Chapter 7
There is indeed cake. There is indeed dancing. There is indeed a group of – by now – inebriated women, all doing a conga around the main room of the Starshine Inn to the delicate sounds of the Vengaboys and their Vengabus. It is absolutely hilarious, and also strangely tiring.
By the time I crash down onto a seat, I am sweating so much that I have to wipe my face with a napkin. My hair is loose and damp, so I tie it up into a messy knot at the back of my head, glamorous as ever. I’d started the evening in a nice, embroidered blouse with a bit of a peasant girl vibe, but I’m now so hot I’ve discarded it, and am wearing a white vest top that I’ve spilled a raspberry jelly vodka shot all over. It looks a bit like someone’s blasted my chest with a shotgun.
None of that matters, though, because everyone is way too happy and drunk to care – that marvellous thing has happened, where you put a bunch of women in a room and the whole place just turns into the screechiest party ever. The Starshine Inn is a gorgeous old place, with beamed ceilings and a big open fireplace and a long dark-wood bar – it’s probably usually pretty classy. Tonight, though, it’s not classy at all – because we’re here.
Cally collapses down next to me, fanning her face with a beer mat, her boobs almost spilling out of her wrap dress neckline. I think she may have over-congaed.
Rose is still dancing now the music’s changed, doing all the Vogue moves to Madonna, alongside Connie’s daughter, Sophie. Connie herself is lying on the floor staring at the ceiling, as though she’s waiting for it to stop spinning. Next to her is a life-size cardboard cut-out of Daniel Craig as James Bond, and she occasionally looks at him and says something. I dread to think what.
The whole room is decorated with life-size cardboard cut-outs, in fact – Jason Momoa as Aquaman, Henry Cavill in a tuxedo, Keanu in his ankle-length black leather trench coat, and my personal favourite, Poldark with a cardboard scythe in his hand. It’s quite the star-studded guest list.
Ella – decorated in a “bride-to-be” sash and L-plates – has been around the room having her picture taken with them all, and Katie has followed behind fondling them in a far less decorous way. She’s completely wasted by this stage, but seems happy enough.
Priya and Ella come to sit with us, and Katie gives Henry a pat on the cardboard bum before she makes her way back to the table. Her cheeks are bright red and her curls are floating around her face like she’s had an electric shock. We all look splendid.
“So, where are the men again?” asks Katie, grasping her cocktail glass.
“We’ve sent them away for their own safety,” replies Ella, laughing.
“Even Trevor?”
“Especially Trevor.”
Ella glances at her phone and adds: “Actually they’ll probably be here before too long. They’ve been doing something manly – rock climbing or paintballing or fishing or having pedicures or whatever. I know it involved the village minibus at least.”
“I bet they’ve gone to a lap dancing bar,” suggests Katie.
Ella considers this, frowns, and says: “I don’t think there is one anywhere near here.”
Katie stands up and does a lewd bump and grind, announcing that there’s clearly a gap in the market.
“Come on, ladies – this could be a whole new career for us!”
We are still laughing at her performance when suddenly, all the lights go down low. At first I think it’s some kind of power cut, which I know from my own home can happen in rural areas, but there’s none of the tell-tale flicker – it’s just that the overheads have been switched off, and only the little wall lamps in the alcoves are glowing.
The jukebox goes just as suddenly silent, and I spot Matt, who works behind the bar, giving us a thumbs up. I have no idea what’s going on, but I return the gesture anyway. It seems rude not to.
I notice Connie rolling herself upright, and giving Daniel Craig a quick kiss before she wobbles over in our direction. She’s wearing a bright yellow jumpsuit that makes her look like a sexy banana, and manages to squeeze herself in between me and Ella on the red-velvet banquette.
She picks up my drink and sips it, and says: “I arranged a special treat, ladies!”
Ella meets my eyes, and we both make a “no clue” face. Just then, music starts to blare from the speakers. It takes me a few moments to recognise it, but once the chorus kicks in I get it – Sowing the Seeds of Love by Tears for Fears.
