The Accidental Honeymoon Page 17

  ‘Pack your things, Auntie Betty. We’re going to Blackpool,’ Jack says with an excited clap of his hands.’

  ‘Marvellous,’ she says, unable to contain her excitement. ‘I’ll go and pack a bag. Did you get the train here?’

  ‘We didn’t, we drove,’ he tells her. ‘Just wait until you see the car.’

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Sitting at the table in Kaz’s mum’s kitchen reminds me of when I was a teenager – not just because I spent so much time here, but because the place hasn’t changed a bit.

  Kaz’s mum doesn’t seem to have changed at all either. Growing up, I always wished my mum could be more like Julie. Julie was, and still is, a carefree mum, all for letting her children live the lives they want, free to make their own mistakes along the way. My mum was, and always will be, an overbearing control freak, constantly feeling let down by her only daughter. I love her to bits, but my teenage years would have run a lot smoother if I’d had a mum like Julie.

  Julie isn’t at all mumsy. She shares clothes and make-up with Kaz, swears like a sailor and just generally acts half her age. She raised Kaz single-handedly. I don’t know much about Kaz’s dad, just that he’s never been on the scene. That’s probably why Kaz and Julie are so close. I kind of wish my mum and I were closer – I guess moving thousands of miles away probably wasn’t my smartest decision.

  ‘Can I get you girls a drink?’ Julie asks.

  ‘I’m fine, thank you,’ I tell her.

  ‘Yes,’ Fliss says, glancing around the room. ‘I’m fine.’

  Despite us all being friends at school, Fliss hasn’t really stayed friends with Kaz and Sue. It’s like the second Dougie came into money (and Fliss came into money by association) she thought she was above being friends with them. Fliss likes to go for spa weekends and spend hundreds of pounds on candles and thousands of pounds on handbags – she can’t do that with mates who are skint. As a result, I don’t really feel like Fliss has any real friends. Sure, she’s got her entourage of fellow rich wives she meets at country clubs and gets invited to dinner parties with, but I don’t think any of them are actually friends. It sounds to me more like they take it in turns to show off who has the nicest house and who’s spent the most money on wine for the evening. They’ll show each other their nice things, only to cause their friends to seethe with jealousy. I remember my mum calling me up one day to tell me that Fliss and Dougie had bought a racehorse, because one of their friends had bought a pony for their kids. It’s this constant one-upmanship that I hate, and I saw a lot of it with John and his friends. I worried about marrying into that culture, wondering if I’d have to become one of them, one-upping my friends so I didn’t let John down. I don’t suppose I have to worry about that now.

  ‘So,’ Kaz says, walking into the room with a bag full of products. ‘Sue is going to be my lovely assistant today. We’re going to make you both look spick and span for this hen party tonight.’

  ‘You must be so excited,’ Sue says to Fliss. I think Kaz has a bit more about her where Fliss is concerned, but Sue absolutely idolises her. That’s why it’s so funny she took me to one side and called me a snob, because Fliss doesn’t just act like she’s better than her old friends, she outwardly expresses it.

  ‘I can’t wait,’ she says excitedly. ‘Just thinking about Naughty Nellie’s is giving me this fierce hunger.’

  ‘Whoa, steady on,’ I laugh.

  I never thought I’d hear Fliss raring to go to a trashy Blackpool nightclub.

  ‘What?’ she asks defensively.

  ‘I’m just surprised, that’s all,’ I laugh. ‘I just didn’t think you’d be into that.’

  My cousin pulls an unimpressed face.

  ‘I’m going to try not to take offence at that,’ she tells me, before turning back to Kaz. ‘So, what’s the plan?’

  ‘So…’ Kaz springs to her feet with a burst of energy. ‘What are we doing today? I can do waxing, fake tan, fake nails, eyebrows.’

  Kaz drags a thumb across one of my eyebrows, making my beautifully thick brow look bushy and uncared for.

  ‘Oh, they’ve got to go,’ she concludes. ‘And if your eyebrows are this bad, I dread to think of the state of your lady garden.’

  As I examine my friend’s eyebrows, or the thin pencil marks where her eyebrows used to be, I can’t help but feel terrified about the thought of letting her loose on the hairy parts of my body.

