There’s no one else here yet, but I’ve already wasted as much time as possible wandering around M&S choosing tinned cocktails for the train. I thought that Niamh and Freddie or their best man and maid of honor might at least be here nice and early to greet their sten—stag and hen combined, of course—attendees, but it looks like none of them are that organized. We’re going to Leeds for the weekend and our train leaves in forty minutes.
I linger next to Pret, scrolling through my phone so it looks like I’m busy, keeping the meeting point in my sight line in case someone else arrives. I go into WhatsApp and find Isabelle’s name.
Hope you’re having an amazing honeymoon!
Wish you were here this weekend
Isabelle
Freyaaaaaa!! MISS YOU!
Having a great time, although Ryan
got food poisoning last night. It was not sexy.
I’m telling you, he’s lucky he put a ring on it
BEFORE I witnessed that scene yesterday.
Oh no, is he ok?
Isabelle
He’s fine now. Eating like a pig.
Omg wish I could be there this weekend!!
Please take SO MANY PHOTOS
And videos
Send them all to me please
I am there in spirit
Will do!
I glance up from my phone to see that someone has arrived at the meeting place. I wait a couple more minutes until others have joined them, and then when Niamh and Freddie approach to many cheers, I put my phone away, pick up my M&S bag of tinnies, and wheel my case behind me, strolling up to them breezily as though I’ve just arrived.
I’m offered a train ticket by the best man and then stand there like a lemon. The beginning bit of hen dos—and stags, I assume—is always a bit awkward when you don’t know anyone else. I introduce myself to someone and we have a bit of pleasant small talk, but they then get distracted by one of their friends and I’m forgotten again. I know it will get better, but I really do wish Isabelle were here. At least on the train it won’t be so obvious that I don’t know anyone. Somehow standing here on the edge of the crowd feels worse.
“We have two tickets left,” the best man announces, once it seems the group has assembled and it’s time to get to the train. “Who are we missing?”
“Jamie is running late,” someone calls out.
Jamie. Of course. I forgot that he was friends with Freddie and Niamh, but I didn’t realize that they were close enough for him to be invited to the sten. I suppose it will be nice to know someone, even if it is him. We did sort of start getting on by the end of Isabelle’s wedding. I didn’t drive him back to London thefollowing day, because one of his close friends had a space in his car and, according to Jamie, I was driving back “too early.”
I set off at the time of checkout from the hotel, but whatever. Maybe he needed an excuse to get out of another few hours stuck in the car with me.
The return drive was very nice, mind you. I listened to my podcasts and Whitney Houston’s greatest hits in peace.
Anyway, I’m not surprised he’s late for the train. Having only just met him, I would safely assume he’s late for everything. He seems so—
“Where’s Matthew?”
I tense as the best man’s question lingers in the air after he checks his list. My cheeks start burning with shame. I see the other hens and stags look to one another to see if anyone knows the answer. Freddie’s eyes widen in horror and then he quickly clears his throat and says, “He’s not coming anymore,” with a wave of his hand, before encouraging everyone to move to the train.
I know Niamh is looking at me to check I’m okay, but I can’t bear to meet her eyes, so I keep them firmly on the floor and follow the excitable group to the platform.
