by Becci Fox
‘Well hurry up then, because we got the special entertainment coming up,’ I said, winking at Ryan. I then called the waiter over for a cold glass of Prosecco. If you can’t beat them, join them.
By the time we got back, Gem’s mum Linda was lining up a load of shots at the bar for all the girls and the bar staff. It was green so I didn’t like to ask, we just got involved. Brooke was in charge of the entertainment, and when he arrived, I was proper disappointed. We’d requested a hot policeman, but instead we’d been given a member of the puberty police. I swear he was only eighteen and the skinniest little thing with spiky blond hair. Since me and Brooke still weren’t talking I couldn’t say anything, but I heard Ryan go to her, ‘Hun, I can’t watch this,’ and he’s always up for people taking their clothes off.
This kid did all the classic stripper banter with Gem like, ‘I hear you’ve been a very bad girl and I’m going to teach you a lesson you won’t forget,’ but it’s not so convincing when someone’s voice hasn’t broken. It started off tame enough, just some really horrible dance routine to some bad Euro beats.The more full on it got, the more Linda was loving it. I mean, she was actually cheering on this hairless child as he struggled to pin her daughter to the floor before gyrating up and down her. He had rhythm though, I’ll give him that.
I could see Gem was trying look like she was having a laugh but the frozen smile said it all. By the time he told her to get up against the wall and ‘spread ’em’, Gem was obeying orders just to get it over and done with. As he thrust back and forth behind her, Linda grabbed hold of him from behind and joined in. You know that film The Human Centipede? This was way more disturbing to watch. All the girls had their hands over their mouths except for Emily who was shielding her eyes. Ryan seemed to have changed his tune, since he was stood there filming the whole thing and cackling. And we hadn’t even got to the worst bit.
Once the stripper was down to his pants, he pushed her onto a chair, aimed baby oil down her cleavage and actually stuck his hand down her top. I’m no expert on strippers but isn’t that some sort of violation? Gem’s smile didn’t fade and she just pulled his hand out. She must have been traumatized because to this day she won’t let us joke about it. She also made Ryan delete the footage from his iPhone and YouTube, which was fair enough.
As if things couldn’t get any more graphic, he then threatened to whip his jockeys off. I’d said to Brooke when she was booking the stripper, don’t pay extra for the full monty, but the girl can’t do things by halves. The moment that kid walked in I could see Brooke wanted her €20 back.
Turns out the grand finale was the only sight worth paying for. I can honestly say, each one of us went into a state of hysteria as soon as them pants landed in Gem’s face. He may have had a baby-face up top but down below he had a baby’s arm. This man-child totally messed with my mind but I didn’t question his stripper credentials after that. How the kid had the strength to lug that thing around, I do not know.
Linda was still trying to molest him afterwards as he went about finding his clothes. This is exactly why mums shouldn’t be allowed on hen dos. They’re completely unmanageable.
I saw Brooke was still reeling with delight after the entertainment. I thought now’s as good a time as any to clear the air and went over to her.
‘Oh my God, where the hell did you find that police-boy?’ I said. She stopped laughing and just glared at me. ‘How’s the foot?’ I said, trying again.
‘It’s pretty painful, if you must know,’ she replied.
‘Should you be wearing heels?’
‘It’s only the back of my foot,’ she said, still giving nothing back.
‘You know I didn’t mean that to happen, don’t you?’ I said, ‘It’s like BHQ planted that glass there or something. The last thing I’d ever want to do is hurt you.’ I couldn’t quite manage an apology because I still thought she’d been out of order. She turned and hobbled off back to our reserved area. Gemma had been watching the whole thing and came over to console.
‘You alright, babe?’
‘I’ve fucked up, Gem. What am I going to do?’
‘You two are like a married couple sometimes. You got a lot of love, but you don’t half know how to wind each other up. She can’t stay mad at you for long.’
I don’t know why but I started getting really upset. Gem just wasn’t getting how cut-up I was about all this. Like Ryan said, I’m always smiling through gritted teeth, which leads to embarrassing explosions. Unfortunately, this one was worse than most.
‘I don’t want to lose her,’ I suddenly found myself wailing. ‘Everyone’s moving on without me.’