  ‘Did you say you did nails?’ I ask, changing the subject.

  ‘Yes, let’s get you a set of falsies on. It’s not like you’d want a wax anyway.’

  As Kaz fusses around Fliss, I sit for a second and think about what she just said. Why wouldn’t I want a wax?

  ‘Oi, mum,’ Kaz yells at the top of her voice. ‘Time to crack open the Prosecco.’

  After prioritising the bride, Kaz finally gets around to unleashing her unusual brand of torture on me.

  Sitting at the table in front of me, Kaz begins by removing my chipped red nail polish.

  ‘Kaz, what did you mean when you said I wasn’t the waxing kind?’

  ‘Oh, I just mean you’re engaged and you’re settled. Once you’ve been with someone a while, you just stop bothering, right?’

  Hmm. I guess you do when you’re engaged to someone like John, who never really interacts with that neck of the woods. I could draw you a picture of his downstairs, to scale, with every little detail present down to the very last freckle. With John, it would be like he was playing one of those ‘Spot the Ball’ competitions I used to do when I was younger – just mark with an X where you’d guess the girl parts are.

  Jack is different, though. I suppose if Jack were my fiancé, I’d need to wax every inch of my body every damn day. Girls just throw themselves at him, so trying to keep him interested would be a nightmare. Oh God, there it is, my first real moment of post-being-cheated-on pessimism. Before I found out my fiancé was sleeping with someone else, actively taking steps to not get cheated on never occurred to me. Now I’m having these deluded thoughts that men will cheat on women if they’re lax with the beauty upkeep – which is ridiculous.

  ‘Then again, with a fit-as fiancé like Jack, I imagine you’re pulling out the stops 24-7. I bet he knows some things,’ Kaz says, angling for details.

  The embarrassing fact of the matter is that the majority of the sex I’ve had has been in one of two long-term relationships, with only a couple of awkward fleeting encounters in between. So, as far as sex goes, I’ve never had much to write home about, and I’ve definitely got nothing to report now. Well, Howard and I were teenagers and John was always a lazy, selfish lover. I’d love to tell Kaz stories about wild sexathons in exotic locations, but I lack the experience to convincingly make anything up.

  Looking back, I feel like an idiot. I would sit there and convince myself I loved John so much that sex didn’t matter to me. I would watch movies, TV shows and read books where couples would have this intense sexual connection. There would always be a guy who couldn’t keep his hands off his girlfriend, whose eyes lit up with lust whenever he looked at her. John never looked at me like he had to have me; I never had to bat his hand away from me when he jokily tried to touch my butt in public – he never did anything at all for me. And I convinced myself that was OK, because we were in love. And looking back now, I don’t know if I was at fault or he was, but my self-confidence couldn’t be lower regardless.

  I think about Jack’s promise that one day I’ll find someone who loves me, who I have a great sex life with. Right now, neither part of the equation sounds likely. He was probably just trying to make me feel better.

  I feel like I’ve had Jack all wrong – to a degree. He’s not a bad person, even if he is a womaniser. He’s been looking out for me, talking me back up when wedding stuff has knocked me down. Most importantly, what he’s doing for his auntie is amazing. Seeing the look of pure joy on Betty’s face as he drove her through the countryside with the top down was just something else. She c
an’t have much fun stuck in that retirement home, so for her super-happy nephew to turn up and whisk her off to a family wedding in his sports car – it’s no wonder she’s on top of the world.

  When Jack dropped me off here, he took Auntie Betty off to check into a room at the Majestic. With the stag and hen parties in Blackpool tonight, the rehearsal dinner at the hotel tomorrow and then the wedding the next day, all important members of the wedding party have rooms booked at the hotel now, until after the wedding. Well, except me and Jack – but only for tonight. It turns out the Majestic is fully booked tonight, so we gave our room to Betty and said we’d stay at the house. The good news is that it will be empty, which means Jack and I can sleep in separate beds tonight, if we want to. I mean, we’ll definitely want to, right? Take a night off from the act…

  I suppose with the money I’ve got left I could book another room in the hotel so Jack and I don’t need to share, but not only does it feel like my money is dwindling at an alarming rate, I don’t really think twice about sharing a bed with Jack now. It’s kind of nice, not being alone, especially when I wake up in the night, in a panic about the situation I’ve found myself in, and I look next to me and he’s there sleeping peacefully. Sure, he still makes me crazy sometimes, but I’ve grown weirdly fond of him, I suppose.