As the song blasts out, the door to the inn opens, and four youngish men stride towards us, swaying in time to the music. They’re all dressed in plaid shirts with gilets on top, old-fashioned flat caps, and their jeans are tucked into their wellington boots. Each one of them is chewing a long stem of straw. As they sashay towards us, I see that each of them is holding a small hessian bag, and they are scattering… well, the seeds of love, I suppose.
They line up in front of us, all of them strapping and cute in that healthy outdoorsy way, and I see the exact moment that Ella realises what’s happening. It is possibly the funniest thing I have ever witnessed in my life.
“Oh God, no,” she mutters under her breath, her hands flying to her cheeks. “Ged, no… please don’t!”
Ella, of course, isn’t even drunk, which makes all of this even more entertaining for the rest of us. Ged, I presume, steps to the front and gives her a cheeky wink. He’s the tallest of the lads, blonde-haired and blue-eyed, and I see Rose and Sophie start to dissolve into fits of giggles off to one side. Everyone else gathers around, and Katie actually jumps up onto the seat and starts cheering. Her dreams have all come true.
Ged and his pals are gyrating around just about in time with each other, still sowing their seeds of love – it’s going to make a terrible mess on the carpet, I can’t help thinking – as Connie leans towards us.
“Give them a chance, Ella – it’s only a bit of fun! They’re called Jolly Ged and the Funky Farmhands – it’s a group of lads who work the land in the area, and… well, they got bored, and thought they might earn a bit of money on the side doing this! I think maybe they watched The Full Monty or something.”
The song draws to a close, and I feel Ella shrivel up beside me as the new one kicks in – I’m Too Sexy by Right Said Fred.
What the Funky Farmhands lack in coordination, they make up for in enthusiasm – and every time they reach the chorus, they replace the real word in the song with one of their own, yelling it at the top of their voices. They are, to start off with, too sexy for their gilets – and off they come, cast to the crowd. They’re also too sexy for their flat caps, their plaid tops, and their jeans – which they’ve somehow engineered to rip off from the front, so their legs are bare but they’re still wearing their wellies.
“One of their mums must have made those for them,” Connie speculates, as the now topless farmers strut around the room pretending they’re on a catwalk. They’re wearing nothing but their wellies, and tight white cotton Y-fronts. I am secretly hoping that they leave it there, because I’m certainly not ready to face anything more.
Every woman in the room is screeching with laughter, yelling out encouragement, and making a grab for every item of clothing that is discarded. It’s like the Chippendales if they were featured on Countryfile.
Katie is chanting, “Off, off, off!”, and Ella is chanting, “On, on, on!”, and Priya is laughing so much that tears are actually streaming down her face.
When the song ends, the lads move their hands to the waistbands of their pants, and I shield my eyes in anticipation – but when I peek through my fingers a few seconds later, I see that although the pants have been ripped off, they are all still just about decent, wearing thongs that enclose their bits in carrot-shaped pouches. They swirl the knickers in the air around their heads, and let them fly – right in our direction. Ella dodges a pair, one lands on Connie’s lap, and Katie manages to grab the others, one in each hand.
She waves them victoriously above her, and then puts one on my head, like a very rude hat.
The lads all strike a pose once they’re done, and the whole room erupts. All the women I’ve met, some of those I haven’t, and even poor mortified Ella jump to their feet and start cheering. Katie pings a pound coin at one of them, shouting: “Sorry, lads – it’d be more but I don’t have cash. Do you take contactless?”
The lights come back on, and the jukebox starts up again, and Jolly Ged and the Farmhands wander around the room picking up their abandoned clothing. I see Rose hand Ged his flat cap, and can’t fail to notice the look she gives his rear view as he walks away. It is, to say the least, appreciative. My little girl’s growing up too fast.
“Connie, I can’t believe you did that to me!” Ella is saying, poking her friend in the chest. “That was so embarrassing! They’re babies!”
“Oh, come on,” Connie replies, poking her back. “You’re a doctor. You’ve seen it all before. Anyway, it was a laugh.”
“It was,” says Cally, leaning forward to join in, her dark hair swooping across her shoulders. “It was a great laugh. Isn’t it funny how men going to see women stripping feels a bit seedy, but a group of women watching male strippers is just hilarious?”
