(Jenny's POV)
One more week.
Just one more week until the wedding – until I'm married.
You cannot begin to imagine how excited I am. I am literally counting down the hours until I become Mrs. Frank London.
But right now, I'm counting down the minutes for my hen do to start – if my sister shows up, that is.
I got a text from Livi this morning telling me and the rest of the bridal party to pack a bag and to meet at St Hope's at twelve o'clock.
So that's exactly what we did. I'm standing at the gates of the school with my mum, my future mother-in-law, Martha, and three of my four bridesmaids: Rose, Carrie and my friend from secondary school, Emmeline Jordan. The only people who couldn't make it were Aunt Hermione and my other friend from school, Laura Chapman. Laura lives in Northern Ireland with her family, but she'll come to England on Thursday where we'll catch up and get her fitted in her bridesmaid dress. And Aunt Hermione is in Birmingham with Uncle Richie attending the wedding of her nephew, and they won't be back until Sunday evening.
Anyway, the six of us are waiting outside the school, buzzing with excitement about the hen do. We're not feeling all that excited after another fifteen minutes have gone by and Livi still hasn't turned up.
"Why is she always late?" I whine.
"Maybe she got distracted chatting up some boy," says Emmeline. "You know what she's like."
"Be patient, Jenny. Livi will be here," Mum tells me, and I nod.
"So Jenny, do you have any idea what to expect from your hen party?" Martha asks.
I shake my head. "Livi hasn't told me anything about what she has planned. All she told me to do was to pack a bag. Lord knows why."
"Oh! Maybe she's taking us to a luxury five-star hotel where we'll relax in their spa and spoil ourselves with a selection of treatments, massages and makeovers custom-made to ensure that we feel like the most important people in the world!" Carrie sighs dreamily. "That's how I want to plan my hen weekend."
"Not me," says Emmeline. "I plan to hit the nightclubs at my hen do. I'm gonna wear my best dancing shoes and I'm going to set the dance floor on fire!"
"What about you, Rose? What's your perfect hen party?"
"Well…" Her cheeks flush pink. "I'm a bit of a culture vulture, so I would like to bring a sense of refinement and sophistication by having a hen party visit to the theatre. I'll be stepping into a wonderful world of music, colour and more that's certain to be a hit with me and earn the person planning it plenty of bridesmaid brownie points."
"Nice – very classy," I say.
Their hen parties all sound so wonderful – it's just a shame I won't have that party. I begin to wonder what sort of hen party I will have. Maybe because I sport a tough girl attitude and possess true athletic skills, Livi has probably planned an action-based outdoor hen weekend. Maybe we'll lock and load for an intense paintball session, climb over obstacles during an assault course; push the pedal to the metal whilst off-roading…
Or maybe we'll get whisked to Dublin, enjoying the sights of the city in the day. Then at night, the girls and I will be indulging in the saucy fun of Pleasure Ladies Night. I'll get dragged to a club and I'll be treated to a cheeky surprise in the form of a gorgeous male stripper. Even if I protest, my face will be bright red, my eyes wide as plates as Mr. Fanservice struts his considerable stuff on stage, and performs a sizzling routine where he'll tear off his clothes to reveal his toned and sculptured body…
"Earth to Jenny!" Emmeline's voice breaks into my thoughts. "Are you OK? I've been calling name for, like, a gazillion times now."
"Yeah, Em, I'm fine. Sorry about that. I was just thinking about… something."
"Or someone," Carrie says slyly. "A tanned beefcake with rock-hard abs, washboard stomach and a mouthwateringly erect…"
Rose delivers a quick slap to the back of Carrie's head.
"Ow, Rose! You hit me!"
"Sorry, Carrie. I wanted to emphasize how much of a dummy you were being and I guess it just got out of hand."
I let out a giggle as Carrie puffs her cheeks to express her mild annoyance. I can only describe her relationship with Rose as nothing more than sisterly love. Like me and Livi.
Speaking of, I look at my watch. It's nearly half-past twelve.
"Oh, where is Livi?" I moan. "Why does she always do this?"
A car honks down the road. We look up – and our mouths drop open. A shockingly pink Volkswagen camper van is winding slowly towards us. It stops at the kerb. The front door opens, and Livi hops out. She grins at us, her eyes twinkling. She's wearing a black, fitted T-shirt with pink diamante text, which read 'Maid of Honour' in a feminine, cursive font and a cowboy hat that is covered in pink glitter which reads 'Team Bride' on the front.
"Afternoon, ladies," she says.
No-one says a word. We're all too busy staring at how obtrusively bright and showy the van is.
"Hey Livi, Barbie called. She wants her van back," Emmeline quips.
"Oh ha ha, very funny – not," says Livi.
"Livi – where did you get this van?" Mum asks.
"I rented it!" Upon Mum's raised eyebrows, Livi admits, "I got Dad to rent it for me. And it's just for this weekend."
"And the T-shirt and hat?" I ask.
"This one was defo out of my own pocket. I got one for everybody!"
Livi brings out six pink bags from the passenger seat of the van and hands them out. I look inside mine – and huff out a laugh when I find what's inside. I pull out a white satin sash that reads 'Bride to Be' in a pink script and it's trimmed with light pink ruffles. It comes with a big white bow attached to one end. Next is a lovely silver tiara that sparkles pink plastic heart-shaped gems. It also has a pretty pink shoulder-length veil. And to finish off – a silver wand that is accented with fluffy light pink feathers, glitter, and a pink heart gem on the top.
