Probably the Best Kiss in the World. Pernille Hughes
will?” This had been much easier than Jen had expected. She’d foreseen a diatribe about principles and Lydia not taking part in an event she didn’t support.
Apparently that was not the case.
“Not that I for one second believe in this marriage,” Lydia stated clearly, “but I will always be your wingman Jen, so if leading you to the pit of doom is something you want, then who am I to deny you?” Cow.
“Well, thanks for that, I think.” Jen would take what she could get.
“Of course, it means I’m in charge of the hen-do.” On cue, the footage switched to a group of women, dressed in clashing and outdated bridesmaid dresses and paint-balling masks, shooting the hell out of each other in a muddy forest.
“Oh God, no. I don’t want anything.” Jen couldn’t think of anything worse than being paraded along the promenade in a Learner-plated veil pinned with condoms. There was a conveyor belt of those every weekend in town and she was too old and too sensible for it.
“Um, sorry. Not your business,” Lydia lorded grandly. “My domain.” Jen sighed. This was not a battle to have now. Not when she already had a bomb to drop into the mix.
“Yes well, on that note,” Jen pulled out a sheet of folded paper from her pocket and handed it to Lydia. Unfolding it Lydia’s eyes scanned the memo Ava had pinged Jen, neatly listing dates convivial to her and Zara’s diaries for the hen-do. Jen braced herself for the fireworks.
“Oh. That’s handy. Thanks,” Lydia said, refolding the paper into her own pocket. Weird. Lydia really was becoming harder and harder to read.
Saying no more, Lydia turned up the sound on the wedding disasters, just as a gust of wind lifted a bride’s entire meringue skirt and a big comic-book X, complete with klaxon, was superimposed to cover her lack of knickers. Oh, how the surrounding groomsmen laughed! As did Lydia.
Well, two could play at that game. Jen dug out her phone and opened ChAPPel. She added Bridesmaids to the top of the list above Flowers, typing Lydia as confirmed and Alice and Max as additions below. Lydia tried to sneak a look, but Jen pulled the phone closer. Her sister could stew.
Looking at the app and its meagre contents, Jen expected the ideas to start sparking. Nothing came. She considered taking a step back and using her mind-mapping app to see if a spider diagram jogged anything. Taking glimpses at the clips on the TV screen, there were many weddingy things she knew she didn’t want. Balloon arches could do one, for a start, and those sugared almond favours could go too – you never knew which of them represented fertility, and not everyone might want that one. She did list Favours though and then Jen experienced a small spark of joy; there was the thing she’d thought of already; her wedding favour beer. And suddenly her fingers were racing as she listed ideas for what she wanted in it and how best to brew it. She might even name it Wedding Beerlls. Her dad would have approved. Finally, she thought, looking at her app with a smile, she was off. Looking up, she saw Lydia sneaking a peek at the screen, and wearing a smug smile Jen couldn’t quite fathom.
*
In hindsight, Jen should have investigated the sound from the office entrance, but engrossed in her incontinence data, she’d assumed it was just Aiden returning. He forgot something every evening, and given it was Friday it made sense he’d return for it. Eager not to get into conversation with him, she didn’t even turn around to check. So the black fabric bag over her head did come as a proper surprise, and she did scream in a way befitting a kidnapping.
The giggling took the edge off somewhat, but she still didn’t know what the bloody hell was going on.
“Shhh,” soothed Alice’s not-remotely disguised voice. “Chillax. You’re being abducted.” Yes, yes she’d gathered that bit. She just didn’t know why.
She heard the computer being shut down before she was manhandled to the door, where she had to talk them through setting the alarm. This was not her usual standard of “locking up” protocol.
Thankfully they took the hood off her when they’d set off in the van – it had been rather air-starved under there. Getting her in had been interesting, given the too-many cooks scenario, but they’d only banged her head off the door frame once, so she considered that a win. Alice and Max owned a Mazda Bongo campervan, which doubled both as Alice’s delivery van and their weekend love-nest. They’d had it sprayed hot-pink with Re:Love written down the side, which was always an ice-breaker for them on campsites, though they now avoided lay-bys at night after a close call with some inquisitive doggers.
Lydia sat next to Jen in the passenger seating, with a self-satisfied smirk. Alice was hanging over the back of her seat, also wearing Smug, and Max was driving, looking very serious, but then the milk-bottle lenses of her round glasses always made her look comically studious and her buzz-cut afro hair left no room for frivolity.
“Right, you loons, where are we going?” Jen sighed, resigned.
“Hen-do. Weekend away. Hurrah,” Alice sang.
“Nooo,” groaned Jen. “I didn’t want a hen-do.” She thought Lydia had let go of the idea. She hadn’t mentioned it at all in the ten days since it had been broached.
Lydia leaned towards her and reminded her with a touch of menace, “My domain.”
Oh crap.
“But what about the shop?” Jen asked, weakly. “Maxine, tell these two children this is mad behaviour.”
“Alice’s mum’s covering the flowers, my dad’s got the salvage,” Max said, though even her calm Mauritian lilt was unable to relax Jen, “Alice is thinking the two of them might get it on. Wouldn’t that be lovely?” Jeez, there was that rom-com thinking again. What was the matter with everyone?
“We’re going somewhere you’ve always wanted to go,” teased Lydia, bursting to tell.
“You’re taking me to a CAMRA event?” Lydia had always said No to the Real Ale association dos. Too many beardies. She was surprised Alice and Max were up for it as well. The only events they attended were swing dance related.
“Nope, even better than that.” Lydia sounded exceptionally pleased with herself.
“Think further afield,” Alice chimed in, “we’re going on a plane.”
“A plane? Wait, what?” Jen hadn’t packed anything.
With an evil smile Lydia extended her pointy finger at four cabin bags in the corner. Argh, no. They’d packed for her. Jen was very meticulous about her packing. She had various pre-devised packing lists for trips on her laptop, neatly divided by location, season and duration, but they didn’t work if she didn’t actually get to pack.
“Relax, Jen,” Lydia said, knowing full well Jen hated surprises, yet blatantly appearing not to care, “We’re taking you to Copenhagen. We’ve packed your bag, we’ve got your passport, you don’t need to think about a thing. We’re totally in control of this.”
OH. GOD.
In Jen’s experience hen parties normally stuck together for activities and yet the next morning Lydia, Alice and Max were keen for Jen to enjoy the Kronegaard museum alone. Apparently they weren’t as excited about experiencing over a century’s worth of global brewing dynasty as Jen was. The museum had for years been firmly top of her “Copenhagen Trip” list, a list Lydia had inexplicably never asked to see in spite of planning this hen-do.
“We’ll disturb your homage,” they insisted and suggested meeting up again two hours later. Jen suggested four, allowing for travel time, in accordance with her VisitCopenhagen app. The others immediately and unanimously agreed. Jen suspected their hangovers were pushing