Chapter 15
15
Given the boys’ little stunt yesterday, when they changed the code for the front door (and even though they have changed it back), we don’t exactly trust them to keep things amicable. So, rather than hope they don’t do it again, we’ve taken custody of one of the back door keys, so we can always let ourselves in and out, whether the boys want us to or not.
Walking through the side gate, into the back garden, it’s like walking into another world. Gone is the serene, relaxing beautiful pool and firepit area – the kind that would make even Love Island contestants jealous – instead what we’re walking into looks more like a scene from Naked and Afraid (just thankfully minus the awkward naked people).
‘Bloody hell, it looks like a bomb went off,’ Nita blurts.
It really does. There’s just crap everywhere. There’s stuff floating in the pool, litter, garden cushions scattered around, chairs turned over.
‘What is wrong with them?’ Lou asks no one in particular.
‘It’s such a mess,’ Willow says with a sigh.
‘I think it’s called a disaster zone,’ Lou replies flatly, gently moving an overturned chair with the tip of her flip-flop. ‘How does this even happen? It’s been, what, two hours?’
‘They’re like toddlers,’ Nita says, shaking her head. ‘Drunk, unsupervised toddlers who need a timeout.’
I can’t help but smile, because I see what they’re doing here, and it’s kind of brilliant – but completely annoying for us.
‘It’s about as trashed as it can get without anything being ruined,’ I point out. ‘It’s the perfect mess – too perfect. They’ve done this to try to rattle us. I mean, come on, there are tampons everywhere, but we left them out. This is a retaliation.’
‘Okay, so what do we do?’ Nita asks.
‘We trash the kitchen,’ Willow suggests.
‘No, let’s not trash anything,’ I say quickly. ‘Let’s just do the last thing they will expect. Let’s just go and talk to them. Calm and rational. Reasonable. We’re adults, we shouldn’t be making messes in communal spaces.’
‘I mean, that sounds very reasonable and rational,’ Lou replies. ‘I’m just not sure what you’re expecting to get out of a group of lads who have decorated a palm tree with tampons.’
I can’t help but snort with laugher.
‘They’ve only done that because we left them out, in their way, to try and bother them,’ I say again. ‘We’ve hit the ball to them, they’ve hit it right back.’
‘I still think we should hit them,’ Willow says.
‘I could actually be on board for trying violence,’ Nita (presumably – hopefully, even) jokes.
‘Molly is right,’ Lou says as we walk towards the villa. ‘The mess is too perfect, too curated. The way the bag of crisps has been poured out artfully on the floor, like an abstract painting.’
‘Right?’ I reply. ‘They’ve tried too hard.’
‘Did they have to burst the flamingo float?’ Nita says, clearly disappointed, as she picks up the remains of a pool inflatable from the floor, holding it up next to her like a dead animal carcass.
‘They’ve probably just let the air out of it,’ I reassure her.
‘Then let’s go and let the air out of them,’ she replies.
This seemingly dead flamingo is an act of aggression – the modern-day holiday, very specific to our exact situation equivalent of a head on a spike – and we’re not going to take it. I don’t know why they can’t just be normal. Okay, sure, we left some girly stuff around, but they locked us out. I really think we just need to call it quits and get on now.
‘I hate them,’ Nita announces. ‘I hate every single one of them.’
‘We all do,’ Willow adds.
‘So, let’s go in there, talk rationally, kill them with kindness even,’ I suggest. ‘Because they’re clearly not responding well to games, and we don’t want them upping the ante.’
‘Fair,’ Lou says. ‘Okay, let’s do it.’
‘Allow me to take the lead,’ Nita suggests, which is fine, but she does have a tendency to go into some situations kind of hot.
I step over an empty bag like it’s a landmine, terrified of what might be inside it, but I’m certain this mess is all show. Staged to perfection.
We all head for the patio doors, to head inside. I can see the anger in Nita’s walk. Whatever the boys are up to, they’re about to get an earful.
The boys are all still in their trunks, and the room stinks of chlorine, but they’re all dry, hanging out, playing pool.
In here – which is essentially their bedroom and living space – isn’t messy at all.
‘What on earth happened out there?’ Nita asks them, going in a little gentler than I expected her to.
They glance up at us, totally unbothered, like we’re interrupting an Olympic final and not a casual game being played by a bunch of dickheads who are essentially in their underwear.
‘What?’ Owen asks, leaning casually on his cue.
‘What?’ Willow repeats back to him, irritated. ‘The back garden is a disaster, that’s what’s up.’
‘Is it?’ Owen replies. ‘I mean, we were out there earlier, having a laugh, but I didn’t notice any excessive mess, did you, boys?’
He turns to the others who all just shrug, straight-faced, but you don’t have to look too closely to see eyes narrowing and the corners of mouths twitching.
‘I mean, if you girls are so passionate about tidiness, you’re welcome to go out there and clean up,’ Harry suggests.
Oh, he did not just say that.
