The Stag and Hen Weekend (10 page)

‘I’m not hating it, exactly,’ replied Phil.

‘But you’re not loving it either?’

Phil shook his head. ‘No,’ he said, ‘not if I’m honest.’

‘So what can I do to make it right?’ They passed an elderly couple throwing bread to a flock of increasingly aggressive pigeons. ‘I don’t want to ruin things for you, mate. It’s supposed to be your weekend after all.’

‘Well the boys seem to be having a laugh. I’m just being a bit of a misery that’s all.’

‘And I’m guessing from the way you were knocking back the hard stuff last night that you were a bit freaked out by that girl turning out to be Aiden Reid’s ex-missus.’

‘Just a bit. It’s not her so much as him. I’ve never even met the guy, but sometimes it seems like he’s everywhere I go.’

‘You’ve said in the past that you thought Helen might still—’

‘That was ages ago,’ said Phil cutting him off. ‘And I don’t think that any more. Me and Helen couldn’t be any more rock solid if we tried.’

‘So what’s the problem then?’

‘There isn’t one.’

Simon laughed. ‘You’ll have to do better than that. Remember I’ve known you a long time.’

They passed a middle-aged man wearing a Manchester United top fast asleep against one of the lion statues. ‘Fine,’ said Phil as the man stirred. ‘The thing is I’m thinking about seeing Sanne. The girl from last night.’

‘Why would you do that? Because you want to know about him? Then read a paper, mate. He’s in there every other day.’

Phil came to a halt next to a bench but didn’t sit down. ‘I knew you wouldn’t get it.’

‘Of course I don’t get it,’ said Simon, ‘there’s nothing to get. Why would you want to go winding yourself up over your missus’s ex a week before you’re getting married? Makes no sense.’

‘And leaving your wife and kids does?’

‘You don’t know all the facts.’

‘Then why don’t you tell me them?’ said Phil, with more than a hint of anger in his voice. ‘I’m your mate, aren’t I? You’re my best man. What proof do you need that I’m on your side?’

‘It’s not that easy.’

‘That doesn’t mean you can’t try.’

‘I can’t, mate.’

‘Can’t or won’t?’

‘Does it matter?’

‘To me it does, yeah. I know you think this isn’t any of my business and maybe you’re right, but if the tables were turned you’d be having a go at me. I know you would.’

Simon bit his lip in frustration and then in a sudden burst of resignation, said: ‘You want the truth? Well here it is: I’ve fallen in love with someone else.’

‘Fallen in love? Who with?’

Simon shook his head. ‘Believe me when I say mate, that you do not want to know.’

‘Well maybe I do.’

‘No,’ said Simon firmly, ‘you don’t.’

‘At this point we should agree to disagree but that’s just not going to happen is it,’ said Phil. ‘I’m not going to let this go, Si, I’m not. So just tell me, okay? It’s not Reuben’s missus is it?’

‘No, no of course not.’

‘Then who?’

‘I can’t.’

‘Yes, you can. All you’ve got to do is say the name and it’s done.’

A group of teenage girls passed by singing in Dutch at the top of their voices.

‘It’s Caitlin,’ said Simon. He looked Phil in the eyes. ‘I’m sorry mate,’ he continued, ‘I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean for it to happen, it was just one of those things.’

‘One of what things?’ exploded Phil. ‘You haven’t actually told me anything yet!’

‘Look, mate,’ said Simon backing away, ‘we don’t need to talk about this. You know now and that’s all that matters.’

Phil stepped towards Simon. ‘You think you can get away with leaving it like that?

‘I don’t want to talk about it now, that’s all,’ said Simon. ‘This is
your
weekend.’

‘And Caitlin’s
my
sister,’ said Phil, advancing so far into Simon’s personal space that he could smell the tea on his friend’s breath. ‘How long has this been going on? Months? Weeks?’ Simon shrugged and took a step back. Phil repeated his question: ‘How long?’

Simon cast his eyes down to the cobblestones. ‘Since before Easter.’

