Tales From a Hen Weekend (44 page)

‘What? What’s the one thing you need to know?’ I ask, warily.

‘That wedding dress. The one your sister made you. Is it still hanging in the wardrobe in her spare room?’

He’s grinning.

‘Piss off!’ I shout. We both burst out laughing at the same time. ‘No! I am
not
wearing that dress! Not ever! Not for anybody! She can sell it! It’s unlucky! I hate it! I never wanted to wear it in the first place! In fact, if I
ever
decide to get married again – if I
ever
get that brave, or that stupid, or that …’

‘Certain?’ he suggests, smiling.

‘Whatever…’ I agree, grudgingly, thinking briefly of Emily and Sean. ‘If that day ever arrives, I’m sticking to my guns this time, and wearing my jeans.’

‘If they ever fit you again,’ he teases, patting my tummy gently.

And I have to admit, at the moment, it’s as unlikely a possibility as me getting married.

There’s something stirring and exciting about this music, I don’t care what anyone says. As soon as it starts up, I feel the flicker of electricity in the air. I can imagine the anticipation inside the church. Rows of friends, sitting straighter in their seats, looking over their shoulders, grinning to each other. Mothers, aunties and grandparents swallowing back lumps in their throats, getting their hankies ready for the emotional moment of that first sight of the bride stepping down the aisle.

‘Come on then, sweet’eart,’ says Emily’s dad. He’s a big man with a deep gruff voice. I used to be a bit nervous of him many years ago when I first met him, because he looks like he beats people up for a living. But I catch a wobble in his voice as he adds, ‘Let’s get this show on the road,’ and leads his only child into the church for her wedding.

I’m walking behind them with Emily’s cousin Laura who’s the other bridesmaid. It’s a cold, bright afternoon in early February and we’re wearing warm, dark red dresses with just a few flowers in our hair. It’s enough. It’s fine. I did worry about whether I’d get into the dress after Thomas was born, but I needn’t have done: breastfeeding a hungry baby every three or four hours seems to have acted like an automatic crash diet and Harry keeps telling me that motherhood must suit me because I look better than ever. Of course, he’s biased. He loves me.

There he is, on his feet near the front of the church, turning round – supposedly to look at the bride like everyone else – but his eyes seek out mine instead and I find myself smiling straight back at him. At Harry, and at my baby son, cradled fast asleep in his arms. My man, with my child.

When I think about how my life has turned around, it almost makes my head spin. Was I really planning to marry Matt such a short time ago? I’m watching him now. He’s the best man, standing at the front of the church with the bridegroom. He steps to one side as the bride approaches, and I see him give an encouraging squeeze to Sean’s arm and a smile of approval to Emily. He’s a good guy. I’m glad we’re going to stay in touch – for Thomas’ sake. Despite everything he said, he has been round to see him since he was born a month ago – only the once, mind you, and he didn’t want to hold him – but I noticed something flicker across his face when I referred to him as
Daddy.
It may just have been irritation, of course. We’ll see. I realise the fact of the baby has put a strain on his relationship with Claire, and, strangely enough, I do want them to be happy. I think it comes from being so happy myself.

Laura and I go to our own seats while the vicar starts the wedding service.

Dearly beloved … we are gathered here together…

Yes, we are. All
my
dearly beloved are gathered here today. Jude and Conor are over from Ireland. There’s a lot of speculation amongst Emily, Sean, Harry and myself that they’re going to be the next couple planning a trip down the aisle. They’ve even been making very clucky noises over Thomas’s cot.

I sneak a glance a couple of rows back, where Mum’s sitting between Auntie Joyce and Lisa. Lisa’s got her arm tucked through the arm of the man sitting next to her and looks as though she’s melting into him. Andy. She might still be dithering over whether he’s
The One
, but from where I’m sitting, he’s certainly doing a good impression of it
.
The children apparently like him, he’s talking about marrying her as soon as the divorce is through, and she’s obviously crazy about him. Why’s she still hesitating?

But then, I’m a good one to talk, aren’t I?

My gaze shifts to Mum. She looks radiant in a new cream dress and navy blue jacket. I thought this wedding might upset her by bringing back memories of the one I cancelled but she’s smiling and serene and I suddenly realise: she looks happy. She
is
happy. This thought makes me smile too, as I turn back to concentrate on the wedding service.

I found out about Mum at Emily’s hen party. Emily wanted it as close as possible to the wedding date so that Jude could be here for both. That suited me fine, as it gave me a bit of time to recover from the birth. I’d spent Christmas at Mum’s, with the whole family fussing around me because I was so hugely pregnant and apparently incapable of doing anything. And since Thomas had arrived, two weeks early on the second of January, I’d been floating around at home in a haze of hormones and confusion, being waited on and helped by a constant stream of visitors: Mum, Joyce, Lisa and the children, Emily and Sean, Helen and Greg, Felicity Blake, various neighbours from my street, and of course Harry. It was a good thing I’d had so much help, as I barely knew which end of the baby was up to begin with, but by now I was feeling calmer, rested and in control.

Of course, despite my pregnancy dopiness, I’d noticed something about Mum over Christmas. She wasn’t drinking at all; not the customary pre-Christmas-dinner sherry, not a single glass of wine with the meal, not a brandy or a port afterwards. Because I wasn’t drinking myself, it took a while to sink in that nobody was. There was water on the dinner table, and a fruit juice punch in the evening. There was a lot of laughter and merriment – but no booze.

‘She’s doing really well,’ agreed Lisa when I mentioned it to her. ‘Her AA group really seems to be helping.’

‘You’re looking great!’ I told Mum. ‘Younger than ever.’

‘Thank you, dear. I do feel better these days.’ She looked away, and then added, quietly, ‘I’ve got my self-respect back.’

