Читать книгу Five French Hens - Judy Leigh - Страница 8

It was almost eight o’clock. It was dark outside and a wind was buffeting a branch against the panes. The taxi would be here soon. Jen squinted in the mirror, fidgeted with her hair and glanced at the clock again. She wondered what everyone else would be wearing and whether the pretty blue dress she’d chosen would be too formal. Pam would be in jeans; Della would look glorious whatever she was wearing and Rose would have picked something sombre, preferring plain colours.

Jen couldn’t guess what Tess would wear: for a woman whose marriage was so dull, she always seemed full of surprises and was guaranteed to be colourful and bubbly. She’d probably wear something stunning. Jen wanted to shine tonight, as bright as the three diamonds on her finger. It was only going to be a simple meal in a restaurant, cocktails first in some trendy bar, but the girls had organised it for her to celebrate her engagement. They were becoming closer as friends – this was their first real night out together, if she didn’t count the drink in the Olive Grove on Christmas Eve, and she wanted it to go well. It was as if a good girls’ night out would lead to a good engagement between her and Eddie, a great wedding and then a successful marriage. She had to admit she felt nervous. The doorbell rang. Jen grabbed her handbag and plastered a smile on her face. No pressure, then.

Pam, Tess and Della were already in the taxi, which was filled with the heady aroma of too much perfume. Jen took her seat next to Della and fastened the safety belt. The taxi driver mumbled something about going to Jubilee Road next then they’d head for Exeter. The women paid little attention to him, the back of his head a dark silhouette of bristly hair. Tess was already outlining the cocktails available at the Havana Bar from the menu on her phone. She cackled. ‘I don’t care what’s in it – I’m definitely up for a Drunken Sailor or two tonight.’

Della chortled. ‘Dances with Wenches… I wonder what that is…’

‘I’m going to have a couple of Cement Mixers.’ Pam waved her hands to show how the alcoholic drink might be whirled around in the glass. The taxi slowed down to a stop and the door was pulled open. An anxious looking Rose climbed in, wearing a heavy coat.

Tess waved the phone and called out, ‘Hello, Rose. We’re just contemplating our orders for the night. How do you fancy a Screaming Orgasm or two?’

Rose’s face froze in horror. Pam helped her to her seat and patted her hand. ‘It’s Irish cream, vodka and amaretto. A really sweet cocktail. I might have to try one.’

Tess burst into peals of laughter. ‘It’s going to be a fabulous night, girls. And it’s all down to Jen, our awesome bride-to-be. Congratulations to Jen and Eddie.’

Five voices whooped and screamed. There was a round of applause and someone started singing Queen’s ‘Crazy Little Thing Called Love’, almost in tune. The taxi driver, a man in his forties with designer stubble, glanced in his rear view mirror at five women in their seventies, mostly dressed to the nines, hooting with laughter, and he shook his head and glanced back to the road.

The Havana wasn’t full; there were one or two couples at tables and a group of several young people who were possibly students in the corner, but the place seemed quiet. Pam led the way to the bar and grinned at the barman, a tall young man whose name badge proclaimed that he was called Sam. ‘We’re celebrating tonight, Sam.’ Pam rummaged in her purse and handed over a twenty pound note and a ten. ‘Will that get us five cocktails?’

Sam seemed a little perplexed. ‘It’s happy hour until nine. So, if you order two each, buy one get one free, that’s twenty-five pounds.’

‘Righto.’ Pam flourished the notes. ‘Five Drunken Sailors and five Dances with Wenches, please.’

Tess screwed up her face. ‘And six Screaming Orgasms…’

‘Six?’ Jen shook her head. ‘There are five of us.’

Tess giggled. ‘Happy hour – three plus three free ones – if no one can drink the spare one, I’ll have it.’

Pam shook her head. ‘I think we should just stick with two each, Tess – we’ll need some space left for a glass of wine over at the restaurant.’

‘You can have mine, Tess,’ Rose wailed. ‘I’ll never drink a whole one.’

‘I only want one,’ Jen insisted.

‘They don’t put much alcohol in them.’ Tess patted her arm. ‘But you’re right, Pam – let’s pace ourselves.’

