Bessy’s
Bessy’s
Josh’s stag is going to be watching football and going on a bar crawl.
I’m not sure about the kind of bars, but Pete is organising it, so I imagine the worst kind.
It’s also a big day for Josh because he’s going to be having his first alcoholic drink of the year.
He has given himself the rule of only vodka and soda water like he’s a working woman in the eighties.
I go to the bathroom to take a shower. I open the door, and it takes me a second to gather what’s happening.
JOSH. WANKING. PORN. Josh slams the laptop down, and it falls onto the tiled floor.
SMACK. I close the door. I go back into the bedroom, sit on the bed and stare at nothing as I process what just happened.
I know he has to masturbate like I have to masturbate, but seeing him do it in the bathroom like that makes me cold all over.
Here I am, waiting for him to leave to go to the gym so I can orgasm to a Texan who talks about galaxies.
And there he is, locking himself in the bathroom, watching strangers have sex so he can orgasm.
How did we get here? I used to know every new pimple on his body.
He knew when I had a new lotion on. Those days when we were living apart, we would be so desperate to see each other because we knew we made each other feel better than anyone else in the world.
Now, though, we’re hiding from each other so we can feel pleasure.
I don’t know how I let this happen to us, but I know we need to change, otherwise we’re going to be together, but lonely, for the rest of our lives.
We meet again in the kitchen. It’s been an hour since the ‘walk-in’. I’ve got more make-up on than usual, and I’ve even tried to blow-dry my hair for the occasion. Josh glances at me.
‘Ready for the big hen then, Lab Rat?’ he says.
‘Ready for scones,’ I say, pinching the elastic waist of the purple dress to show how elasticated it is.
He nods slightly disapprovingly. This would be something he would have found funny when we first met, but his new muscles seem to have squeezed out his sense of humour.
I get a coffee mug as he rinses out his flask.
Silence. The elephant has arrived in the kitchen.
Hello, elephant. I’m not going to bring up what happened in the bathroom, but I am curious to see if he’ll try to explain it . . .
‘So,’ he says. I grip the mug handle in anticipation. ‘I was thinking I will allow myself three pints as well as the vodka. What do you think?’ he says, frowning at me like it’s a serious question. There’s my answer: the bathroom incident will be swept under the rug, along with everything else.
‘You don’t need my permission. I’m not your mum,’ I say.
*
I meet Nina and Abi next to the Burger King in Paddington station.
Rebecca comes walking through the crowd on her phone.
She clearly didn’t have time to dress for her own purple theme.
She’s in all black, apart from a thin purple scarf that still has the tag attached to it.
As soon as she gets to us, I snap it off.
‘He’s just tired, Tim. Maybe take him for a walk around the park and then try again.
No, you can’t feed him now. It will mess up his meal times.
The girls are waiting, so I have to go. Any problems, give me a call.
’ She hangs up and exhales. ‘Sorry about that, Tim is looking after Benson for the first time.’
Tim calls again when we’re boarding the train.
We find a table of four. I sit next to Abi, and Nina and Rebecca sit opposite us.
‘Yes, he will need his pram blanket if you’re going out .
. .’ Nina widens her eyes as Rebecca continues instructing Tim.
It’s like Tim has never seen a human baby before.
As Rebecca talks, she lifts four small bottles of Prosecco from her bag, and then Abi goes into her bag and takes out four willy straws.
‘It’s a hen party, isn’t it?’ she says and takes a long suck of her drink.
Rebecca glares at the straw as she finishes her phone call. ‘Okay, Tim, I’ve got to go. Yep. You’ll be fine. Play Elton John, he loves Elton John.’
‘Elton John?’ Abi mouths to Nina and me. We’re as confused as she is.
‘Okay, bye. Bye. Love you too.’ Rebecca turns off the phone and looks away, pensive. Nina opens her mouth. I can tell she’s about to say something feminist.
‘Nina,’ I say and shake my head. She closes her mouth.
‘Everything okay?’ I ask Rebecca.
It takes her a second, and then she raises her Prosecco. ‘Yes! Let’s go, girls! Amy’s hen! Woooo!’
*
We get to Reading. Rebecca leads the way from the station, past the closed clubs and bars.
We go through The Oracle shopping centre.
Rebecca and I used to walk around here aimlessly when we were teenagers.
Girls from our class and local boys would hang by the McDonald’s.
Rebecca and I would sit on the steps with hot chocolates and watch how our classmates changed around the boys.
They played with their hair and squealed at everything.
Rebecca and I convinced each other that we weren’t over there, because we were more mature.