  Spending the next few hours at separate parties will actually be the longest amount of time Jack and I have spent apart since we met, which is weird. It will be strange, being without him. The hardest part will be keeping our stories straight when we’re having to ad-lib separately. I suppose we’ll need a debrief tomorrow before the rehearsal dinner.

  ‘I can’t believe it’s my hen party tonight,’ Fliss says with a sigh. ‘It really feels real now I’m here.’

  ‘Maybe someone has booked you a stripper,’ Sue tells her.

  ‘Do you really think so?’ Fliss laughs. ‘They won’t have. Everyone knows me as this sophisticated lady. They’d never do that for me.’

  ‘Sue, take Fliss to the bathroom and remove her face mask, will you,’ Kaz demands. As soon as we’re alone, she gets straight to the point. ‘Well, that was obvious.’

  ‘What was?’ I ask.

  ‘The mega hint Fliss just dropped about wanting a stripper.’

  ‘You thought that was a hint? I thought it was a humble-brag,’ I say. Well, it’s not unlike Fliss to find a way to compliment Fliss when she talks about Fliss, is it?

  ‘Come on, think about it. She didn’t say she didn’t want one, she said no one would think to get her one – we should get her one.’

  Kaz walks over to her handbag and rummages around inside it before dropping a small wad of notes on the table.

  ‘Fliss gave me money to spend on decorations, here’s what’s left over. You should be able to book a good stripper for £100.’

  ‘I don’t know, Kaz. Maybe you should do it.’

  ‘Gi, once I’m finished up with you, I have so much more to do with Fliss. You need to do it.’

  Resistance is futile.

  ‘OK, fine,’ I say, giving in.

  ‘OK, so, what did we decide about that wax?’

  Chapter Thirty

  Sitting on the sofa in my parents’ house, with my mum’s slow-as-a-snail laptop, I wiggle uncomfortably in my chair.

  Put it down to peer pressure, being under the influence of alcohol, the new me – put it down to whatever you want, the bottom line is that I now don’t have a single hair on my body from the neck down. I just about managed to keep my eyebrows, and my long blonde hair remains untouched, although Kaz wanted to cut that, too, despite not being trained, and obviously not realising that my hair is mostly extensions.

  As well as being a little tender, I’ve got these ridiculous false nails on that make it hard to even subtly but gently scratch any itches.

  I feel like I’ve fully transformed now, with not even so much as a trace of Georgie from a week ago left. I look different, I feel different – I’m even thinking different, although I’m sure this can only be a good thing.

  ‘Hello, Georgie,’ I hear my dad call from the hallway. ‘All set for the party tonight?’

  ‘Just ordering the heroin,’ I reply.

  ‘There’s no need for jokes,’ he says as he jogs into the room, stopping to stretch out his leg muscles.

  ‘There is,’ I tell him as I clock his outfit. ‘RUN DMC called, they want their trackies back.’

  My dad looks down at his attire. He’s wearing an Adidas tracksuit that I’m fairly sure belonged to Olly around the time of the Millennium. They’re not only out of style, they look pretty ridiculous on a man of his age.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, these are cool.’

  ‘Yeah, and the Millennium Bug is a legitimate threat,’ I chuckle.

  ‘Your mum is finally throwing out Olly’s old clothes,’ he tells me. ‘And I’m trying to better myself by jogging.’

  ‘Do you not think it’s a bit late for jogging?’ I ask him.

  ‘Not at all, it’s only 4 p.m.’

  ‘No, I mean in life. Daddy, you’re old.’

  At this my dad looks truly offended. I was only teasing him.

  ‘I’m not old, I’m sixty-two,’ he informs me, like I don’t know how old my own dad is.

  ‘Sorry, dad. It’s just that outfit.’

