26
Roisin heard a noise and turned to see Meredith who had been listening, arms folded, to the review. She was wearing a pale blue sweater with cartoon clouds on it, like The Simpsons’ titles. On Roisin, it would look insufferably twee, but on Meredith, it made her seem like fresh air in human form.
‘Now Dev has done the good news, I best break the bad,’ Meredith said, picking up a jug on the table and pouring a glass of orange juice. She popped two ibuprofen from a blister pack, threw them to the back of her throat and washed them down with a glug of Tropicana Original With Bits, in a practised movement. Once she’d swallowed, she said, ‘Our driver is in no fit state. I even question if she’s still pissed, given the number of units imbibed. We don’t want to be three Princess Dis in a Paris tunnel.’
‘Oh no!’ said Roisin, though once again, sinfully grateful that Gina’s indisposition was providing diversion.
‘Is Gina really minging?’ Anita said. ‘I did wonder how bad she was when she was saying we had to play swim-up blackjack at Caesar’s Palace in Vegas for my hen.’
‘And was calling it Pisa’s Salad. She doesn’t remember much of the evening,’ Meredith said. ‘Which … might be something of a blessing.’ She made a face.
‘You know what, when I dried out, I didn’t realise just how much I was gonna love never having hangovers,’ Dev said. ‘The days I spent feeling like I’d been attacked with the pointy end of a Polonium umbrella.’
‘I’m not too clever myself; I might take my bacon sandwich to go,’ Meredith said, nodding towards Dev’s spatula.
‘Sure thing.’
‘Please come view her in the Chapel of Rest,’ Meredith said to Roisin.
She led Roisin through the soaring hallway towards the drawing room. ‘Now, I must warn you, I’ve done my best. But Gina may not look how you remember her. The embalming process takes its toll.’
‘I CAN HEAR YOU!’ Gina croak-roared, out of sight.
‘She sounds the same though,’ Meredith said.
Roisin laughed.
Gina was in a saggy t-shirt and football-length soft cotton shorts, doll-sized and horizontal on one of the giant sofas. She looked like a trendy art installation where they skew the scale. Her complexion resembled candlewax, hair slicked back from her face.
‘I fear she does not have long,’ Meredith said.
‘Honestly, worst hangover ever,’ Gina said to Roisin. ‘Never drinking again. I woke up at four a.m. and didn’t know where I was. I caught the belt of my dressing gown on a door handle, couldn’t move and thought I was having a stroke.’
Roisin hooted.
‘Concentrate on recovering. Roisin and I can share the drive back,’ Meredith said.
Roisin nodded agreement, while inwardly shrivelling. She had in no way prepared herself, in her state of inner turmoil, for the prospect of manhandling a temperamental vintage coach down a motorway. How do you overtake in that thing? Buy it flowers and ask it nicely?
‘No, Ethelred won’t like a stranger touching her. It has to be me,’ Gina said. ‘I’ll be OK. Another hour.’
‘Does Sunny von Bülow want another drink?’
‘Who’s that? No, thank you – I threw the Fanta up.’
‘Do I need to rinse the washing-up bowl?’
‘I made it to the fireplace.’
‘What?!’
‘Heh heh.’ Gina managed a tiny evil smile. ‘Not really – the loo.’
‘Oh, if you can do humour then you’re recovering,’ Meredith said. ‘Why am I bedpan nurse?!’
Her eyes narrowed and she pursed her lips, like a mum who has been told their child’s stomach bug is suspiciously impervious to tortilla chips.
‘No, Mer. I feel awful,’ Gina said, ‘In every way. I can’t even remember a lot. I can’t remember Joe’s show!’
‘It’ll be on iPlayer,’ Roisin said, hoping she sounded less terse than she felt.
Gina dropped her voice. ‘Was I really really horrible to Matt?’
‘No! You were … robust,’ Meredith said. ‘You were quite horrible to his girlfriend, though, haha.’
‘The girl who looked like Amelia Lee,’ Gina said, eyes closed. She was maintaining the perfect immobility of someone who knew if she moved, she’d puke.
Meredith and Roisin exchanged glances.
‘Er … she was …’ Meredith began.
‘Was what?’ Gina said.
‘Yeah, she acted like a VIP,’ Roisin said. ‘Total diva. I’d not worry about offending her.’
Roisin, already holding her phone, hurriedly WhatsApped Meredith.
If she’s forgotten that bit, let’s go with it! Wait until
we’re safely home/Gina is out of her intensive care x
You make a very good point.
They left Gina to her convalescence, found a croquet set in a cupboard and passed the last hour playing a game on the front lawn.
Eventually Gina appeared, dressed, packed, headscarf on, and said, ‘Girls, I feel good to go, but it has to be now before my stomach or bum change their minds.’
They scarpered into the house to grab their luggage and it made the farewells with Dev and Anita mercifully brief. Roisin didn’t want to perjure herself, but, stumbling through effusive thanks, she had to.
‘You are, as always, the store manager of our hearts,’ Roisin said, planting a kiss on Dev’s cheek.
‘Yes, Bolton’s Rose. No thank yous could do this justice,’ Meredith said, helping out.
‘Ah, shut up. Only you lot could have made it this incredible. Insane and incredible.’
Roisin realised it was in fact a blessing that Dev had loved Hunter. She had been selfish.
‘No music,’ Gina said, as she started the engine. ‘I must have calm and near-silence.’
She rattled the gear stick and coaxed the van into reluctant action. They waved at Dev and Anita.
‘Goodbye, Benbarrow,’ Meredith said, twisting in her seat to face the road again. ‘Until next time.’
It wasn’t often you said those words and they were fully untrue: unlike a holiday island, or a rental villa, or any of the many places you might feasibly return, Benbarrow Hall was pretty clearly a once-in-a-lifetime deal.
Roisin turned again to gaze up at its architectural magnificence as they retreated down the hill, trying to absorb the finality of the farewell.
How would they remember this weekend, in another ten years? She knew what it’d mean to her.
What was the curse: all lovers that court here – whatever that meant – are doomed ?
Roisin thought of her and Joe splitting, of Matt and Gina’s barney, Ruby’s appearance … she’d have said Dev and Anita were fine, until she spoke to Meredith. She tried not to shiver.
Did people honestly get wed on its lawns, without looking that up? Not that it would’ve necessarily bothered her. But you know, they lived in a world where hotels didn’t have thirteenth floors.
She opened her phone and, with a few mistypes as the VW bumped over uneven road surfaces, googled Benbarrow Hall Curse. Here was a strange thing – she couldn’t find any blog using that phrase.