Tales From a Hen Weekend Read Online Free Page B

– who’d been running it on his own for eighteen months and now needed help because he was snowed under and wanted someone to help him develop the website and review the fiction. With his background as a commissioning editor for a scientific publishing company, it wasn’t really his forte. Within another year, he’d become so successful he needed a second fiction specialist – allowing me to concentrate on the romantic fiction. As I say, I love my job. I’m not about to complain if Greg occasionally bores the knickers off me.
     
    Today’s the Saturday morning, the week before my hen weekend. Matt leaves for Prague this evening. He’s gone into town to buy himself a couple of new T-shirts. Why do men leave everything to the last minute? I’ve had all my clothes sorted out for the hen weekend, the wedding reception and the honeymoon for about two or three months. I’ve come round to Mum’s to get away from the flat for a couple of hours, because all I can see while I’m there is Matt’s half-packed suitcase, and it’s making me crosser and crosser the more I look at it. I didn’t expect the whole gang to be round here: Auntie Joyce, Lisa and the kids. My brother-in-law Richard’s here too, but he’s outside doing something to Mum’s car.
    ‘He’s a good lad,’ says Mum, although the ‘lad’ is thirty-eight if he’s a day. ‘I’m sure there’s something wrong with the handbrake, but I’m afraid to take it to the garage. It’s so difficult when you’re a woman on your own.’
    This is another common theme of Mum’s. How she’s stayed alive for the twenty-five years since the divorce must be a miracle. To listen to her, you’d think there was a dangerous wild beast lurking on every corner of every street, with its talons drawn ready to attack any lone woman venturing out of the safety of her home without a man on her arm.
    ‘Matt doesn’t know anything about cars,’ I say with a shrug. ‘I have to sort mine out myself.’
    ‘Richard would always help, if you have a problem,’ says Lisa, glowing in the reflected glory of her good lad .
    ‘It’s OK. I did that car maintenance course, didn’t I.’
    ‘Funny, isn’t it, Joyce,’ says Mum. ‘Funny how the kids do these things nowadays – girls doing car maintenance, boys cooking the dinners.’
    ‘We’re not exactly kids.’
    ‘And anyway,’ says Joyce, ‘it’s a positive thing, Marge. You don’t want your girls to be tied to the kitchen. What would be the point of giving them such a good education?’
    Auntie Joyce and Uncle Ron have never had any children. I’ve never liked to ask the reason, but this is why she’s always taken such a lot of interest in Lisa and me growing up. She was only nine when Lisa was born, so she’s actually closer in age to us than she is to Mum. When I was a stroppy teenager, there were a lot of times I stormed out of the house after a row with Mum, and went to stay the night at Joyce’s house. She never took my side against Mum – just made me hot chocolate and listened to me.
    ‘We had a good education too,’ Mum points out. ‘But I didn’t expect to have a career and a family.’
    ‘Who’s talking about having a family?’
    ‘Well,’ Lisa looks at me pointedly. ‘Isn’t that why you’re getting married?’
    ‘What? No, it isn’t!’
    I stare around the room. No one looks convinced. They’re all kind-of smirking to themselves as if they know perfectly well that I’m secretly planning a baby at this very minute, working out my fertile period so that I can go home and get one started as soon as possible.
    ‘That’s why we got married,’ says Lisa smugly. ‘We were ready to have children, and we didn’t want them to have different surnames and be called…’
    ‘Hang on, hang on! For a start I’m not ready to have kids! And for another thing it’s not like that these days, Lisa! Nobody bothers about…’
    ‘Well, I do,’ she says, protectively putting her arms around