‘We can come clean tomorrow,’ I tell her. There’s no need to overegg the pudding. We’ve had all the confessions we need for one day.
‘And you’re all invited to come on our excellent coach trip next week!’ Ava yells.
A huge cheer goes up and before we know it, the rugger boys are pushing glasses of prosecco in our hands and booming out things like ‘Jimbo has massive balls!’ and ‘Go Team Tits!’
If they weren’t constantly replacing our empty glasses with full ones, we would probably have scarpered by now. And even though I have been thrown wildly about on the dancefloor and have managed to fight off numerous gigantic wandering paws, I am relieved to be more successful at avoiding their straying lips than my sister and MJ, whom I have spotted locking lips with the two hairiest of the group.Urgh.And now there aretongues being flapped about.
I take out my phone to capture this glorious moment lest we all forget. In my drunken state, I capture my sister’s desperately poor lifestyle choices. I fumble with the buttons and end up taking a few accidental video clips and a selfie. I remind myself to take a selfie of me and Ava for our parents. I think they would love that.
The next thing I know, the rugger boys take it in turns to show off, lifting people off the ground and spinning them round above their heads to hoots of laughter, starting with Ava. Then we are herded into a roped-off VIP area where we are treated to some champagne and a long and detailed account of why Rugby Union is better than Rugby League. MJ has brought all the Hens with her, and they are so ecstatic they have draped themselves over a rugby hero each.
‘I LOVE this song!’ Ava suddenly shouts at us, jumping up and spinning around. ‘Come on!’ she yells throwing her arms above her head.
MJ and I jump up. ‘Who is it?’ I shout above the music, joining in as we gyrate as if our lives depend on it. It has been years since I last went out dancing.
‘No idea!’ Ava yells back to us, ‘But I never want it to end!’
‘Me neither!’ I yell, slinging my arms around both of their shoulders. We all beam ridiculously at each other. And just for a moment, everything seems perfect.
My phone buzzes a while later as we prop ourselves up on stools to take a breather from the flash mob dancing. It’s like we have become best ever friends with all the ladies from the hen party and all the rugger boys. We are like one huge hairy family. I have been sorely mistaken about them. They couldn’t be more charming, and their skimpy outfits are a hoot and not at all offensive. And they are all heroic and handsome.
Ava has been taking millions of selfies with them, especially Squinty the captain, who is seriously good-looking and quite debonair despite the scarring, the black eye and broken nose bandage.
My phone pings and I glance at it to see who would be texting me at this very early hour in the morning.
I swish open my messages.
Oh Christ. It’s him.
My last text stated clearly for him not to get in touch. But that was before I knew the truth about Ava. Before my epiphany.
‘How are you?’ it says.
I quickly tap in ‘Fine, thank you so much for asking.’ I can be exceedingly polite when drunk. And bizarrely, I make fewer spelling errors. It’s one of my best features.
He quickly replies, ‘Working late?’
He’ll think I’m working late into the night on my business, helping people. Saving lives. I should tell him I have embarked on my own life-saving journey. I should tell him my soul has been healed and my aura has had a thorough cleanse. Like my vagina.
‘Yes, thank you. May I enquire as to your own working practice?’
I’m simply charming, aren’t I?
‘Unlike yours, it doesn’t involve grown men dressed in nappies.’
Shite.
Chapter 28
Myeyesswivelaroundsearching the bar, but it is impossibly crowded and I’m not tall enough to see over the rugger boys, until a sixth sense crawls over my skin and I feel his eyes on me. I turn around to see Oliver staring right at me. He doesn’t look too pleased. He takes two gigantic strides through the crowd, and he’s reached me.
‘I FLEW STRAIGHT BACK!’ he bellows over the thumpingly loud music.
I have no answer to this, mainly because I’m a tiny bit drunk (shit-faced). I give him a confused look. I look from my sister to Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen who are simply rivetted by this exchange between me and the handsome giant from the ICF.
‘How did you know I’d be here?’ I ask him.
He plays a video clip. ‘You sent me this.’