‘Why?’
‘Because I’d have to go through childbirth again and that’s not happening,’ I replied. ‘I’m a fucking coward. I have no idea how women with multiple children do it. Being in labour for fourteen hours before they finally gave me the good drugs was the worst fucking agony I’ve ever felt in my life. Not to mention the indignity of having to sit and bounce on a giant inflatable ball in the name of pain management.’
Oliver turned to face me, resting his head on his arm. ‘What does it actually feel like? Pain-wise?’
I thought for a moment. ‘It’s hard to describe accurately, but you know when something is so fucking sore, you might vomit? Well, if vaginas could vomit, it would happen then. It genuinely feels like your entire arse region is falling out.’
‘Jesus.’
‘So yeah. Molly might just have to get a goldfish instead. You too.’
Tuesday October 31st
‘You haven’t let me know what you want to do for your hen night,’ I reminded Lucy. She stopped typing on her keyboard and looked up at me. I waited with bated breath for her list of hedonistic demands, convinced there would be at least one illegal activity involved.
‘Oh. Right. God, I hadn’t even thought about it. We could go for dinner, I guess?’
‘Dinner? Wait . . . is that code for strippers or something? I’m confused.’
‘No, it’s code for dinner. Actual food. We could get some Chinese – I quite fancy trying that new place near the golf course. Have a couple of drinks, maybe?’
‘Who are you and what have you done with my friend?’
She chuckled. ‘Honestly, I can’t be bothered being hungover, I’m too busy. Just something low key is fine by me.’
‘Um . . . right then,’ I mumbled, starting to walk away. Then I stopped. I wasn’t buying it. I swung around and returned to my spot in front of her PC.
‘So, is this like one of those things where you pretend you’re not bothered, but really you’re expecting Grey Goose, half a kilo of cocaine, a guest list and a live sex show?’
‘No, but I know now what to plan for your funeral. Thanks.’
I left again and went back to my desk, still puzzled at Lucy’s desire for zero debauchery on her hen night. Lucy’s coffee breaks are more exhilarating than this plan.
I texted Hazel.
Lucy wants to go for a meal on her hen night. It’s the End of Days. Save yourself.
Her reply came swiftly.
A meal? Is that code for strippers?
See? Even Hazel gets it. I finally accepted defeat and booked a table for three on Friday night.
*
Molly’s Halloween disco was held in the gym hall from 6.30 p.m. – 7.30 p.m. and as I’d stupidly volunteered to chaperone, I had to endure Sarah Ward-Wilson, head of the parent’s committee, girlfriend of my boss, two-faced telephone-conversation-haver and all round bore bag. Now that I had absolute proof she was a nasty creature, I wanted as little to do with her as possible.
Molly had dressed as a cat (no surprise) and made me also cattify my face for the occasion, which was fine, but of course Lord Wilson turned up as Maleficent, in full fucking costume and make-up. Honestly, there’s getting into the spirit of things and then there’s just being an absolute try-hard.
I grabbed one of the apple-juice boxes that were stacked high on a trestle table and made my way through the costumed kids towards a free seat at the edge of the hall, hoping to sit and watch Molly have fun in peace. No such luck. I had barely sat down before I was spotted.
‘I hear we’re going to be wedding chums,’ Sarah announced, plonking herself down beside me. ‘I have this gorgeous little Moschino dress that’s been looking for a place to show itself off. What will you be wearing?’
Your skin as a mask.
‘Sorry? What wedding?’
It took me a second to realise she meant Lucy’s, then to piece together how on earth she could be attending, but then it dawned on me: Frank would have been invited to the reception with a plus one. Brilliant.
