by Lucy Vine
I gape at her, as my stomach acid starts to boil.
What. The. Fuck.
It was here, all along? I asked her that – over and over. I shitting asked her that. I even tried to wrestle the apartment key off her to check, but she was so insistent it wasn’t down here, she wouldn’t hand it over. Hours I’ve been out there searching for this ring. Hours. I start counting up in my head all the Euros I’ve spent on taxis back and forth. How many times my arse got pinched and my nipple got elbowed, fighting my way through to the front of the karaoke stage so I could check the sticky floor for a missing fucking diamond that was here the whole time. I asked her so many times if she might’ve left it here.
I wait. She waits. We look at each other. She’s not going to say sorry. She doesn’t even seem bothered.
The words bubble up and out of me. ‘You know I’ve spent my whole night out there looking for it?’ I say, my voice breaking a bit.
I know, I know, I’m lame, but it’s the best I can do – I really don’t like confrontation.
She shrugs and I feel myself go rigid.
Just leave it, I tell myself. She’s the bride, this is her hen do, don’t be the one who makes a fuss and ruins everything with an argument.
There’s silence and I can’t bring myself to say anything else. For a second she looks half repentant and then the defiance slides back into place. ‘Actually, Delly, to be honest, I’m the one who should be annoyed with you,’ she says in a sing-song school-marm-y voice. ‘After all, we’ve been waiting hours to take a group selfie. You know I have a schedule to keep to for my Instagram posts. I can’t have my followers forgetting about us, or thinking we’re not having the best hen do ever!’
I picture forcibly removing her engagement ring right now, putting it on my own hand and then punching her in the face with it. It would feel good, wouldn’t it? The impact of that over-priced rock smashing her over-priced nose job. I might have to go to jail for a while, but I think it would be worth it. When the rage in my stomach is like it is now, I honestly think I could do a murder and it would be worth it. Or maybe a revenge-suicide. Right now I could happily throw myself in front of Harriet’s car, just to make her feel bad for killing me. I think it would be worth my death if I could make a shitty person feel shit, if only for a few minutes.
‘What’s going on?’ shouts Nina, who’s staggered over, leaving a trail of blood on the floor. She’s barefoot and, for some reason, still clutching the bucket of green sick under her arm.
‘Nothing, it’s all fine,’ I say, swallowing down my fury harder than anything in my life. There is no point getting into an argument. There’s no way I’d win. And, thinking about it a bit more now, I proooobably shouldn’t kill myself or murder anyone just to make a point.
Before I can say anything else, Harriet suddenly looks angry, turning to Nina. ‘Delly’s in a massive huff with me because I thought I’d lost my ring and she volunteered to look for it, even though I didn’t ask her to,’ she says defensively. ‘I found it myself but now she’s in a giant mood with me for no reason. Even though I’m the bride and this is MY HEN DO.’ She shouts the last part and Nina turns to me, the liquid she’s inexplicably carrying with her like a souvenir slopping about.
‘What the fuck, Nelly? Let it go. It’s HARRIET’S HEN DO.’
I shake my head. This is stupid. ‘No, no,’ I say tersely. ‘I’m not in a mood, I’m fine. I was just surprised for a second. Can we leave it and get back to the games?’
‘You should be happy she found the ring!’ Nina goes on, getting in my face. The smell from the bucket is making me gag. ‘You know it cost Jamie twenty-five thousand pounds? I can’t believe you lost it in the first place, Nelly. You should be fucking relieved Harriet found it, or you would’ve had to replace it, love. Do you even have twenty-five thousand pounds? Because it cost twenty-five thousand pounds, did you know that?’
Harriet nods aggressively in agreement.
I feel my brow furrow. ‘Hold on, I didn’t lose it,’ I say, my voice shaking. The anger in my stomach has drained away and now I’m just desperate to get away from this pointless drunk anger. ‘I was trying to find it because Harriet thought she’d left it at the cocktail class earlier. I was helping her. Why would I have to replace—’
‘OH, IT’S MY FAULT NOW, IS IT?’ shouts Harriet, whose drunk logic has suddenly shifted gears.
‘No, no!’ I say again quickly, thinking, yes, yes, it is your fault, you stupid idiot.
