The Other Woman(44)

The only stipulations I’d given them were no strippers, no matching hen t-shirts, and definitely no blow-up dolls. ‘Less is more,’ I’d gently encouraged, hoping for a slightly classier occasion than my brother’s wife Laura had had. She was taken to Blackpool for the weekend, had all of the above, but thankfully had no recollection of it. Still, there were at least six of us at the wedding who’d not consumed quite enough alcohol to erase the memory of her sliding up and down a pole and being given a lap dance.

Of course, the four-day bender that Stuart and twelve of his mates had had in Magaluf went by without incident, it seemed. For them, it was, apparently, rounds of golf, early dinners and quiet nights in. That’s the fundamental difference between them and us: men do what they do, not a word is whispered, and they carry on as if nothing happened. ‘What goes on tour, stays on tour,’ is the mantra we’re all supposed to live by, and us women could, if we didn’t come over all nostalgic two bottles of prosecco in and decide to video it all, for posterity, and to show our kids how wild we used to be.

‘I really don’t mind,’ I said to Mum when she called up to ask if I’d like it to be abroad or somewhere in the UK. ‘I think you’ll find Pippa’s already on it.’

‘Well, she is,’ she said, ‘but she’s not making it very easy for people who don’t have the money to be swanning about all over the world. She’s suggesting a yoga thingy in Iceland, or Las Vegas even. Some people just don’t have that kind of money, Emily.’ And nor would Pippa, usually; her dad was treating her.

‘I know, Mum. I don’t want anything too extravagant either, and besides, Adam and his mates are going to Vegas, so that rules that one out.’ I laughed, but she just tutted. ‘Look, Pippa knows what she’s doing and I’m sure she’ll take everyone into account.’

‘Well, Pammie wants to go to the Lake District,’ said Mum indignantly. A bolt shot across my chest.

‘Pammie? What’s she got to do with anything?’ I asked. I’d hoped that by giving the job to Pippa, I’d be exonerated of all responsibility as to who was invited and who wasn’t. That way, if Tess, my rather dreary work colleague, didn’t make the cut, it wouldn’t be my fault – and I couldn’t imagine Pammie being on the list.

‘She called yesterday to ask what the plans were,’ said Mum. ‘She wanted to arrange a little something for you, if nothing else was being organized.’

So, Pippa hadn’t invited her, it was my mother who had put her foot in it. I groaned inwardly.

‘What did you say to her?’ I said, keeping my voice chirpy. I hadn’t told Mum about my run-ins with Pammie because I didn’t want to worry her. I also didn’t want to create any unnecessary tension between them. I’d be stressed enough for everybody on our wedding day. I just wanted my family, especially Mum, to enjoy herself, without having to worry about what was going on behind the scenes. Pammie was my problem, and I’d deal with it.

‘Well, I told her that your friend was making enquiries,’ she answered defensively. ‘Was I not supposed to say that? See, I don’t know what I’m allowed to say to whom. It’s all getting a bit much.’

‘No, that’s fine, Mum. You can say whatever you like. Probably the only person you shouldn’t say too much to is me, because it’s meant to be a surprise.’

‘Yes, I know that dear. I’ll just keep it between me, Pippa, Seb and Pammie.’

I put the phone down and thought about calling Pippa or Seb, just to check how things were going, but I fought the control-freak in me down and left them to it.

There were still whisperings of discord right up until the day I embarked on my mystery tour. I’d tried to ignore them, but the pettiness was beginning to get to me. ‘Your mum says I shouldn’t invite someone I want to invite,’ moaned Pippa. ‘I think your cousin Shelley should be coming, but Seb says Pippa doesn’t think you’d want her there,’ said Mum, sounding exasperated. By the time I went to bed the night before the 6 a.m. start, I was ruing the day I ever agreed to a bloody hen do.

‘Wakey, wakey, sleepy head,’ whispered Adam as he kissed me. ‘The day for us to make our last mistakes before we get married is here.’

I gave him a sleepy punch. ‘You’d better not,’ I threatened, before turning over and pulling the duvet up around my ears.

‘Come on.’ He laughed. ‘You’re being picked up in an hour.’

‘Can’t we just spend the next four days in bed?’ I asked.

‘You’ll be fine once you get going. I, for one, am actually looking forward to my last hurrah,’ he teased.

‘That’s because you’re flying to Las Vegas!’ I exclaimed. ‘I, no doubt, am headed to Bognor. But don’t you worry about me. You go have the time of your life, gambling, haggling and shagging your way around Nevada.’

‘Hey, less of the gambling and haggling,’ he called out from the bathroom. ‘I won’t be doing any of that there.’

We both laughed, but there was a part of me that felt unsettled, not just about Adam and what he might get up to, but at the thought of where I might be heading and with whom.

Fifty minutes later, after saying goodbye to Adam – who looked smartly casual as he walked across the road in his chinos and polo shirt, with a weathered, brown leather weekend bag in his hand – I found myself being propelled into the back of a car, blindfolded.