‘Because we’re women?’ Nita asks angrily.
‘Because you’re bothered,’ Harry replies. ‘Just think how fast you’d do it, as a team.’
You can tell by his smirk that he probably isn’t actually a raging sexist, he’s just trying to annoy us.
Still, the audacity hits Willow like a slap across the face.
‘What the hell?’ she blurts.
Nita places a hand on her shoulder as she takes a deep breath, composing herself, before she speaks.
‘Okay, let’s just cut the shit, shall we?’ she says, stepping forwards, picking up a couple of pool balls from the table, rolling them around in her hand. ‘I think we all know what’s going on here. You’re trying to make life difficult for us, and yeah, we’re not exactly making it easy for you. The fact of the matter is that we both need this villa for the week, both weddings are this weekend, we all need to be here for them.’
The boys exchange glances but don’t say a word.
‘We just need to get along, for one week, to make space for each other,’ I point out. ‘Surely we’re all adults, capable of treating each other with dignity and respect?’
I can hear myself saying the words, and they should be true, but I’m not even convincing myself.
‘And then the second week?’ Harry asks.
‘One week, two weeks – it’s the same thing, right?’ Travis says tactfully.
‘Except none of us actually has to be here next week,’ Harry points out. ‘Our groom and their bride will be off on their honeymoons. There’s no reason to share the place for the second week.’
‘Which is why we’re thinking – not that we’re usually ones to give second chances, so keep that in mind – that we do the adult thing, we share the place for a week, and then you guys accept our very kind offer of taking our refund money, adding it to yours, and finding yourselves somewhere even better for next week,’ Nita suggest hopefully.
Owen tilts his head, still clearly not at all taken with the suggestion. I’m wondering, at this point, if it’s nothing but a matter of principle, or because they can – whatever it is, these boys aren’t budging.
Nolan seems quiet, and not all that unreasonable, but he’s definitely a follower and I’m sure he would do whatever the others told him to. Travis seems sort of decent… maybe?… although I do kind of fancy him, so that can’t be helping my judgement. I do hear these fleeting bursts of sanity from him though. It seems like it’s Owen and Harry who are the instigators, the ringleaders, the ones we’re going to need to convince.
‘I’m trying to be reasonable here,’ Nita adds, clearly sensing that they’re thinking the opposite.
‘See, that doesn’t sound reasonable to me at all,’ Owen replies. ‘How is that reasonable? You girls get to stay, we have to leave and find somewhere else…’
‘With double the money,’ Lou reminds him.
‘We have money,’ Owen tells her. ‘I just don’t see why we should leave. Why don’t you leave? We can give you our money.’
‘Because we’re the ones being mature,’ Nita points out.
‘And because we asked you first,’ Willow adds.
Owen laughs.
‘Oh, yeah, you sound so mature, saying things like that,’ he replies.
I can feel my jaw tightening to the point where my temples ache. This is getting us nowhere.
‘Because we’re the ones trying to compromise,’ I say. ‘We’re just trying to think of something that works.’
‘And we can do that too, right?’ Travis says to his mates. ‘There’s got to be something we can do. A fair way to decide who gets to stay here the second week.’
See, this is what we need, a calm, considerate voice on the other side. Someone to make them see reason.
‘Travis is right,’ Harry says – much to my surprise. Wow, has that actually worked? ‘We just need a fair way to decide who gets to stay here the second week. How about we fight for it?’
‘As much as I’d love to punch you in the face…’ Nita jokes, laughing it off. Then she realises he isn’t joking. ‘Sorry – what?’
‘Not a fistfight – although great to know where you stand,’ Harry replies playfully – flirtatiously even.
I’m getting the strong feeling that Harry is their Nita – if that makes sense. The fun, chaotic, cheeky friend. Owen seems more like the sort of boss of the group, which would tend to be Lou in our group (only in that she’s organised, happy to lead, and stuff like that – which she’s usually great at, when it isn’t her wedding on the line). Nolan, hmm, I guess he’s a bit of a Willow. She may have more confidence than he does but they’re both sort of happily different to their friends. That just leaves me and Travis and I wonder, are we similar? We’re both trying to keep the peace, both shying away from the scrappiness. Or maybe I’m just oversimplifying things. Or maybe I’m trying to work out who should take on who in a fight. They’re clearly gym boys. The only ‘gym’ I’ve anything to do with is Jim, the barman at Thin Aire in Leeds, who always chats to us while he mixes our cocktails.
‘I mean a competition,’ Harry clarifies. ‘We do something, this week, to determine who gets to stay for week two and who has to pack their bags and go as soon as the weddings are over.’
‘Like what?’ I can’t help but ask, my imagination going into overdrive.
‘We could agree on that,’ Owen chimes in, clearly into the idea. ‘It could be a few rounds, of a few things, and whoever has the highest score at the end of the week gets to stay.’
