Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Tom
W here the fuck is the Big Canteen?
As if it’s not enough that my head is being pounded by a hammer drill, I’m also lost.
Again.
The sensible thing would be to ask reception for directions to the Big Canteen, which I did when I returned my key card. It turns out the place doesn’t exist.
Great.
If I weren’t so terrified of incurring Dee’s disdain, I’d abandon the idea of breakfast with the oldies altogether. As it is, I’m left wandering aimlessly around the hotel, haunting the halls like a disorientated ghost.
Today’s plan is simple: I will douse my hangover with coffee and bacon and then find my way back to the stags.
It’s a shame I’m falling at the first hurdle. So far, I’ve found The Dice & Dine , The Jackpot Grill , and The Sin City Sizzler , but there’s not a Big Canteen in sight.
Just when I’m ready to give up, something glaringly gaudy catches my eye across the lobby. I may not have found the Big Canteen, but it’s impossible to miss Gloria. Today, she’s clad from head to toe in neon pink spandex, her portly waist cinched by a green sequinned bumbag that clashes spectacularly with her vivid blue hair. She’s posing with an eight-foot-tall Greek statue, cupping its…assets…in a very unladylike fashion. Dee diligently captures the moment on camera, wearing a beige blouse and a demure checked skirt that’s at complete odds with our lavish surroundings.
“Is your husband going to see that?” I call out, earning myself a startled yelp from Gloria and a deadly glower from her companion.
“You’re late,” Dee says accusingly.
“I might have been on time if I had the name of a real restaurant.”
“Pish,” Gloria tuts, hopping down from the statue’s base. “We couldn’t keep up with the quirky new names for the restaurants, so we came up with our own.”
“It would’ve been handy to know that last night,” I suggest.
“Nonsense. You’re here now,” Gloria says, linking her arm with mine and steering me towards The Jackpot Grill. Who knew.
Seriously. Who knew?
“Hurry up. The queue is going to be unbearable,” Dee snaps as she marches past us.
“She’s not as scary as she looks,” Gloria whispers…loudly. “Dee’s only mean to the people she likes.”
“Well, she must really like me then,” I whisper back, winking.
The restaurant is barely a minute’s walk from the well-endowed statue, and in that short distance, I’ve witnessed one proposal, one drunk man getting tackled by security, and caught a glimpse of a circus act rehearsing at The Sin City Sizzler. I wonder if my stag-slash-hen party is having such an eventful morning.
Dee’s queue fears turn out to be unfounded, and we quickly fill our plates with pancakes (Gloria), bacon and eggs (me), and one single portion of grapefruit (Dee). After a hit of carbs and two cups of coffee, my hangover is finally fading away.
Good riddance.
“So, Tom,” Gloria says around a sticky mouthful of pancake. “Are you joining us for Zumba this morning? It starts in half an hour.”
Well, that explains the spandex.
“As interesting”—awful—“as that sounds, I should really try to find my friends. They must be wondering where I am by now.”
Suddenly, Gloria leaps from her chair, catching the attention of half the room. The more time I spend in Gloria’s company, the clearer it becomes that subtlety is not her forte.
“I can’t believe I forgot,” she shrieks, rummaging around in her glittery bumbag to pull out
“My phone!” I gasp, snatching it from her triumphant hands.
“Now you can call your friends and say you’ll meet them after Zumba,” Gloria declares smugly.
“Where did you find it?”
“The porter gave it to me. He said he recognised your screen photo as the idiot who smashed glass all over the lobby and then walked off ,” Gloria air quotes. “He saw us together last night and asked if I’d return it.”
I drop back into my seat, hurriedly unlocking my phone to find…
No notifications.
Literally, none.
Am I so flighty that not a single person is concerned that I didn’t make it back to the hotel? Okay, so I’ve gone missing on a few nights out before, but I’m five thousand miles from home, for God’s sake. Hell, if Jamie vanished, a search party would be organised within the hour.
At what point did I become the unreliable friend? The one everyone assumes has abandoned them to follow a stranger into bed?
Gloria and Dee finish their breakfasts while gossiping about various regulars at the hotel, but I’ve lost my appetite. The realisation that not even the groom is worried about my disappearance from his stag party is giving me a bad case of hangxiety. The whole situation has me itching to hit the gym, or better yet, the track, to distract myself from the sinking feeling in my gut.
The simple solution is to text Anthony, apologise, and find the address of our hotel. But screw that. I’m going to wait and see how long it takes them to worry that I’m gone.
In a very mature, not-at-all-sulky move, I switch off my phone and return my attention to the mismatched duo beside me. I bet they’d care if I went missing. Well, Gloria would, at any rate.
“So, ladies,” I say, interrupting their chatter with forced enthusiasm. “Did someone say Zumba?”