by Mike Gayle
Mike Gayle has contributed to a variety of magazines including FHM,
Sunday Times Style and Cosmopolitan. He is the author of nine
bestselling novels.
Also by Mike Gayle
My Legendary Girlfriend
Mr Commitment
Turning Thirty
Dinner for Two
His ’n’ Hers
Brand New Friend
Wish You Were Here
Life and Soul of the Party
The Importance of being a Bachelor
Men at Work – Quick Read
Non-fiction
The To-Do List
The Stag and Hen Weekend
Mike Gayle
www.hodder.co.uk
First published in Great Britain in 2012 by Hodder & Stoughton
An Hachette UK company
Copyright © 2012 Mike Gayle
The right of Mike Gayle to be identified as the Author of the Work
has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright,
Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,
stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any
means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be
otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that
in which it is published and without a similar condition being
imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance
to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British
Library
ISBN 978 1 444 7 08615
Hodder & Stoughton Ltd
338 Euston Road
London NW1 3BH
www.hodder.co.uk
Contents
THE STAG WEEKEND
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Friday
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
Saturday
7.
8.
9.
10.
11.
12.
13.
14.
15.
Sunday
16.
17.
18.
THE HEN WEEKEND
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Friday
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
Saturday
7.
8.
9.
10.
11.
12.
13.
Sunday
14.
15.
16.
17.
18.
THE STAG WEEKEND
For the girls
Acknowledgements
Thanks to Simon Trewin and all at United Agents, Steve Brayford (for research duties), Chris McCabe, Merel van Beeren (for the Dutch lessons), and above all, to C, for pretty much everything.
Friday
1.
‘Shouldn’t you be packing?’
Phil Hudson furtively covered the open notepad in which he had been scribbling at the kitchen counter with a nearby tea towel and swivelled around on his stool to face his fiancée.
‘When did you come in?’ he asked as she stared intently at him from the doorway, two carrier bags of shopping in her hands.
‘Just now.’
‘I didn’t hear you.’
Helen eyed Phil suspiciously. ‘You weren’t meant to. And just so you know, once we’re married be prepared to see more of me popping up in places you aren’t expecting me to be. I’ll be everywhere. I promise you.’ Having clearly amused herself, she chuckled and set down the bags on the table. ‘What were you doing anyway? Isn’t the boy Simon meant to be picking you up at ten?’
‘That’s what he said.’
‘So you’re all packed?’
‘I made a start but couldn’t find half the stuff I needed. I think we need a system.’
‘A system?’
‘Yeah, a system, you know, so that we both know where stuff is without having to ask.’
‘We already have a system you big goon!’ snapped Helen. ‘How do you think I find the things we need every day? What you actually mean is that you don’t understand the system because whenever I try and explain it, you do that thing that I hate where you make out you’re listening but are in fact doing the opposite.’
‘Like when?’
‘Like when what?’
‘Like when wasn’t I listening?’
‘Er . . . let me think . . . perhaps it was the last time you told me that we needed a system! Or the time before that, oh and the time before that too!’
Fun though it was, Phil reasoned that he had probably wound Helen up enough for the day and so applying his best cheeky chap grin, he walked over, put his arms around her waist and kissed her. ‘But you love me really don’t you? he said, approximating a suitably coquettish eyelash flutter.
‘You know I do,’ she smiled, ‘but don’t think for a minute that it’s a get-out-of-jail-free card, okay?’
‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’
‘Good.’
Phil started to rummage through the carrier bags. ‘What have you bought? Anything nice?’
Helen shrugged. ‘Nothing much. Just a few bits and bobs to make sandwiches.’
Phil plucked out a packet of pre-sliced Gouda cheese. ‘Sandwiches for what?’
Clearly embarrassed Helen snatched the cheese from Phil leaving him to answer his own question. The penny dropped. ‘You’re planning to make sandwiches for me aren’t you?’
Helen glowered.
‘You do realise,’ began Phil, ‘that making sandwiches for me to take on my stag do is adorable, don’t you? I mean it’s something a Disney character might do, if, say, Disney characters’ fiancés were the type to go on stag dos to Amsterdam. Right now you should have cartoon bluebirds flying around your head and animated squirrels at your feet.’
Helen scowled. ‘You don’t have to have them if you don’t want them,’ she said narrowing her eyes at him. ‘I could just as easily put it all in the bin if you’re going to be all smart-arsey about it!’