Phil cast his mind back to the time in question. ‘Deano’s birthday?’ Simon nodded. ‘You were talking to her loads that night I remember.’ Phil shook his head in disbelief. ‘That’s my kid sister!’

‘I know,’ said Simon. ‘I feel awful about it. I really do.’

‘But not awful enough to keep your hands off her!’

‘It wasn’t like that.’

‘No,’ said Phil. ‘It never is, is it? When were you going to tell me? When you moved in with her? Was I supposed to drop in to see her, see your shoes in the hallway and put two and two together?’

‘You know it wasn’t like that,’ stammered Simon, ‘I just couldn’t find the right time to tell you.’

Phil’s face was the picture of disbelief. ‘And you’ve been carrying on like this ever since Deano’s do?’

‘Sort of.’

‘Sort of? What does that mean? Whatever it is you have to say, just spit it out.’

‘It’s complicated.’

‘Complicated how?’

‘She ended it about a month ago.’

Phil breathed a sigh of relief. ‘So it’s over?’

‘Not for me.’

‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’

‘It means,’ said Simon solemnly, ‘that I love her. I really love her.’

‘And that’s why you’ve left Yaz and the kids, is it?’ scoffed Phil. ‘Because you think you’re in love with Caitlin? You do know what sort of girl Caitlin is, don’t you? You do know that there are half a dozen blokes around the country who all think that they can’t live without her. Come on Si, I love her to bits but even I know that she’s a total bitch when it comes to men. She uses them. She always has done and probably always will. She likes their money and their attention but the second she’s bored she’s off and – be under no illusions about this – she won’t come back.’

‘You don’t know that,’ said Simon. ‘Her and me together, it was special. Really special.’

‘So what? You’re leaving Yaz and your kids to prove your commitment to Cait in the hope that she’ll take you back?’ Phil felt genuine pity for his friend but also like he might throw a punch at any moment. ‘I need to get out of here.’

Simon shrugged. ‘What do you want me to tell the others?’

‘Tell ’em what you told me,’ snapped Phil, ‘and see where that gets you.’

9.

Back at the hotel, Phil headed straight up to his room. The door was open and the chambermaid’s cart was parked directly outside. He shuddered at the thought of her reaction to the chaos within, and again at what she would have seen had he not had the foresight to hide the stolen penumatic drill.

Apologising for disturbing her, Phil began searching for the piece of paper with Sanne’s number that he’d screwed up and left on the table next to the TV. It wasn’t there. The chambermaid must have dumped it. He spotted a large bin bag on the floor and began frantically rooting through it. Used tissues. Plastic bags. Sandwich wrappers. Half-empty water bottles. The rotting remains of a fruit salad. On the point of giving up Phil delved one last time and there, still screwed up in a ball was Sanne’s number.

Phil held it open with one hand while he reached for the phone with the other and then tried to work out what exactly to say to Sanne. The essence of which was that having endured the triple whammy of a raging hangover, having his sixty-six-year-old dad join his stag weekend and discovering that his married best man had been sleeping with his sister, he now wanted to spend time in the company of someone who couldn’t surprise him with any more revelations. And while he appreciated that Sanne by virtue of her association with Aiden Reid had already knocked him sideways with a revelation of her own, the fact remained that he needed to get away from both friends and family, and as Sanne was neither, she was his safest bet.

‘Hello?’

The line wasn’t great and neither was his recall of her voice hidden as it had been for most of the night under the constant thump of the blandest of club music.

‘Hi, Sanne, it’s me,’ said Phil. ‘The English guy from last night.’

Sanne laughed. ‘You say that like you imagine I gave out my number to so many people last night that I might have forgotten! How are you? I hope you didn’t run into those guys again. Did you have a good night?’

Phil’s head throbbed at the very thought of it. ‘It was fine, thanks. And no, we didn’t see those guys again. How about yours?’

‘It was good fun. It’s always nice to catch up with friends that you haven’t seen in a long while. So, I take it you’re calling because you want to take up my offer?’

