by Becci Fox
So we did go to One9Five, and after thirty minutes I walked out the club and made a booty call. I can only think I did this because I was proper irritated by how much action everyone else was getting. Everyone had paired up and my surrogate boyfriend Ryan had just Grindred a man and was currently chatting him up at the bar. You got to understand, I was in the club I first laid eyes on this exotic racing driver, so yes, I went back to Ben’s, but it’s not how it looks.
Swear to God I knew exactly what I was doing.
When your head is thick from excess champagne, there’s no better place to be than by the pool at the Kings Oak. I rocked up there the following afternoon for food and to dissect the day before. I was road-testing my Marbs look which was a pink bikini with denim hot pants, but I left the flies open and pulled the flap to one side. This was the poolside look that was going around that summer, trust me. Then I put my hair in a cute loose fishtail plait. Who needs Marbs when you got your own Nikki Beach in the middle of Epping Forest? As with everywhere that’s worth going to in West Essex, you got to be a member if you want to get involved. You can sit by the pool if you got £300 to spare, but don’t bother going for a swim. For one, the pool is well cold. For two, you’re there to sunbathe and be seen. Why they didn’t film the famous TOWIE pool party here, I don’t know. It’s the perfect size pool to have pushed Mark Wright into. Perhaps they couldn’t afford it.
Obviously Russ got himself into the background of this scene, so I know they filmed it at some random house in Chingford. Not so glam! They did film Chloe’s wedding-themed thirtieth birthday there because it’s pretty classy inside. Anyways, I walked in with Marilyn and the others were already there. It all fell silent as I walked towards them, so clearly they’d been talking about me. So obvious.
‘Alright, people?’ I said cheerfully.
‘Yeah, you?’ said Brooke.
‘Yeah, not so bad. I had a pretty eventful night, as you can imagine.’
‘How come you borrowed Brooke’s nail glue before you left last night?’ asked Gem.
‘I needed it for a little project.’
‘Oh yeah, spill,’ said Gem.
‘Well, I did go back to Ben’s, but it was only so I could get closure,’ I paused. ‘And a bit of loving. You know that feisty sex you have when you’re all angry but hot for someone? It was that. But I made sure I was the most selfish lover Essex has ever seen. I gave absolutely nothing of myself to him unless I got pleasure from it.’
‘It’s the least you deserve, hun,’ Ryan said, chipping in.
‘So after I’d had a good seeing-to, I got up in the very early hours to empty his drawer of smut into a bag. Then I used your glue to attach his shagging trophies to his Mercedes. As expected, my eyelash glue didn’t cut it, which is why I needed your nail glue. Sorry, I used it all up, hun.’
‘Like I care . . . So it was you! I knew there was a commotion by Ben’s place this morning, but I couldn’t see.’
‘Well, the unwashed thongs stuck particularly well to the car. I think the dildo will come away quite easily, so long as he doesn’t mind it taking the paintwork with it. Oh, I nearly forgot – I also smashed up all his man make-up. He’ll probably be more cut-up about that, the vain prick.’
‘Oh my God, he got owned and served. You’re such a bad girl, Becs,’ said Ryan, screaming.
‘Yeah, I think we can draw a line under that one since he’ll now think I’m the biggest bitch alive, but that’s fine because he’s the biggest nobhead alive.’
‘Fuck, I’m never messing with you,’ said Brooke, who genuinely looked scared. I’m not surprised after the way she behaved with Charlie in front of me. I’d felt a proper heaviness in my heart, and not because I wanted Charlie for myself. I wasn’t sure what it was, to be honest.
‘So now I can see clearly again, there’s only one thing on my mind now and that’s Gem’s hen do,’ I said. ‘We’re going to give you the best send-off ever.’
‘I should hope so too since I’m throwing a wedding party that’ll put Kate and Wills’ little shindig to shame,’ Gem replied.
We only had three weeks to make arrangements. I’d been severely delayed by the wedding being called off.
‘Hun, you and me should get back down the gym before Puerto Banus, yeah?’ Ryan said suddenly. ‘Now that you’re feeling more up to it, it’ll be good for you. And Gem’s coming down to get in shape for the wedding.’
