Charlotte felt sick.
It was a feeling that had haunted her the whole night as she lay in bed getting no sleep at all. Tossing and turning. Panicking. Wondering.
I can’t do this.
Wondering whether it was better for her to say those words to Ben and set them both free. She was bringing them both down, making them question everything, making them argue, making them choose between their own personal desires and dreams. She wanted a family – it was all she’d ever wanted, really. Whichever way she looked at it, she wanted to be part of something, even if only for a short time – she wanted to belong. To share history with people who were like her. Who knew her intuitively. Who loved her unconditionally. Who had the same blood as her running through their veins; that physical, undeniable, indisputable tie. Bound. For ever.
But he wanted her healthy. He wanted her honesty. He wanted to trust her. And she’d broken that too.
It was breaking her heart. Had already, if she was honest. As she’d watched him walk away she’d wanted to run to him and haul him to her. To clutch him to her chest and breathe him in. To forget what was happening and tell him she wanted only him.
But the problem was, she didn’t want only him, did she? She wanted more. So she’d let him go. Had sat in the car until her chest hurt from sobbing, as she hit her fist on the steering wheel too many times to count. Until she’d watched the last rays of sun die and, with them, much of her hope for a happy resolution.
They needed to talk. They needed time, which was the one thing they didn’t have. Everything was moving so quickly, rolling out of control. Mostly, what she didn’t want was for them to say I do and spend the next five years regretting it because they wanted different things, because they couldn’t agree.
She didn’t want to die unfulfilled. She didn’t want to die lonely. She didn’t want to die full stop, but she did want to hold her own baby. Couldn’t he see that? Couldn’t they do both?
But instead of sitting down with her man and nutting things out, here she was, wearing a fluorescent-pink, sparkly T-shirt and the broadest fake smile ever seen, dragging her suitcase on its tiny wheels across the departure hall of Gatwick Airport. Next to her were Lissa and Eileen, both of whom had asked if she was okay countless times in the taxi and both of whom she’d fobbed off with the excuse she’d barely slept for excitement.
Lies, lies, lies.
The rest of the hens were waiting for them at the bag drop. Mia ushered Charlotte towards the electronic check-in, stabbed the details onto the keyboard, stuck the sticky bag tag on Charlotte’s suitcase handle and hauled it onto the conveyor belt. ‘Oh my God, where have you all been? We’ve been checked-in for ages. How excited are you?’
Charlotte watched her bag disappear through the floppy plastic barrier and felt a jolt of despair. ‘Really. Very.’
‘Yessss! Right, come on. To a bar! There must be a bar somewhere here.’ With Shelley on one side and Sonja on the other, Charlotte found herself being arm-looped and marched to the nearest open bar. And while a drink might well steady her nerves, it would do little for her sickly stomach, especially at nine o’clock in the morning.
‘Down to important business. Gather round everyone! These are for you, Miss Hen. Ta da!’ Mia delved into her carry-on bag and pulled out a pair of pink feathery…
‘Wings?’ Charlotte quickly morphed her grimace into a big shiny smile of thanks. ‘You want me to wear fluffy wings? Yay.’
‘And a tiara.’ Someone… Niamh, she assumed by the accent… was standing behind her and putting something on her head. It was a bit spiky and uncomfortable… but then, when had a hen weekend been anything but?
‘Oh, and a sash.’ Eileen was in front of her, smiling her broadest, most genuine smile, and pulling something over Charlotte’s head. Bride, it read. As if the tiara and fluffy wings and T-shirt and gaggle of giggling women didn’t already scream that.
I really can’t do this.
‘I bet I look ridiculous.’ Charlotte peered down at her outfit and grimaced again. But a group of men on the next table, also Amsterdam-bound and wearing Jake’s Stag on their T-shirts… minus sparkles, but with the smiley-face emoji holding foaming tankards of beer blazoned across their chests… wolf-whistled and gave her leery thumbs-up.
Was that what Ben was doing too? Waving at women? Having a good time? What was Ben doing? Had he told his stags about last night? About her dodgy-looking future and selfish demands? They were probably right now discussing how to help him extricate himself from the relationship. If they had any sense.
Shelley waved at the guys. ‘Could be fun if we bumped into that lot tonight. A double celebration.’
