Lugubrious (adj.) – Looking or sounding sad and dismal; mournful
‘Apparently Big Al’s bar is the place to go,’ I said to Shelley, linking her arm.
‘Big mistake.’ Sarah-Jane made that irritating teeth-sucking noise once again. ‘That place is full of teens. You want to try and find Dingoes, it’s just up by the laundrette.’
We bowed down to her local knowledge, which it soon transpired was pointless. For all her bluster about her experience of this town, considering she’d been here three times before, Sarah-Jane didn’t appear to have the faintest idea of where anything was.
‘Oh, well, it used to be around here.’ She had her hands clasped on each hip, frowning up and down the quiet street that we’d walked along for the second time in fifteen minutes. Her eyes squinted through her glasses, as if the bar was playing a trick on us and would suddenly appear by the patch of trees opposite. We were all a little pissed off, thirsty, and bored of being sent on a wild-goose chase with Sarah-Jane as our inept guide.
‘Right, this is ridiculous. It’s Shelley’s hen do and we need to get booze in us fast.’ Cara raised a hand in the air. ‘Let’s just go to Big Al’s. It’s got to be better than traipsing around going nowhere. These shoes were not made for walking.’ She pointed at her killer heels, the soles darkened with what could have been kangaroo poo.
‘You’re right,’ I said, turning to Sarah-Jane. ‘Let’s head there. Maybe someone in there will know where this Dingoes place is?’
Sarah-Jane muttered that she was certain it used to be down here but followed us as we headed back up the street to the first bar. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. I knew both Shelley and Cara were giving me looks to get rid of her, but for all the worries I had that she would start slagging off marriage once more, I didn’t know how to nicely tell her to F off. Yes, she was annoying thinking she knew it all, but she was harmless enough. So, we ended up in Big Al’s bar with Sarah-Jane trailing behind, moaning that this was going to be One Big Mistake.
I hated to admit it but, glancing around the place, she had a point. Everyone in here looked at least fifteen years younger than us. Since when had we become the oldest backpackers at a backpacker bar? Big Al’s was an indie electro club that played classic tunes butchered by a heavy bass. My head started pounding the moment we set foot in the dingy and dim room.
‘I’ll get the drinks in!’ Cara shouted over the awful music, and hurriedly barged through the crowd using her sharp elbows.
‘I’ll come with you,’ Shelley offered, leaving me and Sarah-Jane surveying the scene. I was sure I’d just seen a girl, who couldn’t have been older than sixteen, stagger past holding a bottle of alcopop, wearing a tiny, bright blue playsuit with images of the Teletubbies plastered over it.
‘I’m going to the loo.’ I turned to Sarah-Jane who was gawping unsubtly. Her small mouth was set in a perfect ‘o’ as she took it all in. To be fair, in her naff animal t-shirt, she probably fitted in more than the rest of us; at least she could pass her look off as retro hipster with an ironic twist. In my black jeans and sparkly skintight hen-do top, I felt like I’d raided my mum’s wardrobe to hang out with the ‘yoof’ of today.
I didn’t let her answer before I zipped off to the ladies’. It was even worse in here. Three girls in near-matching neon-pink, lace-bra tops were leaning over the filthy sinks, trying to perfect their eyeliner or adding a swipe of bright lipstick. I’d expected the bar to be dead, judging by how remote this place was, but it seemed that everyone under the age of twenty-three had rocked up from nearby towns and villages to be here tonight. Posters advertised two-for-one on chips and burgers served until 1 a.m. The floors were sticky, the music awful, and the smell in here was horrific. The heavy clouds of powdery perfume couldn’t mask the fumes of vomit and piss. I nipped into the last free cubicle and hovered over the toilet seat, which was peppered with droplets of the previous user’s bladder.
You’re here for Shelley, her last night of freedom and all that. So maybe she was hoping for more of a classy cocktail bar than a scuzzy dive club, but she has Cara and me here. We can have fun anywhere, I told myself, as I gave up hope of finding any usable loo roll. It wasn’t just the dodgy place we were in that made me feel anxious, Shelley hadn’t seemed herself since I’d arrived. Yes, the old Shelley wouldn’t care that her feet stuck to the floor or that we had to wear a naff neon wristband to get in. But this new Shelley, the stressed-out and frazzled one, had failed to hide her look of disgust as soon as we’d paid our five dollars entry fee. I sighed and hoped that Cara had got the round of drinks in and that this would be one of those stories we would tell in years to come of how we had the best night ever in the middle of nowhere. Even with Sarah-Jane hanging on.
