Page 4 of Date with Destiny

‘How close to the use-by date do you feel confident consuming a food substance?’

Daniel doesn’t look up as I walk in, too busy examining the back of a bottle of Baileys. ‘Like, obviously if it’s milk or something, it’s probably fine until day of and day after, too, right?’ He holds the Baileys up to the light now, squinting as he tries to see into the black bottle. ‘But when something has a two-year shelf life and you’re down to the date wire, I’m more suspicious.’

‘Your logic is flawed,’ I mumble, throwing myself down onto the nearest sofa. ‘If you have seven days to drink milk, one day over the date is a much bigger deal than one day and two years. It’s basic maths.’

‘Maths!’ he makes a dismissive noise. ‘Maths and logic have nothing to do with it – this is aboutinstinct.’ He glances over at me now, lowering the liqueur as he takes in my broken-ness.

‘Welcome home,’ he says, and though my eyes are now shut, I can hear the amusement in his voice. ‘Fun weekend?’

‘In parts,’ I reply, trying to find some fun in there somewhere, in among the exhausting madness.

‘Was, er, thiscostumepart of things, or did you change into it on your way home, just for me?’ Feeling him move closer, I crack an eye to find him perching on the settee arm, giving me a leery once-over with a wry smile.

I pick up the hem of my skirt; it’s encrusted with an array of alluring stains. That one is grass, I think. That must be pink tequila. Ah, that one is definitely sick. All covered in a thick layer of edible glitter from the cupcake-making course we did this afternoon.

Answering with only a low groan, I roll towards him. He slides down onto the sofa cushions, pulling my fragile head into his lap and cradling it gently.

‘Poor Ginny,’ he murmurs, stroking my lank, greasy curls. The blow-dry Celeste made us all have on Friday – before activities began in earnest – now seems a million years ago.

‘There is one thing that would make me feel better,’ I say, my voice muffled by his jumper.

‘A glass of almost-out-of-date Baileys that may or may not give us the shits, but we should definitely drink tonight in its entirety anyway?’ he suggests.

‘No, god, please no,’ I groan.

‘Oh, I know!’ he tries again, his voice several octaves above hopeful: ‘A blow-job?’

‘Nice try.’ I sit up now, trying not to laugh at his crestfallen face. ‘What I really need – what would cure my hangoverand make up for the hellishness of this weekend – is a huge puppy cuddle.’ I smile widely and he rolls his eyes.

‘After the wedding,’ he tells me for the hundredth time to my sigh.

I’ve been on a dog mission since we got engaged last year. I am sooo broody for a dog-baby. Every time we pass one on a walk, I start pulsing with longing. I just want to stroke a silky ear and play fetch. I’ve never felt such a ridiculous longing to throw a ball.

But Daniel says we need to wait. And I know he’s right. We can’t exactly have a carefree wedding and honeymoon in Madeira with a new pup at home.

‘OK, fine,’ I reply, kissing him lightly on the lips. ‘I guess I’ll have to settle for a Daniel hug instead.’ He leans in, wrapping big arms around me. He smells like fabric softener.

I feel my eyelids droop as the exhaustion hits me like a wall. Physically, mentally, emotionally; all of the different ways to be tired, I am there.

I’m so jealous of extroverts, who get energized by interaction. I find parties, events and conversation so draining. I’m even depleted after a short exchange with the Tesco delivery driver about replacement items. A single night out requires at least two days of quiet to recover and recharge, never mind three days straight of socializing with women I don’t know, when I’m meant to be the guest of honour.

‘How was it really?’ Daniel asks nicely. ‘Did Celeste follow your instructions?’

I side-eye him and snort. ‘Of course she didn’t.’ I reachfor his hand, squeezing it and enjoying his warmth. ‘If she’d followed my instructions, I wouldn’t have had a hen do at all. But in the end, it was the hen do to end all hen dos. It was like a hen do went on a really bad hen do, got food poisoning and threw up hen do all over the rest of the hen do. That’s howhen dothe weekend was. Everything that has ever happened on a hen do in the history of hen dos, happened on this hen do.’

‘Willy straws?’ he asks seriously.

‘We got a fresh supply of them each morning,’ I reply, matching his serious tone. ‘Mine were personalized with both our initials, and so graphically realistic, there were veins on them.’

‘I wasn’t going to tell you…’ he begins, looking sheepish. ‘But Celeste actually asked me for a mould of my penis.’

‘What?’ I sit up straight, staring at him. ‘You’re not being serious?’

‘I am,’ he nods, suppressing a laugh. ‘She wanted to use it in one of your activities. A kind of Mr and Mrs game, but with my willy, I guess?’

‘Oh my god,’ I breathe out, familial humiliation radiating. ‘Did she use her three stages on you?’

He nods. ‘Always. But I stood my ground.’

---