Lissa laughed. ‘I don’t imagine they’ll be in the same places as us. Unless they’re the stage act. Which… looking at them… I sincerely hope they’re not.’
A shudder of apprehension ran down Charlotte’s back, along with a smattering of unease about Lissa. For too many reasons, and none of them good. This was her best friend and suddenly she felt at loggerheads with her. About Ben. About the baby. And now about the pressure of getting drunk and pretending to have fun when what she really wanted to do was hide under her duvet and sob. ‘Stage act? Oh, please. Don’t tell me… you haven’t got… we’re not going to…’
‘A strip club? Maybe. It’s just a bit of fun, Charlotte.’ Lissa briefly glared at her, then, as if realising she should be happy too, quickly found a smile. ‘And, actually, mandatory for a hen night.’
‘You can sneak home early with me if you like.’ Eileen raised her can of lemonade, because she never drank alcohol this early. Mind you, neither did Charlotte, usually. But God, she really felt like she needed it now.
Mia nudged Charlotte’s mum. ‘Don’t you bloody well dare sneak anywhere, Eileen. This could be good for you.’
‘Hmmm… perhaps for my sense of adventure, but not my blood pressure.’ Eileen shook her head. ‘What have I got myself in to?’
‘Fun. But it looks like Charlotte’s forgotten what that is.’ Lissa’s nostrils flared and she pigged her eyes at Charlotte and turned away.
More pieces of Charlotte’s heart broke. Lissa was pissed off with her now too for some reason. And her mother’s blood pressure would indeed skyrocket if she knew what Charlotte was keeping from her.
I can’t do this.
Just like the day she’d pitched up at Carol’s door, Charlotte’s overriding instinct was to run. And just like that day, she couldn’t. She had to stay here and do this, because they were all here for her. To celebrate her.
She couldn’t tell them he’d slept on the sofa and left without saying goodbye. That they were here to celebrate a wedding that might not happen. That she’d messed up. Was messed up.
That she had a very good chance of getting ill or dying before all of them. Maybe before Eileen, if she didn’t do something quick.
Time wasn’t on her side. Seemed Lissa was quickly retreating too. Seemed Ben wasn’t on her side at all. Maybe he’d see things differently when he came back.
If he came back.
There was chattering all around her but it suddenly went quiet and Charlotte wondered what she’d missed. Most of the girls were looking at her and grinning. Niamh was laughing.
Charlotte looked at them all. ‘What?’
‘Do keep up,’ Lissa said. ‘Your mum was saying how lovely this is.’
Eileen wiped a tear from her cheek with a white cotton handkerchief. ‘Oh, ignore me, I’m getting all emotional. But you know,’ she whispered, as she leaned across the table and straightened the sash across Charlotte’s aching chest, ‘I was so worried I wouldn’t get to see this when you found that lump. I can’t tell you how worried I was. Silly, I know, but you’ll know exactly what I felt when you have kids of your own. You get a bit emotional. And look at you…’ She took both of Charlotte’s hands in hers. ‘So happy. So healthy. Beautiful. If not a little… pink. I’m so proud.’
‘Oh, Mum.’ Charlotte fought to control the wobble in her voice and to swallow back the rock in her throat. But she failed miserably at the tears. One spilled over and ran down her cheek. The last two months had been a rollercoaster of discovery and worry and now she was feeling like she wanted to get off and have a lie-down in a dark room. Only, she couldn’t. She had to sit here and pretend everything was fine.
Eileen pushed some of Charlotte’s hair back from her face like she used to when she was seven years old. ‘What’s the matter, love?’
Charlotte heaved in a deep breath and blinked the tears away, wanting nothing more than to hold on to her mum and sob. To tell her about Ben, and Carol, and the blood-test results. To cry and cry and cry. But she was a big girl now, even though she didn’t always feel like it. Even though she didn’t want to feel like it. ‘Oh, it’s nothing. I’m just a little overwhelmed, to be honest.’
‘Aww, it’s okay. I understand. It is a bit over the top, but the girls just wanted to have fun… uh-oh, what did I say?’