‘Oh yeah, I was wondering when you were going to bring that up again,’ I said, ready for a fight. ‘Absolutely no piggin’ way am I stepping foot in that gym again. Did being buff do me any favours? No. I’m not doing it. I’m sticking to the Shit Yourself Thin diet. I don’t know why you don’t just do that too, Gem.’
‘Well, Ryan said he thought he could get me to Jennifer Aniston’s league in time for the wedding . . .’
‘Save it, I’ve heard it all before,’ I said, shaking my head at Ryan. I was on to him now. He basically preys on vulnerable women facing major events in their lives. What a dirty trick.
*
So what did I achieve in those three weeks? Not a lot. I sent an email round about the theme and dress code, which would be interesting considering a couple of the ladies were plus-sized. So the hens would be me, Gem, Brooke and Ryan, obviously. Then Cleo was going to join as well as the other three bridesmaids, posh Emily, Gem’s cousin Paula, Gem’s sister Karen plus their mum Linda. What a rag-tag crew.
But there was an interesting development in the romance department. We had a huge family barbecue round ours for Dad’s birthday, which meant a lot of Foxes were in our back garden. Since Dad likes to take over these events, me, Tasha and Jake just chilled on sunloungers as he sweated over hot coals.
The truth of the matter is, Dad won’t let us near his barbecues because we all have previous when it comes to cooking. Jake once made cheese on toast in a toaster. To be fair to him, he did put it on its side so the cheese didn’t slide down, but it still blew up. And Tasha made hot chocolate by putting milk in the electric kettle once. Again, she was successful. But the stench. Believe it or not, I’m like Delia Smith compared to them two. My only sin is that I’m cack-handed and fall into things, so I’m not allowed near fires of any sort, and, as you know already, candles are the bane of my life. Dad’s never forgiven me for knocking over the giant floor-candelabra when it was fully lit. In my defence, those things really don’t give out good light, so how am I supposed to see where I’m going? Poor Don. Yet another carpet destroyed by yours truly. Anyway, if you make yourself a calamity in the kitchen, then people tend to cook for you. And that’s how it was possible for all three Fox kids to kick back with cocktails in the July sunshine.
Tony had a Grand Prix to watch so he couldn’t make it, thank God. But talk about rubbing salt in an open wound. Just the words ‘Grand Prix’ make me think of Ben and I annoy myself every time I get sucked into watching a race. As long as Ben never makes it to F1, it’s bearable.
Anyways, Tasha left to go find Lola, who was no doubt giving some aunt the run-around. Jake turns to me and goes, ‘You know my mate Jamie?’
‘What about him?’
‘Well, he’s an alright fella, you know. Just in case you were interested,’ he said.
‘Oh my God, are you giving me permission?’
‘If you want to look at it that way, then yeah. But just shows that I really respect him because I wouldn’t let any Tim, Mick or Barry go after my sister,’ he said.
‘How do you know him anyway?’
‘He’s my partner in the Chinese lantern business, ain’t he? We did the deal in Thailand together. But now his music career’s properly taking off. Like, he’s mates with that Taio Cruz.’
‘Oh my God, Taio Cruz was in Monaco. That’s why Jamie was out there! Shit, that’s amazing,’ I gasped.
‘Oh yeah, now you’re interested.’
‘Oh shut up, I’m not as shallow as that, hun. In fact, I’ve sworn off men for the rest of the year. I just want to focus
on me for a bit. I need to get back to the way I was.’
‘So you weren’t focusing on you before? Interesting,’ said Jake, smirking.
‘Oh pipe down, you. I mean it, I’m serious. I’m not being messed around no more or I’ll turn into Brooke.’
I was actually proper worried about that. It’s like the universe had been turned upside down where I was getting shat on and Brooke was being wined and dined. I’d come to the conclusion that Ben had one hundred per cent dickmatized me, and to break the trance I needed to start calling the shots again when it came to blokes. It wasn’t going to happen overnight, but I hoped being with the girls in our old stomping ground of Puerto Banus would awaken my previous self. All I wanted was to be treated with respect and not be traded off as part of a business deal. Was that too much to ask?