Another girl barged past me to get into my cubicle before I was even half out of it, and proceeded to decorate it with the lining of her flat stomach. I hurriedly washed my hands and shook them dry.
‘I’m telling you, he’s flirting with you, he’s totally up for it!’ one girl with blonde, curled hair said to her mate, who was rubbing lipstick off her slightly protruding front teeth.
‘But he’s been with that bitch Lauren all last week and there’s no way I’m going to be a rebound,’ her friend replied, slicking on more lipstick with a swaying arm.
I wanted to wrap the girls up into something less revealing, read them bedtime stories and basically mother them.
‘You all right there?’ Blonde curls turned to me. I didn’t realise I’d been staring at them so intently.
‘Fine, sorry,’ I mumbled, and pushed past the growing queue of girls to get out into the loud club.
I hurriedly weaved my way past spotty lads bouncing to the music with their arms around their friends’ shoulders. Something cold dribbled down my back as I pushed through the boisterous group.
‘Hey, guys!’ I plastered on a smile at Shelley, Cara and Sarah-Jane, who’d managed to find a free booth to sit in. Their faces gave it away. They were hating this too.
‘I just got asked if I was the mother of the bride!’ Shelley moaned, having to shout in my ear to be heard over the music. ‘I’ve sat in chewing gum and Cara has already had her bum pinched three times.’
‘The last one was lucky not to have got a punch in return,’ Cara growled in the direction of a man who was unsuccessfully lying on the floor nearby, attempting to do the worm.
‘Since when did we get so old? Or everyone else get so young!’ Shelley grimaced as a group of three skinny girls strutted past wearing tea towels as dresses.
‘I don’t want to say it but …’ Sarah Jane paused. Don’t say it, don’t say it. ‘I told you so.’
She said it.
I thought Cara was going to use that punch she’d been saving up for Sarah-Jane’s face.
‘I’m psychic, you see.’ Sarah-Jane shrugged, sipping her drink.
‘You couldn’t bloody see the future to find that other bar, could you?’ Cara bitched under her breath, taking a big gulp of whatever she was drinking.
‘Why don’t we play a game?’ I suggested, ignoring Cara’s sly dig. I rummaged in my handbag for the only hen-do-related prop I hadn’t hastily buried in my bag, after deciding they were tacky compared to what Cara had brought. It was a funny game that I’d printed off from the internet. No one seemed excited apart from Sarah-Jane, who raised her pudgy arm in the air.
‘I do! Ha ha, get it? I do!’
‘Okaaaaay then.’ I wished she would put her hand back down and hoped that a light-hearted game would get us all in the mood for fun. ‘Although, I’m not sure how well you’ll do as it’s about Shelley and Jimmy. A Mr and Mrs game,’ I explained.
‘Oh. Well, I can give it a good shot. I always used to win games like this in college. In fact, I was the champion of the Scrabble club, the pub quiz team and Cluedo class.’ She stuck her chest out proudly.
‘I bet you didn’t win any popularity contests,’ Cara mumbled loudly.
I began reading out the first question, focusing my attention on Shelley, who looked bored rigid. ‘So if you get it right we drink and if you get it wrong you drink.’ The three girls nodded along. ‘Question one, how many times did Jimmy take his driving test?’
Shelley chewed her bottom lip, thinking about this one. I heard Sarah-Jane tut that she had an unfair advantage. ‘Erm, twice?’
I shook my head. ‘Ben told me it was five times.’
‘Five!’ Shelley gasped.
‘Bloody hell. No wonder you don’t own a car over here,’ Cara laughed.
‘Wow, erm, I didn’t know that.’
‘Next up, what age did he lose his virginity?’
Shelley raised her hand, ignoring Sarah-Jane doing the same thing. ‘I know this. He was eighteen but told everyone he’d already lost it aged sixteen.’
‘I would have said seventeen,’ Sarah-Jane piped up.
‘The answer is …’ I paused, turning over the sheet of paper that I’d asked Ben to help me with. ‘Nineteen.’ I winced.