‘Girls just wanna…’ Niamh, Mia and Shelley all stood up and started to sing, then sat down quickly when they spied a security guard walking over to them. ‘Sorry. Sorry. Carried away… shhhhh…’
‘Look at them. I don’t know how I’m going to keep up.’ Eileen smiled softly. ‘But it’s your hen weekend, love. I want to see smiles, not tears.’
‘Here. Get this down you, this’ll make you feel better.’ Shelley put a glass of champagne into Charlotte’s hand. ‘Bottoms up, girlfriend. Slainte. Neck it back. There’s more of that coming your way.’ She leaned closer. ‘Hey… something weird… Lissa said she wasn’t feeling great and could she just have Sprite? And when I told her to harden up she gave me a funny look.’
‘Maybe it’s too early, even for her?’ suggested Eileen, ever the optimist and oblivious to everything going on around her. ‘I mean, it’s very early for drinking at all.’
‘Ah. Well. That’s never happened before, not where Lissa’s concerned. Nine in the morning is just a regular late night for her.’ Shelley shook her head and shrugged, trying to work out this strange, unheard-of puzzle. ‘Maybe she’s still on antibiotics.’
‘And maybe it’s none of your business,’ Lissa hissed, leaning over from the other table. ‘Maybe I’ve decided to become teetotal.’
‘What?’ Niamh almost choked on her drink. ‘And maybe pigs are flying over our heads right now.’
Which both reminded Charlotte and gave her a get-out-of-an-awkward-situation card. Because even though her best friend might have told her innermost secret to Ben, it still wasn’t Charlotte’s secret to tell. ‘Oh, look, the monitor up there says Go To Gate for the Schipol flight. We’re going to be boarding soon. Come on.’
‘Right. So we’re here. Just the small matter of where we’re going to be sleeping tonight.’ Niamh dropped her bags to the ground outside the central station and blinked into the light.
The flight had been… alcoholic. And the train journey into town uneventful. In fact, Eileen had fallen asleep on Charlotte’s shoulder and Charlotte had wished she could have done the same. Or, preferably, slept for ever.
‘Apparently the houseboats are just round the corner,’ Lissa called out as she scrolled through her emails on her phone for the directions. Her mood hadn’t exactly improved, but she was managing to string sentences together that didn’t appear barbed. Maybe it was just morning sickness making her sour? ‘Follow me. I should have brought a big stick or an umbrella to hold up so you can see where I am, if I’m going to be the tour guide.’
Niamh laughed. ‘God help us. We’ll end up in some seedy grunge nightclub or something.’
‘Or a dungeon.’ Mia nodded.
But Eileen just smiled and grabbed the handle on her suitcase. ‘Don’t be mean. She’s organised everything, and I’m sure it’ll be just fine.’
Mia looked at Lissa’s raven hair and jet jeans and ebony jacket and her eyebrows rose. ‘If you like black.’
But the houseboats weren’t black. They were two beautiful, bright and airy, four-berth boats moored in front of tall, narrow, candy-coloured buildings just a five-minute walk from the railway station.
‘Oh, they’re gorgeous. Thanks so much, Lissa.’ Niamh threw her arms around her, which Lissa accepted a little uneasily. ‘I may have underestimated you.’
They all piled into the first boat, exclaiming oohs and aahhs at the wooden furniture and modern white decor. There was a spacious bathroom, two double bedrooms and a wooden deck that opened to the outdoors.
‘I thought they’d be like caravans, but they’re huge.’ Sonja pulled open a kitchen drawer and lifted out a corkscrew bottle opener. ‘Excellent. This is all we need. Marvellous. Sorted then.’
Lissa tutted. Unusual. ‘I was going to suggest that Charlotte, Eileen and I have this one. Shelley, Mia, Sonja and Niamh can have the one next door. But are you okay with that, Charlotte?’
Charlotte wasn’t overly sure. There was an atmosphere of unease with Lissa that she’d never felt before, and she wasn’t sure if it was coming from her anxiety about the things Ben said, or the pregnancy, or just generally being here at all. But she couldn’t let fifteen years of friendship disappear down the canal. ‘Of course. Mum, you take that double and we’ll share this one.’
Lissa nodded and looked at the time on her phone. ‘Okay, ladies, go and unpack. You have twenty minutes and then we’re having lunch. Er… after we’ve sorted the bike hire.’