“I’m not sure hilarious would be the word I’d use,” replies Ella, trying to sound firm but ruining it with the ghost of a smile that’s creeping on her face. “Though I have to say, those carrot thongs were a nice touch.”
“I’d hire ’em,” Katie says, “and there can’t be much competition in this neck of the woods. They’ll be booked out all year.”
Ged himself – now with a gilet over his bare chest – sits down at our table, grinning at the looks on our faces.
“So, what do you think?” he asks. “I reckon we’re onto a solid business model here.”
It’s hard to take someone’s business model seriously while their bits are on display, and I avert my eyes quickly as they drift downwards.
“Definitely,” Katie says, “can I get you lads all a drink? It’s pretty hot in here!”
She makes an exaggerated fanning gesture, and wanders over towards the bar when he says yes. I’ll have to make sure she doesn’t try and sow any of her own seeds of love later on. I’m pretty sure she’d regret it in the morning.
“So, did your mum sew those rippable jeans for you?” asks Connie, apparently completely unmoved by the semi-naked man-hunk sitting next to her. I know she has a son of a similar age, her oldest, James, which might explain why she’s more interested in the wardrobe than what lies beneath.
“Yeah, she did – she’s all up for it, my mum! Reckons I could make my fortune. She says I could even end up dead famous, maybe get on Love Island or something.”
Priya chokes on her drink, and Cally clamps her lips shut tight, as though she’s trying to stop words spilling out. Ella just nods, and says encouragingly: “Well, you were very good, Ged. But why don’t you put some more clothes on? You might catch a chill.”
“Nah, I’m good thanks – harder work than it looks, all that! Is it okay if me and the lads stay for a bit, Doc, or do you ladies want the place to yourself?”
He’s a very polite young stripper, I decide – a credit to his supportive mother.
“Stay as long as you like, Ged,” Ella replies. “Jake and the others are meeting us back here soon anyway.”
“Actually,” he replies, standing up and taking off his gilet again, his carrot thong so close to my face that the phrase you could take someone’s eye out with that comes to mind, “would it be all right if we got some pics with you all for our social media?”
At that point I stand up, ready to escape. I don’t do social media of any kind, and this isn’t the best time to start. I’m trying to clamber over Cally’s legs as Ged shouts the other lads over to join him. Katie comes back with a tray of drinks, and I find myself trapped in a tangle of limbs and glasses and glistening male flesh.
Just then, several things happen all at once. I stumble on Cally’s handbag, and hold out my hands to steady myself. Ged grabs hold of me, and physically lifts me up over the ruck and into his arms. He scoops me up like a baby, my legs dangling in the air, and I yelp and hold on to him.
I squirm uncomfortably, aware that as I wriggle around, wearing a top covered in jelly vodka shots and a pair of Y-fronts on my head, phone camera flashes are going off all around me. I gaze up and see Rose snapping away, her face contorted with laughter.
As I’m telling Ged to please put me down, the pub door opens, and a group of men walk in. It’s Jake, Trevor, a man I know is Cally’s partner, Archie, even though I’ve never spoken to him, and a few others trailing behind. They’re all wearing camouflage gear splattered with neon coloured paint, which explains the mystery of what they’ve been up to.
Ged is kissing my cheek for another photo, and the men walk towards us. Jake pauses, stares, and laughs out loud, pointing at me. He looks back, and shouts for someone to come and look – yes, here I am, I think, a circus act to entertain the masses. I’m trying to break free so I can make a run for it, but Ged’s skin is sweaty and I keep slipping. It’s making me feel a bit panicky, even though I know it’s all harmless – I know that, but my heart rate doesn’t agree.
The small crowd around Jake parts, and a tall man stands by his side, looking in my direction.
Our eyes meet across a crowded pub, and both of us freeze. I go suddenly still in Ged’s arms, reaching up to pull the underwear off my head. The grin the man next to Jake had on his face disappears, replaced with a frown of utter confusion.
“Amelia?” he says, sounding shocked. “Aren’t you supposed to be in New York?”