‘Oh, right, yeah, well, it was one of the two,’ Shelley mumbled and gulped her drink. I was beginning to regret this game.
‘The next one is, what was the name of his first pet?’ I asked tentatively.
Shelley nodded confidently. ‘I definitely know this. It was a hamster called George Best.’
‘What?’ Sarah-Jane asked, flicking her head between us.
‘Sorry, wrong again,’ I mumbled, catching a look that Cara was giving me. I hurriedly tucked the piece of paper back into my handbag and picked up my drink.
‘Really?’ Shelley asked in surprise. ‘What was it?’
‘A ferret called Mr Kimble. But, it doesn’t matter. It’s just a silly game.’
‘So, when are you and Ben going to be tying the knot?’ Cara asked, picking up on the stale atmosphere and quickly changing the subject.
I scrunched up my nose. ‘I don’t know. I mean, not that long ago I was convinced he was going to propose, but it wasn’t the right time, for either of us. Who knows what will happen in the future?’
I couldn’t admit that seeing Shelley stress so much about her big day had raised concerns in my mind about whether I wanted to get thrust into the crazy world of weddings again. I wasn’t sure I could stomach the downsides that came with organising such a big party and everything that came with this circus. I took a sip of my drink. The alcohol tasted strong and difficult to swallow.
‘You know what I think about weddings,’ Sarah-Jane piped up.
‘Well, you know what they say about the engagement domino effect?’ Cara said, now acting as if Sarah-Jane was invisible.
‘What’s that?’ I asked.
‘That once one guy in a group of friends pops the question, you can guarantee it won’t be long until the others follow suit, hence why so many summers are filled with weddings within friendship groups. It’s like they think they’re missing out, or it’s something that they should do regardless of whether they’re ready to do it,’ Cara explained.
‘And who said romance was dead?’ I laughed. I wasn’t pushing Ben to get down on bended knee any time soon; it would happen when it would happen. Organically rather than forced.
‘You’re not thinking he might whisk you off to the Opera House whilst you’re both here and use that as a backdrop?’ Cara winked.
I felt Shelley tense beside me.
‘No.’ I paused. ‘You don’t think he will, do you?’
Shelley shrugged. ‘Well, I mean he could do it. Jimmy hasn’t said anything to me about it though. But then, as we’ve learnt tonight, Jimmy doesn’t tell me much about himself.’
As soon as she dismissed the idea, I felt my stomach flip a little – strange when I wasn’t even waiting for a proposal, although that would be a pretty great story to tell the grandchildren.
‘Oh my God!’ Cara squawked. We all turned to face her. ‘What if he proposes to you at their wedding?’
Shelley’s face dropped, Cara began clapping her hands and Sarah-Jane joined in, not really knowing what she was applauding.
‘No, he wouldn’t do that.’ I laughed awkwardly.
‘He’d better bloody not!’ Shelley said, gripping her glass so tight her knuckles turned white.
‘Oh come on, it would be nice!’ Cara teased her cousin, who looked like she could think of another four-letter word to describe Ben stealing her thunder and proposing to me at her wedding.
‘Anyway, you can’t get engaged this year. It’s my year!’ Shelley slapped the palm of her hand on the sticky table, making our glasses judder. She was not joking. This only made Cara burst out laughing.
‘What? Shell, you can’t have a whole year. You get one day, remember?’
Shelley muttered something into her drink as Sarah-Jane patted her on her hunched-over shoulders.
‘Shell, don’t worry. Ben wouldn’t dream of doing it then; he’d know I would hate that!’ I said, slightly shocked at how seriously she was taking this silly idea of Cara’s.
‘Yes, but it might happen.’ She turned to me, her glassy eyes narrowed, as if I’d suggested that we may as well have a joint wedding.
‘It won’t happen,’ I said more forcefully.
‘You thought he was going to propose to you in Chile. Excuse me if I don’t think you have the best judgement when it comes to matters like this.’
I sat back in my seat. I knew she was pissed off that she’d fucked up on the Mr and Mrs game, that this was not her idea of a rocking hen do and that Sarah-Jane still had a chubby hand clasped on her shoulder, but there was no need for that.
‘Shelley. He won’t propose to me at your wedding, you’re being ridiculous.’
