Bessy’s #2
I feel them all waiting for my reaction, but what is there to say when your fiancé tells your best friend he thinks he’s hotter than you?
I had always known it to be true, but somewhere in me, I’ve carried a hope that he sees me differently than I see myself.
Even so, it seems unnecessarily cruel, very un-Josh-like, to confess this to my best friend.
Nina puts her hand on my arm as a bit of comfort. I feel too embarrassed to talk. I want to forget this moment, even though I am sure it will haunt me forever. I give Nina a reassuring smile and move things along.
‘What’s the next question?’ I ask.
‘Who is smarter?’ Rebecca says.
‘Me.’
‘Yes, you.’
‘Which is why the promotion makes zero sense, but oh well. Karma is coming,’ Nina says.
‘What do you mean by karma is coming?’ I ask.
Nina raises her eyebrows and smiles to herself. She’s definitely up to something.
‘Hey! No work talk,’ Rebecca demands. ‘Okay, what is the best sex position?’
‘Missionary?’ I guess.
Rebecca sucks some air in. ‘Nope. Doggy.’
Doggy? I can’t remember the last time he came from behind.
‘Surely you guys must be in sync about that stuff now?’
Again, another silence.
‘Maybe he likes doggy because he doesn’t like looking at my face?’ I joke. Nobody laughs. ‘Or maybe I—’
I stop talking and almost drop my mug of tea. Linda Butters is in the cafe, coming towards us. What. The. Actual. Fuck.
‘Sorry we’re late,’ Linda says.
‘Linda,’ I say as I get up and hug her. ‘You’re here.’ I stare at Rebecca behind Linda’s back. Rebecca looks at me as if she thought I knew Linda was coming. There was an extra chair at our table, but I didn’t think anything of it. In fact, there are two spare chairs. Did she say, sorry we’re late?
‘Laura is just parking the car,’ Linda says as if reading my mind. Oh, Josh’s sister is coming to my hen party too. Isn’t that brilliant?
Linda doesn’t take long to dominate the conversation with her favourite topic – Josh.
She tells us about when he shoved a button up his nose as a toddler.
And how he used to eat all his advent calendar chocolates on the first of December.
Rebecca keeps adding fuel by asking questions.
Nina looks bored as sin, whilst Abi is entertaining herself by cutting a slice of cucumber into tiny pieces.
Laura is on her phone as usual. She doesn’t want to be here as much as I don’t want her to be here.
The squeak of Bessy’s trolley gives us all a moment of peace from Linda.
Bessy takes the empty sandwich plates away and then replaces them with a cake tower. Rebecca is on her phone again.
‘If the temperature is not too hot or cold, then put Benson in. Yes, he does cry a lot.’
Abi and Nina are slouched in the yellow chairs, slowly being put to death by Linda as she goes on about Josh’s teen era.
‘Is that a policeman?’ Laura says, interrupting Linda mid-flow.
We all look up and see a policeman in sunglasses, his head inches from the ceiling. His light blue shirt is too small for his muscles, but I’m guessing that’s the point. He speaks to Bessy, and she nervously points to our table. Oh no.
‘Officer Harry Hung here. I am looking for an Amy Elman,’ he says, in a Liverpudlian accent that reminds me of Sporty Spice. He bends his hips forward. ‘One of you must be her.’
I hover my hand in the same way my pupils do when they don’t want to be noticed.
‘Oh, Amy, you’ve been a bad, bad girl,’ he says. ‘I’m going to punish you with my baton.’ He gets his Bluetooth speaker out from his bag. ‘Just give me a second.’ He puts it on the table and then tries to connect his phone to it. ‘Fuck’s sake,’ he mutters.
‘We really don’t have to do this,’ I say.
The music begins to play ‘SexyBack’. Officer Harry Hung yanks my chair and spins me to face him.
Linda makes a little ‘Oh’ sound. He throws off his sunglasses.
He must be about 35. He begins wriggling about, doing that funny roll with his belly.