People were starting to look at me like I was Susan Boyle having a full-on tantrum.
‘Shhh, babe, no one’s going nowhere,’ said Ryan, who looked like he wanted to put a comforting hand over my mouth.
‘Why’s everyone so obsessed with settling down anyway? You’re all boys’ girls and you can’t even see it,’ I wailed. ‘Worth throwing away your friendships for a bloke, is it? I mean, you can get married, but ten years down the line with sprogs hanging off your droopy boobs, you’ll all be gagging to be with your girlfriends and you won’t have none. One in three marriages fail anyway.’ I couldn’t stop mouthing off and now Gemma was crying. I was like a hen do assassin, shooting down friends one by one.
‘What’s your problem, Becs,’ Gemma said finally. ‘Are you saying you’re going to carry on going out with flash, arrogant pricks just because they show you a good time? If anyone’s a boy’s girl, it’s you.’
‘Oh, I see, et tu, Judas?’ I screamed. ‘Why not have a few more stabs while you’re at it.’
‘I’ll hit you with one,’ said Brooke, only too eager to talk to me now. ‘You broke Charlie’s heart so I really don’t get what my big crime is in all this. You didn’t want him no more, hun. With respect, you need to let him move on.’
‘With respect, Brooke, you need to remember he’s my ex and we got history. You can’t expect me to shut it down just because you’re doing him. It’s like you don’t have the facility to feel other people’s pain. You’re the only girl I know who never cried during The Notebook. That’s just weird. Even I managed to do that much.’
‘They’re fucking acting,’ Brooke yelled just at the moment the music cut out.
One of the bar staff grabbed the microphone and turned to all of us. ‘I hope you’ve all been having a laugh tonight, people. So it’s our final karaoke song of the night and the hen has requested that Brooke, Becci and Ryan join her in a Take That classic, “Everything Changes”. Take it away, ladies.’
By this point we were all in bits, even Ryan. He gets set off when he see others crying like it’s contagious. Gemma wiped her face, took a deep breath and grabbed that mic. If she was doing it, then we all had to. Have you ever seen people sobbing as they sing an upbeat song? It ruins the song for ever, and whenever I hear it now, I just feel sick. We had mascara running down our faces and I’d probably gone bright red because that’s what happens. I’m not an attractive crier and I was properly shaking. That didn’t seem to stop Linda happily snapping away at us. I couldn’t work out if she was oblivious or an opportunist. I sang the line ‘Everything changes but you’ so many times that eventually I doubled over because it was all too painful.
When the music finally stopped, the DJ quickly put on some loud music to cover the deafening silence. Let’s just say if this had been The X Factor, we’d have been the freaks they get back for the final show.
Just to make matters worse, the night was still young. Our next venue to bring down was Funky Buddha, so I had to call one of the Irish guys to say we were on our way. I mean, we were on the guest list, but remember that’s not VIP, yeah? Problem was I’d properly killed the mood. Since I’d lost my audience I had to ask Cleo to take the lead, but I told her exactly what to say. And I gave her money for a round of shots before we left. It was important to get everyone tanked up, and I desperately needed to take
the edge off the night.
I honestly think I was having some sort of quarter-life crisis because I’m not normally this loopy. Swear to God, it’s not my style to make scenes and insult the bride-to-be. I wasn’t proud of myself, that’s for sure.
Once we’d all sorted ourselves and fixed our makeup, Cleo led the way to the taxis. I could have made life easy for myself and got us on the guest list at Pangea which is right in PB, but it’s not a super-club in my view. It’s nice because it’s open-air, but it’s not as upmarket as Funky Buddha and the prices represent that. Although getting into Funky Buddha wasn’t as easy as I’d hoped either. I hadn’t really told the Irish boys there were nine of us and the door bitch was having none of it, so we had to split into two groups and my lot got in first, but that meant we had to do all the hard work to get into VIP.
Just to put this place into perspective, people had paid €120 to see 50 Cent just two weeks earlier. And it totally kicked off because people thought he was going to perform, but he just sat in VIP and sprayed the crowd with champagne. Who does he think he is? Anyways, there were no names this night so I thought getting in would be a breeze, but then again, I had Cleo, Gemma, Karen and their mum with me.
