Amanda's Wedding (14 page)

‘Can I speak to Fraser, please? And thanks for inviting us … eventually. It's a sweet thought.'

‘Look, I'm only saying this to be kind …' she said nastily, ‘but he doesn't really want you there. It's only because that retarded brother of his thought it'd be a laugh. Fraser thinks it'll be embarrassing too. You'll be the laughing stock.'

SHUT UP, WITCH
! I badly wanted to say.

‘Look, Amanda,' I said, as calmly as I could, ‘it'll be fine. We'll all be fine. Don't worry about us. Can you put Fraser on the phone, please?'

There was a pause, and some frantic whispering.
I wanted to hang up, but forced myself to stay on the line.

‘Urr, hullo,' came a familiar gravelly voice.

‘Ehm, hi, Frase …'

There was a bit of a pause. I could picture Amanda in the background, drawing her finger across her throat … dramatically uplit like the queen in
Snow White
.

‘Frase, do you really mind us coming on your stag night?'

Fraser was obviously weighing up his options of girls plus stripper or nothing.

‘NO. DEFINITELY NOT.'

The stern tone surprised me.

‘DO YOU UNDERSTAND? DEFINITELY NOT, OKAY!'

Then he put the phone down. I hugged myself with glee. We were going all right. Although I did find Fraser tricking his fiancée slightly worrying. I mean, I was allowed to hate her – I wasn't going to marry her.

I remembered I'd forgotten to ask him about Alex and Charlie. Oh well, surely they could blend into the background.

Finally, with the phone feeling welded to my ear, I managed to catch up with Fran, and told her what had happened. She was pleased.

‘I'd have given anything to be a ghost and have crept into her room and seen her face when that happened.'

‘Er, wouldn't you rather just be a fly on the wall?' I said.

‘Would I rather be a fly than a ghost?'

‘OK, can we have this conversation later? Because NOW you are going to tell me what happened with Charlie.'

She laughed evilly. ‘Oh, my dear, I couldn't possibly tell you on the phone. Really, it was disgusting. Quite brilliant. Almost a shame to have to punish him, really.'

‘But you're going to.'

‘Sadly, rules are rules. And I'll see you on Saturday. Has he phoned up and begged to come?'

‘Yup.'

‘
Excellente
!'

Saturday was fast approaching, and I realized that I had no idea what to wear to a stag night. Cockney Boy was most surprised that we'd been invited to a stag, and even offered to teach me how to make a selection of suggestively named cocktails.

Janie was looking much better, apart from jumping six feet every time the phone rang and asking me whether I thought it was too early to introduce James to her parents.

I pondered this for a bit.

‘Well, I've always found the will reading to be the only really safe time. That might just be the boys I know, though.'

She turned green, and I wished I'd kept my mouth shut.

I debated with myself whether to wear jeans, then decided against it, in case we ended up in one of those nightclubs that preferred cheap shiny Top Shop suits to real clothes. A good frock, however, was not the thing, as it would surely be raining beer at some stage. Anything tight or short was out, in case of stripper identity problems. And nothing too plain, or I might be mistaken for a dyke, which is why I had to come to the boys' night out. Yikes. That pretty much just left my bought-on-a-whim catsuit, so called because if I ever walked past any cats in it their fur went on end and they made a ‘sssssssssssssssssuuuuuuuuu' noise.

Fran turned up, looking glorious in something dainty and impossibly trendy. This was getting worse. I picked my kilt up from the back of the cupboard. Fran shook her head imperiously. Just as I was hopping about in my black tights gazing at some weird Japanese kimono thing which had somehow turned up in my clothes, the doorbell rang again.

‘Can you get that?' I said. ‘It'll be Alex and Charlie.'

‘Ah, my two favourite men,' she purred languidly.

Fran swanned out of my bedroom and I could hear rowdy voices. Oh well, she sounded like she was being civil. Then Alex's voice drifted into my room:

‘PLEASE – look, will you just stop calling me a cocksucker?'

I grinned to myself.

