I Heart London (26 page)

Stretched out on the bathroom floor, my stomach twisted at the thought of a hen night. Firemen and L-plates and sugary cocktails and assorted penis-decorated accessories − no thank you. But that wasn’t me. And it wasn’t Louisa or Jenny. This was going to be a hybrid bachelorette bridal shower hen do with my mother in attendance. And the bride-to-be was incredibly, incredibly hungover. How bad could things get?

I wiggled my big toes, testing my ability to move without vomiting, and tried very hard not to think about anything that had happened the day before. Everyone was allowed an off-day. And to kiss two men who weren’t their fiancé. The rest of it was just cold feet. Today I felt fine. Today I was excited again. Or at least I would be once I had regained the ability to form a coherent emotion beyond ‘bleurgh’.

The kitchen was full of voices when I rolled downstairs, happily receiving sweet tea and dry toast from my mother. She really was taking my daily vomiting terribly well. Absence made the heart grow fonder and all that. Alex was in the conservatory on his mobile and gave me a slow, single nod. Jenny and Louisa were sitting around the table bickering over Jenny’s laptop, while Dad ate his Shredded Wheat and read the paper in the middle of it all. He looked quite happy.

‘I’m not trying to be difficult. I’m just saying I’ve known Angela all my life and I’ve been planning her hen night just as long.’ Louisa, all shiny curtain of corn-silk hair and sleeveless green sundress, crossed her arms in front of her. ‘And this is what she’d want.’

‘And I don’t know what she’d want?’ Jenny asked, back in her jeans and one of my T-shirts, which she’d knotted at the waist. ‘Because I didn’t know her when she was twelve? Dude, I lived with her. I’ve seen her face almost every day for the past two years. I totally get a say in this.’

‘Now now.’ Mum placed cups of tea down in front of them both and put a hand on each girl’s shoulder. ‘Why don’t we let Angela decide?’

They looked up in tandem, surprised to see me standing in front of them. I raised a hand and sat down with trepidation. ‘So what’s the plan?’

‘What did you do to your face?’ Jenny leapt up and started poking my bruised cheek. ‘Holy shit, Angie, you have a shiner. How am I going to cover that up?’

‘Get off.’ I slapped her hands away and covered my face with my hand. ‘It’ll be gone by Saturday. I tripped.’ I demonstrated tripping with my hand for everyone’s benefit. ‘I’m fine. Stop worrying. What is the plan?’

‘The plan,’ Louisa jumped in, ‘is to do afternoon tea at the Ritz, then pop into Topshop before we go and see a show − I was thinking
Les Mis
− then get fish and chips on the way home.’

Les Mis
. My secret shame. That did sound pretty good. And I was very pleased that Louisa appeared to be talking to me again.

‘That is
a
plan,’ Jenny said. ‘And if we were sixty-year-old nuns, it would be awesome. No offence, Missus C. Not interested.’

My mum looked a bit confused as to why she should be taking offence, but she was too busy staring at Jenny’s exposed midriff to pay a lot of attention to what was being said. As was my dad.

‘I don’t really care whether you’re interested or not,’ Louisa said, and she really didn’t look like she did. ‘When I had my hen night, me and Ange talked about these things. Didn’t we, babe?’

‘We did,’ I agreed hesitantly. We had mostly talked about them because I was trying to convince her a spa day was a much more fun option than pole-dancing lessons. As it turned out, that lesson would have been more useful to me in later life. ‘But let’s just hear what Jenny has in mind?’

‘What Jenny has in mind is to head into the city, hit the shops, hit a spa – I’ve been looking at this awesome place, the Sanctuary, that Erin recommended – get cocktails at the Soho House and then dinner somewhere awesome, maybe Nobu? And then hit up a karaoke bar. Lucky Voice looks pretty fun.’ She gripped my wrist tightly. ‘They have tambourines, Angela. You get your own tambourine.’

I was finally facing my Waterloo. This was my very own
Sophie’s Choice
.

‘That all sounds very exciting,’ Mum said, not helping in any way. ‘I’ve heard the Sanctuary is very nice.’

Louisa shot daggers across the table. ‘I’ve heard it’s fine.’

‘But we all know how much Angela loves a show.’ Mum waved her white flag. ‘Even if she pretends she doesn’t.’

‘I’ve stopped pretending, actually,’ I sniffed. ‘But I know not everyone appreciates musical theatre quite as much as I do, and I don’t want to drag you all out to something you won’t enjoy.’

‘It’s your day, dear,’ Mum said, draining her teacup and going over to the kettle to top up before adding in a slightly lower voice, ‘And it’s not like you’ve let other people’s feelings get in the way of your decisions before now.’

