‘What time do you call this?’ hollered JoJo.
‘Come on, Sal!’ shouted Rose. ‘We’ve been waiting ages.’
‘We’ve only got a blooming train to catch!’ called Wendy. ‘Leg it, woman!’
So Sal did. She laughed and dashed towards them. Her friends. The friends she adored. She was so happy to see them. Forget the throbbing blister, the fear of pampering, Niall with the green eyes and the sexy tats, even forget the bloody pub, she thought. She was spending three nights with her old, beloved friends and this was going to be a fantastic weekend.
Rose
The whistle blew, the train rumbled slowly out of Paddington and the four women made their unsteady way along carriage ‘D’. JoJo had reserved four seats either side of a table, but it was taking a while to get to them; the train was busy and those without reserved seats were clogging up the aisle looking for spaces. Rose had to squeeze past a loud American couple, with a bird in a cage, who were bellowing something about ‘Cirences-tire’ and trying to persuade a disgruntled-looking teenager in enormous headphones to move so they could sit together. It was hot on that train; all the windows were already open and Rose felt quite stuffy and constricted in her jeans and top.
‘Here we are!’ declared JoJo, checking the numbers on the tickets sticking out the top of the seats. ‘This is us.’
They all started wedging their bags in the overhead racks. Rose, being quite short, had to stand on tiptoes to do hers and on the final shove went careering into a gentleman in a turquoise cagoule who was sitting below her.
‘Sorry!’ she said.
‘No problem,’ said the man, rustling his newspaper in suppressed rage.
As Rose took her seat, blushing, the others were all laughing.
‘Short arse!’ said Sal.
‘Clumsy Clots!’ said Wendy.
Rose grinned.
‘The longer I know you, the more you never change!’ laughed JoJo, settling in her seat. ‘The first time I met you, you tripped over in the Students’ Union and had to be picked up by that Philosophy lecturer. Do you remember?’ Rose nodded, giggling. ‘None of us really change, do we?’ continued JoJo. ‘Rose is clumsy, Wendy is crazy and Sal is always late.’ She grinned, stood up, reached to the rack, rummaged for her BlackBerry and charger and placed them on the table, before plugging the charger in.
Rose looked at Sal, Sal looked at Wendy and the three of them looked pointedly at JoJo.
‘Ha, very good,’ said JoJo, laughing. ‘I’m not going to look at that, by the way. I’m just charging it, for . . . later.’
‘Yeah, right,’ said Sal. ‘And sorry I was a bit late,’ she added, not looking that sorry at all.
‘It’s fine,’ said JoJo, with a grin. ‘There’s nothing I like more than sprinting towards a departing train like a demented bat out of hell.’
‘Me too.’ Wendy smiled, getting comfy in her seat and attempting and failing to smooth down her mass of red hair. The veil had fallen off again and was now sitting on the table. ‘I really appreciated leaping onto a moving ton of metal like Bruce Willis in Die Hard, minus the bald head and the vest.’
Rose chuckled at the thought of Wendy without hair and in a white, old man’s vest; she’d probably still look good, though. ‘I actually enjoyed it,’ Rose said. ‘It was fun, but then again I don’t get out that much these days. I’ll take my excitement where I can find it!’
‘We’ll be making up for that this weekend,’ said Sal. ‘Your lack of excitement.’ She got up to pull some stuff out of her bag and starting chucking things on the table: the penis deely boppers, the handcuffs, the L-plates, plus four miniature bottles of rosé.
‘So much for no hen props,’ said JoJo, shaking her head in mock sorrow. ‘Rose, Sal, you’ve really let me down.’
‘I know,’ wailed Wendy. ‘How could you?’ She grinned. ‘Will The Retreat even let me in if I turn up in some of this stuff? I can’t see the penises being allowed over the threshold!’
‘Of course they’ll let penises in,’ said Sal decisively. ‘Now stop whinging and let’s get some of this wine down our necks.’
They opened their tiny bottles and started glugging the wine. The rows of terraced houses outside the window were starting to flash past them quite fast now and the sun was coming out and glancing off NASA-sized satellite dishes. JoJo shrugged off her raincoat; Rose slipped her feet out of her court shoes. It was so hot on here!
‘Lovely,’ said Rose. She seemed to have quite a thirst on her and had drunk almost half her bottle in one gulp.
‘You might have chilled them,’ said JoJo. ‘Joking. They’re great.’
‘My wine, at the pub, is always chilled,’ said Sal. ‘I got these from the mini-mart at Woking station.’
‘They’re perfect,’ said Wendy, settling back further into her seat. ‘Thank you, Sal. So, how is everyone? What have you all been up to recently? Any gossip?’
They all fell silent for a second. JoJo shrugged; she hardly ever had gossip, Rose knew, unless it was something salacious about a client. Sal looked . . . what? Guilty, a little bit cheeky? A smile was curling at the corner of her lips in a suspicious manner. And Rose was considering telling them about Jason, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to bring down the buoyant, excited mood just yet. She’d wait for a lull in proceedings, like maybe on the train home again.
‘All the exciting stuff is going on in your world, Wendy,’ Rose said. ‘The wedding . . . next Saturday! I can’t believe it! Are all the preparations done?’
‘All done!’ declared Wendy.
‘Is Frederick on his stag this weekend?’
‘Nope. Last weekend,’ Wendy said. ‘He and some of his old schoolmates went fishing for the weekend.’
‘Wild,’ pronounced Sal.
Wendy grinned. ‘It’s just something he likes to do. He always puts the fish back,’ she added.
‘Of course he does,’ said Rose, ‘Frederick’s a nice guy – lovely, in fact. You’re really lucky, Wendy. He’s a catch.’
‘Just like the fish,’ put in JoJo, to smiles all round.
‘Lucky is the word,’ said Wendy. ‘Bloody, bloody lucky I think you’ll find. Right, so you know all my news – how about yours? Somebody give me something! How are the girls, Rose?’
‘The Sisters of Sass? Oh, just the same, unfortunately!’
The Sisters of Sass. That’s what she and Jason called their daughters – they would never say it to their faces, it would make them more sassy than they already thought they were. As Rose had packed her bag, all three Sisters of Sass had lolled on her bed. One had her feet under Rose’s pillow; one had a smooth, fake-tanned leg dangling over the end of the bed; the third lay on her front and picked at her nails until glittery bits of polish sprinkled down onto Rose’s pale grey carpet. On principle, she shouldn’t even have allowed them in her bedroom – she wasn’t allowed in theirs, unless it was for essential de-scuzzing, or to bring food . . . They’d spreadeagled themselves – all legs and straightened hair and perfume and nail polish and powdery, foundationed cheeks – and had started criticising her fashion choices.
‘You’re