Friday Night With The Girls: A tale that will make you laugh, cry and call your best friend!

by Shari Low

  His relief oozed out of every pore and right on cue came another tug of the hand, with an accompanying seductive grin.

  ‘Then come here and let me show you how much I love you back.’

  I pulled my hand away. If only I’d stuck to those bloody rules about not seeing the groom on the night before the wedding then I wouldn’t be having to deal with this. Right. Time to tell him.

  ‘What’s up?’ he asked, clearly confused now. I could under- stand his standpoint – much to my embarrassment, I was usually pretty much a sure thing in the sex department. I figured I had a lot of years of abstention and dissatisfaction to make up for. Plus he made me really, really horny.

  ‘OK, I’m just going to say this. The thing is . . . The thing is . . .’

  Say it! Say it! The voices in my head had megaphones and they weren’t afraid to use them.

  ‘The thing is . . . Lizzy’s Adam has left her for a bloke.’

  He stared at me in stunned silence for a good ten seconds. ‘Of all the things I thought could possibly come out of your mouth right then, that wasn’t one of them.’

  I hung my head in shame. Fuck, I was useless. I had a horrible feeling that the tiny baby inside me just slapped its hand to its forehead and muttered something about whether it was too late to change its mind.

  ‘Who’s the guy?’

  ‘Alex Dunns. He might have been in school with you.’

  Get back on track. Come on, Lou, get back on track.

  ‘The lawyer from the High Street? He was a mate in school. We did a Wham! song at the end of year talent show and I was Andrew Ridgeley. Some things seem so obvious in hindsight. Shit, how’s Lizzy?’

  ‘Distraught. But she doesn’t want anyone to know so you can’t say anything. She needs to just forget it for a few days and enjoy herself here.’

  ‘Are you sure there’s nothing we can do?’

  That’s why I was marrying this man. He was so caring and thoughtful and kind. He’d make a great dad. I shook my head. ‘Not right now, but she’ll need massive support when we get back.’

  ‘Sure. Anything. God, poor Lizzy. OK, now that you’ve scared the crap out of me can you come to bed? I really thought you were about to deal out some life-shattering news there, Lou. My poor heart just about had a seizure.’

  Lou Cairney, you are a total disgrace. It was the voices with the megaphones again, backed up by the disgruntled foetus. They were right.

  I put my hand over his and took a huge, deep breath, before spitting out, ‘Red, there’s something else.’

  ‘Oh for the love of God.’ His words were softened by his laughter. ‘Is it always going to be like this? One drama after another, never knowing what’s going to come out of your mouth next? OK, let’s have it. No, no, let me guess! You have an evil twin. You’re allergic to mice. You’ve always wanted a pony. You burned down your last boyfriend’s house. You’re on the Interpol most wanted list. You’re pregnant –’

  ‘I am.’ I cut him off and watched as he struggled to rewind the dialogue.

  ‘You’re on the Interpol most wanted list?’

  ‘I’m pregnant.’

  It felt like the point in the movies where someone pulls a pin out of a grenade, lobs it into a crowded market, then you have to wait to see if it explodes.

  ‘You’re pregnant?’

  I nodded, tears plopping from my face, stomach churning. The baby was clearly doing a lap of honour of my womb in celebration.

  ‘You’re pregnant?’ he repeated, louder now. I couldn’t help hoping that he’d get past this bit and move on to a more comprehensible reaction pretty soon.

  I didn’t have much longer to wait. Red leaped out of bed, roared with excitement, lifted me up and swung me around.

  ‘Not a good idea! Nauseous pregnant woman!’ I giggled.

  He returned me to solid ground then leaned down and kissed me like he’d never kissed me before, a raw, sensual caress which made my insides flip again.

  Eventually, he broke off and just stared at me for a few moments, his face inches from mine.

  ‘Are you happy?’ he asked. ‘I’m guessing this was a surprise for you too.’

  ‘Yes and yes. I did one of Lizzy’s tests in the restaurant toilet tonight.’

  ‘Lizzy’s pregnant too?’ He was completely baffled again.

  ‘No, but she thought she was. That’s a whole other conversation. Yes, it was a surprise but I’m really happy. Terrified, but happy.’

