The Accidental Honeymoon Page 18

  ‘Come on, that’s not true. He loves you. He was a total womaniser until he met you – look at him now. He’s married, you’ve got a baby on the way. Don’t let the time and energy he puts into terrorising me make you think he thinks any less of you. You didn’t like him calling you fatty – he calls me far worse.’

  ‘You’re right, I’m just being silly. Maybe it is the baby brain. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Well, you weren’t very nice to me long before you were pregnant, but I’ll accept your apology. Come here, fatty,’ I joke, pulling her close for a hug. ‘Olly, you can come back in now,’ I shout.

  Olly walks into the living room armed with a wooden spoon, shielding himself with a large pan lid.

  ‘Is it safe?’ he teases.

  ‘Come here, you idiot,’ Sara says as she pulls herself up from the sofa.

  The two of them kiss in front of me, which makes me happy for a few seconds. It’s nice to see a couple so in love, about to start a family together, but it’s also a sad reminder that I’m alone and quasi-married, heading for divorce (well, technically an annulment, but it doesn’t really make it much better, does it?).

  ‘Well, I think I’ll have a walk down to Shirley’s and find your mum, tell her what a wonderful son she has,’ Sara coos.

  ‘Be careful,’ Olly calls after her before plonking himself down next to me again.

  ‘What you up to?’ he asks, swiping my can from me. ‘Ergh, this is warm.’

  ‘Yeah, don’t drink that one. I’ll get you another,’ I tell him. ‘Just killing time before Fliss’s hen party – what fun that will be.’

  ‘Yeah, Dougie’s do will probably be the usual dick-measuring with bank balances,’ he jokes. ‘Jake in?’

  ‘Upstairs, in his room. Revising, watching a subtitled movie – I don’t know. I asked him if he wanted a drink and he grunted a reply.’

  ‘He’s weird,’ Olly says.

  ‘He’s just an awkward teenager,’ I correct him.

  Jacob is like a very old man trapped in the body of a teenage boy – an old man with OCD and some pretty tough exams to sit. Maybe he just takes joy from different things, like subtitled films and Dungeons and Dragons, but he just never seems to have much fun.

  ‘Why don’t we try and lighten him up?’ Olly suggests, pulling me to my feet. ‘Let’s convince him to take a break and have some fun with us.’

  ‘OK, sure,’ I reply. ‘I have an idea actually.’

  Olly knocks on Jacob’s door before walking straight into the room they used to share.

  ‘Oh, love what you’ve done with the place,’ Olly teases. ‘Taken all the football posters down. I see you’ve left the one of Kelly Brook up, though.’

  ‘I can’t reach it,’ Jacob quickly insists. ‘And my name is—’

  ‘Jacob, I know,’ Olly interrupts him. ‘We’re wasting our time, Gi.’

  ‘I’m going to level with you, Jacob,’ I tell him honestly, because he’s too smart to manipulate. ‘We think you’re studying too hard and we want you to have some fun. We’ve got some of Olly’s old clothes – the cool stuff, not the crap dad is wearing – and we want to give you a makeover. Agree, and then we’ll leave you alone.’

  ‘Don’t agree, and Gi will play one of the pop albums still in her bedroom – on full blast,’ Olly threatens with a cheeky grin on his face.

  ‘Well, no one wants that,’ Jacob teases. It’s like he’s lightening up already. ‘OK, give me the clothes.’

  There’s absolutely nothing wrong with my collection of Now That’s What I Call Music albums. I have over a decade of pure pop gold in my room.

  I hand him a pair of jeans and a few cool T-shirts before stepping outside his bedroom door while he tries them on.

  ‘I’ll be back in a sec,’ I tell Olly as I dash to my mum’s room. As I return with her hair straighteners Olly bursts into laughter.

  ‘He’s never going to agree to that,’ he chuckles.

  ‘I think he just might – he didn’t take much convincing to put the clothes on.’

  ‘You can come back in,’ Jacob calls out.

  As we head in, I am taken aback by just how different some cool clothes have made him look – he seems more relaxed, and he’s smiling. I think he might actually like them.

  ‘You look awesome,’ I tell him honestly. ‘Now, don’t freak out, but I want to straighten your hair. It’s not that I don’t dig the Harry Styles ‘do you’ve got going on. I just think straight hair would match your new look better.’

