Wendy and JoJo both smirked. Tamsin appeared to not get the joke; her hand was wandering down to her bag again, which was beeping.
‘We’re on the Health and Rejuvenation Package,’ said Sal merrily, ‘thank you – Luke,’ she added, peering at the badge on his black t-shirt. ‘We like to call it the H&R.’
‘Right,’ said Luke, looking rather embarrassed. ‘I’m really sorry, but I’m afraid in that case you can’t have cocktails.’
‘I beg your pardon,’ said Sal again, reaching for the drinks menu from the middle of the table. ‘I’m not sure I heard you correctly. Did you just say we can’t have cocktails?’
‘Yes, I’m afraid that’s correct,’ said Luke, looking hesitantly round the table at them. He was clearly feeling quite uncomfortable; his hands had gone all fidgety. ‘You’re not allowed cocktails on your package. Regenerating, fruit-based, soft drinks, only. You’re supposed to be following a healthy regime . . . for mind and body. It does say. In the literature.’ He smiled uncertainly.
‘Are you telling me what drinks I can and can’t order?’
‘Yes, madam, I’m afraid I am. I’m so sorry.’
‘That’s bloody ridiculous!’ Sal would have stood up if it wasn’t farcical to do so. She would have thumped the table in a politician-like strop if it could have got her anywhere. And she wasn’t sure if she was more upset by the outright denial of cocktails or being called ‘madam’ . . .
‘Sal,’ cautioned JoJo, in a calm and measured voice. ‘It’s not his fault. And you can understand the logic, can’t you? If we’re supposed to be getting all cleansed and healthy, we shouldn’t really be chucking a load of alcohol down our throats!’
Wendy nodded. ‘I think we just have to go with it,’ she said, clearly quite disappointed.
‘Doesn’t seem we have much choice,’ agreed Rose.
‘OK, OK,’ said Sal. ‘I’ll toe the bloody line. I’ll sip water and bloody elderflower cordial all night. But I’m not happy.’ A booze-free hen weekend, how could she be? Hen weekends meant booze and lots of it, everyone knew that. She grabbed her fork and rapped the table with it to show just how unhappy she was. Then she thought that looked a bit unhinged so she laid it back down again. ‘I bet you’ve never been to a hen weekend without cocktails before, have you, Tamsin?’ she enquired, mock-pleasantly. ‘I expect this is quite a comedown for you.’
Tamsin looked up from her phone which she was frantically tapping into and met her eye. ‘I’ve never been on a hen weekend before,’ she said.
‘Nooo!’ exclaimed Rose. ‘How about a hen night?’
‘No, not one of those either,’ said Tamsin simply, and she lowered her eyes to her phone again, which Sal interpreted as ‘subject closed’. There was a pause. Fancy not ever going on a hen night! thought Sal.
‘Not everyone likes hen weekends,’ said Wendy kindly, though she did look surprised. ‘I even tried to avoid having one myself!’
‘There was no chance of that—’ JoJo smiled ‘—and I’m so sorry, everyone, once again, that I booked the wrong package. I can see I’m never going to live this down,’ she added, with a rueful smile. Then she turned to the waiter. ‘A large jug of water and five elderflower cordials with ginger and ginseng, please’ she said to him sweetly, whilst reading off the menu she had taken from Sal. ‘Thank you.’
*
A sober hour passed. Sal was cheesed off, but was trying to suppress her annoyance as she didn’t want to upset Wendy or JoJo. She made do with shooting loaded looks across the table at Rose, who could only grin at her sympathetically in return. Things had gone from bad to worse. After they’d ordered their drinks, Luke had informed them they were on a different food menu to the other packages at The Retreat, too. There was to be no saddle of beef and chocolate fondant. No scallops. No bacon. They had to choose between vegetable and pine nut salad, turnip cassoulet, rissoles of rhubarb in a cauliflower glaze and some other such nonsense. It was bloody awful. Sal could tell it had taken a lot of effort to put these complicated, extremely healthy dishes together, but they weren’t to her taste – the turnip cassoulet she’d made the mistake of ordering because at least it had some carbs in it had almost made her gag. She craved steak and chocolate and double cream, not rabbit’s food.
‘Frederick loves turnips,’ observed Tamsin casually, as the plates were cleared away. She hadn’t been on her phone for at least ten minutes. ‘It must be the Norfolk in him.’
‘I didn’t know that,’ said Wendy, gathering up the side dishes for the waiter.
‘He hasn’t made you his world-famous turnip gratin yet?’ asked Tamsin.
‘No, not yet.’ Wendy smiled. ‘I guess I’ve got that to look forward to.’
‘But you have seen his turnip?’ quipped Sal.
‘Of course I have,’ responded Wendy equally cheekily.
They all laughed, including Tamsin, but her smile disappeared as her phone started creating again. There had been brief moments, during the meal, of the hilarity they were all so used to, but they couldn’t quite be themselves with the hen-weekend virgin at the table. Wendy’s laugh wasn’t quite as loud as usual; Rose didn’t giggle so much; JoJo was noticeably quiet. It was not relaxing; the whole thing was not relaxing, so far. The food was hard work, the conversation was hard work and they weren’t allowed a drink; Sal wished she was back in her pub with the whisky on tap and a hot man in her bed.
She wondered what Niall was doing right now – sweating in the kitchen, no doubt. Chopping like a demon, his lovely, searching fingers flying over shiny, bulbous aubergines and slippery slivers of mixed pepper; stirring velvety, unctuous sauces with a big wooden spoon; pounding a piece of meat with a firm, hard pestle . . . She liked to admire him as he worked. Secretly, usually, pretending she was just checking on something; bustling in with a tea towel or a stray plate, to sneak a look at him at work. He had a lovely bum, with the apron strings tied above it. God, she fancied him. He was delicious. If she could press a button and be back in that kitchen with him, right now, she’d do it. She’d make a pass for him over the pass and, after service, he would service her with her just deserts . . .
They were waiting now, for dessert. They’d all given up trying to decipher the complicated, ultra-virtuous pudding menu and had ordered the same thing: raspberry sorbet. At least that was semi-normal. At least that was something rabbits might not enjoy.
Sal drummed the edge of the table with her fingers. She was bored. No one was talking. The atmosphere was as dead as a dodo. She had a sudden urge to liven things up quite considerably, and sod Tamsin if she didn’t like it, in fact, all the better if she was downright horrified.
‘I’ve been sleeping with Niall for two months,’ she announced, apropos of nothing, and in a very loud voice. ‘It wasn’t just a one-night stand.’
‘What?’ said Rose, snapping her head up from idly perusing a flyer about The Retreat’s full body massages they wouldn’t be receiving. ‘Have you?’
‘Yep,’ said Sal proudly, ‘and it’s been bloody fantastic.’
She swiftly looked round the table for everyone’s reactions.