  ‘I’m just ecstatic. I’ve always wanted a kid.’

  I reached up and hugged him. ‘I’m so relieved. I realised when I got the result that we’ve never talked about having children. I was so scared that maybe you didn’t want them.’

  He got completely carried away and swung me around again. I let him. This was so amazing. He was an incredible man and I felt like the luckiest slightly queasy bride-to-be in the world. Nothing could possibly detract from the exquisite joy of this moment.

  ‘Are you kidding? I’ve always wanted children. In fact, I’d really like six.’

  Thirty-three

  Lou

  St Kentigern Hotel, Glasgow. Saturday morning, 3am

  ‘I can’t believe I’m still up at this time,’ Lizzy groaned. ‘I’m always in bed by ten.’

  ‘I can’t believe I’m going to bed at this time,’ Ginger retorted, pulling on a pair of black pyjama bottoms. ‘Nocturnal World is so much more fun than this.’

  The hotel suite had two bedrooms but we’d somehow settled in one. Lizzy and I had decided to share the gorgeous, black-lacquered, king-size bed and Ginger had claimed the chaise longue at the end of it. Lizzy threw a cushion and it thudded against Ginger’s back. Ginger laughed as she tossed it back, and then pulled on a black vest top.

  ‘Do you have a single item of clothing that isn’t black?’ I asked her.

  ‘Nope. That’s why I’m always a great bet for a funeral.’

  ‘You even wore black to my wedding,’ I reminded her.

  ‘Don’t you dare get all high and mighty on me, madam,’ she sneered. ‘It wasn’t like you were resplendent in bias-cut Vera Wang yourself.’

  Lizzy had slipped into nostalgia. ‘You know something, apart from the fact that I’d just discovered my husband had a gay lover, I had the best time that day. It was the most beautiful wedding I’d ever been to.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Ginger huffed, sarcastically.

  ‘You didn’t invite us to yours!’ I pointed out. Ginger and Ike had, in true Ginger style, got married in a registry office with two strangers for witnesses and then headed off to a swanky, trendy, incredibly expensive London club to celebrate with each other. We only found out she was married months later when Ike let it slip over Christmas dinner. She said she did it that way so she wouldn’t end up with a pile of toasters, fondue sets and bread makers, but I knew it was more of an avoidance of gushy sentimentality strategy.

  Gushy sentimentality had been big on our day though. Not in what we wore (as promised the bridal outfit was jeans and Converse and an I Heart New York T-shirt, the bridesmaids were equally casual and Josie wore a psychedelic floor-length kaftan she’d spotted in the hotel gift shop that morning), but just in the perfection of the day.

  It had been cold but sunny, a perfect crisp morning, as we stood at the fountain in Central Park surrounded by tourists sporting huge cameras, joggers, nannies with children, dog- walkers clutching multiple pets and a few suspicious characters who looked like they were about to conduct a flash-robbery at any minute. Josie gave them her stare of death and, despite the fact that she resembled a circus venue, they backed away.

  The official who was conducting the ceremony was a jovial African American humanist who injected full drama and spectacle into his work. ‘Shall we start with a song?’ he asked.

  ‘Definitely,’ I replied. I was thinking ‘Ave Maria’. Maybe ‘Endless Love’. Or perhaps an instrumental of the ‘Wedding March’.

  Instead we got a rousing, inclusive, absolutely fa
ntastic rendition of ‘Oh Happy Day’. Even the suspicious-looking gang members hummed along to the chorus.

  ‘I think we’re being married by Al Green,’ Red whispered, breaking off from holding my hand to clap as per instructions from Al.

  I threw my head back and laughed until tears were blinding me. This was so perfect. So absolutely perfect.

  A crowd of people had formed now, complete strangers, all wearing huge grins as they watched the ceremony. Actually, not all complete strangers. Turns out that Red had put the two Spanish women from the boat lake on standby to be witnesses in case there was a problem with Ginger, Lizzy and Josie’s flight.

  Now they were standing beside the official, wearing coordinating velour tracksuits in pink and purple.

  I loved it. It couldn’t have been more relaxed and chilled and . . . pardon?