I marched up to this guy stood next to the bouncer and I went, ‘Are you the promoter?’ and he said he was, so I said, ‘We’re mates of Ciaran’s and he said you could get us in.’
‘Did he now? What’s in it for me?’ replied the guy.
‘Depends what you’re after,’ I said, trying to be as elusive as him.
‘Why don’t you and her kiss for me,’ he said, pointing at Cleo. ‘With tongues, for one minute.’
We’d done much worse before just for a free drink so this was a piece of piss. I knew Cleo would be up for it so I negotiated our way past the rope before giving him a serious show. He clapped like a bloody monkey at the end. Because men’s cocks do most of the thinking, this makes them pretty simple. And that’s why women will always have the upper hand. I mean, who’s really more powerful, Simon Cowell or his ex-girlfriends? Yeah, you know it. Can you honestly imagine a woman putting her past flings on the payroll? Just wouldn’t happen because we use our noggins.
Once we were in, this promoter guy flagged over a waitress to bring extra flutes. That’s what I’m talking about. Just as I thought the party was getting started, I spotted Ryan, Brooke, Paula and Emily walking in, so I said to the guy, ‘Can our friends come in too?’ He replied, ‘I don’t know why you’re asking me, I don’t work here.’ Turned out he was a promoter, just not a promoter for Funky Buddha. It was a cheap trick but I can’t get mad at a fellow chancer. The problem was even Ciaran and his mate couldn’t get in because the real promoter hadn’t shown up yet. It was a bit of a moral dilemma, but after all that had happened that evening, I knew in my heart that we should leave. After all, it was all about partying together, and, to be honest, it’s such a nice club it doesn’t matter if you’re not in VIP. Unless that’s where all the talent is. Reluctantly, we trailed out. I gave the bouncer a mournful look and he avoided eye contact, the coward. He knew he would crumble.
Loads of places in Marbs seem to be Asian-inspired, and that’s why a lot of Essex places have nicked the theme. You just need to look at all the Thai statues in Sugar Hut to see this. But since I got an interior designer for a mother, I think I can say this with all authority: the places in Marbs think they’re making it Asian but the end result always looks Moroccan. I suppose Morocco’s across the water, and if they get Moroccan builders in then the end result is going to be Moroccan. I’m not complaining, just saying.
The boys had a reserved table so we joined them and got a hookah brought over. So Moroccan. A while later that promoter bloke came over to me and went, ‘I’m sorry, love, but I couldn’t resist earlier. You lot were fine, but they’re proper strict on big groups coming in.’
‘Well, I hope it gave you a good laugh and a stiffy. Anyways, no harm done and, to be honest, Cleo’s a good kisser so everyone’s a winner,’ I replied.
‘I like a girl who doesn’t take life too seriously,’ he laughed. Clearly he hadn’t realized I was a ticking time-bomb of hormones just waiting to go off again. He then said, ‘I think I owe you, so can I buy you ladies a drink?’
‘I thought you’d never ask. How about a glass of champagne each?’ I replied.
‘Coming right up,’ he said without even flinching.
I don’t know if I’ve got the message across yet, but you just cannot buy more than one drink for yourself in a club round here. I’m not joking, it’s €40 just for a glass of fizz. I’ll do the maths for you: nine glasses would have cost him €360, but he actually got us two bottles of Moet Rosé for €400 all in. Maybe he got more for his money, who can say? But you know in Essex how getting blokes to buy you a drink is all part of the social game? Here it’s a necessity. The thing is, these blokes want to be seen buying drinks, and I want to be the person they’re buying them for. I’ve got money so I could buy them if I wanted, but why would I do that when some guy gets off on looking the Big Shot? The only reason Puerto Banus gets away with charging those prices is because there are mugs paying them. And the good news is Marbs is riddled with them, so everyone’s happy.
The promoter, who was called Brad, returned to our table with some blonde in tow. I totally loved the girl the moment she started talking. She was a bit goofy and she called everyone ‘bubbla’, but she was so down-to-earth and she had the most infectious laugh ever. I was in hysterics the whole time she was talking. It turned out she was Brad’s sister Lauren. I don’t know what happened in Essex in the Eighties, but I swear it’s the most common girls’ name. I mean, I know twenty Laurens on Facebook alone and then there’s those two in TOWIE. So I said to this Lauren, why so many? And she goes, ‘Well, my mum loved Ralph Lauren clothes so I was going to be Ralph if I was a boy and Lauren if I was a girl.’