Oh crap, what’s happening here? Why am I the one in trouble now? I didn’t even do anything. Oh Christ, I hate this.
The Shiny Naked Man, who is much less shiny, and Jill, who is a lot more shiny now, have joined us and are listening interestedly.
‘WHOSE FAULT IS IT THEN, NELLY?’ Nina bellows at me, and panic starts building in my stomach. I can’t handle being shouted at in any situation, never mind something like this with a group of semi-strangers. And I know she’s that kind of drunk where no amount of reasonable explanation is going to calm her down.
‘Oh God, look, guys,’ I try desperately, ‘please stop shouting at me. This is over absolutely nothing. We thought Harriet had lost her ring, I went to look for it, but it was here in the apartment all along. It’s a good thing! I’m really sorry I upset you, Harri. Let’s get back to having fun, shall we? Can we? Please?’
Shiny Naked Man interjects. ‘Hold on, have you been out looking for that ring this whole time?’ He pokes a finger at me. ‘Fookin’ hell, babe, I wondered where you’d gone. And them shouting at you, that’s hella out of order.’ He turns to Harriet and Nina, who are black-faced with fury. ‘Why’s you two shouting at her when she’s just been trying to help ya? She shouldn’t be sayin’ sorry to you; youse two should be apologising to her.’ Beside him, Jill glares at me jealously, her fingers turning white as the iron grip she has on his arm tightens.
Fuck. I really appreciate Shiny Naked Man trying to help – and, honestly, it feels really good to finally, properly have his attention – but he’s clearly now made everything worse. Harriet and Nina will feel cornered and fight even harder. That’s how angry drunks work.
‘WHY ARE YOU EVEN STILL HERE, YOU FRIGID BITCH?’ Harriet shouts at Shiny Naked Man, taking a step towards him.
Jill immediately switches her attention to Harriet, elbowing her shiny man out the way to scream in the bride’s face for her to: ‘STEP THE FUCK OFF, HARRIET’.
I glance around the shouting group, my heart pumping hard in my chest, as the rest of the hens join us. I note distractedly that one is still blindfolded from the pin-the-willy donkey game.
Nina steps closer too and we’re all now practically forehead to forehead, anger bouncing like an electrical current around the circle. ‘MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS, DICKHEAD!’ she screams, and suddenly everyone in the room is shouting at each other about rings and strippers and donkeys. It’s absolute bedlam and I’m at the centre of it, wondering how the hell this happened.
Oh, and there goes the bucket.
When I finally get to bed an hour later, showered and broken, I remember my dead phone and reach for the charger. I stare at the ceiling for a moment, thinking how horrendous today was and how it’s only the beginning of a hellish year. I slowly count up how many weddings and hen dos I’ve said yes to. It must be ten. At least ten. Last week I was at a dull-as-fuck ceremony up in Scotland, and I’ve got another one coming up next week for my mum’s middle-aged cousin. Can I really handle dealing with this kind of drama over and over and over again? Why do I always say yes to these things?
I’m just drifting off, completely exhausted, when my phone turns itself back on and begins frantically vibrating.
Blinking blearily at my phone, a message flashes up:
You have 44 new WhatsApp notifications.
They’re all from Lauren. Fuck, what’s happened? My heart speeds up and I’m suddenly wide awa
ke again, adrenaline pumping. I sit up in bed, thinking how shit all comes at once. Has something happened to Granny Franny? Surely not? Lauren wouldn’t WhatsApp me if my favourite person in the world – the woman who basically raised me – had died. But death is always my immediate assumption. I’ve written off everyone I know at some point.
I open the app.
Lauren: OMG OMG OMG OMG ANSWER YOUR PHONE
Lauren: Y ARENT U ANSWERIN UR PHONE
Lauren: FFFFFFFFSSSSSSSS LILAH
Lauren: I have such massive neeeeeews!!
Lauren: OK screw it, I’ll just tell you. Charlie proooooopoooooooosed!
Lauren: IM ENGAGEDDDDDDDDDD
Lauren: I’m trying to send you a picture of the ring. It’s shitting massive.
Lauren: It won’t send.
Lauren: Trying to FaceTime you.