  I realised Al Green had asked us something. ‘I believe you wish to say your own vows?’

  Red nodded.

  We did? Did we? Really? Why had no one told me? I couldn’t say vows. I was hopeless at impromptu speeches. There was a reason I’d been put out of the school debating team. I couldn’t. I just . . .

  ‘Lou, I’ve loved you for almost half of my life. And since the day I fell in love with you I never dared to think that you’d ever love me back. I mean, what are the chances?’

  Everyone smiled and the Spanish lady in the pink let out a loud sob.

  ‘But you do and I’ll never stop being thankful. I promise that I’ll never take it for granted. I’ll always protect what we have. I’ll never break your trust or do anything to hurt you. And even if I forget to tell you how much I love you, know that I’m thinking it. If you’ll have me, I’ll stay with you until the end of time.’

  Oh. Dear. Lord. I frantically looked for something to wipe my tear-stained face with. Josie’s sleeve was the closest option and she happily made it available.

  Where had that come from? The man who was so emotionally shy and positively allergic to grand romantic declarations had just swept me off my feet. How did I follow that?

  I felt the pressure of dozens of eyes, all watching me in anticipation of something equally moving. Say what you feel. Say it. Just tell him how it is.

  ‘Red, it took me a little longer to realise it, but I did and there are no words to say how much I love you. I never thought I’d marry anyone because I didn’t believe I’d ever find someone I could trust to love equally, to accept me for who I am, and who believed in my happiness as much as his own. Red, if you asked me right now to follow you anywhere I would. I trust you with my heart, with my life and I’ll stay with you until the end of time because there will never be a day that I don’t want to be with you.’

  The crowd cheered as we were declared man and wife and Red picked me up and kissed me until I was dizzy. It was perfect. Perfect. Right then, right there, I knew that it was going to last for ever. We were indestructible.

  Now, eight years later, I just wished that I still felt so sure.

  Thirty-four

  Lou

  2002 – Aged 32

  ‘When’s your baby due now?’ Natalia, one of our regular cabin crew customers, eyed my bump warily, clearly concerned that either the imminent birth of my child would interfere with her grooming schedule or that I’d deliver right there in front of her and risk splashing her Manolo Blahnik heels. OK, I might be being a little uncharitable, but I was two weeks late!

  ‘Two weeks ago,’ I replied, trying my best not to wince as another shooting pain travelled at warp speed from my hamstring to my right shoulder blade. I felt like I should crack a joke about the baby being happy in there, that it was obviously lying on a futon, listening to Take That’s greatest hits and refusing to come out, but at that moment my sense of humour was being held hostage by my hormones.

  ‘You OK?’ That came from Josie, who was hovering around me with a brush making a bad job of sweeping the floor, endeavouring to keep up the pretence of making herself useful in a salon capacity. She’d taken the last two weeks off her six cleaning jobs and the moonlight shift at the bookies to mount a twenty-four-hour surveillance on her pregnant niece. She even timed my loo breaks, clocking me in and out in case I went into the toilet, had a spontaneous delivery and gave birth on the floor. She swore that happened to her mother during the war.

  Why was it that people thought the perfect time to tell birth horror stories was when you were pregnant? So far I’d learned about the woman who was in labour for a fortnight, the one who popped in front of 200 gothic teenagers during a showing of Bride of Chucky up at the local cinema, the ones whose babies appeared in a taxi, on a bus, and in the frozen food aisle of Asda, helped by an elderly gent on a mobility scooter clutching a pepperoni pizza.

  I had absolutely no idea why the NHS was in crisis because according to what I was hearing it seemed that no one had given birth in a hospital since the beginning of time.

  The door dinged to announce a new arrival and Mrs. Marshall breezed in clutching Jennifer Aniston.

  ‘Lou, love, have you still not had that baby?’

  Yes. I have. But I thought I’d wear a space hopper up my jumper just to confuse everyone.

  ‘Two weeks late,’ I told her, trying my best to go for a tone of sing-song tolerance. I think it came out more ‘psycho killer on the edge’.