‘Are you serious?’ I said.
‘A hundred per cent. And she also loves Yves Saint Laurent, which is just the French version, so that done it for her.’
‘Fuck, I’m glad my mum didn’t do that or I’d be called Burberry. Burberry Fox.’
‘Oh my God, I fucking love it! Bubbla, I’m totally christening you that.’ She dabbed her fingers in the champagne and slapped them on my forehead. I felt like a new woman and we downed the rest in one.
‘So where you guys staying anyway?’ I asked.
‘Sisu Hotel. Or TOWIE Towers is what Brad calls it,’ she said, rolling her eyes.
‘They got to be offering them free accommodation. The only way is comp, right?’
‘I dunno, bubbla. It’s a bit of a coincidence them all being there,’ she said, all puzzled. ‘Like, Brad knows Mark Wright through promoting clubs out here and they’ve both been doing stuff for Pangea and TIBU. So that’s the only reason Lauren came out. They were proper moody so I was glad to see the back of them, to be honest.’
‘God, do those two ever have fun together?’ I said. See, I sensed they were wrong for each other even back then.
‘I know, right? But I tell you who has been having a laugh,’ she said with a glint in her eye. ‘Arg and Lydia. He was out here with Mark and he had some gig down Nikki Beach, but he’s stayed on and Lydia’s flown out to be with him.’
‘Oh my God, you’re kidding? You serious?’ I asked.
‘Swear to God, bubbla. I saw them mucking around in the pool yesterday. They’re definitely back together.’
‘Well, good for them. As long as he don’t mess her around again. I’m sorry, but I feel well protective towards old Lyds,’ I said to Lauren as she slid off her chair.
I tell you what, there was a lot of bad stuff being said about Arg earlier that year so Lydia was totally right to have given him the shove. Understandably he was suddenly getting all this attention from women who never would’ve looked at him before. Like if you walk behind him, you’ll notice he lollops. Obviously that’s endearing, but before TOWIE it really wasn’t. Nor was th
e shaved head. But the TV show gave him the same opportunities as Mark, and from what I heard, he explored those opportunities. But what do I know, I didn’t see any of this.
You got to be careful with the Essex rumour mill because things can get exaggerated just because people want to look like they’re in the know. I mean, Arg’s little sister Natasha is a classic example. Someone told me that she was desperate to be in TOWIE but the producers wouldn’t let her because she’s a right chubster. I mean, virtually everyone has shoe-horned a family member in to the show – Mark, Lauren G, Sam, Joey, Amy, Lydia, Kirk – but until Nanny Brighton rocked up one Christmas, we never saw any of Arg’s lot. You see, the shunned fat sister story made perfect sense. But then one day Tash made me go down Woodford Wells, which is her local tennis club, because she thought she could beat me. She couldn’t. She turns round after losing the first set and goes, ‘That’s Arg’s sister over there.’ And keep in mind I was looking out for a young Vanessa Feltz. The girl on the next court was an absolutely stunning blonde, and toned too.
‘You don’t mean her, do you?’ I asked and Tasha says, ‘Yeah, the pretty one.’
She’s only a bloody tennis coach! How is she going to be a chubster if that’s her job? Tasha introduced us later and I said, ‘If my sister was in TOWIE, I’d be poking my head in all her scenes just to annoy her.’ But Arg’s sister just said that it was Arg’s thing and tennis was hers, plus that wasn’t her set of friends so it wouldn’t make sense for her to pop up. I won’t lie, I liked the girl a lot and she talked a lot of sense. So it just goes to show, the truth is pretty boring sometimes and that’s why West Essex must continue to fabricate stories. I honestly live for that shit and I will happily spread the muck too.
Lauren had gone off to the toilets so I searched the group for conversations of interest. It seemed to me that there was some innocent flirting occurring between Brad and a few of the girls. If anyone needed action it was Cleo, so I turned round to her and Brad and went, ‘You two would be so good together, you know.’