At least I’d paired Gemma back with Grant now, so if I wanted, I could have a clear run at Jamie. Not that I wanted that because, honestly, I was just going to focus on having fun with my friends.
Although I’ve got to say, hen dos are such a headache. I don’t know who came up with them. I really needed BHQ to lay off me for this one, but they clearly sensed my weariness and decided to fuck things up for me from start to finish. To say the trip was a challenge would be an understatement. Our flight to Malaga was at 7 a.m. with Ryanair. Since we all got there in the middle of the night, we had plenty of time for breakfast and our first cocktail of the trip, which I made Gemma drink using her willy straw.
Weirdly, none of us had really been paying attention to the time. At 6.30 a.m., I thought, shit, we should be at the gate, so I gathered everyone up and we were there ten minutes later.
‘Where is everybody?’ I asked the woman at the desk.
‘Everyone’s on the plane and the flight’s now closed,’ she said coldly.
‘What do you mean? It doesn’t go for another twenty minutes,’ I said.
‘It was a quiet flight so we boarded everyone. You can’t go on.’
‘But it’s her hen do. You can’t do this,’ I pleaded.
‘The rules clearly state . . .’
‘Oh shove the rules up your bum,’ said Brooke, wading in. ‘From one steward to another, this is really shabby, especially as I know you haven’t even closed the doors to the plane yet. You’ve obviously got issues and are taking it out on us.’
By this point, Gemma was trying to keep a brave face but was on the verge of crumbling, so I had to take over.
‘C’mon, let’s just get another flight. It’s all part of the adventure,’ I said, and marched off to the Ryanair front desk.
I won’t lie, it was a major palaver. They had to get our bags off the flight (surely easier to have put us on it), then we had to be walked round to check-in again. Turned out there were no more flights to Malaga that day. Not even Brooke with her easyJet connections could make it happen. So we had to pay those Ryanair a-holes £100 for the privilege of going to Seville, which then involved a two-hour drive to Puerto Banus. I felt like I’d let everyone down, even though they said I wasn’t to blame. So I thought, yeah, it’s your fault actually since you know I have this disability which means I can’t understand time. One in four people have it. Just saying.
The only other hen do I’ve been on was my sister’s, where we hired a barge on the Norfolk broads and did a pub crawl. Since I didn’t organize that one, I didn’t feel too bad about that near-disaster. The problem was, we all knew how to start the thing, but nobody had listened when the owner was telling us how to stop it. We asked every barge coming in the opposite direction, but they’d all gone past before they finished telling us. It was like that film Speed but on a barge. Nobody could help us and we were passing all these pubs we wanted to drink at. Eventually a stag do caught up with us and showed us how to do it, but by that point we were all sober and it was dark. It turned out alright in the end as we joined forces with the stags and Tasha ended up snogging their groom. That’s what I was hoping for with this hen do. I could deal with a bad start so long as we were all pissed up and laughing about it hours later.
Except when we got to Puerto Banus, we were all too broken to remember what laughter was. It was 4 p.m., so essentially we’d been travelling for nine hours. What a joke. Not even the first sight of the harbour in the blazing July sun could lift our spirits. I thought, as soon as they see the amazing apartment I’ve hired and we’re out drinking fizz on the terrace, all will be good in the world.
The owner was waiting outside for us.
‘I’m afraid there’s a change of plan. I’m going to have to give you a different apartment, but it’s just as nice,’ he said cheerily.
‘What you saying?’ said Brooke.
‘Unfortunately, your apartment got trashed by another hen do last weekend and until we clean it up, it’s not fit for anyone to stay in. But you won’t even notice the difference between the two places.’
So we dragged our huge suitcases up four flights of stairs to our new apartment. I was mortified. There was no balcony and one of us would have to sleep on the sofa. I’d been dreaming of that balcony, but instead we were faced with two nights in this windowless dark flat. I spent the next hour arguing with the bloke because he wanted to charge us the same price. I needed to win at least one battle that day, so I stood firm in my negotiations. Once I’d threatened to hold him hostage all Saturday night, he gave in. By the time that was all sorted, it was 5.30 p.m. and everyone was half ready except me.