  I should have stopped work weeks ago but in a catastrophe of timing, Avril was on holiday and both my senior stylists had come over all ‘life’s for living’ and gone off to travel the world together. The last postcard we’d received came from a sun-drenched island off the coast of Thailand where they had hooked up with an Australian rugby team full of muscle-bound hunks who, they informed us, were a great laugh and kept them up partying all night. I tried to tell myself they were having a crap time and would be much happier here with my daily regimen of clients, pain and haemorrhoid issues. I’d made a resolution to seek hypnotherapy to forget those when this was over. It was the only way I got through the days.

  Of course, this employee exodus coincided with a boom in business caused by the imminent festive period, a time when it’s notoriously difficult to recruit new staff. Instead, we’d scaled down the appointments as much as possible without upsetting our regulars, and I was still working a six-day week while carrying the weight of a small hippopotamus around my middle area. Did I mention that I was two weeks late?

  And yet . . . pain and inhuman working conditions aside, I was so excited. Beyond thrilled. Giddy with anticipation. I felt a little hormonal surge lift my mood. I still couldn’t quite believe that all this was actually happening to me. Just over a year ago I’d been resolutely single with a three-date limit on all relationships. Now I was married to the loveliest man on earth (there may be a slight bias in there and I reserved the right to amend this opinion on an hourly basis due to pregnancy-related mood swings), about to become a mum and, for the first time in my life, I felt like I had a family. Red. Me. Bump. Our own little unit. Ours. I also had a business that I had built up over thirteen years and that I adored. I’d managed to pay off the credit cards. We’d moved to an old Victorian semi in a pretty tree-lined street that we’d be refurbishing for the next decade, but it was so fantastic I didn’t care. It was like all the stars in the cosmos were lining up just perfectly and for the first time I understood that concept of having it all, because I felt like I was on the cusp of having the life of my dreams: husband, baby, career, home, friends and so much love that . . . that . . .

  ‘Josie, I’m off again.’ I sniffed. So much love that I dissolved into a blubbering mess of emotion every time I thought about it. Thankfully, a box of Kleenex instantly appeared in front of me.

  I threw a gown around Natalia and got to work.

  ‘Have I just put you off the whole concept of reproduction?’ I asked her with a jokey smile.

  ‘Totally,’ she replied. I don’t think she was kidding.

  At the next chair, one of the juniors settled Mrs. Marshall after her shampoo, and bega
n combing out her wet hair ready for me to work on next. It was like a conveyor belt that never seemed to end. ‘Hey, Lou, my husband told me this morning that you’re going to have a girl.’

  I couldn’t help grinning. ‘Which husband, first or second?’

  ‘First. The second one hasn’t said a sensible word since the day I married him,’ she retorted, her disgusted expression reflecting her difficulty in coming to terms with the fact that the retired sailor she married after meeting him on a three-day US mini-break wasn’t in fact the stuff that fantasies were made of. Since he’d arrived in this country he’d spent every day down at the local park sailing his remote control battleship on the pond, keeping himself in shape in case he should ever be called upon to mastermind a naval assault on behalf of the nation.

  Just as well, then, that she still had a full and frank dialogue with the husband who’d been dead for more than two decades.

  A girl. A girl would be good. It would be . . .

  ‘Josie!’ I yelped. The Kleenex box reappeared and I took two. It seemed like wise forward planning.

  ‘What’s with all the crying?’ asked Natalia, with a subtle frown.

  ‘Hormones,’ I replied. ‘And I’m just so . . . happy.’ That set off a full-scale torrent and I was beyond relieved when Rosie, one of the two remaining stylists, finished trimming a Christian fundamentalist’s twelve-inch beard and appeared at my side.

  ‘Why don’t you go have five minutes, I’ll take over here.’

  Natalia looked like she could reach up and kiss her.

  ‘Mrs. Marshall, I’ll be back in a few moments, is that OK? The girls will get you a cup of tea and a Garibaldi.’

  ‘That’s fine, sweetheart, on you go.’

  As soon as I’d done the twenty-metre lumber up to the staffroom, I plumped myself down on the sofa and closed my eyes. Just a few moments of peace and rejuvenation, then I’d be fine again.

  The knock on the door ripped right through my attempt at express Zen meditation.