‘But who decides on the rounds?’ Willow asks. ‘Obviously it’s not fair, if you get to pick. I could thrash you at chess but if it’s something silly, like football…’
‘I mean, football isn’t silly,’ Harry insists defensively. ‘But I take your point.’
Travis puffs air from his cheeks, almost like he can’t quite believe he’s engaging with this.
‘I suppose, if we get to pick an activity each, even if we all pick something that plays to our strengths, it should all balance out,’ he suggests.
It’s like someone has switched a light on in Owen’s eyes. Like he’s just won some kind of all-inclusive, fun package holiday with an access-all-areas pass to a theme park, with unlimited rides.
‘You know, I was worried this villa might be boring,’ he says – which begs the question why he agreed to book it in the first place. ‘But this sounds like it could actually be fun.’
‘And fair,’ Travis says. ‘I guess?’
‘I suppose it’s one way to settle things,’ Nita says. ‘But we get to pick whatever activities we want, and you have to compete, no questions asked?’
‘Yes, but the same goes for you,’ Harry practically warns her. ‘What do you say?’
Nita turns to face us.
‘I’m in if you girls are,’ she announces.
I look to Lou, our beacon of sanity (plus, it’s her wedding week) to see what she’s got to say, aka how she’s going to shut this down.
‘I mean, we’re stuck together for a week anyway, and it beats arguing,’ she replies.
Wait, what? Lou is up for this?
‘I guess, we might as well, if we’re going to be fighting all week anyway – we may as well get a say in how,’ Willow adds.
So they’re all in? Really? I mean, yeah, okay, I don’t see too many other options for us. The boys won’t leave. We can’t leave. We have to share the space. Even if we agree to be the ones to be the grown-ups, and say we’ll forgo the second week so that the boys can stay, that doesn’t help us this week. They’re still going to be difficult, and we’re all still stuck here. At least if they think they’re getting the opportunity to kick us out through sportsmanship, perhaps they’ll be better this week? No more trying to torture us out, no more silly games. Just actual games instead. God, sounds exhausting, when I was hoping for a mixture of relaxing and working. But I suppose everyone is right, what choice do we really have?
‘Yeah, okay,’ I say – well, I don’t know what else to say.
‘We’re all down, right, lads?’ Owen asks. ‘Harry, obviously. Nolan? Travis?’
‘Yeah, I’m in,’ Nolan says. ‘I already know what I’m going to pick.’
Travis laughs for a second.
‘Yeah, count me in – if everyone else is in, I can’t exactly sit and watch, can I?’
Well, that’s what I was hoping for.
‘Great,’ Owen says, clapping his hands together loudly. ‘But let’s keep this fight clean, okay? Anything is fair game, but we get to pick the same number of activities, and we’ll keep score, and whoever wins, wins, no questions asked.’
‘What if we’re tied?’ Nita asks.
‘Then I’ll be shocked,’ Harry says with a snort.
‘Then we do something simple,’ Travis suggests. ‘Like picking the highest card of a deck of cards, or Rock, Paper, Scissors. Something down to chance.’
‘Sounds good to me,’ Owen says.
‘Yeah, okay, fine, that works for us,’ Lou says.
‘Not that it will come to that,’ Owen points out. ‘You girls are going down – I’d start packing those bags now.’
‘We’re not packing your bags for you,’ Nita replies. ‘You know, when you all have to leave, next week, first.’
‘Game on,’ Harry tells her.
‘Come on, girls, let’s take our shopping up to our rooms,’ Nita says, scowling at the boys before turning on her heel.
‘We’ve been wondering what you’re eating, with no access to a fridge or anything to cook with,’ Harry calls after her.
‘Mind your own business,’ she replies.
‘We don’t mind sharing. We’re having paella tonight,’ he tells her. She turns around to look at him, the word ‘paella’ clearly ringing in her ears. ‘But, when I say we don’t mind sharing, I mean we don’t mind sharing the information, of what we’ll be eating. Sorry, silly me, it sounded like I meant we’d share our food.’
‘You’re a dick,’ Nita tells him. ‘You’re all dicks. And you’re going down.’
‘Bring it on,’ Owen calls after her.
I can’t believe it. Lou – lovely, easy-going, proudly quiet Lou – has somehow ended up with a hen party week that has turned into chaos. We all knew it was never going to be all that messy, that no one was going to get too drunk, or hit in the face by a stripper’s appendage, or chained to a lamppost, or put on a boat to Prague (which, yes, I know is landlocked, but that’s what makes it so crazy).
Suddenly it’s like we’re in some kind of trashy reality TV show. It’s boys vs girls. Fighting for a holiday in a luxury villa. Bloody hell, it’s like something I’d watch, but never, ever take part in. And yet here I am, living it, for the next week, when I have so much other stuff going on.
‘This is so not how I saw my hen party week playing out,’ Lou says as we walk up the stairs.
I think we’re all in agreement on that one. But really, truly, what choice do we have?
I just really, really hope we win. Because if we don’t, God, imagine how insufferable the boys will be then – and the holiday will be over, that’s for sure.