Either way, we’re all back together again now and hanging out with the Japanese sailor hens – they are brilliant girls! Even though they don’t actually speak English. But we’re getting onreallywell! I think we’ll stay in touch! Maybe we can all be pen pals?
When I was eight I had a pen pal I found on Ceefax.
Hey, remember Ceefax? My loyalties were usually with Teletext but BunnyLover456 said in her letters that she preferred Ceefax.
Am I rambling? What was I saying?
I’m really happy.
Lauren’s absolutely buzzing – I think she’s even happier than me. She’s dancing on the pavement near me now, sweating a lot. She keeps telling us how much she loves us and talking about how much she fancies Jeremy Vine. She’s never mentioned it before, but apparently she really, really fancies him. She’s crying about it a bit, actually.
She’s also chewing her cheeks a lot and her pupils are all black.
Hold on, who gave the bride drugs?
And where can I get some?
23
I feel lightheaded as we float through the arrivals lounge of the airport. We are one huge, singular mass of exhausted hen party. Half of us are still drunk and the other half is dangerously hungover. I’m somewhere in the middle, thanks to one final sickly sweet wine on the flight back. It was definitely a mistake, but it’s staving off the worst of it for a few more minutes. I catch sight of myself as I shuffle past a reflective surface and look away quickly. My hair is sticking out in all directions and I am basically yellow from all the drinking. Why are airports full of mirrors? Oh, I feel rank.
But it was worth it.
We had such a good last day. Such a good weekend generally. After our amazingSweet ValleySaturday, we stayed up all night dancing in the street outside a bar, while the stag party in nappies gave us shots from their baby bottles. And then that segued seamlessly into an all-day pool party today at the apartment. The baby lads joined us, and so did the lovely Japanese hens.
And guess who I got to come along for our last few hours? Shiny Naked Man!
Shiny Naked Man, it turns out, is called Stanley. And he’s not training to be a world famous doctor or anything, he just likes taking his clothes off around Spain and partying with drunk women. Also, he’s not twenty, he’s thirty-one, but he uses a lot of Botox. So that makes me feel better. And maybe a little sad.
Stanley was a last-minute addition to the festivities. I had planned to avoid the more intense hen do rituals – I swore I would – but then I thought... fuck it. Strippers and willy straws are a tradition for a reason – because they’re funny! I don’t have to take it all so seriously. It was only ever my own stupid awkwardness stopping me having a good time at those other hen dos. So I decided for our last day, we would embrace some of those classic hen tropes. Shiny Naked Stanley was in the area and said he’d updated his insurance so he could actually serve us drinks, so everyone wore willy headbands and spent the day brandishing rude inflatables with a shiny, naked butler. And it was really great.
I feel like we ticked all the hen boxes in the end. Every single one of us was sick at various points, we all have bloodied feet and knees from falling over and walking around the streets barefoot. There was snogging and arguments and passing out. Simone sold a bunch of timeshares to the baby stags. Katie Jacks announced she wanted to tryMDMAfor the first time but we didn’t think she should be allowed to get any more hyper, so we gave her a Nurofen. She still went mad, though, and ended up kissing everyone in the apartment complex – even a guy with a cold sore, so she definitely has herpes now. And then she accidentally killed the apartment concierge’s pet fish – it’s a really long story – so we had a fish funeral and I made a speech. It was everything a bride-to-be – and her weary maid of honour – could ask for.
By the time we had to leave for the airport late this afternoon (we were asked to leave by apartment security and a very cross concierge), we were all totally spent. And Lauren was floating unconscious in the pool, on top of a giant inflatable willy.
We waved goodbye to the baby men and the Japanese sailors, while Shiny Naked Stanley performed the last of his butlering duties by bundling us all into our cabs, promising to stay in touch.
It was the perfect end to a brilliant hen do, and I’m so relieved and happy that it all worked out. It was worth all that effort and time and fear.
But ugh, here comes real life, and a very real hangover, which I can already feel will last all week.
‘Lilah?’ a voice interrupts my haze as we pass through customs and out into arrivals.
‘YES?’ Lauren jumps automatically a few feet ahead of me, only just conscious but still trying to be inSweet Valleycharacter. She is grey and drawn. She looks worse than me, I note, with satisfaction. I have performed my maid of honour duty fully and Lauren is definitely broken.
‘Er, Lilah?’ the voice says again, and this time I register the familiar note.
Jesus Christ, it’s Will. Will’s standing awkwardly behind the arrivals barrier, staring at me.
Will’s here. Why is Will here? My breath starts coming out in ragged gasps.
I haven’t seen him in ages. Not even once since he moved out, not a glimpse.
He’s been coming to get his stuff bit by bit from the house when I’m not there. It’s been like being slowly robbed in the saddest way possible. Everything that made the house ‘ours’ gradually disappearing on a drip feed. It’s made me cry every time I’ve noticed yet another stupid Marvel comic souveniry thing I never liked anyway was gone.
We’ve not spoken on text much either. I ran out of excuses to message him, and the replies were not enthusiastic.
I realise now that I’d given up hope of him coming back. I hadn’t processed the split yet – too busy and distracted – but deep down I’d given up on him.