They did sound noisy, though. Oh God, I hoped
they weren't drunk already. That would be dreadful.

Finally settling on smart chinos and a flowery shirt, I shoved on some mascara and lippy and popped outside.

Alex and Charlie had hauled out one of Linda's bottles of wine and were debating in loud voices exactly which hilarious rugby song they were going to sing next. Uh oh. I looked at Fran, who nodded and raised her eyes. They were absolutely, gloriously, buggeringly drunk.

‘BESTIALITY'S GREAT, MATE!' shouted Charlie.

To which Alex immediately responded:

‘PUT YOUR LOG IN A FROG, MATE!'

‘PUT YOUR GEAR IN A STEER, MATE!' hollered Charlie lustily.

‘BESTIALITY'S GREAT!' they concluded together, holding each other up.

‘Oh God,' I said to Fran. ‘We can't take these two with us. They'll be awful.'

‘You tell them.'

‘Oh, why does it always have to be me?'

‘Yeah, right, like I invited Charlie.'

At the sound of Fran speaking his name, Charlie fell to the ground and clasped her round the ankles. She kicked him.

I turned round to face the boys. They were both very red in the face, and the wine was sloshing around dangerously.

‘Alex, you're completely pissed,' I said, trying not to sound too headmistressy.

‘Jesus, gorgeous, you sound just like my old headmistress,' he slurred, wobbling backwards and forwards.

‘You're not coming to this stag night like that!'

‘STAG NIGHT! STAG NIGHT!' they started chanting. Charlie got up off the floor and looked around, puzzled. ‘Are we there?'

‘Oh, shut up!' My patience was gone, and I couldn't cope. ‘You're not coming, so you might as well just fuck off.'

‘PUT YOUR LOAD IN A TOAD, MATE,' started Alex inexorably.

‘PUT YOUR GOO IN A ROO, MATE,' Charlie joined in.

‘Oh God,' I said to Fran. ‘What shall we do? Make a run for it?'

‘Oh, good idea,' she said. ‘Then when Linda gets back from Singles Night at Tescos she can find them prostrate in vomit and weeing on her carpet.'

‘BESTIALITY'S GREAT, MATE! BESTIALITY'S GREAT!'

‘Maybe we can take them outside, then lose them.'

‘Good idea. Just as well you've already taken Alex's set of keys back.'

‘Shit.'

‘Look, let's go. They'll probably be all right.'

‘SHE CAN SHOOT GREEN PEAS FROM HER FUNDAMENTAL ORIFICE!' shouted Charlie suddenly. Fran and I stopped talking and turned round.

‘That's the wrong song, you twat,' said Alex.

‘I KNOW!' hollered Charlie. ‘Err … PUT YOUR POLE IN A FOAL, MATE!'

‘THAT'S MORE LIKE IT!' yelled Alex. ‘PUT YOUR STAFF IN A GIRAFFE, MATE!'

‘Oh God.' I sat down, then stood up again when I realized I was sitting in the wine and spittle range of fire.

‘This is great. This is just great. First, Amanda is never speaking to us again for going behind her back.'

‘Yeah. One: who cares, and two: how is she going to find out?'

‘Oh, probably shortly after these two get arrested and in the papers.'

‘HAVE A SHAG WITH A STAG, MATE!'

‘HAVE INTERCOURSE WITH A HORSE, MATE!'

‘Then,' I went on, bravely, ‘we turn up at this thing and get thrown out, and Angus and Fraser never talk to us again. So, in the space of a day I've managed to alienate about thirty-three per cent of all my friends. Not to mention Alex, when he wakes up tomorrow and I'm beating his face to a bloody pulp.'

‘Why don't you do it now, when he won't notice?'

‘What would be the point of that?'

‘Come on.' Fran took me by the arm. ‘Let's get this over with. Maybe they'll fall out of the taxi …'

‘Yeah, and into another dimension. C'mon, you two, we're going.'

They started to sway towards the door.

‘UP THE CRACK OF A YAK, MATE!'

