Five French Hens. Judy Leigh
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