Chapter 2 #3
Bianca doesn’t get a chance to finish that because Aunty Celeste gets up and hits her with quite a sizeable handbag.
Someone claps. Ouch. That will leave a mark.
The table suddenly becomes a sea of arms and spittle and high-pitched insults, and I notice the tears forming in Tiffany’s eyes as she crouches beside me, her hair still caught in my bells.
‘Come with me, there’s a disabled toilet over there…
Can you maybe shuffle over with me?’ I ask her.
She nods, in a strange crouching position and we sidestep over tentatively.
A line of people waiting by a chocolate fountain clock me and burst into hysterics.
I flip them the finger. As we enter the toilet, I close the door behind us.
‘I grew my hair out for the wedding,’ she says, tears rolling down her cheeks, one of her fake lashes giving up on her and trying to leave her face. ‘Do you think we’ll have to cut it?’
I look down, the throbbing music outside the door and sweat in my eyes not helping me or bringing any calm to this situation.
‘So I’m going to suggest something. I don’t want you to think anything of it, but I think it’ll be easier if I take the shorts off.
I have underwear on underneath and then it’ll be easier to see what I’m doing. ’
Big, drunk eyes look up at me and she nods. I’m grateful at this moment for an elasticated waist, trying to be gentle as I step out of the shorts, which are left hanging there off her head of hair. And I am here. In my underwear. I reach over to the sink.
‘I’m just going to use some hand soap to try to loosen the hair and… Please don’t cry…’ I ease my fingers over where her hair is trapped, thinking back to a time we had to do this with my sister who had gum in her hair. I may have put the gum there. The shorts finally fall to the floor.
‘See, no cutting needed,’ I say, relieved, hurriedly redressing, watching her run her fingers through her hair. She collapses to the floor and sits there, backed on to the door.
‘I’m so sorry. What a bloody disaster of a day.’
‘But we detangled you…’
‘I mean the drama out there. Bianca being a total lech…’
‘It’s part of the job. I’m frankly a little more scared of your Aunty Celeste, she’s a handsy one.’
She giggles through her tears and I pass her a bit of hand towel to blot her face.
‘Your name isn’t Douglas, is it? The agency told my sister different.’
‘I’m Joe.’
‘Well, thank you, Joe. I am sorry.’
‘I’ve seen much worse.’
‘Really?’
‘I was on a party bus once and someone’s maid of honour got so drunk, she tried to step off the bus while it was still moving. She broke both her legs.’
Tiffany guffaws, still crying, snot flying out of her face with some velocity. She wipes it off with the back of her hand.
‘I’m such a mess…’
‘It’s allowed. It’s your hen. What’s your groom up to today?’
There is a sudden flicker in her eyes when I mention him, and she beams at me. It’s a warming change of emotion.
‘He’s having a weekend on a boat in Marbella. His name is Robbie.’
‘And when’s the big day?’
‘Sixth of January, the twelfth day of Christmas. It’s all themed. All the tables are named after a part of the song.’
I want to make a joke about maids a-milking without sounding coarse, but I do like how talk of Robbie and her impeding nuptials brings her happiness, calm.
‘He also chose you an excellent ring.’ Tiffany looks at me strangely and I point to her hand. ‘May I?’ She extends it for me, and I take it in mine. ‘Marquis cut, incredibly clear diamond, classy with the rose gold, too.’
‘You know rings?’ she asks me.
‘I work part-time in a jewellers’. That is a ring from someone with impeccable taste but then look at you,’ I tell her, despite the make-up falling off her face and her hair starting to foam where I put the hand soap.
She beams at me and then reaches into her bra.
Crikey, lady, I was just being nice. She pulls out one hundred quid in notes.
‘Here. You are really nice. Take this. Please go.’
I shake my head. ‘But you have me for another two hours,’ I explain.
‘Mate, I’m going back to my hotel. I’ll leave them to fight it out, but I am going to get a Nando’s and go eat it in bed and pass out,’ she says, still swaying slightly from the booze. I like how it’s still the afternoon and this is the plan.
‘Can I call you an Uber?’ I ask.
She grabs both my cheeks. ‘Sweet Joe. The politest bloody stripper I’ve ever met in my life. You’re so lovely. You’re very good looking, aren’t you? You look like a young Zac Efron with better eyebrows.’
‘My mum tells me that, but she’s biased.’
‘Your mum is so right. But I am relieving you of your duties,’ she says, grabbing my chin with one hand and all at once, I like that she’s not seeing this as a moment to have one final fling with singledom, that behind those drunken eyes is a girl ready to get married, whose heart belongs to another.
I open the door but as I do, a man dressed all in black puts an arm around me.
‘Alright, Jingles?’ he says menacingly. ‘This isn’t that sort of establishment, mate. Out you go.’
Tiffany widens her eyes, slinking away before they can get to her. The group by the chocolate fountain cheer loudly. Oh, knob off.
‘This isn’t what you think…’ I explain, reaching over to the table where we were sitting, grabbing my bag.
‘Yeah, yeah… Were you taking turns to have a wee? Admiring the flooring? I’ve heard it all before…’
As I’m escorted out, I glance over and see that Tiffany and her hens are still mid-fight. Aunty Celeste radiates with rage, one is asleep under the table and Bianca is sobbing over a broken phone. Tiffany catches my eye and waves.
‘And she’s getting married,’ the bouncer says, shaking his head, casting his judgement a little too vehemently.
I shrug his arm off. ‘I’ll walk myself out. Don’t mind me.’
As I exit the venue, I get a couple of wolf-whistles from the line of people waiting to go in.
‘Alright, Dopey!’
Leave it. ‘Dopey was a dwarf, I am an elf,’ I say, re-educating them.
I get out my phone. It’s only 3 p.m. On the 23rd December.
I may as well go home. Time to find my car and maybe treat myself to a decent Deliveroo to see in the season.
I remember I have money in my pants. That’s the difference between a meal deal and Wahaca.
But it’s then that my phone starts to ring.
I reach around to get it out of my bag, glancing at the screen, confused as I look at the name of the caller.
‘Mr Caspar?’
‘Oh my, Joe. I am so glad you answered,’ he says, sounding surprised.
‘Is everything alright? I wasn’t due in today.’
‘Could you get down to the shop though?’
‘Now? Why?’
‘Yes. It’s just… Eve…’
*
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