Lauren: Why aren’t you answering!!!
Lauren: Oh, you’re on that stupid hen do, aren’t you? I forgot that was this weekend. I can’t believe you went, you never see that girl Harriet anymore. I didn’t even reply to her email about it.
Lauren: Ah, no worries, I’m probs going to bed in a min. We’ve got all the time in the world to celebrate, and there’s no rush to start planning it. I promise I’m not going to be one of those mad brides!!!! Going to bed now, love yooooou.
Lauren: I wish you were here. I’m so happy! I can’t believe I’m engaged! It feels so weird. I can’t wait to start organising the day. And the hen do! Wah!
Lauren: It was so romantic, Lil. He took me to the restaurant where we first met, and got down on one knee in front of everyone. The whole room started cheering and they gave us free champagne for the rest of the night!
Lauren: Did you know he was planning it? Did you help him choose the ring? It’s exactly what I wanted. Thank you so much, I love it.
Lauren: Although I may have to swap the diamond.
Lauren: And the band.
Lauren: I think we’ll just do something small. Small weddings are totally in right now and that’s what I always pictured. A small wedding feels right. Maybe just like 50 of us, tops?
Lauren: Maybe we could have it on a beach? A really secluded beach in, like, Florence.
Lauren: Wait, does Florence have beaches?
Lauren: We should’ve paid more attention in Year Nine geography.
Lauren: I’m googling weddings abroad.
Lauren: I’ve invited you to edit my new Pinterest board.
Lauren: Actually, forget a beach, I’ve found the most amazing Jimmy Choo white shoes – can’t have sand anywhere near these babies.
Lauren: I’ve set up a Twitter and Instagram account. Follow me @BestWeddingEverCharlieLovesLauren
Lauren: Do you think I should have a harpist? If it’s a church wedding, we might need a harpist. That’s the vibe I want.
Lauren: I’ve just emailed you some pics of owls who LITERALLY DELIVER THE RINGS UP THE AISLE!!!! I must have one! I can’t decide which breed is cutest? Check your emails.
Lauren: I’ve sent you some links to dresses they make in China. What do you think? They look amazing and they’re so cheap!
Lauren: I’ve ordered two. Wedding diet starts here!
Lauren: I know I always said a summer wedding, but what about a December date? What do you think?? We can have mistletoe centrepieces. Would need to be next year though I guess.
Lauren: Could get Dad to give me away dressed as Father Christmas. Lol.
Lauren: Should I order long sleeve gloves? Are they back in yet?
Lauren: I just spoke to Joely – she’s already trying to make this all about her. Said she wants a plus one, even though there’s no way she’ll have a boyfriend. She’s not bringing yet another ugly reality star to one of our parties.
Lauren: Charlie says he wants anal on the wedding night, haha. Haven’t done that since 2008. Will my haemorrhoids survive the trauma? RHOID RAGE! Lol.
Lauren: How much do you think a Ferris wheel in the garden would cost?
Lauren: VEGAS HEN DO?????!!!!!
Lauren: There would be about 25–30 of us. Shall we do a week in Vegas? Or is that too much?
Lauren: Did I actually tell you that you’re my maid of honour? YOU’RE MY MAID OF HONOUR!! You’re going to be the best MoH that ever lived.
Lauren: We’re going to have so much fun organising this hen and wedding together.
Lauren: We can have weekly wedding meetings! I’ve told Charlie he’s not invited, ha.
Lauren: Clear your schedule for the next 18 months, lol lol!! JK.
Lauren: For real though.
I drop my phone.
Fucking hell.
2
Lauren is standing on a chair and is waving her arms about like she’s conducting an orchestra. A really irritated-looking orchestra holding pints of Guinness.
‘I’M GETTING MARRIED!’ she shrieks again, beaming around the room at the other patrons, who are definitely not here for this on any level. Not one to be outdone, Joely clambers up on her own chair, shouting towards the bar that she’s a ‘badass motherfucking bridesmaid’ and the ‘deputy maid of honour’! Which isn’t a thing, but who am I to question her enthusiasm? I make eye contact across the table with the frightened-looking fourth member of our group, Simone, and briefly wonder if I should climb up too? It seems a bit excessive and the loud tuts around us are getting really rather threatening, but I don’t want to miss out on being part of the story.
