“I love you, Freya,” she says, throwing her arms around me and hugging me so tight, she almost cracks one of my ribs.
“Love you, too,” I wheeze.
She pulls away, cupping my face in her hands and giving my cheeks an affectionate pat, before letting me open the door for her. She barrels out and stumbles back into the living room of the Bath Airbnb, where she’s greeted with cheers and whoops.
“There you are!” Kelly, the maid of honor, yells, grabbing Isabelle and plonking her down on a chair. “Right, time for another game. Top up your glasses, girls, and get ready to… pin thejunkon thehunk!”
As the room descends into excitable chaos, I sneak out to the kitchen and through the back door into the garden, filling up my cup from the fridge on the way. Niamh, the other school friend here at the hen and therefore the only other person I know, is out there in the late-afternoon sunshine already, smoking.
She raises her eyebrows behind her sunglasses as I appear on the patio. “I didn’t know you smoked.”
“I don’t,” I reply as I make my way over to the garden furniture to join her. “I wanted some fresh air.”
She smiles to herself. “Code for ‘I needed to get the hell out of there.’”
“Nah,” I laugh, sitting down. “It’s a lot of fun, but I got cornered by Isabelle in the loo. She wanted to tell me how strong I am.”
“Ah.” Niamh takes a drag of her cigarette. “Classic Izzy. Loves a drunken heart-to-heart.” She hesitates. “I forgot, we’re not supposed to call her Izzy now, are we? She prefers Isabelle. Difficult to get out of the school habits.”
“Yeah well, I can understand that. Remember when everyone at school went through a phase of calling me ‘Feathers’?”
“Oh yeah,” she laughs. “Because of the hat thing.”
I nod, grimacing at the memory. One of many horrifyingmoments I can blame my mother for. She showed up for the school Speech Day one year with the most gigantic hat on with plumes of feathers sticking out the top. The people sitting behind her were furious. She, of course, didn’t notice their anger, or didn’t care. All the kids laughed about it and I was mortified.
To be fair, at least she showed up for that Speech Day. I think it may have been the only school event of mine she attended. Naturally, she had to make a statement.
I still haven’t spoken to her since Adrian’s phone call. She called me while I was working earlier in the week, and I haven’t quite mustered the courage to call her back. I promise myself I’ll do it when I get home from the hen do, if only for Adrian’s sake. And Dad’s.
“How is your mum?” Niamh asks, exhaling. “You ever see her?”
“Not really.”
Niamh nods. There’s a few moments of comfortable silence before she says quietly, “So how are you, really? I didn’t want to bring it up this weekend, but since we’re here alone without the gaggle”—she jerks her head toward the house, where we can hear shrieks of hysterics as a blindfolded Isabelle tries to pin a penis on a ripped cutout fella—“I don’t know, it would be odd not to say anything. But tell me if you don’t want to talk about it.”
“That’s sweet of you. Yeah, I’m all right. I’m fine.”
“Are you, like, actually fine? Or fine-but-not-really-fine?”
I smile at her. “Maybe in the middle of the two.”
“Being here must be difficult.” She waves her hand about. “Memories of your hen and stuff.”
“A little.”
Niamh takes another drag. “Want to change the conversation?”
This is what I like about Niamh. There’s no bullshit with her. She’s always been straight to the point. When we were at schooland someone pissed her off, she’d tell them so. But she has this talent of not making it too harsh, although sometimes what she says can be hard to hear. It always needs to be said, though. She’s blunt, but it’s never gratuitous.
Having said that, she did once tell me that my eyebrows were a “unique” shape.
Make of that what you will.
“Yeah, best not to dwell.” I give her a weak smile. “How is Freddie?”
“He’s good. He’s getting into golf, which is unexpected.”
“I’m into gardening now.”