Sam shrugged. ‘I’ll bring them over – where are you sitting?’

Pam pointed to the quiet corner. The bar had dark wooden floors and tables, red strip lights on low ceilings and brick walls. Rose felt a new determination to enjoy herself as she followed Tess to the table with six seats, but she was anxious. It was not an environment she was accustomed to. Music was blaring from speakers overhead – a woman with a husky voice was singing a song about not wanting to go to rehab. Rose thought it didn’t bode well. She would just sip her first drink slowly. She took her place next to Jen, who she was sure would be the most moderate. Della gazed around her. ‘Nice place. Good choice, Pam.’

‘Someone told me about it – apparently it gets really busy here later, but we’ll be eating by then.’

‘Where are we having food?’ Jen wrinkled her nose. ‘I hope it’s not too far to walk.’

Pam shook her head. ‘Across the road – the little Italian place. Felipiano’s. It’s supposed to be lovely. Our table is booked for half nine.’

‘That’s very late to eat.’ Rose gazed at Sam as he arrived with a tray of drinks. Her eyebrows shot up – the cocktail glasses were much bigger than she’d expected and they were filled with colourful liquid that reflected the bright light. She watched Sam place them skilfully on the table. Tess was giggling and flirting with the waiter, telling him he had huge biceps and it must be a by-product of his job, carrying so many full glasses. Rose felt her cheeks tingle and she glanced away. She was wondering where she fitted in with the abandon of a girls’ night out and she determined to try harder.

Music began to play. It was Dexy’s Midnight Runners, ‘Come On Eileen’, and Tess jigged around in her seat, waving her arms and leaning over, selecting a glass, taking a huge sip. She made an audible sound of pleasure. ‘I love this song.’

‘Rolling Stones for me,’ Della lifted her glass. ‘I always thought Mick Jagger was gorgeous.’ She took a sip of cocktail. ‘He still is.’

‘Too dangerous.’ Jen was staring at the glasses, selecting one. ‘Mick Jagger, I mean. I liked the Beatles. Lovely Paul McCartney with his handsome baby face.’

‘You know me – Elvis every time.’ Pam winked, taking a sip of her Drunken Sailor.

‘Abba.’ Rose stuck a finger in her glass and tasted the liquor tentatively. ‘I like Abba best.’ She was shocked by the peal of laughter that came from the four friends’ mouths in one loud gush. She suddenly felt annoyed. ‘What? I like their music – the tunes, the songs, the piano playing.’

Tess leapt in with a chorus of ‘Dancing Queen’, waving her drink so energetically that the cocktail slopped over the lip of the glass. Jen’s face was serious. ‘You like Abba? Seriously?’

‘Their songs are clever – well composed, well structured.’

‘But aren’t they just pop songs?’ Tess wrinkled her nose as if the idea smelled awful.

Rose was persistent. ‘I’ve got a book with all the songs in for teaching piano. I use them in some of my lessons. They are quite popular with some of the children.’ She picked up her glass and her eyes flashed defiance. ‘Well, I like them.’

‘And why not?’ Pam smiled encouragingly. ‘Well, this is nice – we have plenty of time to have some fun. Our table isn’t ready for another half hour. Are you enjoying yourself, Jen?’

‘Mmm.’ Jen was halfway through a mouthful of Dances with Wenches. She wiped her lips delicately. ‘I’m not sure what Eddie would think of me if he could see me now though.’

‘Sylvester wanted to come with me.’ Della grinned. ‘He said he’d put one of my dresses on and a wig if it meant he could have a night out with us. He said he’d love to be a fly on the—’

‘Alan wouldn’t want to be here.’ Tess finished the contents of one glass and reached for another. ‘He’d ruin it anyway – in a dress or otherwise.’

Half an hour later, Tess was regaling them with the fact that she hadn’t even received a card from Alan on Valentine’s Day and he hadn’t worn the blue tie she’d so carefully wrapped in tissue paper. Pam reached for her handbag. ‘OK – everyone ready?’