We’re in the fanciest bar our local area permits, and I’ve just bought us the second nicest prosecco on the menu – it cost £46.50! – to celebrate Lauren’s engagement. It’s Monday night and I’m still so unbelievably hungover from the weekend’s hen do. I’m also surviving on about ten hours of sleep across four days and haven’t even had time to unpack or do my washing. I’m literally wearing my red halter bikini as underwear. It’s really digging into the skin of my neck, but let she who has never worn a swimsuit as underwear on laundry day cast the first stone.
There was no question of staying in tonight to recover or sort out my life. I had to go straight out to meet Lauren the moment I got back from the dreadful hen do. There was much screaming and hugging and – oh yes – more screaming to be done, and much as I could’ve done with a night in, as The Official Best Friend, I wasn’t really given a choice.
Just as the table next to us prepares to throw their beer over our entire group, a panicked barmaid rushes over, waving a stained tea towel at us.
‘Get down from there,’ she hisses, and Lauren does so, looking a little shamefaced. Joely sits back down too, but very slowly, all the while making sarcastic eye contact with the barmaid. I smile at the woman nicely, trying to catch her eye so I can give her a meaningful nod towards the expensive fizz. I feel like spending a lot on alcohol in a place like this means it’s probably OK to be loud and annoying. I bet they let footballers jump on the chairs.
The barmaid gives us one last scowl and the four of us giggle like schoolgirls as she stomps off. Usually I’d be embarrassed, but I’m way too thrilled for Lauren. She’s wanted this engagement for ages and it feels like it’s been a pretty long time coming. She and Charlie visited a ring shop together a year ago – ‘Just in case’ – and since then, every time they’ve taken a holiday or celebrated any kind of anniversary (FYI, five years since their first blowjob is not an anniversary), everyone’s aggressively checked her hand and demanded to know if she ‘has anything to tell us’. There was a really awkward moment at Christmas when Charlie got down on one knee in front of her whole family – her mum started crying – but it turned out he’d just stubbed his toe.
‘KILLJOYS!’ Joely shouts at the hostile room and Lauren shushes her frantically. The pair of them glare at each other for a few seconds.
Joely is Lauren’s cousin. They were born just days apart, so they’ve been
pretty much treated as sisters – twins, even – since birth. They’re really close, as you’d expect, but they’re also fiercely competitive and bicker like you cannot even imagine. And it’s over everything and anything. I’ve honestly seen them get into a shouting match over a salt and pepper shaker before. But it was one of those combo contraptions, and they are really very confusing, so I get it.
The third bridesmaid of the group is Simone. She’s Charlie’s little sister – Lauren’s soon-to-be sister-in-law – and a total duty pick. She seems really sweet, though, hovering now on the outskirts of all the inane shrieking. She’s only nineteen and I think she’s a bit overwhelmed by all this noise. Even though we’ve only just met, I can tell with some certainty that she finds strangers screaming and climbing on the furniture in a public place quite intimidating. Which is understandable. But I’m afraid she really will have to get used to it if she’s going to be part of this #TeamBridesmaid thing.
I top up everyone’s glasses, wondering how to make the point that I spent more than our usual £5.50 on the bottle, without sounding like I’m making that point. I can’t think of anything, so instead I raise my glass.
‘To the bride!’ I say, grinning.
Lauren giggles and shouts back, ‘TO ME!’ while Joely cackles. The nearby tutters tut some more as Simone cheers quietly too, glancing self-consciously over her shoulder to gauge how close we are to being thrown out. I would hazard: very close.
I push down a feeling like I want to hug Simone and tell her things will be OK. I remember being nineteen and worrying all the time about what strangers thought of me. It’s much better being twenty-eight and only caring what my friends, family, work colleagues, acquaintances and every single follower I have on social media thinks of me. Much, much better.
I take another sip of my fizz, feeling its warmth spread through me. I’ve never seen Lauren look this happy; she’s absolutely glowing. She’s the type of person who is always running around, taking charge, getting shit done, looking after me. It’s gratifying to see her stop and enjoy this moment. Even if it is just for a moment, this needs marking.