‘HAVE A FRIG WITH A PIG, MATE!'

And the four of us sang, going down the hall:

‘BESTIALITY'S GREAT, MATE! BESTIALITY'S GREAT.'

We nearly got thrown out the cab, and it took all my conciliatory powers to get us to the Princess Louise pub, in Holborn. I shot a nervous look at Fran, but she appeared extremely cool, even though Charlie was trying to get on his knees in front of her to express his true and heartfelt devotion in loquacious terms. Every time he got too close she kneed him on the crest of his rugby shirt.

I took a deep breath at the door, squared my shoulders and headed in.

‘Neh, it's a private party up there, mate,' said this extraordinary talking-monkey thing.

‘Yes, that's right,' I said. ‘Fraser McConnald's stag do.'

‘That's Laird McConnald,' added Fran helpfully.

The monkey raised its eyebrows.

‘'Ere, are you the …'

‘No, we're not. We're invited guests. Come on, Mel –' and Fran shrugged us through imperiously.

As in werewolf films, the inn fell quiet when we entered the room. Lots of young men were standing around having a perfectly nice comfortable drink, and here were two pairs of breasts all set to ruin it. A couple of the blokes even had cigars, if it could be any more Freudian. I wanted to turn on my heel, but, fortunately, Angus came to the rescue.

‘Hey, hullose there!' He walked over, beaming. ‘Glad youse could make it.'

His smile fell as he looked over his shoulder and cottoned on to the collapsing figures of Alex and Charlie.

‘I'm sorry!' I said straight away. ‘They were going to get thrown into the river in a sack and we didn't have the heart to leave them.'

Angus half smiled. ‘Och well, they're here now, I suppose. Is he –' indicating Charlie – ‘going to cause any trouble?'

Fran had somehow managed to conjure a cigar out of nowhere and was proceeding to look felinely wonderful with it.

‘Oh no,' she purred. ‘He won't be any trouble, will you, big boy?' And she winked at Charlie like some thirties vixen until his eyes popped.

Angus looked understandably confused then turned back to me.

‘Can I get you a drink?' he said eagerly.

‘Ehm … bottle of Budvar, please.'

‘I'll have a long vodka please,' ordered Fran imperiously.

‘A what?' I said, when Angus had gone to the bar. ‘What are you playing at? Queen of all the Vamps?'

‘Oh, go on, Mel,' she said. ‘Look around. There's forty blokes here and two of us. When's the last time I got off with a bloke?'

‘Thursday.'

‘He doesn't count. That was duty. And tonight he's hopelessly drunk, while I'm in the mood. I'm
a prowling lioness. So stay out of my way.' She took a draw on her cigar and blew smoke rings at me.

‘Huh. Well, my boyfriend's here …' I looked over. Alex was slumped on a sofa, stupefied. ‘So I have to behave myself.'

‘Do you?'

‘Yes!'

Angus arrived back with the drinks, and Fran downed hers in one. Eyes shining, she looked around the room. ‘Who's … that?' she said to Angus, eyes trained on a sweet-faced, wan young man standing by himself next to the punch, and helping himself liberally to it.

‘That's Johnny McLachlan – he's the best man. Why, do you want to meet him?'

‘Yes. Have him washed and –'

‘Fran!'

Angus clearly thought we had both gone mad, but he beckoned Johnny McLachlan over anyway. Johnny McLachlan did a huge ‘Who, me?' double take, and eventually sidled up, slightly hunched over.

‘Johnny, meet two friends of ours, Melanie and Fran.'

‘Hi,' I said.

‘Enchanted!' exclaimed Fran. ‘Now, tell me all about yourself and how you came to be darling Fraser's best man.'

‘Aye, well, hullo,' said Johnny, in an accent so thick he made Angus sound like Princess Anne. ‘Well, actually, like, Ah'm a geography teacher, likesay.'

‘How fascinating!' Fran leaned over intimately. A sweat broke out on Johnny's forehead.

Through mutual eye contact Angus and I moved to one side.