‘Definitely, if it’s still there.’

There was a short pause and then she said: ‘I can probably spare you an hour if you’d like. I thought I was going to have longer but a friend called this morning with a boyfriend crisis. You know how it is, she needs me to do the whole shoulder to cry on thing.’

‘An hour’s fine,’ said Phil. ‘Do you still think the Van Gogh Museum is the place to go?’

‘Absolutely. It’ll take me a little while to get ready and cycle over there so how does an hour from now sound?’

‘Perfect.’

‘Meet me at the entrance. Do you need directions?’

‘No,’ said Phil making a mental note to get hold of a guidebook. ‘I’m sure I’ll be fine.’

It was a little after one in the afternoon as Phil, having got lost several times along the way, finally reached his destination. Pulling his jacket and shirt, damp with perspiration, away from his back, Phil scanned the crowds milling outside the entrance to the museum but couldn’t see Sanne anywhere. Deciding to find a shop and buy a bottle of water he was about to cross the road when he felt a tap on the shoulder, and turned around to see Sanne.

She was wheeling a bike which, unlike the thousands he had seen so far this weekend was a bright metallic pink, rather than black, and had a basket on the front decorated with plastic roses.

She was once again looking head-turningly attractive, wearing sunglasses, a light blue floral dress and gold sandals and he wondered how could he have not realised that she was famous when standing next to her now it was impossible to imagine that she could be anything but.

‘So, you found your way here without too much trouble?’ she asked, taking in his suit without comment.

‘I have a killer sense of direction,’ joked Phil. ‘I should have been a boy scout.’

‘But you weren’t?’

‘What?’

‘A boy scout?’

Phil shook his head. Why had he even mentioned boy scouts in the first place? ‘I was a sea cadet for a while when I was fourteen,’ he explained, ‘but after six weeks without seeing so much as the inside of a canoe I reasoned that it wasn’t for me.’

‘I was what we call in the Netherlands a
Padvindster
,’ she explained as they walked towards the museum entrance. ‘It’s like your Girl Guides in the UK. At the end of each meeting we’d have to say: ‘ “I am a link in the golden chain of world friendship, and I will keep my link strong and bright.” ‘

‘And did you?’

Sanne laughed. ‘I most certainly did!’

The queue for the museum seemed to be moving quite briskly. At a loss about what to talk about Phil opted to fall back on the weather.

‘The weather this weekend has been amazing hasn’t it?’

Sanne smiled and looked at her watch. ‘I bet myself that you’d mention the weather within five minutes of us meeting and I was right!’

Only a little embarrassed by his poor conversational skills Phil attempted to make a defence. ‘Well, it is a nice day!’

‘The Dutch aren’t like this,’ continued Sanne. ‘We notice the weather but never feel the need to go on and on about it like the English. That’s one of the things I actually miss about not living in UK any more. In England there’s always a way of making conversation with anyone no matter who they are or what they do.’

‘Well, since we’re on the subject of national stereotypes,’ grinned Phil, ‘when exactly did they make it obligatory for Dutch people to ride bikes? Do you get given one at birth?’

‘So, you’d rather we went everywhere by car like you do in the UK?’ countered Sanne. ‘I’d never seen people drive such short distances until I lived in your country. Need a pack of fags . . . jump in the car. Need a stamp . . . jump in a car. One day the English will grow wheels.’

‘It’s because in the old days an Englishman’s home was his castle,’ explained Phil. ‘These days his castle is more likely to be his Ford Mondeo. So,’ he said leaping on the first subject that came to mind, ‘is Van Gogh a particular favourite of yours?’

Sanne nodded. ‘Everybody in Holland loves Van Gogh,’ she replied. ‘He is our country’s favourite son. Why? Do you not like him?’

Phil shrugged. ‘I don’t know much about him beyond him lopping off his ear, having Don McLean write a song about him and that Kirk Douglas once played him in a film.’

Sanne was scandalised. ‘You don’t study art in UK schools?’