  ‘Like a brunette Justin Bieber,’ Olly adds, and I’m not sure if he’s joking or serious. Either way, he clearly hasn’t looked at a picture of Justin Bieber since 2013.

  ‘Sure, do what you like,’ Jacob says with a shrug of his shoulders. This wasn’t supposed to be this easy – I wonder what’s got into him.

  As Olly plonks himself down on Jacob’s bed he starts reading his history book while playing with a couple of sixteen-sided dice he’s found on the bedside table. I plug the straighteners in and hover around Jacob’s desk chair as they heat up.

  ‘So, what’s new?’ I ask my little brother.

  ‘Not much,’ he replies.

  ‘Any chicks on the scene?’ Olly teases, but it’s Jacob’s lack of a quick reply that means we’re on to him. There’s a girl.

  ‘Come on, tell your siblings all about it,’ I say as I start straightening his hair.

  ‘Well, you know Becka, Dougie’s relative? I like her, but there’s no way she’d like me because I’m a sad geek,’ he says softly.

  ‘Stop right there,’ I tell him.

  ‘Oi, you are not a sad geek,’ Olly says a little too loudly as he jumps to his feet.

  ‘Just because you work hard and have different hobbies doesn’t mean you’re a sad geek,’ I tell him as I hand him a mirror. ‘Look at that, you look awesome.’

  As Jacob clocks his new and improved look, his eyes light up.

  ‘Do you like it?’ I ask.

  ‘I look so different,’ he admits.

  ‘You look cool,’ Olly corrects him. ‘I think you should go talk to that chick you like, see what she thinks of your new look. She’ll be bored stupid at The Manor.’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Jacob sounds unconvinced.

  ‘Trust me,’ Olly continues. ‘Just be yourself, be confident and be funny.’

  At this point my mum walks in and tells Olly Sara is waiting downstairs for him. She’s just about to leave the room when she notices Jacob’s hair and tells me off for distracting him from his studies.

  ‘Well, I’ve got to go,’ Olly tells us. ‘Jacob, remember what I said.’

  ‘I’ll walk you out,’ my mum tells him, hooking her arm around his.

  ‘You know what, Jacob, Olly is a tool, but he’s right. You should go talk to Becka. If you do, I’ll ask Fliss if she can jig things around so you can sit with her at the wedding.’

  ‘Wow, really?’ Jacob says, and I don’t actually think I’ve ever seen him look so happy.

  ‘Really. Take a leap. These things are much easier when you’re younger.’

  He nods his head thoughtfully.

  ‘I like Jack,’ he tells me. ‘He seems cool and I can tell her really loves you.’

  ‘Thanks, kid,’ I reply.

  He might be wrong about Jack but it’s just nice to finally be connecting with my little bro. I actually think I’m going to be sad when I leave this time. I’m really going to miss everyone.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  There’s been a terrible, terrible misunderstanding.

  I’ve been in an incredible mood all day. Firstly, because witnessing Jack connect with his last remaining family member was a truly beautiful moment, and to see how happy she was to be invited to join the wedding party filled my heart with joy. Then, after my chat with Sara, I kinda felt like I’d made progress with her. Once I realised she didn’t hate me – that she was just jealous – I felt like we figured it all out.

  Then, bonding with Jacob… I ca
n’t even describe how that makes me feel. I always felt like, because I moved away when he was so young, we never really got to know each other. Today, I finally felt like I was a sister to him.

  Getting ready for the hen party, I curled my hair, plastered on my make-up and slipped into one of my tiny dresses – actually excited for the night ahead – and in an even more bizarre turn of events, Jack and I have been texting all evening. In fact, I actually find myself diving for my phone every time I hear a message come through. It’s our first time apart since we met and we can’t seem to break contact.

  Yep, it was all going so well… until my dirty mind ruined my day.

  Maybe it’s just me, but going to a place called Naughty Nellie’s at 8 p.m., in the centre of Blackpool… that sounds like a nightclub, right? Wrong. It’s actually a tearoom, which Fliss has paid to open late, so she can enjoy a nice, sophisticated afternoon tea with her nearest and dearest.

  So, the only thing that is actually naughty at Naughty Nellie’s is the calorie content of the cakes, but not for long. Soon, Dick Cumming will be here, because I’ve tried to call him countless times to try and cancel, but he’s not picking up.

