‘Has everyone got a drink?’
‘Yes,’ came the chorused reply.
‘Good, because we’ve a few presents there on the table for Aisling to open and then I thought we could play some games before our limousine whisks us away. I thought we’d start with Bridal Bingo.’
‘I love that,’ Ro-ro squealed turning to Tina-Marie. ‘It’s great craic. I played it last month at Stephanie’s hen night. Aisling you should sit at the head of the table to open your presents.’
Aisling pulled out the chair and dutifully sat down.
‘Go and change that skirt, Moira,’ Maureen bossed.
Seeing she was going to get no peace until she did, she told the expectant hens she’d be two ticks before racing off to the bedroom. She reappeared with a skirt that came down to the middle of her shapely thighs. ‘Better, Mammy?’
‘Much better.’ Maureen was appeased. She was also enjoying her gin and tonic. It had been years since she’d tippled on that particular mixer. ‘Bronagh, how’s your drink there. Shall I top us up?’
‘A grand idea, Maureen.’ Bronagh said. ‘Help me up would you, Ita?’
Ita took her hand and heaved the receptionist up from the sofa. They all gathered around the table, Maureen watching the proceedings from where she was sloshing tonic into a generous measure of gin.
‘Open this one first, Aisling,’ Roisin said, sliding a large shiny wrapped package toward her sister. ‘It’s from me and Moira.’
Aisling tore the paper off and stared at the wedding advent calendar inside. Little bags of varying sizes in different girly pink fabrics were pinned to the board in a two-week countdown between now and her big day. ‘Did you two make this?’
The sisters nodded beaming. ‘All the little bags were sewn by hand,’ Roisin affirmed.
Aisling blinked back tears not wanting her mascara to run. ‘It’s fantastic, thank you. When did you get the time?’
‘We’ve been making the bags for weeks and sorting the little gifts inside, but we put it all together when you shot off to see Quinn after we’d been to the Bridal Emporium yesterday.
‘Well, I love it.’
‘Open number fourteen,’ Moira bossed, and Aisling delved into the pink gingham bag accordingly. Inside was a voucher. ‘It’s for a pedicure, ah thanks, Moira, Rosi.’ She got up and hugged her sisters. ‘That’s not all we got you, open this one.’ Moira picked up a small, soft package and passed it to Aisling.
She ripped off the paper, in the swing of things now, and found two pairs of knickers, one in red lace the other black. ‘Jaysus wept,’ she said holding them up. ‘They’re tiny so they are.’
‘And what do you call those? There’s no gusset in them. Sure, what’s the point?’ Bronagh said taking the gin and tonic Maureen handed to her and slurping on it.
‘Crotchless panties, Bronagh. Which is exactly the point.’
Bronagh spluttered on her gin, making the others laugh.
‘And I made you this.’ Maureen gave her the scrapbook chronicling her daughter’s life to date. She’d spent many a happy evening tripping down memory lane putting it together for Aisling, having done the same for Roisin when she got married.
‘I’ll treasure it, Mammy, thank you.’
Leila began to leaf through it exclaiming over Aisling in her first communion dress. ‘Sure, your dress reminds me of Princess Diana’s wedding dress.’
Aisling ploughed through the rest of the gifts which ranged from a bottle of Tahitian massage oil to a box of pink champagne truffles which she duly passed around.
Moira cleared the wrapping paper from the table and said, ‘Aisling, can you fill this sheet out with words related to your wedding. Everybody else, did you fill in the cards I gave you earlier?’
There was a collective ‘yes’ and Aisling got busy writing. ‘Finished,’ she said, and Moira checked the group was ready with their pens before telling her to start calling out what she’d written.
‘Cake,’ she said, hearing the frantic clicking of ballpoint pens before carrying on with the rest of her random wedding words. It was when she called, ‘Garter belt,’ that Ita jumped up and shouted, ‘Bingo!’
Moira handed her a decorative bottle stopper as her prize.
Maureen and Bronagh’s competitive streaks put in an appearance during the ensuing game of Prosecco Pong with Maureen demonstrating an uncanny talent for getting the ping pong ball in the cup.
‘We’ve time for one last game,’ Moira said checking her watch. ‘What shall it be, ladies? The Cocktail Quiz or True or False.’
The Cocktail Quiz won.
It turned out Nina had an extensive knowledge of cocktails, thanks to her background in hospitality. She was gifted a canvas pouch which Leila told her was for keeping life’s little necessities in.
‘I haven’t had a cocktail in a good while. The pina colada was always my go-to. I wouldn’t mind one tonight.’
‘Mammy, you haven’t lived until you’ve tried a Cosmopolitan,’ Moira said, glancing at her watch and announcing the limousine would be pulling up downstairs in approximately five minutes.
There was a flurry of last-minute organisation on the part of the bride-to-be and her flushed-cheeked guests in the form of lip gloss application, calls of nature, and the checking of bags for keys. Sorted, they made their way toward the door only to find Moira blocking the exit as she held up a large shopping bag. ‘Before we go,’ she said, ‘I need you all to wear these.’
There was laughter, especially when Maureen announced if it was anything rude like willies bobbing about on a headband, you could count her out.
‘Me too, I’m not wearing the pink, glittery willies on my head at my age,’ Bronagh said, backing her up.
‘It’s traditional for the hen party to wear sashes or badges, or even crowns, not willies on headbands, Mammy and Bronagh. However, Leila, Rosi and I have gone one better. Close your eyes everybody,’ Moira