Tess grabbed the three unfinished cocktails and drained the glasses, taking Rose’s almost full glass that she was offering from her fingers and inverting it. Jen glanced at the glinting ring on her third finger and smiled – she felt sudden warmth towards the women who had dragged her out on a cold February night to celebrate. Tess was still singing ‘Dancing Queen’ when they left the bar. By the time they were seated in Felipiano’s, she had started on ‘Mamma Mia’, accompanying herself on the cutlery.

The restaurant was beautifully furnished, rustic white walls and tiny candles in jars, pretty checked cloths on each table. But it was busy, waiters rushing between crammed tables with menus and plates of food, smiling apologetically. Jen pulled a face. ‘We’ve been here ten minutes and no one has come to take our orders.’

‘We’ll just spend more time chatting – it’s so nice to be here with you all.’ Pam indicated the menu. ‘I’m having the veggie linguine.’

‘Red wine?’ Tess asked. ‘Shall we get two bottles?’

‘At least.’ Della put her hands over her ears. ‘It’s very noisy in here.’

A screech had just filled the air. Two tables away a group of eight or nine young women were raucously waving their arms, shrieking, talking too loudly over one another. Rose sighed. ‘They’re drunk.’

‘They’re having a proper girls’ night out,’ Tess remarked, before launching into the chorus of ‘Waterloo’.

Della waved a hand. ‘This is a proper girls’ night out. I haven’t had so much fun in ages.’

Jen agreed. She was watching the group of young women, confident in short dresses, bright lipstick, glossy hair, clutching colourful handbags. ‘I feel my age…’ she sighed.

‘Not at all.’ Pam frowned. ‘Age is nothing. We’re here – we’re having fun. We can make as much noise as they can.’

‘More,’ Tess whooped, resuming the Abba chorus.

Rose studied one of the young women in a white dress and a pair of fluffy pink rabbit ears. ‘I think that one has just passed her driving test…’ She chewed her lip. ‘She’s wearing L-plates.’

A young waiter hovered by the table, a young man with dark hair slicked back and a professional smile. ‘Sorry about the delay. What can I get you, ladies?’ He indicated the table of young women who had just raised their glasses and screeched again. ‘Hen party, I’m afraid.’

Pam was about to tell the young man that they were celebrating Jen’s engagement, but he was eagerly brandishing a pencil and note pad while Tess was telling him he was a dead ringer for Johnny Depp. Rose glanced at the young women. There were empty bottles, streamers strewn across their table and the conversation was deafening. The bride-to-be, a very tall dark haired girl whose skirt came to the top of her thighs, pushed her way out behind her friends, muttering something vulgar about needing the toilet. Rose smiled and was momentarily envious of the abandon the young women were displaying. They clearly didn’t care who was listening or what people thought and she remembered her own mother’s insistence on decorum and politeness, how others judged your behaviour if it was unseemly. Rose decided that times had changed for the better and wondered what her mother would have made of the hen party. She wouldn’t have been impressed.

The food arrived more quickly than expected and the friends began to eat, Tess filling everyone’s wine glass as soon as it became half empty. She was enjoying herself tremendously. It felt good to be out with friends; in truth, it felt good to be without Alan. She launched herself across the table to refill Jen’s glass, belting out ‘Take a Chance on Me’ as she did so. Rose grinned, thrusting out her chin.

‘You know all the words, Tess – that makes you an Abba fan.’

Tess nodded, filling up her own glass, spluttering, ‘Too right,’ before bawling out the one about needing a man after midnight.

Pam lifted her glass, which was brimming over. ‘A toast,’ she called out. ‘To Jen and Eddie.’

Della raised her red wine. ‘Jen and Eddie – happy engagement.’

‘To Jen,’ Rose yelled. A new determination filled her lungs. She was enjoying herself.

‘To wedded bliss – may you always have a man after midnight.’ Tess leapt up, roaring at the top of her voice before sinking back into her seat.

Jen beamed. She was having a wonderful time. She was going to be Eddie’s wife and she felt surrounded by friends, warmth and the promise of a new beginning. She glanced around. The young women two tables away were sitting up straight, staring in her direction. The blonde one next to the woman in L-plates guffawed. ‘Bloody hell – I hope we can all still party like that when we’re their age.’

Jen raised her glass in their direction, a bride-to-be herself now, and winked. ‘Practice makes perfect,’ she mouthed.