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Our Wedding Night 25: Fliss
Educational. It’s an educational trip. Yes.I haven’t asked permission. I haven’t given warning. I haven’t sat in the headmistress’s study and been lectured. I feel that in this instance the element of surprise is crucial.“Mrs. Phipps?” Mrs. Hocking puts her head round the door of the classroom. “You wanted to see me?”“Ah, hello.” I smile as confidently as I can. “Yes. Just a small matter. I’m going to have to take Noah out of school for a few days. To a Greek island. It will be very educational.”“Ah.” She frowns off-puttingly. “I’m afraid you’ll have to ask permission from the headmistress—”“I understand.” I nod. “Unfortunately, I don’t have time to ask the headmistress, as I understand she’s away today.”“Really? When were you planning to go?” “Tomorrow.”“Tomorrow?” Mrs. Hocking looks aghast. “But we only started term two days ago!”“Ah yes.” I act surprised, as though this hadn’t occurred to me. “Well, I’m afraid it’s an emergency.”“What sort of emergency?”A honeymoon-connec
Our Wedding Night 26
What?“Fuck off!” I automatically respond.OK, that was needless and immature. I shouldn’t jump to conclusions. There’ll be some explanation. I look more closely at the entry. Apparently I wouldn’t lend her my denim jacket to take on her gap-year trip.Oh, really? I’m a bitch because I wouldn’t just hand over my jacket which I paid for? I’m so outraged I feel like phoning her up right now and having this out. And, by the way, where has she written about how I did give her about six pairs of flip-flops and never saw them back and my Chanel sunglasses because she begged and begged?I stare at the diary, seething gently, then force myself to turn over a few pages. I can’t wallow in some fifteen-year-old argument. I need to skip ahead. I need to get to Ben. As I turn the pages, skimming the text, I almost feel like I’m on her gap-year journey with her: first to Paris and then to the South of France, then Italy, all in bite-size snippets. It’s kind of addictive.… think I might move to Par
Our Wedding Night 27: Lottie
I can’t stand it. I can’t stand it any longer. I’m going to be the first person who ever died from sexual frustration.I can remember long, unbearable waits as a child. Waiting for pocket money. Waiting for my birthday. Waiting for Christmas. But I’ve never had a wait as nightmarish as this. It’s been absolute torture. Five hours, four hours, three hours to go … All through the plane journey and the car ride from the airport, I’ve been silently chanting, Soon … soon … soon … It’s the only way to keep sane. Ben keeps fondling my leg. He’s staring straight ahead, breathing evenly. I can tell he’s as pent up as I am.And now it’s just minutes to go. The hotel is half a kilometer away. The driver is turning off the main road. The closer we get, the less I can bear it. These last moments of delay are killing me. All I want is Ben.I’m trying to look around and show an interest in our surroundings, but it’s only road and scrubby hills and garish billboards for Greek drinks with unfamiliar n
Our Wedding Night 28: Fliss
I almost can’t look at the texts. It’s like spying. It’s like rubbernecking a car crash. But I have to, even though they make me want to clap my hands over my eyes.Lottie and Ben are having the worst wedding night known to man. No other way to put it. It’s horrendous. It’s ghastly. And it’s all my fault. My stomach is one big guilty, acidy twinge. With every bulletin I feel worse. But it’s all in a good cause, I tell myself sternly, already clicking on the new text.Another round of margaritas. This fellow can certainly hold his drink. NNico’s been keeping me updated all evening with every development. His latest four texts have been reports on all the complimentary cocktails that Lottie and Ben have consumed. It’s an eye-watering amount. They started drinking at ten, local time. It’s midnight there now. Lottie has to be blotto.But what about Ben? I pause a moment, tapping my phone thoughtfully against my palm. Something Lorcan said about Ben is coming back to me: He’s a natural ga
Our Wedding Night 29: Lottie
I don’t want to be negative. But if I could describe how I expected the morning after my wedding night to be, it would not be this.It would not be this.I always imagined my new husband and me nestled in a huge white cottony bed, like in a soap-powder ad. Birds singing outside. Sunlight gently passing over our faces as we turn to each other and kiss, remembering our fabulous time last night, and murmuring sweet nothings to each other before moving seamlessly into spectacular morning sex.Not waking up on a single bed, with a cricked neck, un-brushed teeth, the smell of last night’s room-service pizza, and the sound of Ben groaning on the opposite bed.“Are you OK?” I try to sound sympathetic, even though I want to kick him.“I think so.” He lifts his head with what appears to be a huge effort. He looks pretty green and he’s still wearing his suit. “What happened?”“You won a bet,” I say shortly. “Well done, you.”Ben’s gaze is distant and his eyes are moving back and forth. He’s clea
Our Wedding Night 30: Lottie
This can’t be happening. We’ve been turfed out of our own honeymoon suite.What is wrong with them? I’ve never seen such an inept crew in my life. They unscrewed the legs of one bed, shuffled it round, and lifted it up and pronounced it too big, then Nico suggested they screw the legs back on and start again … and all the time Ben was simmering to a boil.At last he started yelling so loudly, the workmen gathered protectively around Nico. To his credit, Nico kept his cool, even when Ben started brandishing the hair dryer. Nico asked if we would please leave the suite while the workmen were operational and perhaps we would enjoy a complimentary à la carte breakfast on the veranda?That was two hours ago. There’s only so much à la carte breakfast you can eat. We’ve been back to the room to get our beach stuff and there are still people in there, all peering at the beds and scratching their heads. The room is full of bed legs and headboards and a super-king mattress propped up against th
Our Wedding Night 31
“No worries.” The Russian guy claps him on the shoulder, and Ben comes back over to his sun bed. He slides onto it and stares savagely out to sea.“Well, so much for that bright idea. Bloody frigid cow.”I lean over and poke him hard in the chest. “Hey, what was that? Did you want to take him up on his offer? That Russian?”“At least it would have been something.”Something? I stare at him incredulously, till he looks up. “What?” he says defensively. “It would have been something.”“Well, excuse me for not wanting to share my wedding night with a gorilla and a girl with rubber boobs,” I say sarcastically. “Sorry to spoil your fun.”“Not rubber,” says Ben. “You’ve looked, have you?” “Silicone.”I can’t help snorting. Meanwhile, Ben is deftly flinging a couple of towels up over our parasol. What’s he doing?“Just creating a bit of privacy,” he says with a wink, and squeezes next to meon my sun bed, his hands all over me like an octopus. “God, you’re hot. You haven’t got a crotchless bi
Our Wedding Night 32: Fliss
We’re at the departure gate at Heathrow when my phone rings. Before I can move, Noah plucks it out of the side pocket of my bag and studies the display.“It’s Aunt Lottie phoning!” His face lights up in excitement. “Shall I tell her we’re coming to surprise her on her special holiday?”“No!” I grab the phone. “Just sit down a minute. Look at your sticker pack. Do the dinosaurs.” I press answer and take a couple of steps away from Noah, trying to compose myself. “Lottie, hi!” I greet her.“There you are! I’ve been trying to reach you! Where are you?”“Oh … you know. Just around.” I force myself to pause before I add, light as gossamer, “Any luck with your room yet? Or the bed? Or … anything?”I know from Nico that she’s still roomless. But I also know Ben tried to hire a room off another guest on the beach. Sneaky little sod.“Oh, the room.” Lottie sounds disconsolate. “It’s been such a bloody saga.We’ve given up for now. We’re just going to enjoy the day.”“Right. Sensible plan.” I b
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