Tales From a Hen Weekend Read Online Free Page A

younger than Mum, and inevitably, I think, my grandparents held the reins a lot more loosely in her upbringing.
    ‘Society had probably moved on a bit by the time you and Uncle Ron were going out together,’ I say, trying to keep the peace.
    ‘Moving on isn’t always for the better,’ mutters Mum. ‘In my day, weddings were for a purpose. They marked the beginning of your life together, as a couple.’
    ‘So you don’t see the point of all this? You don’t know why we’re bothering?’
    ‘I didn’t say that!’ she shakes her head impatiently. ‘Of course I’m glad you’re getting married. Happiest day of a mother’s life, isn’t it!’
    ‘Happier than the day I was born?’
    ‘Don’t be facetious.’ But she’s laughing now. ‘All I’m saying is that it seemed more of a significant event, when the bride was moving out of her parents’ house into her new home with her husband.’
    ‘Not sure about that.’ Lisa looks slowly from Mum to me with her head on one side as if she’s considering the differences between us. ‘In some ways, it’s more significant nowadays, if a couple have been living together, been through all the ups and downs of getting used to each other, and then make a public commitment to each other. There’s no social pressure on them to do it, but they still want to.’
    ‘Yes. It’s more romantic…’ I begin, but as I should have expected, everyone else laughs me down.
    ‘What are you reading at the moment? Love and Marriage ? Happiest Bride in the World ?’ teases Lisa.
    ‘Actually it’s called Betrayal and it’s a really powerful story about a polio victim whose fiancé gets killed in the First World War and then falls in love with an alcoholic …’
    ‘Sounds like a jolly read!’ says Mum dismissively.
    Not all romantic fiction is light and fluffy. Some of the books I read make me cry. If true love always ran smooth, in fiction or I guess in real life, there’d be no story to tell.
    I’m used to my family teasing me about my work.
    ‘You sound like Greg,’ I tell them with a shrug. ‘He thinks a good story is the life history of a man who discovered a scientific formula, or a mathematical equation. He doesn’t like reading fiction.’
    Which, of course, is how I got my job, so I’m not complaining.
    ‘I’m surprised you two don’t end up throwing your books at each other,’ says Lisa. ‘How do you stand it? I can’t think of anything worse than sitting in that man’s office all day, working on his computer, listening to him going on and on about his boring old books.’
    ‘I like my job,’ I say, defensively. I get to spend half my days at home, catching up on my reading. ‘And Greg’s not that bad.’
    Lisa’s only met him once, although to be fair it wasn’t a very good first impression. I invited her to a very boring literary event, introduced her to my boss and left them to chat while I went to talk to a couple of authors. When I came back over half an hour later, her glass was empty and her eyes had glazed over, and Greg was subjecting her to an animated but incomprehensible monologue about the book he was reading: The Technology of Tunnels.
    ‘He’s boring!’ insists Lisa.
    I can’t argue with that. But if you really want to know boring, try working as an admin assistant in the editorial offices of a major publishing house for four years – opening the post, doing the photocopying, sending out the standard rejection letters – waiting for your promotion, your big break that never comes despite your first-class English degree, because everyone else in the office is over-qualified too and no-one ever leaves. Try giving up on that and working as a temp for another two years – drifting from job to mind-numbing job and never even staying long enough to make friends or get a desk of your own. And then imagine seeing an advert that could change your life. A guy who’d set up his own on-line bookshop and review service – bookshelf.co.uk