In reality, we were terrified. We wouldn’t have had the slightest idea of how to act if one of the boys ever spoke to us.
That’s why we made sure we stayed together, and far away on the steps.
Rebecca stops us outside a cafe called Bessy’s. ‘Here we are,’ she announces and goes inside.
My stomach drops with disappointment. Bessy’s is a small, yellow-painted cafe with pink bunting and a laminated menu stuck on the window. Nina, Abi and I share the same confused look before we follow Rebecca inside.
Apart from a few elderly people clinking their tea mugs, the place is dead silent.
The tables are covered with flower-patterned cloths, the chairs are painted yellow, and each table has a plastic carnation in a plastic vase.
We’re greeted by Bessy herself, a widow.
We know she’s a widow because there is a candlelit shrine of her dead husband, Larry, next to the window.
‘Say hello to my Larry, girls,’ she says. We all laugh at the joke, but she stands there expectantly.
‘Hello, Larry,’ Abi says first, far too enthusiastically.
‘Hey, Larry.’
‘Hi.’
‘Hey . . . Larry,’ Nina says slowly.
Once that is done, Bessy leads us to the back, where a group of elderly women are buttering their scones with shaky hands. As we sit down, Tim rings again.
‘The wipes are on the top shelf in the bathroom. Yes. Just lift the legs from the ankles . . .’ Nina listens and shakes her head while Abi scans the coffee-ring-stained paper menu. Rebecca gets off her phone with a gigantic sigh.
‘Right, ladies, what are we having?’
‘Tim knows Benson is a human baby, right? Like, not a baby giraffe?’ Nina says.
‘He’s nervous,’ Rebecca says, defending him as always.
‘I don’t think they serve alcohol,’ Abi says, scanning the menu.
‘Well, we can’t drink tea,’ Nina says. Rebecca suddenly goes a little pale. She’s clearly booked an afternoon tea place without checking if it serves alcohol. She calls Bessy over.
‘Oh, no, dear, this is a cafe,’ Bessy says. ‘But the sandwiches are on their way.’ She shuffles away and disappears into the kitchen. We look at Rebecca.
‘Fuck’s sake,’ she says and puts her head in her hands as if she is about to explode.
I comfort her. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll have a nice, civilised tea, and then we can drink after. Right, girls?’
Nina and Abi are clearly not happy, but they put on their best performance.
‘I love tea,’ says Abi.
‘It’s always useful to have a clear head,’ Nina says, grasping at something.
A horrific squeaking sound comes from behind.
We all cover our ears and turn to see Bessy wheeling a trolley with a tower of sandwiches, a teapot, milk and sugar on it.
She parks it next to us, and we wait patiently as she lays it all out on our table and then wheels her squeaky trolley off again.
Rebecca suddenly leans into the table like she’s about to reveal a secret.
‘So, I’ve done something a little cheeky and organised a Mr and Mrs with Josh. I’ve asked him some questions, and I will ask Amy them now to see if their answers match.’
‘And if they don’t match?’ Abi asks, with a mouthful of cucumber sandwich.
‘Then they’re not compatible,’ Nina answers.
Abi scrunches her nose. ‘Bit late now, isn’t it? We’re at her hen party.’
I agree. What good is it now if we’re on different pages about who would most likely go to prison? Or who is the least likely to do the ironing? Still, I’m curious about what questions Rebecca has asked Josh.
‘Go for it, Rebecca,’ I say.
She sits up and begins to read from her phone.
‘Okay, so, how many kids will you have?’
This one is easy, we used to talk about having two kids. Everyone wants two kids, a boy and a girl, who will fit neatly into family holiday packages and taxis.
‘Two.’
‘Correct. Josh said, two.’
‘What is Josh’s happy place?’
‘Easy, the French Alps.’
‘Nope, the gym.’
We all groan in sync. The gym? I know he has a gym obsession, but surely his favourite place in the whole wide world is not some dark room in Vauxhall.
‘Who do you think is the hotter one out of you two?’
‘Josh,’ I say without a beat.
Rebecca doesn’t look at me when she mutters, ‘Yeah, Josh said Josh. Strange.’ She raises her voice. ‘Okay, next question.’
‘Wait . . .’ Abi puts up her hand. ‘He actually said he was the hotter one? What a fucking knobhead.’ She shouts so loud that the elderly woman on the table next to us covers her ears.
‘Abi . . .’ Rebecca whispers.
‘What? It’s a knobhead thing to say,’ Abi says.
‘I agree,’ Nina mumbles.