I gave her a hug.

‘Well done. We’re all very proud of you.’

‘Oh, but I haven’t achieved anything. It isn’t over. It’s an ongoing battle, you see. You know what they say: One day at a time.’

‘And you’re achieving
that
. No wonder you feel better.’

The hen evening was at a pub near Emily’s place, two days before the wedding. I drove over during the day and left Thomas with Mum. It seemed strange, getting dressed up to go out, putting on make-up and high heels and pretending I was still the same young, free, single girl I was before the second of January, when in fact I was now the mother of this tiny boy who depended on me completely. Gone were the days when I could roll home drunk in the early hours of the morning and spend the next day in bed with a hangover. I smiled as I bent to kiss my sleeping baby son goodbye. I wouldn’t change a thing!

There was only a small group of us in the pub: Emily; her mum and cousin; Karen and Suze; three or four of Emily’s friends from work; Jude, Lisa and myself. Emily had been determined that this would be a quiet, low-key evening.

‘Katie’s weekend in Dublin was more than enough for anyone!’ she said jokingly.

‘This is more like Mum’s famous hen night at Southend!’ commented Lisa, which was greeted by a chorus of groans.

‘Not funny,’ I pointed out. ‘Not now we know how it ended up.’

‘That’s true. Your poor mum,’ said Emily sadly.

‘Not so poor, now, actually,’ smiled Lisa.

‘No,’ I agreed. ‘She looks so much better – happier – she says she’s got back her self respect now that she’s not drinking.’

For a moment everyone looked down warily at the wine glasses in their hands. I chuckled and took another gulp of my orange-juice.

‘It doesn’t do you any good, you know, girls!’ I teased.

‘Will you listen to the cheek of her, sanctimonious madam, just because she can’t have a glass or two herself!’ exclaimed Jude.

‘Maybe we
should
all cut down a bit?’ pondered Lisa.

‘Nah!’ retorted Emily, knocking back the contents of her glass and slamming it down on the table. ‘Not tonight! Tonight’s my hen night and we’re all getting sozzled. Apart from Katie, of course. Can’t have my godchild being breastfed second-hand white wine, can we, now?’

‘And anyway,’ added Lisa after everyone had followed suit and emptied their glasses, ‘there’s more to the new perky, happy Mum than meets the eye.’

‘How d’you mean?’

‘You really haven’t noticed, have you! For God’s sake – I know you’re all caught up in the throes of new motherhood …’

‘And new
lurve
-hood!’ added Emily with a glint in her eye.

‘But you must be going in and out of Mum’s house with your eyes and your ears closed!’

‘Why? What’s going on?’

‘She dresses up to the nines to go out to her AA meetings.’

‘So? I’m pleased for her. It’s good that she’s taking an interest in her appearance again, now she’s stopped drinking.’

‘And she’s on the phone all the time, giggling and going all pink and excited like a teenager.’

‘Yes. I
had
noticed that. I’m glad she’s in touch with her friends again.’

‘
Katie
! She’s got a
boyfriend.
’

My mum – a boyfriend?

‘Close your mouth, Katie! You’ll start dribbling in a minute!’ laughed Karen.

‘But – I can’t believe it!’ I gulped. ‘I mean – she hates men! She never wants anything to do with them.’

‘Well, she seems to have changed her mind since she met Bob,’ said Lisa meaningfully.

‘Who the bloody hell’s Bob?’

And what are his intentions towards my mother?

‘He’s a member of her group. A widower. He seems really nice.’

‘You’ve met him?’ I stared at Lisa accusingly. ‘You never said!’

‘Look, I’ve only just met him the other day – and only because he happened to call round when I was there. She hasn’t said anything to you yet because she thinks you’ve got enough on your plate with the baby. Didn’t want to worry you.’

‘Well, it
has
worried me. I mean, what do we know about him? How old is he? Where does he live? What did his wife die of? He could have bumped her off for all we know!’

‘Katie!’ exclaimed Lisa, laughing out loud. ‘Give it a rest! She’s dating this guy – not marrying him! Let her be happy!’

‘Lisa’s right, Katie,’ Jude soothed me. ‘Sure we all have to take a chance on being happy, do we not, so?’

I looked around at them all: my lovely bride-to-be, Emily, who was taking her chance in getting married, despite my experience, despite all the statistics about break-ups and separations, divorces and misery; my oldest friend Jude, who seemed like a different person since she’d fallen for Conor; my sister Lisa, who’d taken the plunge and got out of her loveless marriage; they were all making a bid for happiness in one way or another. Why shouldn’t Mum do the same?

‘Here’s to happiness,’ I said, raising my orange-juice glass. I smiled around the table at them all. ‘Here’s to friends, and families … and lovers!’

‘Especially the lovers!’ muttered Jude with a growl, making us all laugh again.

‘And for God’s sake, somebody, get another round in – how can we drink a toast with empty glasses!’ said Suze irritably. ‘Is this a hen party or a fucking wake?’

We’ve got to the part where the vicar tells the groom he can kiss the bride. They’re smiling at each other in a way that somehow makes me ache inside. Will that ever be me? Will I ever actually do it one day – walk up that aisle, make those promises, walk back out of the church arm in arm with my own new husband the way Emily is now, grinning at the congregation, happy and secure and
married
?

I don’t know. I think it’s still what I want – eventually. It’s still the ultimate dream – one man, one love, for the rest of my life. I catch Harry’s eye again as I follow the bride past the end of his pew. He’s smiling at me and I feel a rush of love for him. Maybe, after all, it’ll come true for me. It happens in the books I read; it can happen in real life – and perhaps, you know, I’m still a romantic at heart. And what a bizarre tale it would be to tell my grandchildren one day: how I met my future husband – on my own hen weekend!