I was well unhappy with how I was looking by 7 p.m. I hate it when you’re all done up except for your face, because the contrast makes you look proper ugly. I felt bad but I had to do my make-up during the drinking games. Cleo and Emily insisted on doing these ‘getting to know you’ games, which was just lame because I knew everyone.
The much anticipated theme was the Playboy Bunnies and Hugh Hefner, aka Ryan. We were all in tight black hot pants and corsets with bunny-girl ears, and, as is tradition, we trussed up Gem in a bride-to-be sash, a veil and flashing learner plates. She looked a picture. Ryan actually trumped her with his maroon smoking jacket and pipe. The sleeves were bursting at the seams as they tried to contain them guns of his. He looked like the Incredible Hulk on his way to a gentleman’s club. Hugh Hefner wishes he looked like that. Karen and Paula let the team down a bit by coming out in crocheted black dresses which went down to the floor. They didn’t seem to have a problem with wearing identical clothes. I can’t even wear the same style outfit as someone, let alone the same one. Luckily, Gem’s mum didn’t do hot pants either.
When you see a hen do out and about, you always find it’s the ones with kids who behave the worst because it’s like they’ve been released into singledom for a limited time. This crew was no exception. Karen and Paula had five kids between them. You’d have thought Gem’s mum Linda would be a calming influence, but she was the most out of control. By the time we left the apartment they were hammered and Linda was wearing Gemma’s veil and learner plates. Total nightmare. Emily was looking proper horrified by it all and had already been moaning how uncomfortable she felt going out dressed like a bunny. I told her to suck it up and just do it for Gemma.
For those of you who haven’t experienced the joys of Puerto Banus, let me explain. By day, PB is a pretty town. The streets are crammed with Gucci, Missoni and Fendi, the marina is lined up with expensive yachts, and the bars and clubs charge extortionate prices. So basically, it’s like Essex-on-Sea, only it’s part Euro, part trash. Comfortably nestled amongst the glitz and glamour lies a proper seedy side to PB that fully emerges at night time. My dad did have a timeshare out here but he got rid of it because he said the place had gone downhill. In some ways it has, but in other ways, debauchery isn’t always such a bad thing.
The waterfront is always pretty civilized, but since we’d all lost our buzz there was only one option: Linekers. Yeah, it’s owned by Gary Lineker’s brother. He was banged up for tax fraud a few years back, but he still seems to own half of Puerto Banus. Clearly jail didn�
�t do him any damage. The place was rammed with hen dos that had reserved areas with these tacky personalized banners. There were girls dressed in burlesque outfits and another group in US marine uniforms and then there was some ropey old bird sliding down a pole.
I got a round of cocktails in and made everyone use their willy straws, then I gave Gemma her set of ten tasks for the night. You know, like pinch a short man’s bum or kiss a man with a hairy chest. This is what I call ‘Forced Fun’, when you do what you’re meant to do on a hen do but no one is feeling it. The drink wasn’t even touching the sides. I knew what would liven this lot up, so I found a group of stags by the bar and brought them over. They were from Romford but I didn’t hold that against them. Linda was dirty-dancing with a young bloke within five minutes. It was completely rank and I might as well have been on holiday with Cheryl and Sue.
The girls were having a whale of time with these blokes, but I knew I’d picked badly when I started chatting to one of them. I forget his name so let’s call him Gary. For me, talking about prostitutes you’ve haggled with is a private matter. That’s just my personal feeling. I realized Gary was a genuine idiot who thought he was a stand-up comedian when he told me he’d approached a hooker in a red dress the evening before and this had been their conversation:
GARY: So, how much then?
PROSSIE: For what?
GARY: Whatever you want.
PROSSIE: One hour sexy time.
GARY: How much?
PROSSIE: One thousand euros.
GARY: That’s not enough.
PROSSIE: What?