Page 62 of How Much Wine Will Fix My Broken Heart?
‘And sisters… this is why I wax. Everything,’ Lucy announces. And with that, laughter. I hope not so hard that Beth loses control of her pelvic floor and actually does piss in this hot tub but it’s sweet, super sweet. It’s most certainly going to get us thrown out of here.
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G, which sister wrote that last email then? I’m hedging my bets on Lucy or drunk Beth. Though I have seen Meg get drunk before and she is fond of that type of rhetoric too. I mean, the outside bet is Emma but who knows with your crazy crew. Do I miss it? I miss the clamour of all those Callaghan sisters. I hope you and Mario are very happy together. Remember to use lube if he has a big dong or the chafing will do you in. I look forward to seeing the wedding pictures.
T
‘Gracie, what size shoe are you again?’ Lucy says, bursting into my room in her pants and a bra, a phone to her ear. She opens my wardrobe doors and scurries around on the floor. ‘It’s mostly old lady Marks & Sparks heels,’ her voice says, echoing through the walls.
I pretend not to be offended but it’s the FootJoy padded soles; they really are a revelation in comfort.
‘Bingo! There’s something here in a nude. Bit dull but they’ll do the trick. I’ll see you there, Megster.’ Her arse emerges from the wardrobe and she dusts the shoes down to let me know it’s been a lifetime since they got an airing. It reminds me a little of when we were teens and we shared everything. I think there was a point when Mum also used to buy knickers in bulk multipacks and just pass them out among the group.
‘Shoe drama?’ I ask.
‘The best sort of drama but all sorted.’
‘Well, come here and make yourself useful.’ I gesture over to her. ‘Help me with these grips.’
I seem to have inherited Lucy last night. Mainly as she was trying to push a stronger hen-do agenda that Emma was not willing to partake in so I brought her to mine to avoid potential conflict. It was a chance for her to meet Linh but she also became another set of hands as we sat into the night getting the little details together. My mother was horrified at the unravelling events of Emma’s impromptu wedding.I’ll just run a brush through my hair. I don’t want fuss. Jag is literally wearing Vans. So we’ve spent the last twenty-four hours panic-buying better fitting underwear and accessories, and my kitchen table is currently covered in supermarket flowers.
‘I pressed your dress. You can wear it instead of strutting around half-naked,’ I tell Lucy as she jabs grips into the base of my hairline.
‘I do not strut.’
‘Yes, you do.’
‘The dress is a little dull, no?’ she says, removing it from its hanger. I press my hands against the skirt of mine. I have to disagree. Jag went for a wrap dress in a navy. You can’t go wrong with it. This man can stay forever, in my opinion. ‘I was thinking…’ she mutters, in a sing-song voice, adjusting her boobs.
‘Never a good idea.’
‘Maybe we should invite Sam to this thing… it could be a nice way to meet him?’ she says, innocently but not. I can’t think of anything worse than him being interrogated by my family.
‘We have to be at the venue in, like, three hours, so no.’
‘He’s a bloke. He literally has to find a suit, wipe down his pits and rock up.’
‘Still no.’
‘Spoil. Sport.’
I grin at her through the mirror. She can find her fun elsewhere today, just not at my expense. She twirls in the mirror trying to work out if she can shorten her skirt.
‘Anyways, where’syourdate? Do you have anyone on the horizon at the moment?’ I ask her. We always ask Lucy that but we always know what the answer will be. There is no horizon. It’s just a sea, full of boats – and Lucy has partied on every one, multiple times, with all the fish in the sea. I don’t worry about her in this sense because she’s in control of every vessel she commandeers. She often tells us she’s not looking for love in any shape or form. She just wants to enjoy life and all its colourful waves and currents, loudly. If we look at her complex layers, I know she does it for validation, for attention, because being the youngest she was often forgotten. I think we left her in a Tesco as a child once. But it’s in contrast to me. I’m quite happy staying on the one boat, wearing a lifejacket and ensuring the shipping forecasts are being kind. The sea is an unpredictable mistress.
‘No,’ she says, hanging her arms around my neck. ‘I’m shagging a banker called Gareth. He makes me shout at him though and he has a thing for bondage.’
‘Marriage material then?’
She does a strange movement like she may be shuddering.
‘What does he look like, this Gareth? Is he at least fit?’ I ask.
‘He looks like a young Matt Damon.’
‘That’s good?’ I say, hopeful.
‘Oh… he’s nice to look at but he’s messed up in the head. Huge humiliation fetish. I make him wear my pants and then he ejaculates and cleans my flat while I shout at him.’ I sit there slack-jawed. ‘It’s a mummy regression thing. It’s fun but, after a while, it gets tiring being so mean. And all that flogging has given me a touch of tennis elbow.’
