The next morning, Nick had gone again, without texting me first this time. Even Astrid didn’t know where he was, he had just said that he was ‘going away for a few days’. I went through my daily tasks with a certain numbness. I still luxuriated in the cocoon of relief that I had successfully protected myself from any further heartbreak, but this was being nibbled away every day by the persistent thought that I had made a colossal mistake. Swinging between the two was exhausting and I spent restless nights tossing and turning but found peace during the day with Marilise. She didn’t ask me about Nick or anything else, but instead engaged me in gentle, undemanding pursuits such as gathering foliage for decorations, which she taught me to wind around candles or tuck into twisted wire to make wreaths and table displays. Sofia and India had finished school and, when they weren’t at the stables, provided excellent company. They joined us in our simple crafting, chattering about their friends and their hopes for Christmas presents. Astrid and Angela were stolid friends to me. They didn’t mention Nick either but checked in on me in a more general way and every night suggested that we sat together for a tea or hot chocolate afterMarilise had gone to bed, when we chatted about this and that, and I was deeply grateful for the company.
It was on one of these occasions that Angela said, ‘You have the evening off tomorrow, don’t you? Are you doing anything nice?’
I grimaced.
‘It’s Steph’s hen party. I’m looking forward to catching up with Minty in person, but otherwise I’d gladly pass.’
‘What are you going to wear?’ asked Astrid.
‘Well, you won’t be surprised to hear that Dorothea has a dress code.’
They both groaned, half laughing.
‘What is it?’ asked Astrid. ‘Not a costume party?’
‘Absolutely not, thank goodness,’ I replied. ‘Although she has said there will be “traditional surprises” in that respect, whatever that means. No, we have to all dress in hot pink, not a colour I have much of in my wardrobe. I ordered something from Vinted which I’m pleased with, so keep your fingers crossed I’m not wearing a penis headband by the end of the evening.’
In truth, I hadn’t thought that was Dorothea’s style, and was hoping for a reasonably classy night out, but I was sorely disappointed. She had gone ‘fully traditional’ as she put it, and this meant a little white veil for Steph and sashes for all of us, denoting us as ‘Steph’s hens’. We were also presented with glittery ‘Team Bride’ headbands. We started at her home with pink cocktails brought by a disapproving butler, which we drank from personalised glasses, and hors d’oeuvre in shapes that we had to pretend to find funny. Dorothea, to my surprise, knocked back the cocktails rapidly, and was soon insisting on a game of ‘I have never’, where we were all expected to come upwith outlandish scenarios, and drink if we had ever done those things. The ideas were so silly that I think we were all hoping for something like ‘I have never gone to Sainsbury’s’, just so that we could have a drink, but it soon stopped being funny when Dorothea, a sly look in her eyes, said, ‘I have never kissed a member of the Prince family.’
I glanced at Araminta, who winked at me and took a huge and very performative slug of her cocktail, then announced, ‘When we were five my mother made me kiss Nick goodbye after every playdate, doubtless hoping that it would lead to marriage twenty years later. Bad luck her! My turn! I have never watched an episode ofLove Island. Come on, ’fess up ladies!’
Her technique worked like a dream, and soon everyone was discussing the latest pairing from a show I had never watched, although I appeared to be in the minority. I raised my glass to her in a subtle toast, and she winked.
After about an hour of this, there was a knock on the door, which opened to reveal the butler, his disapproval deepening by the second.
‘Your tattoo artist is here,’ he said, then withdrew rapidly to admit a pretty young woman in a white coat.
‘Hello, everyone,’ she said. ‘Not real tattoos, don’t worry! But I hear you’re all getting matching ones?’
A tipsy cheer greeted this news and Minty, who had managed to edge her way over to sit next to me, whispered, ‘Oh God, they’re going to brand us!’
She wasn’t far wrong. Half an hour later, we were all sporting large round pink and black tattoos on our forearms, declaring that we were ‘Steph’s Set’, with a cartoon picture of her in the middle. Next, we piled into a stretch limousine, where Dorothea poured us all champagne and refused to tell us where we were going. It was by now nearly nine o’clock and I hoped that wherever it was would include food. I had taken it slow on thecocktails, but my stomach was decidedly empty and beginning to roll from the unaccustomed amount of alcohol. It seemed that we weren’t going anywhere specific for a while. As we cruised around, all the hens except Minty, me and a woman called Sue, who was looking slightly green, stood up and poked their heads out of the sunroof, whooping at unsuspecting passersby. Finally, we pulled up, clambering out of the car to see that we were outside a small nightclub advertising a drag queen cabaret that night. I tugged at Dorothea’s sleeve as she hurried everyone out of the limousine.
‘This looks great fun,’ I said. ‘Are we going to have supper in there?’
‘Eating is cheating!’ she bellowed at me and marched up to the front door to announce our arrival, as if that were necessary. I turned to Minty.
‘This is going to be carnage,’ I said.
‘Yup. I’m moving on to whatever bar snacks they have, I’m starving.’
We went inside and were ushered to a ‘VIP’ area, consisting of a large, curved, red pleather bench around a couple of small tables separated from the rest of the club by a red rope, and with a great view of the stage. Dorothea ordered more champagne, but I grabbed the waiter and asked him to bring whatever food they had, even if that was just bags of peanuts. I was sitting next to Araminta on one side, and Sickly Sue on the other.
‘Are you okay?’ I asked her.
She gave me a slightly wobbly smile.
‘I usually only drink at Christmas,’ she said. ‘Since having kids. I think I’ll be all right, I just need something to eat.’
At that moment the waiter returned laden, bless him, with bags of Doritos. Throwing manners to the wind, I stood up and reached over to relieve him of about half his burden, quickly opened a bag and put them in front of Sue.
‘These’ll help,’ I said. ‘Do you want some water?’
She nodded, nibbling at a Dorito, and I asked the waiter to bring several bottles, as Dorothea thrust glasses into our hands, then proceeded to fill them, slopping champagne everywhere. I knew there was no point in refusing and anyway, I didn’t want to be accused of being a party pooper, so I toasted Steph, then put the glass down and gratefully took some water.
‘Ladies, gentlemen, and everyone else!’ came a sudden announcement over the loudspeaker. ‘Please find your seats, or someone else’s lap. Tonight’s cabaret is about to begin!’
We all cheered, and I took advantage of the noise to open a few more packets of crisps, then the room settled down and a languid jazz trumpet started up as a beautiful drag artist strutted onto the stage. Her electric blue hair was about a foot high, and she wore a long, slinky silver dress that pooled at her feet beneath her enormous platform heels and reflected the light so dramatically that it almost looked as if it were on fire. She then went into a sultry rendition of ‘Santa Baby’ and I relaxed back into my seat, looking forward to the show.