Cara had stopped laughing and was now leaning out of her seat, trying to catch the eye of one of the group of lads at the next booth, who were flicking up soggy beer mats, looking for an escape route.
‘Shelley, when were you born?’ Sarah-Jane asked, ignoring the stale atmosphere that had settled over the booth.
‘What?’ she snapped.
‘What time were you born?’ Sarah-Jane repeated, not put off by the look Shelley was giving her. She clearly wasn’t in the mood for playing any more games.
‘Dunno. The morning sometime.’
‘And when was your soon-to-be husband born?’ Sarah-Jane asked.
Shelley let out a deep sigh. ‘I couldn’t tell you.’
‘Oh!’ Sarah-Jane’s squinty eyes popped open a fraction. ‘Well, that’s not a good omen to begin with. Right, well, unless you have that information then I can’t help you.’ She folded her arms, squishing the face on her t-shirt, which now had a reddish stain on the shoulder. ‘I really can’t believe that you don’t know this sort of information.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Shelley sat up a bit straighter. I wished Sarah-Jane would shut up – had she not seen what a mess I’d made of playing games earlier?
‘Well …’ Sarah-Jane paused, pleased to finally have all of us as an audience. It was either listen to her or watch two lads down a line of shots and howl like wolves at the table next to us. ‘Georgia, do you know when Ben was born?’
I cautiously nodded. ‘He was born in a thunderstorm, at midnight, and they weren’t exactly sure if his birthday was the day before or after as there was a power cut,’ I said, then quickly added, ‘But I only remember that because he jokes that technically he could have two birthdays.’ I spotted Shelley’s face fall, as if she’d failed another sort of bride-to-be test. ‘Right, anyone for another?’ I asked, getting to my feet, hoping to change the conversation.
‘Yeah. Sarah-Jane, it’s your shout.’ Cara nodded at the bar, finishing the dregs of her glass.
Sarah-Jane ignored her and let out a bellowing sneeze before wiping her nose on her bare arm. ‘Excuse me. Actually, I think I have to be making a move. All the dust in here is making my allergies flare up.’ Without a moment’s hesitation, she got to her feet and waddled off out of sight, leaving us staring at the empty space with matching expressions of What the hell just happened?
‘Is she for real?’ Cara shrieked. ‘I know I’ve been called a freeloader in the past but that girl is ridiculous. Seriously though, drinking our wine, taking us on a wild-goose chase, then moaning constantly about this place, no wonder she’s travelling by herself – no one else could put up with her.’
‘I should know Jimmy’s time of birth though,’ Shelley mused sadly. ‘And all the other questions.’
I turned my head to look at her. ‘No, that’s not a normal thing to know. I wouldn’t know what time my other boyfriends were born, or even what some woman in a dog print t-shirt would make of that, and I don’t care. Don’t let it ruin your night.’
Shelley shrugged and finished her drink, looking as if the night had been ruined long before this moment. Without Sarah-Jane’s non-stop chatter, it felt like the atmosphere was as flat as a deflated balloon. All around us was a teenage apocalypse and we were out of place, pretty much sober, and seriously jaded.
‘Let’s just call it a night?’ Shelley yawned.
‘What? No! It’s still early and this is your hen do!’
‘My feet are killing me,’ Cara admitted, pulling her gaze up from a stain on the table.
Shelley nodded and stood up. ‘Mine too. I’m too old to party like I used to.’
‘But, but, it’s your last night of freedom!’
She’d made her mind up that the night was over, and no matter how many times I offered to get us a drink, have a dance or talk about the wedding, she still wanted to leave.
‘I also need to go and swot up on my soon-to-be husband,’ she added without a hint of sarcasm, as we made our way outside and started the walk back to the hostel.
We’d only got as far as the end of the street when Cara pointed, breaking the dejected silence we’d found ourselves in.
‘Is that Sarah-Jane?’
We followed Cara’s gaze over the road where, sitting on a bench, swinging her chubby little legs, with a polystyrene takeaway box on her lap, lost in the ecstasy that a post-booze kebab gives you, was Sarah-Jane.
I shook my head in disbelief. ‘She managed to find the kebab shop all right then.’
‘Yeah, maybe she is psychic after all,’ Shelley muttered sadly. ‘What does that say to you about my luck?’