Chapter 33
Felicity smiled to herself as she watched. Ironic that he’d probably make a great stripper, she thought.
At some point during the morning Felicity managed to excuse herself while they were all transfixed by Jack’s muscled and very dextrous hands, and made some frantic phone calls to see if anywhere at all would be able to host a hostile hen and her eight companions who weren’t even drunk yet.
‘Is this what we’re doing?’ said Bex, ninety minutes later, as they shimmied into a booth in a tiny and very dark corner of the shabby-looking club.
‘Yes,’ said Felicity, trying not to grit her teeth. ‘This is what we are doing now.’
‘Lovely,’ said Bex, curling a lip in disdain as her forearm stuck to the table.
‘We should have brought Jack along after all,’ said Sophie.
Libby and another girl called Karen tittered behind their hands like birds.
To be fair, it was a total dive; noisy, raucous and a little bit seedy somehow, but Felicity was banking on the Prosecco helping things along a little.
Plates of decidedly greasy-looking fry-up were delivered alongside cake stands full of stale pastries which the girls dived into frantically. Anything to line their stomachs.
‘We’re out of Prosecco I’m afraid,’ said a voice next to her ear when she tried to order their drinks. ‘We’ve only got wine but it’s a little bit warm as the fridge has broken. So sorry.’
Although the words sounded apologetic, the waitress looked as though she couldn’t have given less of a damn.
‘I hardly dare ask if you do a vegetarian brunch option,’ said Felicity, with trepidation.
The woman just blinked at her. Stale pastries and warm wine it was then. Dammit. Could this day get any worse?
Oh yes, it very much could.