phoned Fraser to check the rapidly extending guest list was going to be all right. Angus had already OK’d our presence by threatening to withhold stripper privileges if we weren’t granted entrance, so at least Fran and I were in the clear. Amanda answered.
‘Oh, hi,’ I said coolly. I was prepared for this. ‘Is Fraser there?’ Hee hee hee.
‘Is that you, Mel, darling?’
Uh-oh: what was this, scary reverse psychology? Maybe she was planning on turning my legs into the legs of a chicken.
‘I’m dreadfully sorry about the other day, darling. Pre-wedding tension and all that.’
I didn’t know what to say. She seemed to have had pre-wedding tension for the last twenty-six years.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ I mumbled.
‘Darling, I’d love you to come to my hen party. Honestly.’
‘But …’
‘No, no “but”s, darling. Please, do come.’
‘What about Fran?’ I said loyally. Also I’d be too scared to go on my own.
She sighed. ‘Yes, and Fran too. It’s Quagli’s at eight, a week on Friday. We’ll squeeze you in somehow.’
‘Have you been dropped on the floor and landed on your head?’
‘No, darling, it’s just … I thought … Oh, it would be so silly and embarrassing for you two to have to go to Frase’s stag night. I mean, the humiliation …’
‘Oh no. We’re still going to that. It’s going to be a right laugh,’ I said.
‘Darling, don’t be a silly. It’s for boys. They won’t want you!’
I knew it! She couldn’t bear not being the centre of attention for even one tiny microsecond.
‘Can I speak to Fraser, please? And thanks for inviting us … eventually. It’s a sweet thought.’
‘Look, I’m only saying this to be kind …’ she said nastily, ‘but he doesn’t really want you there. It’s only because that retarded brother of his thought it’d be a laugh. Fraser thinks it’ll be embarrassing too. You’ll be the laughing stock.’
SHUT UP, WITCH! I badly wanted to say.
‘Look, Amanda,’ I said, as calmly as I could, ‘it’ll be fine. We’ll all be fine. Don’t worry about us. Can you put Fraser on the phone, please?’
There was a pause, and some frantic whispering. I wanted to hang up, but forced myself to stay on the line.
‘Urr, hullo,’ came a familiar gravelly voice.
‘Ehm, hi, Frase …’
There was a bit of a pause. I could picture Amanda in the background, drawing her finger across her throat … dramatically uplit like the queen in Snow White.
‘Frase, do you really mind us coming on your stag night?’
Fraser was obviously weighing up his options of girls plus stripper or nothing.
‘NO. DEFINITELY NOT.’
The stern tone surprised me.
‘DO YOU UNDERSTAND? DEFINITELY NOT, OKAY!’
Then he put the phone down. I hugged myself with glee. We were going all right. Although I did find Fraser tricking his fiancée slightly worrying. I mean, I was allowed to hate her – I wasn’t going to marry her.
I remembered I’d forgotten to ask him about Alex and Charlie. Oh well, surely they could blend into the background.
Finally, with the phone feeling welded to my ear, I managed to catch up with Fran, and told her what had happened. She was pleased.
‘I’d have given anything to be a ghost and have crept into her room and seen her face when that happened.’
‘Er, wouldn’t you rather just be a fly on the wall?’ I said.
‘Would I rather be a fly than a ghost?’
‘OK, can we have this conversation later? Because NOW you are going to tell me what happened with Charlie.’
She laughed evilly. ‘Oh, my dear, I couldn’t possibly tell you on the phone. Really, it was disgusting. Quite brilliant. Almost a shame to have to punish him, really.’
‘But you’re going to.’
‘Sadly, rules are rules. And I’ll see you on Saturday. Has he phoned up and begged to come?’
‘Yup.’
‘Excellente!’
Saturday was fast approaching, and I realized that I had no idea what to wear to a stag night. Cockney Boy was most surprised that we’d been invited to a stag, and even offered to teach me how to make a selection of suggestively named cocktails.
Janie was looking much better, apart from jumping six feet every time the phone rang and asking me whether I thought it was too early to introduce James to her parents.
I pondered this for a bit.
‘Well, I’ve always found the will reading to be the only really safe time. That might just be the boys I know, though.’
She turned green, and I wished I’d kept my mouth shut.
I debated with myself whether to wear jeans, then decided against it, in case we ended up in one of those nightclubs that preferred cheap shiny Top Shop suits to real clothes. A good frock, however, was not the thing, as it would surely be raining beer at some stage. Anything tight or short was out, in case of stripper identity problems. And nothing too plain, or I might be mistaken for a dyke, which is why I had to come to the boys’ night out. Yikes. That pretty much just left my bought-on-a-whim catsuit, so called because if I ever walked past any cats in it their fur went on end and they made a ‘sssssssssssssssssuuuuuuuuu’ noise.
Fran turned up, looking glorious in something dainty and impossibly trendy. This was getting worse. I picked my kilt up from the back of the cupboard. Fran shook her head imperiously. Just as I was hopping about in my black tights gazing at some weird Japanese kimono thing which had somehow turned up in my clothes, the doorbell rang again.
‘Can you get that?’ I said. ‘It’ll be Alex and Charlie.’
‘Ah, my two favourite men,’ she purred languidly.
Fran swanned out of my bedroom and I could hear rowdy voices. Oh well, she sounded like she was being civil. Then Alex’s voice drifted into my room:
‘PLEASE – look, will you just stop calling me a cocksucker?’
I grinned to