Phil once again took Helen in his arms and kissed the top of her head in a manner he hoped she would interpret as playfully patronising rather than, as it was, a demonstration of his deepest and most true affection for her. He loved this woman, and the idea that she was going to be his wife thrilled him to his core. ‘Smart-arsey? Me? Never. Of course I’ll take them. I’ll take them and proudly eat them on the plane and when all the boys are mocking me mercilessly I will ignore their abuse secure in the knowledge that while their other halves – if they have them – have sent them to Amsterdam without so much as a KitKat, mine has kitted me out with . . .’ Phil paused while he checked the contents of the carrier bags, ‘Wagon Wheels, satsumas, ham, a large packet of Starburst and . . .’ he paused glancing over at the confiscated cheese, ‘let’s not forget Gouda sandwiches. You are undoubtedly a nutter, my sweet, but I honestly would not – for a single second – want you any other way.’
Helen reluctantly kissed Phil and then set about unpacking the bags. As she turned her back in order to put some of the shopping in the fridge, Phil retrieved the notebook from under the tea towel and tossed it casually on top of a pile of magazines on the counter next to the microwave.
‘So,’ said Helen r
eturning from her trip to the fridge. ‘What were you doing in here?’
‘Doing?’
‘Yes,’ she replied as though Phil was hard of hearing, ‘doing. As in “What were you doing in here when I came in?” ‘
‘I wasn’t doing anything,’ said Phil. ‘I came in for a glass of water and stayed a moment or two to ponder the nature of my own mortality.’
‘Where’s the glass?’
Phil stared at the counter as if expecting to see the glass that he knew full well wasn’t there. ‘Oh, that, I washed it up.’
‘You’re telling me you came into the kitchen, poured yourself a glass of water, drank the water and then washed up the glass?’
Phil maintained an air of innocence even though it was apparent that he had been well and truly caught out.
‘Now I know you’re lying. You’ve never used a glass and washed it up straight away in the entire time we’ve been together. What’s going on?’
Any excuse Phil might have offered would be torn apart by Helen in a matter of seconds, but he was saved by the sound of his mobile phone’s ringtone – one more suited to signalling to the crew of a World War Two battleship to man battle stations.
‘Hey you,’ said a female voice. ‘I’m at work. Got a full day ahead but I just thought I’d check in before you get off.’
Helen silently mouthed: ‘Who is it?’ in his direction and he mouthed ‘Caitlin’ in reply. Helen’s response was to go cross-eyed, stick her tongue out and mime self-strangulation.
For reasons that Phil had never been one hundred per cent sure of, Helen and his younger sister Caitlin had never got on. Yes, maybe in the vague realms of the past there had been some hard feelings over him choosing to go out with Helen instead of reuniting with his sister’s friend Beth, but that had been a long time ago. Even with insider knowledge of the women with whom he had shared his life, Phil couldn’t believe a regular human being could hold a grudge that long. There must be something more to their antagonism, something on one level to do with him but on another nothing to do with him at all, and everything to do with some kind of mysterious feminine primeval power play.
‘Hey, sis! How’s it going?’ said Phil seizing the opportunity to take both himself and his conversation out of the kitchen and into the hallway. ‘All ready and packed for your weekend of luxury in Ashbourne?’
‘Did it all last night but I’m actually not due to arrive until Saturday morning.’
‘How come?’
‘Too much on at work.’
‘But aren’t all the other girls arriving tonight?’
Caitlin sighed. ‘Come on Phil, you know what Friday night traffic is like. Plus, I’ve got a hair appointment, sort of a pre-wedding job. Got to look good for those photos!’
Phil didn’t laugh.
‘What?’
‘You know.’
Caitlin tutted loudly. ‘Not this again! I’ve promised that I’ll try harder with her. Isn’t that enough?’
‘Well actually, no,’ snapped Phil glancing over at the kitchen door, ‘not unless you follow through with it.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Look, Helen inviting you on her hen weekend is her way of saying that she wants to make a fresh start. Surely the least you could do is meet her halfway by not turning up late for her hen weekend?’
‘Listen to yourself!’ snapped Caitlin. ‘She’s got you so wrapped around her little finger that you don’t even know it! Less than a couple of minutes into what was supposed to be a pleasant phone call to wish you well for the weekend it’s an argument with you taking her side over mine!’
Phil had heard this accusation many times before and he was having none of it. ‘Oh come off it Cait, what are you, six? It’s not a question of me taking sides. I just want the two of you to get along, that’s all. This time next week, whether you like it or not, she’ll be family and I want you both to make the effort.’
‘So you’ll be giving her a stern talking to as well I hope?’
Exhausted at the prospect of this war between Caitlin and Helen carrying on throughout his married life Phil sat down on the stairs and rubbed his eyes. He didn’t want to be having this conversation so early in the morning and certainly not at the beginning of a weekend that would see his fiancée and his sister spending the weekend together without him present to act as referee. He needed to make peace with Caitlin if only because it fell to him as her older brother to lead by example. ‘Look, I’m sorry, okay? You’re right. I shouldn’t have doubted you. You turn up when you can and I’ll keep my big nose out of it. So are we good?’
