Page 7 of Five Gold Rings

‘I’ve seen much worse.’

‘Really?’

‘I was on a party bus once and someone’s maid of honour got so drunk, she tried to step off the bus while it was still moving. She broke both her legs.’

Tiffany guffaws, still crying, snot flying out of her face with some velocity. She wipes it off with the back of her hand.

‘I’m such a mess…’

‘It’s allowed. It’s your hen. What’s your groom up to today?’

There is a sudden flicker in her eyes when I mention him, and she beams at me. It’s a warming change of emotion.

‘He’s having a weekend on a boat in Marbella. His name is Robbie.’

‘And when’s the big day?’

‘Sixth of January, the twelfth day of Christmas. It’s all themed. All the tables are named after a part of the song.’

I want to make a joke about maids a-milking without sounding coarse, but I do like how talk of Robbie and her impeding nuptials brings her happiness, calm.

‘He also chose you an excellent ring.’ Tiffany looks at me strangely and I point to her hand. ‘May I?’ She extends it for me, and I take it in mine. ‘Marquis cut, incredibly clear diamond, classy with the rose gold, too.’

‘You know rings?’ she asks me.

‘I work part-time in a jewellers’. That is a ring from someone with impeccable taste but then look at you,’ I tell her, despite the make-up falling off her face and her hair starting to foam where I put the hand soap. She beams at me and then reaches into her bra. Crikey, lady, I was just being nice. She pulls out one hundred quid in notes.

‘Here. You are really nice. Take this. Please go.’

I shake my head. ‘But you have me for another two hours,’ I explain.

‘Mate, I’m going back to my hotel. I’ll leave them to fight it out, but I am going to get a Nando’s and go eat it in bed and pass out,’ she says, still swaying slightly from the booze. I like how it’s still the afternoon and this is the plan.

‘Can I call you an Uber?’ I ask.

She grabs both my cheeks. ‘Sweet Joe. The politest bloody stripper I’ve ever met in my life. You’re so lovely. You’re very good looking, aren’t you? You look like a young Zac Efron with better eyebrows.’

‘My mum tells me that, but she’s biased.’

‘Your mum is so right. But I am relieving you of your duties,’ she says, grabbing my chin with one hand and all at once, I like that she’s not seeing this as a moment to have one final fling with singledom, that behind those drunken eyes is a girl ready to get married, whose heart belongs to another. I open the door but as I do, a man dressed all in black puts an arm around me.

‘Alright, Jingles?’ he says menacingly. ‘This isn’t that sort of establishment, mate. Out you go.’

Tiffany widens her eyes, slinking away before they can get to her. The group by the chocolate fountain cheer loudly. Oh, knob off.

‘This isn’t what you think…’ I explain, reaching over to the table where we were sitting, grabbing my bag.

‘Yeah, yeah… Were you taking turns to have a wee? Admiring the flooring? I’ve heard it all before…’

As I’m escorted out, I glance over and see that Tiffany and her hens are still mid-fight. Aunty Celeste radiates with rage, one is asleep under the table and Bianca is sobbing over a broken phone. Tiffany catches my eye and waves.

‘And she’s getting married,’ the bouncer says, shaking his head, casting his judgement a little too vehemently.

I shrug his arm off. ‘I’ll walk myself out. Don’t mind me.’

As I exit the venue, I get a couple of wolf-whistles from the line of people waiting to go in.

‘Alright, Dopey!’

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