  Nellie’s is such a beautiful place, decked out in cream and pastel shades. The ceiling is adorned with paintings of blossoming gardens, with large, twinkling chandeliers hanging down.

  The staff are dressed like the people without money in Downton Abbey, and Fliss is thriving in the finery. She certainly doesn’t want Dick Cumming marching through the door and thrusting his crotch in her face while she’s trying to eat an éclair.

  ‘So nice of you to join us,’ Fliss says loudly and slowly to Betty.

  That’s not what she said to me when I asked if she could join us. Of course she said yes – you’d have to be a monster to refuse to invite someone’s newfound only relative to a party – but she did make a big thing of how much extra it was going to cost her. I told her I’d pay for any extra charges, which is apparently the most offensive thing you can say to a rich person. She really didn’t take kindly to that suggestion.

  ‘Is she deaf?’ Betty asks me, right in front of Fliss’s face.

  ‘No,’ Fliss tells her. ‘I assumed you were.’

  ‘Because I’m old?’ Betty asks.

  ‘Well, yeah,’ Fliss replies before wandering off.

  ‘Your cousin is a character, isn’t she?’ Betty says.

  ‘Isn’t she just,’ I reply.

  ‘Definitely too uptight for the kind of hen party I was expecting,’ she laughs, sipping her porn-star martini.

  There are only two good things about this hen party: the first is that they have a cocktail menu, the second is that I’m definitely not the only one drinking, because Betty is quite the cocktail buddy. Thank God this is one of those posh tearooms with a licence and a cocktail menu.

  ‘Betty, I think I might have made a mistake,’ I confess. ‘One of the other girls thought Fliss might like a stripper so I booked one, thinking we’d be going to a club, and now I can’t cancel him.’

  Betty laughs so hard she chokes on her drink a little.

  ‘Oh, love. It’s an easy mistake to make – I think…’ she assures me. ‘But it won’t be money wasted. I’ve always wanted to see a stripper.’

  ‘My God, you’re my favourite person,’ I can’t help but blurt. ‘Please be my best friend.’

  ‘Gladly,’ Betty laughs.

  She’s such a kind, caring lady who always has a smile on her face and always sees the best in everyone and everything. She’s so warm and her words are so comforting. She may be the only family member Jack has left, but she’s a fantastic one.

  As we all take our seats at the table I notice Fliss has sat my mum and her mum next to each other. I don’t know what they were like before I was born, but Liz and Di have never really been all that close. Literally they have been close, but they don’t have an amazing relationship. I glance over at my mum and widen my eyes in acknowledgement of the seating plan. She gives me a little smile in return.

  ‘Well, this is a lovely hen party, Fliss,’ my mum says as she takes in the table.

  ‘Yeah,’ I add. ‘No L plates, no phallic objects.’

  ‘Is that what you’ll be having, Georgina?’ my auntie asks.

  ‘Gosh, I haven’t even thought about my hen party yet,’ I say.

  Waitresses come round and serve teas and coffees to those who want them – basically everyone but me and Betty, who are joyously sipping our porn-star martinis.

  ‘We thought we might make this a dry hen party,’ my auntie says. ‘Solidarity for Sara.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t mind if she drinks,’ Sara says with a bat of her hand.

  ‘I mean, it wouldn’t do her any harm to not drink,’ my auntie adds.

  ‘What exactly are you saying about my daughter?’ my mum says, jumping to my defence, God love her.

  ‘Nothing, nothing,’ my auntie assures. ‘Let’s not ruin a lovely, civilised evening.’

  Our waitresses come back and place an array of tiny sandwiches and finger foods on the table.

  I serve Betty before picking up a minute cheese and cucumber sandwich for myself. It’s so small. I mean, I know the idea is for the food to be dainty and ladylike, but it’d take eight of these to make a whole sandwich – and they’ve removed the crusts. My dad always used to tell me I should eat my crusts because they would make my hair curl. I didn’t like them when I was younger and, obviously, when I turned into a straightener-worshipping teenager it seemed counterproductive. Today, though, I’m a grown-arse lady and I’m hungry.

  ‘Fantastic spread,’ my auntie says, admiring the sausage roll held between her index finger and thumb.

