you like it?’ Ciara asked, searching for approval. ‘I wanted to give it to you at dinner last week but I didn’t think it would be appropriate.’
‘Gosh! Well, I’m glad you saved it till now!’ Holly laughed, giving her sister a hug.
‘OK, me next,’ Abbey said, putting her parcel on Holly’s lap. ‘It’s from me and Jack so don’t expect anything like Ciara’s.’
‘Well, I would worry if Jack gave me something like that,’ Holly said, opening it. ‘Oh, Abbey, it’s beautiful!’ Holly said, holding up the sterling silver-covered photo album.
‘For your new memories,’ Abbey said softly.
‘Oh, it’s perfect,’ Holly said, wrapping her arms round her and squeezing her. ‘Thank you.’
‘OK, well, mine is less sentimental but as a fellow female I’m sure you will appreciate it,’ said Denise, handing her an envelope.
‘Oh, brilliant! I’ve always wanted to go here,’ Holly exclaimed as she opened it. ‘A weekend of pampering at Haven’s health and beauty clinic!’
‘God, you sound like you’re on Blind Date,’ teased Sharon.
‘Let us know when you want to make an appointment, it’s valid for a year, and the rest of us can book the same time. Make a holiday out of it!’
‘Oh, that’s a great idea, Denise. Thank you!’
‘OK, last but not least!’ Holly winked at Sharon. Sharon fidgeted with her hands nervously while she watched Holly’s face.
The present was a large silver photo frame with a photograph of Sharon, Denise and Holly at the Christmas Ball two years ago. ‘Oh, I’m wearing my spensive white dress!’ sobbed Holly playfully.
‘Before it was ruined,’ pointed out Sharon.
‘God, I don’t even remember that being taken!’
‘I don’t even remember being there,’ mumbled Denise.
Holly continued to stare at the photo sadly while she walked over to the fireplace. That had been the last ball that she and Gerry had been to, as he had been too ill to attend last year’s.
‘Well, this will take pride of place,’ Holly announced, walking over to the mantelpiece and placing it beside her wedding photo.
‘OK, girls, let’s get some serious drinking done!’ screamed Ciara, and everyone dived to safety as another bottle of champagne was popped open.
Two bottles of champagne and several of red wine later the girls stumbled out of the house and piled into a taxi. Through the hilarity and shouting, someone managed to explain to the taxi driver where they were going. Holly insisted on sitting in the passenger seat and having a heart-to-heart with Nick, the driver, who probably wanted to kill her by the time they reached town.
‘Bye, Nick!’ they all shouted to their new best friend before falling out onto the kerb, where they watched him drive off at high speed. They had decided (while drinking their third bottle of wine) to chance their luck at Dublin’s most stylish club, Boudoir. The club was reserved for the rich and famous only, and it was a well-known fact that if you weren’t either, you then had to have a membership card to be granted access. Denise walked up to the door coolly waving her video store membership card in the bouncer’s faces. Amazingly, they stopped her.
The only famous faces the girls saw overtaking them to enter the club, as they fought with the bouncers to get in, were some newsreaders from the national TV station, whom Denise smiled at and hilariously kept repeating, ‘Good evening,’ very seriously to their faces. Unfortunately, after that Holly remembered no more.
Holly awoke with her head pounding. Her mouth was as dry as Gandhi’s sandal and her vision was impaired. She leaned up on one elbow and tried to open her eyes, which were somehow glued together. She squinted around. It was bright, very bright, and the room seemed to be spinning. Something very odd was going on. Holly caught sight of herself in the mirror ahead and startled herself. Had she been in an accident last night? She ran out of energy and collapsed flat on her back again. Suddenly the house alarm began wailing and she lifted her head slightly from the pillow and opened one eye. Oh, take whatever you want, she thought, just as long as you bring me a glass of water before you go. After a while she realised it wasn’t the alarm but the phone ringing beside her bed.
‘Hello?’ she croaked.
‘Oh good, I’m not the only one,’ said a desperately ill-sounding voice on the other end.
‘Who are you?’ croaked Holly again.
‘My name is Sharon, I think,’ came the reply, ‘although don’t ask me who Sharon is because I don’t know. The man beside me in bed seems to think I know him.’
Holly heard John laughing loudly in the background.
‘Sharon, what happened last night? Please enlighten me.’
‘Alcohol happened,’ said Sharon drowsily, ‘lots and lots of alcohol.’
‘Any other information?’
‘Nope.’
‘Know what time it is?’
‘Two o’clock.’
‘Why are you ringing me at this hour of the morning?’
‘It’s the afternoon, Holly.’
‘Oh. How did that happen?’
‘Gravity or something. I was out that day from school.’
‘Oh God, I think I’m dying.’
‘Me too.’
‘I think I’ll just go back to sleep. Maybe when I wake up the ground will have stopped moving.’
‘Good idea. Oh, and, Holly, welcome to the thirties club.’
Holly groaned. ‘I have not started as I mean to go on. From now on I will be a sensible, mature thirty-year-old woman.’
‘Yeah, that’s what I said too. Good night.’
‘Night.’ Seconds later Holly was asleep. She awoke at various stages during the day to answer the phone, the conversations all seeming part of her dreams. And she made many trips to the kitchen for water to rehydrate herself.
Eventually, at nine o’clock that night, Holly succumbed to her stomach’s screaming demands for food. As usual there was nothing in the fridge so she decided to treat herself to a Chinese takeaway. She sat snuggled up on the couch in her pyjamas watching the very best of Saturday night TV while stuffing her face. After the trauma of being without Gerry for her birthday the previous day, Holly was surprised to notice that she felt very content with herself. It was the first time since Gerry died that she was comfortable with her own company. There was a slight chance she could make it without him.
Later that night Jack called her on her mobile. ‘Hey, sis, what are you doing?’
‘Watching