‘Of course we are,’ reassured Caitlin. ‘We’re always good. So come on then, tell me more about your plans for the weekend. How raucous is it going to be? Bit different from Helen’s weekend.’
‘It’s a stag do in Amsterdam,’ sighed Phil, ‘How good can it be?’
‘You’re not looking forward to it?’
‘It’s not that. It’s just I’d rather stay at home.’
‘But I thought it was going to be a no strip clubs, no coffee houses, strictly classy affair.’
‘That’s how it was sold to me. But you know what the boys are like. On their own they’re fine but together they’re experts at whipping each other into a frenzy. Put them in a place like Amsterdam and well . . . pretty much anything could happen.’
They talked for a while longer about arrangements for the wedding but Phil’s heart wasn’t in it. Ending the call with one last plea to Caitlin to be on her best behaviour, Phil returned to the kitchen where Helen was standing over a chopping board making the very sandwiches for which he had earlier mocked her.
‘What’s up with the little princess now?’
‘Nothing,’ said Phil leaning on the granite counter top, ‘she was ringing to wish me well for the weekend. She sends her love by the way.’
Helen rolled her eyes. ‘I bet she does,’ she said sarcastically. ‘Is it too late to beg you to take her with you? I’m sure the boys won’t mind having someone as glamorous as your sister about.’
‘I couldn’t think of anything worse. It’s all I can do to stop them drooling over her whenever they see her.’
‘Well, she’s coming with me so you’re safe on that score. Not that any of your mates would be up to her usual standard anyway. What was it the last one did for a living?’
‘I don’t think he actually did anything,’ replied Phil. ‘He was always whisking her off somewhere exotic in a bid to impress her, seemingly oblivious that when it comes to blokes my sister takes being unimpressed to such a high level that it’s practically an art form.’
Helen sliced through the sandwiches she had just made and looked up at Phil. ‘Do you think she’ll ever settle down?’
‘Who knows?’ said Phil helping himself to a sliver of pre-sliced Gouda. ‘Maybe if she bags herself a minor royal. But until then I think it’ll strictly be the handsome and the unattainably rich that do it for her.’ He took a huge bite from the cheese, chewed and then folded up the remains and dropped it into his mouth.
‘You’ll give yourself indigestion,’ said Helen moving the cheese out of reach.
‘Maybe,’ said Phil, ‘but the thought of you and Caitlin carrying on the way you do is absolutely guaranteed to do so.’
‘So that was what the call was about? Her complaining about me? What am I supposed to have done now? Dared to breathe while in her presence?’
Phil walked over to Helen and put his arms around her. ‘Come on you, I know she’s a pain in the arse sometimes, I know you haven’t exactly got much in common but will you find a way to make this weekend work? Just for me? I don’t know whether it’s that I won’t be there to pull the two of you apart if it comes to blows, but I’ve got a horrible feeling that this weekend is going to be make or break for you.’
‘It’ll be fine,’ said Helen. She kissed his neck. ‘I promise, I’ll be on my best behaviour and no matter what she says or does I won’t let her get to me.’
Chuckling to himself
, Phil sneaked a final slice of cheese and retreated to the bedroom to recommence packing for the weekend.
2.
Phil dropped three pairs of Calvin Klein briefs into the bag and hovered over it staring at them. Were three pairs of pants enough to cover all manner of potential underwear emergencies? Deciding to err on the side of caution he added an extra pair and then picked up his trainers from the floor and dropped them in too. A couple of pairs of socks were next, then he walked over to the wardrobe and picked out three white shirts, three casual tops and his favourite jeans. Placing them on the left-hand side of the bag, he picked up the sheet of paper that had been lying on the opposite side and began to read.
The print-out in his hand was an email Simon, his best man, had sent to everyone listing everything needed for the weekend. Phil had received the list earlier in the week and had scrutinised it carefully in an attempt to deduce what its contents might reveal about the secret plans his friend had organised for the weekend. The list included: ‘clothes suitable for an outdoor sporting activity’, ‘a valid UK driver’s licence’, ‘enough Euros to cover two days of solid drinking’, and a demand that everyone should sort out some form of insurance because ‘A guaranteed way to put a dampener on the whole weekend is to have to fork out for a medical helicopter out of the beer kitty when one of us knocks himself unconscious.’ The stand out item on the list, however, (written in bold with certain sections highlighted with capitals for added emphasis) was the mention of a black suit, black tie and at least three white shirts. Phil had emailed Simon to find out the reasoning behind these items and was rebuffed with the not altogether reassuring response of: ‘All will become clear.’
Phil tossed the list back on to the bed and continued packing. He grabbed a final pair of briefs before making his way to the bathroom for a shower.