This post was written last week while I was away. I fully intended to upload it when I was there, but logging on at the hotel proved problematic. Now that I am back, here is another part of my history, written as the blindingly yellow sun sank over the peninsular that jutted out into the bay, and we were between bouts of half drunken laddet-ish behaviour.
’m sitting on the balcony, gin and tonic in one hand, quickly typing while the other girls finish getting dressed for tonight’s drunken revelry.
It’s a modern thing for a party of girls (here 25 to 35 years) to fly off to Greece, Portugal, Spain or Majorca in order to drink to excess, eat too much and generally act like giggling adolescents, because one of them is on the verge of married life.
My house mate from university, (here known as Mary) is going to marry her boyfriend, precipitated mostly by the fact that she recently discovered that she is pregnant.
“You’d never guess what,” she began, when she telephoned a month back.
“You’re getting married,” I said without hesitation.
“You bitch! How did you guess?”
“I’m a bitch-witch and I decided that you were having too much fun as a single woman. So I put the idea of marriage into your head. And here you are – right on cue.”
“Well smarty-pants, you aren’t that good a witch, otherwise you’d know that I’m with child, so it’s going to have to be a rush job.”
“Err-r…congratulations…. How far along are you? How soon is the wedding?”
“About ten weeks, for the first, and five weeks and two days from now, for your second question. I want to get it done before the bump starts to show and I can’t fit into the beautiful wedding dress I forked out a small fortune for.”
“Ben must be thrilled about becoming a father.”
“Ben? It isn’t Ben’s baby.”
“Sorry. I thought…..”
“Ben was last year’s news. I’m sure I told you I ditched him after Christmas. You really should keep in touch more, you know. My fiancé’s name is Eric. And yes, he is over the moon.”
“You certainly don’t hang around. Whirlwind romance was it?”
“Well… to be absolutely truthful, I’d been seeing Eric for few months before I finally gave Ben his marching orders.”
“Really! You slut. Did he go quietly?”
“Not at first. He found the pregnancy test kit, and was under the illusion the baby was his. That really would’ve been an immaculate conception, since I always made him use a rubber. Eric used them too…. except for those two little times. That was what did the damage. But by then I was head over heels, and not just heels over head; if you know what I mean? ”
“I’ll get myself a new dress then,” I said.
“No you won’t… you’ll wear the ugly lilac one I’ve chosen for all the bridesmaids,” she joked. “I remember how you looked at Rachel’s wedding. All the men wanted to fuck you. I saw them walking around with huge great erections, including Ben. I just knew it wasn’t me he was thinking about when we were screwing that night. I have no desire to have you walking down the aisle behind me, and have every one looking at you instead of me.”
“Oh dear, I had no idea.”
“Darling, I love you dearly, but you don’t have the slightest inkling of the effect you have on men. You’ve always been a walking aphrodisiac.”
“You do know how to turn a girls head. When do I get to meet the baby daddy?”
“At the wedding, unless you can shoot over this weekend; he’s heading out to somewhere in the Pacific on a yacht next Monday, and he won’t be back on terra-firma again for another three weeks.”
“What is he, an astronaut or a sailor?”
“Some sort of Oceanographer and yachtsman or something.”
“Sounds interesting. I take it he’s cute, athletic, intelligent and rich.”
“Three out of the four, but he’s an absolute beast in the sack; makes me wet just thinking about him.”
“I seem to recall that it didn’t take much to make you wet in the old days.”
I could hear her laughing on the other end of the line in that familiar braying fashion. “True. Anyway, we digress; you need to make space in your busy diary for my hen party.”
“Who is organizing that?”
“Aren’t the bridesmaids supposed to?”
“No time for all that – so I’ve done it.”
“Where and when is it?”
“Majorca on the thirtieth of April. I’ve booked the hotel. Please say you’ll come; it’ll be so much fun.”
“But that’s only a few weeks away……” I spluttered.
“I know what you are thinking,” she put in quickly. “Don’t worry, it’s not fucking Benidorm.”
So here we are. It’s not actually baking hot, though now and then the sun does show its face. There are twenty seven of us; eleven married, two single lesbians; some friends from university, who I haven’t seen in several years, and some of Mary’s hospital colleagues.
Next – It’s who you know