I chose to ignore her and went back to the battle of wills happening at the table. How was I supposed to choose? Spas were lovely. Restaurants were lovely. Cocktails were less tempting at this moment. Karaoke was wonderful. Musicals were the best things on earth ever. And shopping? I loved shopping! This was just mean.

‘Do you think we’ll be able to get in at these places?’ I asked, trying to narrow down the field without having to make an actual decision. ‘Won’t the Ritz and the Sanctuary be busy? And will
Les Mis
have tickets?’

‘I called the Ritz − they’re going to call me back,’ Louisa shouted out first. ‘And you have to be a member of
Soho
House. You can’t just pop in.’

‘Please.’ Jenny pounded her coffee and gave Louisa a filthy, filthy look. ‘I am a member.’

‘There is one other thing,’ I said, attempting to cut the tension by buying their attention. ‘We still need to get your bridesmaids’ dresses. And shoes. And I need to buy you presents.’

‘I have a shortlist.’ Jenny tapped her bloody notebook, ever-present at her side. ‘I figured I could go and get them tomorrow once you’d approved the colours. I mean, you don’t really need to be there when we pick them up, right?’

‘What am I doing tomorrow?’ I couldn’t believe they hadn’t backed down at the mention of presents. And I was pretty sure I did need to be there when they picked up their dresses, otherwise only one would return. My two best friends were turning into the bridal equivalent of
Highlander
. There could only be one.

‘You and Alex have an away-day,’ she replied. ‘Don’t you look at your schedule?’

She pointed towards a piece of paper pinned to the fridge, separated out into days of the week and highlighted in five different colours for me, Alex, Jenny, Mum and Dad. I hadn’t looked at it. I’d assumed it was a bin rota or something. Blimey.

‘Don’t you think it would be fun to buy them together?’ I suggested as gently as possible. ‘I think I would really like to be there. Come on, it’ll be fun.’

I knew I was taking my life in my hands going off plan. I also knew it absolutely would not be fun if it was anything like the wedding-dress shopping. And it would be exactly like the wedding-dress shopping, except that instead of buying one dress for one person, we’d be buying two dresses for two people who hated each other and had completely different taste. It was bound to be a wonderful experience. Jenny eyed Louisa’s understated knee-length dress, and Louisa stared at Jenny’s knotted T-shirt and skin-tight jeans. On anyone else it would look like Nineties fancy dress; on Jenny it just looked obscenely sexy. But we were definitely going to find something they would both agree on. Right?

‘At my hen do,’ Louisa started, ‘we did a scavenger hunt and that was brilliant. We could do something like that.’

‘I’m sorry, are we at camp?’ So Jenny was not sold on the idea of a scavenger hunt. ‘Are we fourteen? Did you play spin the bottle also?’

‘I’m going to make a decision.’ It was time to take charge. And to interrupt before Louisa confirmed that yes, we had in fact played spin the bottle with a stag do we met at Tiger Tiger. Sad times. ‘We’re going to Selfridges to look for dresses for you and shoes for all of us. Then we’re going to go to the Ritz for afternoon tea, and then we’re going to see a show, and then we’ll go to karaoke. Does that work?’

Looking at their faces, you’d have thought I’d asked them to spend the day down a coal mine whipping orphans and eating lard sandwiches.

‘I’m going to get dressed.’ I took their silence as assent. ‘And then we’ll go. All right? Good.’

That was that then.

‘You’ve got to be kidding?’ Louisa turned to me and threw her arms up in the air. ‘She’s joking, isn’t she?’

I sat in the corner of the dressing room, a sweaty, crumpled mess, and closed my eyes. On one hand, this was the first time I’d seen Jenny smile since Sunday and I wanted to keep that expression on her face. On the other, I didn’t really see a red, knee-length, gloss-finished strapless dress working out as my bridesmaids’ dress. On Jenny it looked provocative but sophisticated at the same time. On Louisa it looked like she was auditioning for
Pretty Woman 2: Sometimes it Doesn’t Work Out
.

‘She isn’t,’ I said, sipping water from a bottle. ‘But she also knows I’m never going to go for it. Take it off, Jenny.’

‘At least it’s fun.’ She pulled down the zipper and stood in the middle of the room in nothing but her knickers. While Louisa was more than happy to pop them out for breastfeeding purposes, she clearly was not comfortable with Jenny parading around half naked for bridesmaiding duties. And to be honest, I wasn’t ecstatic about it, either; just used to it. ‘That looks like a dish rag.’

