not to go to the resident’s bar and instead, go back to the room. Her eyes keep closing but she doesn’t want to be labelled a ‘fader’ by her friends.
I don’t listen to her protests and lead her upstairs, take off her shoes and veil and tuck her under the covers.
She can undress herself if she wakes up in the middl
e of the night.
I climb into the bed beside her and take my phone out of my bag to see if Helen has been in touch. I feel guilty that she’s stuck at home, while I’m out partying but I understand her reasons for not wanting to come while things were still so up in the air between us.
I decide to ring her instead of text. Hearing her voice before I go to bed always makes my sleep much better. My call goes straight to voicemail but I don’t leave a message.
I text her and let her know I tried phoning and will try again tomorrow. I worry that she’s sad about missing out and it makes me even more determined to find a solution to our problem.
The only thing this break has shown me is that I feel lost without her and maybe that’s what it was meant to do.
As important as I thought marriage was to me, it’s more important that Helen is in my future. If she isn’t prepared to change her mind on it, then it will have to be up to me to take make that sacrifice. I just had to hope that I wasn’t too late.
Chapter 9
The next morning I have our breakfast delivered to the room. Siobhan doesn’t manage to eat anything and spends the first hour after waking up, vomiting in the bathroom.
As I pack up our things I shout to her and tell her to hurry up or we’ll miss our spa appointment.
When she comes out of the bathroom her face looks paler than I’ve ever seen it and I feel smug that I didn’t drink anywhere near as much as anyone else.
I’ve booked a massage for me and a facial for Siobhan so we can enjoy the last bit of luxury before the bus picks us up at midday.
She puts on sunglasses and follows behind me as I navigate the hallways and try to find the spa.
The therapist takes one look at Siobhan and smiles.
“Did you ladies have a nice night?” she asks.
“Yes,” whispers Siobhan. “Can we turn the lights down, my head is really sore.”
Weddings and Other Things I Hate Page 9