  ‘Excuse me,’ I hear a man’s voice say. That’s when I notice a police officer approaching the table. The man, who is probably in his mid fifties, has a very solemn look on his face.

  ‘Oh God,’ my mum says, her voice cracking a little. ‘Those silly men, what have they done?’

  It’s so like my mum to go from nought to tragedy in a matter of seconds. It might just be that someone here is parked on double yellow lines…

  ‘Felicity Barton,’ the police officer enquires.

  ‘Yes,’ Fliss says, raising her hand slowly.

  As the police officer walks slowly towards her, I notice three things about him. The first is that he has an alarmingly deep, obviously false tan. The second is that – I know I’ve been living in America for a while – but something looks amiss with his uniform. Finally, I realise he looks an awful lot like someone I saw a photo of earlier, only thirty years older.

  The officer slaps a handcuff onto Fliss’s wrist, before attaching the other one to himself.

  ‘My name is PC Dick Cumming, and you have the right to remain horny,’ he says as he rips his shirt open, revealing his bizarre abs. I’m no abs expert but it looks like he’s had one of those cosmetic procedures where they sculpt abs for you, because his six-pack is not in keeping with the rest of his physique.

  ‘Sound of Da Police’ by KRS-One is booming from somewhere on his body. As he rips off his trousers, I suspect he may have a Bluetooth speaker concealed inside the gold, sparkly thong he’s wearing, because there’s quite the bulge down there.

  ‘Oh, yes, yes,’ Betty says, excitedly, clapping her hands. Everyone else looks horrified – even Kaz, whose idea this was.

  ‘Oh God,’ Fliss shrieks. ‘Oh God.’

  Dick, oblivious to her discomfort, continues to dance, humping the back of Fliss’s chair, holding her by the hair as he does so. Pulling her chair out, he straddles her, gyrating on top of her. Oh God, this is bad. This is so bad. Even if it were Channing Tatum himself doing this to her, I don’t think she’d be happy about it. But this is a weird, tanned, faux-muscled dude who is old enough to be her dad.

  ‘OK, no, I’m sorry. This has to stop,’ my auntie shouts.

  Dick, taken aback by her outburst, grabs the speaker from inside his jacket and turns off the music.


  ‘What’s wrong?’ he asks.

  ‘Where to begin?’ my auntie asks rhetorically. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I was booked,’ he tells her. ‘For Felicity’s hen party.’

  ‘By whom?’ my auntie asks.

  ‘Er – lass called Georgia?’ he says. ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Could it be Georgie?’ my auntie asks.

  ‘Yeah, that’s the one. Well, if you don’t want me to dance, if you pay me, I’ll be on my way.’

  My auntie glares down the table at me. I sheepishly get up and hand over money to Dick for his services.

  ‘I feel like I’ve been catfished,’ I say as I pay him.

  Dick laughs.

  ‘Pleasure doing business with you,’ he says, uncuffing himself from Fliss. He gathers up his things from the floor before walking out in nothing but his thong.

  ‘Well, that’s put me right off my sausage roll,’ my auntie says, finally dropping the food to her plate. ‘Georgina, what the hell were you thinking?’

  ‘A few of us thought it might—’

  ‘A few of us?’ my auntie echoes. ‘You’re not blaming this on anyone else.’

  Kaz sits there with her eyes on her teacup and her mouth closed.

  ‘OK, look, let’s not get upset,’ my mum says. ‘Let’s not ruin the party.’

  ‘My party was ruined when that greasy old bloke put his bits on my shoulder,’ Fliss squeaks, disgusted.

  I can’t help but snigger slightly.

  ‘What the hell is wrong with you, Georgina?’ my auntie asks.

  ‘OK, lay off, Di,’ my mum insists. ‘You’re the one making a scene now.’

  ‘Look, I’m sorry, it was misjudged,’ I say, taking the blame even though this was not my idea. ‘I’ll just go, then you can get on with the party in peace.’

  ‘Georgie…’ my mum starts, but I don’t let her finish.

  ‘It’s fine, Mum.’

  She knows what my auntie and Fliss are like. She knows it’s for the best I just leave.

  I walk over to my seat and grab my things.

  ‘My mum will make sure you get back to the hotel,’ I assure Betty. ‘Have fun.’

  ‘Don’t beat yourself up over this, my love,’ she tells me. ‘I really enjoyed it.’