  ‘Look at this,’ he demands, pulling the waistband out like he’s a Weightwatchers after photo. ‘Miles too big.’

  I don’t point out to my little dad that my rugby-playing brother’s teenage attire is bound to be huge on him. Instead I act impressed and wave him out the door.

  ‘Enjoy your jog,’ I call after him as he dashes off.

  I ungracefully place my ice-cold can of lemonade between my legs. Ahh, that’s so much better.

  At Kaz’s instigation, I am currently looking for a stripper for Fliss’s hen party tonight. I feel like somewhere called Naughty Nellie’s is going to be more than used to hen parties, so I don’t feel I need to call ahead and check it’s OK. Sadly, it’s quite short notice and I’m having trouble finding one who isn’t already booked.

  I grab my phone and punch in yet another number, ready to be hit with yet another ‘Sorry, I’m busy’ response.

  ‘Dick Cumming,’ a man answers the phone.

  I manage to stifle my snigger. You never know, that might be his real name. My mind immediately thinks of actor Alan Cumming, and Dick is just short for Richard. If that is his real name, I wonder what came first, the name or the occupation.

  ‘Erm, hello, I’m looking to book a, erm, male dancer for this evening,’ I say, my brain unable to work out if I need to be PC, and if there even is such a way. Do strippers care if you call them strippers?

  ‘I am available,’ he says. ‘When and where do you want me?’

  Wow. That was easy. I give him the time and the place before telling him I’ll see him later.

  I look carefully at the small thumbnail photo next to his listing online. I can’t really see him clearly but it will be fine.

  Thankfully, I move my can from between my legs just before Sara and Olly come bursting in through the front door, clearly having some kind of argument.

  ‘Where is your mum?’ Sara yells at me. ‘I want to tell her exactly what kind of son she’s raised.’

  ‘Oh God, what have you done?’ I ask Olly.

  ‘Nothing,’ he shouts. ‘She’s overreacting. It’s her baby brain.’

  ‘My baby brain?!’ Sara screeches. ‘You better shut him up, Georgie.’

  ‘She’s at Shirley’s, down the road. Look, what’s happened?’ I ask, really not giving a shit, but clearly not getting off without getting involved.

  ‘I want to speak to the organ grinder, not the monkey,’ Sara snaps.

  ‘This is what I’m up against,’ Olly says, plonking himself down on the sofa next to me as Sara paces back and forth behind us.

  ‘My mum isn’t in, so you can tell me or you can leave me to watch my film,’ I say, ho
ping it’s the latter.

  ‘Here’s what happened, your brother called me “fatty”,’ Sara rants.

  ‘I was joking,’ Olly insists. ‘In my defence, I’ve called you fat loads of times and you’ve found it funny.’

  ‘Yes, but now I’m pregnant you’re not allowed to say it, you stupid idiot. Get him out of here,’ she yells at me.

  ‘Olly, go put the kettle on.’ I wait for him to leave the room before turning to Sara. ‘Listen, that’s Parker family humour, you know he doesn’t mean it,’ I assure her.

  ‘Why are you on his side?’ she asks in amazement. ‘You don’t like him!’

  ‘I don’t dislike him, I love him more than I can explain – he’s my brother.’

  ‘But he’s so horrible to you,’ Sara says, confused I could love someone who puts so much energy into terrorising me.

  ‘Come on, we both know what he’s like. He thinks he’s funny – he’s not, but he’s a daft boy – just let him think he’s funny, it makes him happy.’

  Sara rolls her eyes. ‘Maybe I did overreact,’ she admits.

  ‘Can I ask you something, Sara?’ I may as well while I’ve got her on her own. ‘Why do you hate me?’

  ‘You think I hate you?’

  ‘Well, you’re not very nice to me,’ I remind her.

  ‘Neither is Olly.’

  ‘Yes, but that’s just his way of showing me how much he loves me.’

  ‘Well, that’s why I’m not very nice to you,’ Sara finally confesses. ‘I’m supposed to be the most important lady in his life. I don’t mind coming second to his mum, but as soon as you’re back in town, I’m in third place. Ever since you got here, all he wants to do is come over and hang out with you. He thinks more of you than he does me.’