‘It’s Dolce & Gabbana,’ Louisa protested in defence of her floral-patterned prom dress. ‘How is that a dish rag?’

This had been going on for well over an hour. And that was just the trying-on bit. We’d been in Selfridges since eleven and it was almost two. The first hour had been spent bickering back and forth on the shop floor, Jenny dismissing all of Louisa’s picks as ‘safe’ or ‘boring’ or just plain ‘pieces of shit’, while Louisa wrote off everything Jenny picked up as ‘attention-seeking’ and ‘trannytastic’. It really was ridiculous. They were both impeccably well-dressed women in their own way, and Jenny was a bloody stylist, for God’s sake. She could make Snooki look sophisticated if she chose to. I knew she was pushing Louisa’s limits just to see what she could get away with, but this wasn’t the time or the place. Still, it was nice to see the spark back in her eyes, even if there was a chance Louisa was going to punch it right back out again.

‘Right.’ I grabbed my sad bag and pointed at the massive pile of discarded dresses in the middle of the room. ‘I’m done with this. I’m going out there to find your dresses and possibly have a quick wee and get a coffee, and when I come back you’re going to try on the dresses I give you and then we’re going to get some food because, goddamnit, I’m almost ready to start eating again.’

Outside the changing room, my mum sat fiddling with her phone. ‘Are they done, dear?’ she asked, not taking her eyes off the screen. ‘Are we leaving?’

‘No, but we’re nearly there.’ I pulled my own phone out of my bag and checked for messages from Alex. ‘Everything OK?’

‘Just playing Scrabble with your aunt Maureen.’ She didn’t even look up at me. ‘I’m winning.’

‘Of course you are.’ I didn’t doubt it for a second. Even if she wasn’t, she’d cheat. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’

Between the two of them, Louisa and Jenny had pretty much plundered every single dress on the floor of Selfridges, and I was starting to feel like I was suffering from couture blindness. I couldn’t see the wood for the trees. There was only one thing for it − I needed a palate cleanser. Bags and shoes. Bags and shoes. Riding the escalator downstairs, my eye was immediately drawn to a bright orange satchel sat on top of a mirrored cabinet. It screamed Jenny. And beside it, a classic tan leather version that politely announced itself as perfect for Louisa. I twisted my bag until it rested on my bum so it couldn’t see its rivals and headed straight over. They were the perfect bridesmaids’ gifts. I loved bags, Jenny loved bags, Louisa loved bags. And the satchel was quintessentially English while still being high fashion enough for Jenny to want to show it off on the streets of Manhattan. It wasn’t so big as to be obtrusive on the tube, but Louisa could definitely fit a couple of spare nappies and a packet of babywipes in there. I tried not to think about all the things I could carry in one. Totally big enough for an iPad. Perfect for meetings. So shiny and new … ‘No, don’t worry,’ I whispered to my Marc Jacobs. ‘I’m not replacing you.’

As if it could be done.

‘Aren’t they lovely?’ An assistant breezed into view and picked up the orange bag, waving it under my nose. Foul temptress. ‘And they’re so practical. And classic. And—’

‘It’s fine.’ I stopped her in her sales-spiel tracks. ‘I’m sold. Can I get one of the orange and one of the brown?’

‘We’ve actually just got these new ones in today,’ she said, reaching under the counter and producing a black, shimmery patent leather version. She tilted it back and forth under the store lights, letting it shimmer until I was hypnotized. I felt like Mowgli. ‘I love a bit of glitter.’

I looked at my satchel, the tarnished gold fixtures, the scratched and worn leather. It wasn’t ruined, I told myself − it just gave the bag character. It got better with wear and tear. Although maybe if it had a little glittery British cousin, it would be able to recuperate a bit. So really I’d be helping to prolong the life of one bag by buying another. Before I could even finish arguing with myself, my credit card was out, screaming with the weight of the purchases, and all three bags were bought. It was far too easy.

A quick stroll around the make-up counters and an accidental dip into the chocolate shop later and, considerably calmer and poorer, I was headed back up the escalators and deep into the pits of hell. And that’s when I saw it. The perfect bridesmaid’s dress. And someone else was holding it.

‘Excuse me.’ I tapped her on the shoulder and smiled brightly. ‘Could you tell me where you got that dress?’

The woman − tall, with black hair wrapped in a severe bun, lots of lipstick and very little time for my nonsense − held up two identical dresses. They were a blushing ivory colour with a V-neck and a great big black bow tied around the waist. Organza ruffles tumbled over themselves until they reached a pretty, scalloped hemline that I figured would hit both Jenny and Louisa around the knee. I felt like the Terminator. Target assessed and confirmed.