Chapter 17
Seventeen
Maddy stared into the small suitcase that sat open on her bed.
She took out the book she’d packed. And then put it back in.
And then took it back out again decisively.
It wasn’t a space issue. Packing a book was dreaming this weekend would be anything she’d ever choose. And it was probably better not to hope.
A hen weekend. Two whole days.
Maddy had tried in the months since the planning meeting at Hawthorne Manor to convince herself this wouldn’t be terrible.
People liked these things, right? How many times had she seen a gaggle of women in costumes and penis-themed accessories, out on the town, laughing as if nothing had ever been more fun? There had to be a reason.
And if the reason was just booze? That was fine. Maddy could drink her way through this. She’d never been drunk for more than an evening, but she could stay drunk for two days, right? And no one would question it. She’d just look committed.
Her phone buzzed on the bedside table. Maddy grabbed it immediately.
Apparently, she could burn fat whilst merely sipping some special tea that the ancient Egyptians knew all about. Good to know. She marked the email as junk and put down the phone.
She told herself she wasn’t expecting anything in particular. The wedding plans were essentially done. Hawthorne Manor booked. Vendors confirmed. Timelines finalised. Eva’s job was nearly complete. There was no reason for Eva to be emailing her.
Still, Maddy checked in case she’d missed anything. Nothing. She set the phone down again and zipped the suitcase. She was going. Nothing could stop this hen do now. Unless the car crashed on the way.
Wait, was she seriously hoping to be maimed or die to get out of this?
Outside, a hired minibus idled at the curb. Hannah stood beside it in sunglasses despite the grey morning, waving energetically.
‘Bride-to-be!’ she called.
Maddy slapped a smile on her face.
Hannah ran to her (at her?) and enveloped her in a hug. ‘Ready for your last weekend of freedom?’
That was a weird question for two reasons. One: She wasn’t getting married for months still. Two: What the hell would they be doing this weekend that she couldn’t do married?
But you weren’t supposed to ask those kinds of questions. It would be a weird start. Maddy knew that she was as responsible for vibe creation. She was supposed to be fun, goddammit.
‘Absolutely,’ she said weakly.
Inside the minibus, the seating arrangement had already been decided by order of pickup.
Mary waved from the middle row. ‘There you are!’ Mary said warmly. ‘I saved you a seat.’ She was smiling a lot bigger than she usually did. It was weird. No, it was a hen weekend.
At the back sat Maddy and Mary’s boss, Aria, who fell on the eccentric end of the librarian spectrum (oversized red glasses, jumper depicting a chihuahua high-fiving a cat), chatting with Maddy’s mother about collagen loss.
Hannah jumped in. ‘Go time!’
Maddy buckled her seatbelt. The minibus pulled away.
For the first twenty minutes, conversation swirled around her like background noise. Hannah had created an itinerary for the fun. Spa treatments! Alcohol! Food! More alcohol!
Maddy nodded when appropriate.
Her phone sat in her lap. She checked her email. Nothing.
Mary glanced sideways. ‘Waiting for something?’
‘No,’ Maddy said quickly.
Mary smiled and chose not to press. For once, Maddy was glad no one cared enough to ask. How would she explain that she craved the attention of her wedding planner?
For about the hundredth time, Maddy told herself that Eva was not her friend. She was a subcontractor. She could not save Maddy from herself.
But Maddy had opened the compose window twice in the past month before closing it again. There was no professional reason to write to Eva at this stage, and inventing one felt too obvious.
She knew she could have just asked Eva if she wanted to get a coffee. But somehow, it felt too… vulnerable?
Do you want to be my friend? Adults didn’t ask this. They simply accepted whoever came into their lives. Like Mary. Who was currently sipping from a hip flask. Jesus. When did Mary become an alcoholic? Maybe she was just in the hen zone.
Maddy’s phone buzzed again. Mobile bill.
The minibus turned onto a long gravel drive.
The spa hotel emerged gradually through trees: pale stone, wide windows.
It looked quite a lot like Hawthorne Manor, actually.
What was it about getting married that you kept ending up in mansions?
Why did you have to pretend to be the lady of the manor all the time?
Maddy wasn’t wealthy. She’d never been. She never would be.
She was a librarian, for chrissakes. What was the point of renting out a wealthy lifestyle from the people who really lived it?
As with everything about weddings, it was touched with the surreal.
The bus parked up. Everyone began gathering bags. Maddy stepped out into the cool air.
‘We’re here!’ Hannah announced unnecessarily as everyone finished bundling out.
Inside, the lobby glowed with soft lighting and discreet music.
Hannah clapped her hands together. ‘Right! Before we check in,’ she said, grinning, ‘I have a little surprise.’
Maddy felt dread. Was she about to be presented with some kind of costume? Maybe a princess with a penis crown?
‘There’s one more guest,’ Hannah continued. ‘I may have… forgotten to mention her.’
Maddy raised an eyebrow. ‘You forgot a person?’
‘She should be arriving any second,’ Hannah said.
The lobby doors opened behind them. Maddy turned. And stopped breathing.
Eva stepped inside, rolling a small suitcase behind her.
Maddy stared.
Eva looked less formal without her work wardrobe, in a light sweater, her hair looser, expression briefly uncertain as she took in the assembled group.
‘Oh, good,’ Hannah said cheerfully. ‘You found us.’
Maddy was still staring.
Eva’s eyes found Maddy. She gave the smallest, almost apologetic smile.
‘Hello,’ she said.