bus home. They wouldn’t notice. Sneaking off was a skill I’d honed on university nights out, leaving when the party was in full swing so I could fall into bed with a book. This hadn’t helped my romantic life, I knew, since people only started pairing off towards the end of the night. But I’d rather get into bed with Mr Rochester or Captain Wentworth than a dribbling student who’d drunk ten pints and wanted chips with curry sauce on the way home.
I let myself into the house, poured a pint of water in the kitchen and walked upstairs. Pushing open my bedroom door, I saw Harry curled under a corner of my pillow. I should have been cross. I was trying to persuade him to sleep in his basket on the floor, but he’d learnt to leap on to the corner of my duvet and claw his way up like a very small mountain climber.
I pulled my phone from my bag. Since the aeroplane selfie, I’d heard nothing from Rory, but Mia had told me that they were on a stag and ‘as long as they didn’t get arrested’, it was better not to know what was going on.
I took a few photos of Harry and looked at the time. It was 11.43 p.m. Too late to message?
I opened up WhatsApp, scrolled to find Zach’s name, and sent a picture of Harry to him anyway. The baby’s asleep xxx, I wrote, hoping that it wasn’t one of those messages I regretted in the morning.
For some extraordinary reason, Mia had decided that the Sunday after her hen party would be a good day for our final bridesmaid dress fitting. I didn’t feel great but my hangover was nothing compared to Mia and Ruby. Sitting between them in an Uber to the dress shop the following morning (Mia had actually cried when I’d suggested taking the Tube) was like travelling with a couple of cadavers.
‘This is all your fault,’ Ruby said, slumped against the car door.
‘I wasn’t the one who ordered nine hundred martinis,’ Mia replied, leaning against the other door.
‘I need a coffee before we do anything else,’ said Ruby.
Mia retched.
They climbed out of the car slowly, groaning as if they’d just finished a marathon.
‘Morning, darlings!’ trilled Patricia. She was standing on the shop’s step wearing a beret and a pair of sunglasses.
Mia held a hand up in the air. ‘Pat, not so loud.’
‘Not that name, you know I don’t like it. But oh dear, are we suffering?’
‘Yes,’ said Ruby. ‘Aren’t you?’
‘No. I feel fine. Florence, how about you? You look wretched.’
I cleared my throat. ‘I’m all right. Could do with a coffee.’
‘We can ask them inside,’ said Mia, pushing open the door.
We followed her in and the smell of expensive candles made me gag again. And it was too hot in here. Why did they keep it so hot? It was like stepping into a crispy pancake.
Hilda, the lady who’d helped with Mia’s dress fittings, ushered us to a changing room and all three of us slid down on the sofa, as if our legs couldn’t sustain us for another second. Dressing that morning had been an effort. The idea of peeling my clothes off to slide a silky peach gown over my head was deeply, deeply unpleasant.
‘Can I get you ladies anything to drink?’
‘Could I have a coffee? Black,’ demanded Ruby. ‘And a large glass of sparking water? And an orange juice?’
‘A cappuccino for me,’ said Patricia.
‘I’d like a coffee with milk,’ said Mia. ‘And have you got any San Pellegrino?’
If Hilda was exasperated by the multiple beverage demands of my family, she didn’t show it. She nodded and looked to me.
‘A white coffee, please,’ I said.
‘How was the rest of last night?’ asked Patricia.
‘Mia ended up being smacked round the face by a penis in a nightclub,’ said Ruby.
‘What?’ I said.
‘WHAT?’ demanded Patricia.
‘Volume, please,’ said Mia, leaning back on the sofa with her eyes closed. ‘And she’s exaggerating. We went to a club and I very briefly danced around a pole.’
‘With a man who was wearing a sock shaped like an elephant on his cock,’ added Ruby, just as Hilda reappeared in the room carrying the dresses. Her pencilled eyebrows leapt in alarm.
‘Forgive my daughters, Hilda,’ said Patricia. ‘But these look wonderful. Don’t they look wonderful?’
‘This one is Ruby’s,’ said Hilda, inspecting a label attached to the hanger. ‘And this one is for Florence.’ They were exactly the same design – pale pink silk, floor-length, with thin