along swimmingly,’ JoJo said, placing her BlackBerry back on the table and ignoring them all looking at it as though it were kryptonite. ‘Just a few areas of hand-stitched panelling to finish off then all done. Are you still going to let me add the beading? It’ll be subtle, I promise, and slightly vintage. It’ll really make the dress.’
‘Yes, I trust you,’ said Wendy. ‘Whatever you think. Go for it.’
JoJo was an incredible seamstress. She’d studied law at university, something her parents had pushed her into, but her first love was sewing, and after having Constance (a baby Rose had been highly jealous to discover slept all the time – her girls had all been nightmares) she took it up again. She made baby clothes, at first, then the most beautiful christening dresses – as her skills and confidence grew – then, with her friends’ excited encouragement, wedding dresses. They would never forget the first one she made: it was a silky, hand-embroidered slip dress she’d sold to a gushingly grateful bride in North Wales and it had been absolutely stunning.
‘You’re going to look wonderful, Wendy,’ said Rose. ‘I can’t wait to see you in it.’
‘Thank you, Rose,’ said Wendy. ‘And is it still next Wednesday, JoJo, for the final fitting?’
‘Absolutely,’ said JoJo. ‘I’ll have the champagne waiting.’
‘Booze,’ said Sal, nodding emphatically. ‘We need more of it now. There’s a bar on this train, right?’ She picked up the veil from the table and stuck it on her head, before standing up. ‘I’m off to track it down.’
Sal ambled up the swaying carriage towards the front of the train, the veil fluttering in the breeze from the open windows. Rose looked out of hers. They were in real patchwork-quilt country now and there was not a cloud in the sky. It was a really beautiful evening.
Sal came back with two half-bottles of red wine and some plastic cups. ‘It was all they had,’ she said. ‘Chateau de Plonk, and I got mistaken for the bride, which was quite hilarious. Told some old bloke I was getting married in the south of France and honeymooning on safari in South Africa.’
They all laughed. Sal was a hoot. Rose wondered what this chef of hers was like. She hadn’t even told them his name. Still, if it was a one-night stand, never to be repeated, what did it matter?
‘Hey, what’s your chef’s name?’ she asked.
‘Niall,’ said Sal, ‘and I’m not blushing.’ She handed round the cups. ‘I’m just a bit pissed.’
‘Ooh,’ they all chorused, ‘Niall,’ and Sal had to shush them and whack them all in turn with her veil until they shut up.
By the time they arrived at Chippenham Station they were more than a little bit drunk and very giddy and excited. They’d corralled the poor conductor as he’d made his way back up the carriage and regaled him with how Wendy was getting married and could he make an announcement about it over the tannoy. He’d refused, but wished Wendy lots of luck and chatted to them for a while about Norfolk, where the wedding was being held. He knew it very well, he said. He was from Thetford and knew Sumberley Hall where Wendy was getting married, as well as the Donnington-Blacks, Frederick’s family – he’d described them as almost like Norfolk royalty and Wendy had looked slightly scared. They’d also got chatting to the people on the table the other side of the aisle to them – four quite hilarious ladies off for a hillwalking weekend, who shared stories of being lost on the moors and eating cheese and pickle sandwiches on the sides of mountains, surrounded by hungry goats.
They’d got off the train, waving merrily goodbye to their new friends as it pulled away from the platform to continue its journey to Bristol Temple Meads, then crossed the footbridge over to the station building. Rose, now wearing the veil, tripped up one of the steps; Wendy, in the L-plates, hooted with laughter, startling a passing mother and toddler, who started to cry in his pushchair. JoJo had to apologise to them both while Sal picked up the pair of deely boppers that had got dropped in front of one of the wheels, squashing a penis. Spirits were so high by the time they reached their waiting taxi (JoJo, thinking of everything, had pre-booked one) that the driver looked reluctant to take them.
‘Had a bit to drink, have we?’ he commented drily as he manoeuvred out of the car park.
‘Yes, and it’s fabulous!’ replied Rose.
It really was. Reunited with her oldest and bestest friends for a whole three nights away, home and Jason and the girls seemed a million miles away and, at this moment in time, that was fine by her. She was ready to let her hair down, swing it around a bit and then have it wrapped in a big white towel while she had her toenails buffed.
They drove for half an hour, firstly through the town and then largely in the middle of nowhere. They were on an endless country road, which became single track, and, travelling under a thick canopy of over-lapping trees, it felt like they were in a tunnel. A thick, medieval brick wall flanked them on the left; Rose’s eyes travelled along with it, as it ebbed up and down in her vision. Suddenly, the wall stopped at two huge, wide-open wrought iron gates. A black slate sign, welcoming them with the swirly, engraved words, ‘The Retreat Salon and Spa’ protruded from lush, green grass. And then they were bumping up a long, sweeping, tree-lined gravel drive towards a huge Cotswold stone manor house.
Wow. It was stunning. Its pale yellow Georgian frontage, flanked by two impressive wings either side, gleamed in the evening sunshine; its walls dripped with tumbling, late-flowering, pale lilac wisteria. Spread before it was a gorgeous arrangement of ponds and fountains, circled by multicoloured blooms. It was posh, but with a romantic, faded-looking country glamour. It was majestic, but welcoming. Rose couldn’t wait to get inside.
They got out of the taxi, marginally stunned, and just stood on the gravel, gawping up at The Retreat.
‘Oh, JoJo!’ said Wendy. She actually had tears in her eyes. ‘It’s breathtaking. If I haven’t already, I completely take it back about not wanting a hen weekend.’
‘Too right,’ said Sal, her jaw dropping. ‘It’s bloody gorgeous. Look at that flippin’ swimming pool!’ Over to the right of the house, on a diamond-shaped jigsaw of Cotswold slab set into the perfect, emerald lawn, was a huge, outdoor swimming pool surrounded by expensive-looking wooden sunloungers topped with yellow and white striped towels. Swanky white umbrellas fluttered in the breeze; stone steps at one end led down to turquoise, sparkling water. And next to it was a pool house so big and glamorous it could be an estate all of its own.
‘The girl did good,’ said Rose, giving her friend a squeeze round the waist. ‘Well done, JoJo.’ JoJo looked all proud, as well she might, thought Rose. This place looked amazing, like something out of a film, and she knew they all couldn’t wait to sample the treats it promised. Glamour Pamper Package, here they came!
‘You’re welcome,’ said JoJo. ‘I wanted to book something really special for Wendy. She deserves it. And you all deserve it, too.’
‘And you, as well,’ said Wendy. ‘You deserve a break.’
‘Yes, I know,’ admitted JoJo, not looking wholly convinced.
‘Turn off the BlackBerry for the duration,’ scolded Sal. ‘Brides will still adore and order your dresses, the shop will still be standing when you get back to London, and the world won’t stop turning because you don’t pick up a needle and thread or a bloody diamanté for the next two and a bit days.’
JoJo