I sit on my hands and try to look at anything else but the thrusting man in my face.
All I can focus on are the pictures of dead Larry staring at me.
Officer Harry Hung unbuttons his tight light blue shirt, revealing his waxed, tanned, slightly wrinkled four-pack.
He takes the shirt off, and I see a snail trail of thick dark hair from his belly button to his belt.
Suddenly one leg is up on the chair, and all I see is his bulge. The music stops.
‘Oi! You’re messing up my act,’ the stripper snaps, with his crotch by my mouth. Bessy has the speaker in her hand.
‘What is wrong with your generation? So sexual, all the time,’ Bessy shouts.
We don’t reply. ‘This is not a whore house. This is my cafe. Please take your . . . your . . . policeman and leave right now.’ The elderly customers look horrified; the one who was covering her ears earlier is now covering her eyes.
‘Eee . . . I thought this was odd,’ Officer Harry Hung is frowning at me as if it was my idea for him to strip in an old ladies’ cafe, in the middle of the afternoon.
‘You thought it was odd?’ I say.
‘The bird who booked me said it would be sound.’
‘What bird?’ I ask.
‘Women are not birds,’ Nina shouts across the table.
‘I don’t know. Lucy? I speak to a zillion women a week.’
‘Lace?’ I say.
‘That’s the one.’
I had an idea that this was Lace’s doing.
I would typically be furious, but Officer Harry Hung has been a blessing in disguise.
I don’t know how much more Battenberg cake I can stomach, and the tea is not cutting it now that Linda is here.
If she insists on talking about the wonders that is Joshua Craig Butters at my hen party, then I will need something a little stronger. Or even better, to go home.
Bessy comes back over with her hands on her hips to hurry us up.
‘YES, we’re leaving,’ Rebecca snaps. We get up, and Tim rings again. As we leave, Bessy makes us apologise to Larry and tells us never to come back to her cafe. That won’t be difficult.
We’re waiting by the river for Rebecca to finish her phone call.
I am now ￡10 short because Officer Harry Hung guilt-tripped me into tipping him for doing a one-quarter striptease.
I told him I had no cash, so he whipped out his card reader.
Somehow, I’ve ended up spending ￡10 to see a man’s belly fluff.
Abi walks in circles to keep warm while Nina and I stand close together. Linda and Laura have an in-depth conversation about Tupperware.
‘I may get a circular set of Tupperware,’ Laura says.
‘It’s harder to store than the rectangular set. And if you want to use it for your lunch box, a circular Tupperware is not ideal for sandwiches.’ Linda replies. She sounds like she could be talking about something as serious as a cancerous mole.
I zone out as I try to think of ways to escape my own hen party.
After the bathroom incident this morning and having Josh admit that he thinks he’s more attractive than me, I’m not feeling very bride-to-be-y.
I think of that woman on her hen party, Beth, I think her name was, who was pole dancing on the Victoria line.
She was on top of the world, glowing with confidence, the way she is supposed to be.
She was, after all, about to marry the love of her life.
I deserve to feel like that on my hen party – so why don’t I?
I do the last button up on my coat and hold in my tears.
Rebecca is off the phone and is walking towards us. Something isn’t right.
‘Benson won’t stop wailing. I’ve never heard Tim sound so stressed. I need to go back.’ She looks like she is about to cry herself. ‘But guys, please carry on. I have a table booked at Be At One.’
I want to hug Tim for being so useless. ‘Please don’t worry. I think I’m done anyway,’ I say.
‘Amy, it’s your hen party,’ Rebecca says.
‘Honestly, I don’t feel great.’ I rub my stomach. ‘Don’t think that Battenberg agreed with me.’
Nina and Abi put on a good show of trying to persuade me to stay out, but I can tell they are relieved. Laura, too, seems pleased.
‘Ah, shame,’ she says and makes a sad face for a second. The only person who is genuinely upset is Linda.
‘But we’ve just got here,’ she says, and her Clarks heel does a little stomp. I rub my stomach again to double down on the Battenberg excuse.