The Player and the Pixie(74)
Time flew by and soon it was time to head back and get ready for the evening ahead, i.e. Annie’s hen party.
A couple of the rugby WAGS (wives and girlfriends) whom Annie had befriended over the last few months were already there, alongside my mother, who was happily chatting amongst them. I’d invited a few friends, too, mostly to make sure the whole thing wouldn’t be a massive rugby fest.
When everyone had arrived, it was a little funny to see my kooky gaggle of girlfriends mixed in with the uber-stylish fashionista WAGS. Cara was a Goth lesbian with a mohawk and undercut, Hannah a hipster librarian with ironic ’80s glasses, and Veronica an ethereal hippie with hair down to her backside, who only bought her clothes from charity shops.
When I came downstairs carrying the Where’s Wally costumes, several of the WAGS immediately turned their noses up, my mother included. Not all the WAGS were intolerable, but one in particular, Orla Flanagan, wife to the fullback Gary Flanagan, couldn’t help voicing her opinion.
“Didn’t you get my email about having some figure-hugging jerseys made with our other half’s names on the back? I thought that would’ve been really cute.”
Making brief eye contact with Cara, we each exchanged cynical expressions. “I’m sorry, but tonight is a man-free zone. Besides, not all of us are lucky enough to have a rugby-playing beau in our lives,” I said, trying to keep my tone friendly.
Orla shot another of the WAGS a smug smile as she brought the champagne flute to her mouth. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”
When I glanced at Annie sitting on the other side of the kitchen, she sent me a look of apology, but I shrugged it off. Being Ronan’s sister, I’d gotten used to women like these years ago. They weren’t all bad; some were rather nice, actually. But the ones who embraced the stereotype weren’t exactly my favorite people.
“Did you all bring a pair of comfortable shoes?” I asked, glancing around the room and spotting a few too many Louboutins. “You know we’re going on a Pedibus, right?”
“Yes, we all brought flats in our bags,” said Orla. “Though I don’t know why you insist on us going on that bicycle thing. We’ll be horrible and sweaty by the time we’re done.”
“That’s the whole point. A hen party is about having a laugh, not strutting about looking like you just stepped off the pages of a fashion magazine.”
Orla arched a brow as she looked me up and down. “Maybe not for you.”
I bit my tongue as I turned away from her, knowing later on I’d be grateful for the simple jeans, T-shirt, and Converse I’d decided to wear. Placing my hand momentarily to my chest, I felt a strange sort of comfort as I felt Sean’s pendent resting beneath my top.
I handed out the stripy jumpers, hats, and fake glasses, and after Annie exclaimed her delight at the silly costumes, the rest of the ladies soon put their prejudices aside and joined in on the fun.
The Pedibus was sort of like a tandem bike, except it was more of an open-air tram with a table in the middle. We all had to cycle to keep the thing moving, with a driver at the front to steer us in the right direction around the city. We got a ton of honks and shouts of approval and I was delighted to see Annie was having a blast.
Broderick was wedged in between two WAGS, but he seemed happy enough to chat with them. That was kind of what I loved about him, no matter the environment, he’d always find some way to ingratiate himself.
I almost lost my footing on the pedals for a second when I felt my phone vibrate inside my jeans. Pulling it out to check the message, I found it was from Sean.
Sean: Half the boys are already loaded and it’s only six. Although there’s supposed to be a stripper arriving soon so things could be looking up. Literally ;-) How’s your evening going?
This was the first time he’d texted me since his odd message about Ronan yesterday. I felt an unexpected pang of annoyance and jealousy at the idea of him ogling some booblicious stripper, but was happy to hear from him no matter the context.
Lucy: Great, aside from Orla Flanagan kicking up a fuss about my plans for the night. She wanted the girls to wear jerseys with their other half’s names on the back. Kill me now.
Sean: Well, you could’ve worn mine ;-)
Lucy: Ha! That wouldn’t create a shitstorm of unnecessary drama at all.
Sean: I dunno. I kinda like the idea of you wearing my jersey…and nothing else.
Lucy: Why am I not surprised?
Sean: Because you like the idea, too.
Sean: Come to my place later.
I inhaled, momentarily flustered as to how to respond. In the end I went with an easy excuse to be noncommittal.