Pale-faced, Eileen stopped on her way to her bedroom. ‘Bikes? I’m nearly seventy.’
‘Tosh! You’re what? Sixty-seven, which means early sixties really and sixty is the new black, right Mrs E? You’ll be fine. It’s all flat and we’ll go very slowly. You’ll love it. Trust me.’
‘Hmmmm… why do I feel very suspicious about that? Can we go to the Anne Frank Museum while we’re out?’
‘Ugh. Do we have to?’ Terminally uncultured Sonja shivered. ‘Won’t it be depressing? This is supposed to be fun.’
Niamh flicked through a brochure of things to do she’d found on the kitchen bench top, and grinned. ‘If we’re going to go to any museum, can it be the sex one?’
This time Sonja looked very enthusiastic. ‘Oh my God. Yes. Yes, Let’s do that.’
It was late afternoon by the time they’d done a circuit of the city, criss-crossed what felt like a thousand canals, and ended up back at the houseboat, having laughed until their sides hurt at some strange exhibits in the sex museum. Eileen had stopped off to learn all about Anne Frank by visiting her house, which, they’d discovered, wasn’t far away at all.
And while they’d laughed and been silly as they’d wheeled their way around this pretty city, they’d been cocooned by the comfort of numbers; seven people to take the strain away, to make the jokes, to distract from the turmoil inside Charlotte’s head.
Now it was just Lissa and her, Charlotte wasn’t sure what to say or do next. Normally it would have been a recap of the day, plans for the evening. A vent about Ben. But things felt so different to Charlotte that she literally didn’t know what they could talk about that would be safe territory.
Having secured the bikes to railings outside the boat she climbed down the steps and threw her bag on the luxurious white sofa. ‘I’m bushed. Is there time for a snooze, d’you think?’
‘Yep. I’m bloody knackered. I could sleep for a week.’ Lissa followed her in, dumped her bag on the sofa and slumped down next to it, feet on the coffee table in front of her. ‘I wish they’d all just back off about the drinking.’
‘You do realise that at some point you’re going to have to tell them about the baby, don’t you? You won’t be able to fob them off with the antibiotic story for long. Sonja said you’d have finished them by now and they’d be out of your system.’
‘I know. I know. I know. Just leave it, will you?’
Here we are again. Was she really such a downer on everyone? ‘I’m trying to help.’
‘Well, you’re not.’
Lissa was renowned for straight talking and even for being grumpy, but this was another level. ‘What’s eating you?’
Lissa looked up from the phone she was tapping on. She certainly had a lot to say to whoever she was messaging. She sighed dramatically. ‘Look, I’m pregnant and I’m tired. I feel sick and I’m exhausted by pretending to be happy all the time.’
Me too. ‘I’m sorry. I never imagined my hen weekend would be so hard for you.’ The words were out before Charlotte could bite them back and she immediately regretted them. This wasn’t like her. Who was she becoming, pushing everyone away?
She was protecting herself, she knew. She couldn’t help it. But if she wasn’t careful she wouldn’t have a boyfriend or a best friend.
But Lissa lurched upright. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. I was just letting off steam and you’re the safest person I can do that with. You don’t usually mind when I gripe. I have a lot of things to think about, okay?’
‘Yeah. You and me both.’
About Ben? Is that what she was thinking about? Or about the baby?
God, the baby. Lissa was carrying a child and it hadn’t been until Ben had all but forbidden Charlotte to have one that she’d realised how much she wanted one. How her gut tightened at the thought of having a baby inside her. And of the hopelessness of thinking that might never happen. That she might never hold a baby to her breast. Before it was removed.
There were too many thoughts, too many things in her head, and yet here she was parading around like a tourist as if she had no cares in the world. In that moment she decided to get one thing out of the way, and hopefully out of her head: the Ben issue. She needed to ask her friend about him before the worry ate away at her. She needed to make peace with her chief bridesmaid. ‘Lissa? Can we talk? I mean, there’s some… stuff we need to nut out between us.’
But her best friend threw her phone onto the coffee table and stood up. ‘Can it wait? I’m going for a shower and a nap.’
As she watched her go, Charlotte wondered just how broken things were between them. And whether they’d ever be able to fix them.