"Oh, my God, Livi, this is so outrageous!" I say as I put on my sash and tiara. I stifle a laugh when I see what the others are in.
They're all dressed with pink cowboy hats and black T-shirts with a pink diamante text, which reads 'Bridesmaid' in a fancy font for Emmeline, Carrie and Rose; 'Mother of the Bride' for Mum; and 'Mother of the Groom' for Martha.
"You say outrageous, I say uniformed," Livi tells me. "Not to mention that we stand out from the crowd."
"Like that garish pink van," I say, pointing at it.
"Look I know it's not easy on the eyes, but unlike stretched limos and converted transit vans, the pink hen party van comes with fully equipped with all the latest gadgets to ensure you have the best hen party. Boasting iPod docking station, laser LED lighting and ice-filled champagne bar, you are guaranteed a great time in the party van. It also comes with a fabulous super-sonic surround sound system so you and the girls can enjoy great music en route to the destination, getting you in the mood for the fun and festivities that lie ahead."
"But where exactly are we going?" Martha asks.
"That's just it – we can go anywhere we like! That's what I planned for the hen party – we're going on a road trip!"
"A road trip?" everyone repeats. I must admit, I did not see this coming.
"I was thinking we could head for the seaside. You know paddle and sunbathe and eat ice cream and whatnot. Then we'll spend the night at a bed and breakfast. The next day we'll return to London to indulge on some afternoon tea at the Ritz, followed by some serious shopping in Oxford Street. And in the evening, we'll exercise our vocal chords with a karaoke session. How does that sound?"
I stare at my sister, impressed. Here's me thinking I'll be getting down and dirty while putting my body through its paces on an assault course. Or having lots of ripped and semi naked men dancing and performing for my pleasure. Instead I'm having a hen weekend that's… relaxing.
"Livi, that sounds like the best idea ever," I tell her, and everyone murmurs in agreement.
"Yay – we're going on a road trip!" Carrie cheers. "I wonder where we'll go. Is it Brighton? Bournemouth? Maybe Bognor?
"No, I bet its Margate, Scarborough or Weston-super-Mare," Emmeline suggests.
"Maybe it might be Llandudno, Skegness or…"
"Blackpool!" Carrie and Emmeline say in unison.
"How about we let Jenny decide? After all, she is the one getting married," says Mum.
"Good idea." Livi hands me a map. "There you are, Jen. You pick where we're going."
I peer at the map, squinting at the red roads and yellow roads and little spidery black roads, trying to find the perfect seaside town to go to.
After a minute, a name in tiny print suddenly comes into focus.
"I've found somewhere we can go. Crescent Cove."
"I've never even heard of it. Let me see where it is." Martha squints at the map. "It's obviously a very small place, not a proper town."
"And it has such a funny name," says Emmeline. "I wonder why it's called Crescent Cove."
"I think it must be because of the shape of the cove. See those two sticking-out bits of land? They look like a crescent moon," says Rose.
Everyone peers at the map and comments, "Oh yeah!" and "So they do!"
"Then it's settled. We're going to Crescent Cove!" says Livi. "Ladies, get your bags and hop in the van!"
We whoop and cheer as we pick up out bags. I slide open the back door and climb in the van. Emmeline climbs in after me – followed by Rose, Carrie… and Livi.
"Er, Livi? Shouldn't you be in the driver's seat?" I question.
"I'd figured your sister would rather get drunk and indulge in some gossip with you and the girls than sit behind the wheel for a few hours. So I volunteered to drive," Martha says from the driver's seat.
"And I'll keep Martha company," Mum says from the passenger seat beside her. "This gives us the chance to spend some time together – talk about you and Frank."
"See? Problem solved," says Livi. She slides next to me on the seat and pulls the sliding door shut. Then she takes out her iPod and places it in the docking station. A jumping music mix pumps around the van.
"Let's get this hen party started!" Livi cries. There's a great whoop from all of us as Martha pulls the van away from the kerb.
We start off feeling totally pumped to be on the road together. We sing along to the music, drinking champagne (while Rose and Carrie have Sprite) and having a good laugh. During the ride I wind the window right down and I breathe in deeply. We're surrounded by fields of corns and barley, gentle rolling hills purple in the distance. And then I see a dazzle of brilliant sea.
"What a magnificent view!" I sigh.
Everyone seems to be in agreement.
Martha slows down when we get to the next road sign five minutes later. We can stay on the main road and go to Seahaven – or turn down a little lane marked Crescent Cove!
"Get ready, girls! We're nearly there," Martha says from the front seat.
We all cheer.
"Don't be too disappointed if there's nothing much there," says Mum. "We can have a little wander and then make for Seahaven. I think that's a proper seaside town so we should be able to find a nice little bed and breakfast there."
We turn down the lane for Crescent Cove. There are tall trees growing on high banks on either side of us, their branches joining to make a dark green canopy overhead. Then there is a sign to a little farm, and then driveways to houses, and then a whole street of little terraced houses with pebbles stuck on the walls. Then the shop starts, a small supermarket, a dress shop, a little gallery, a newsagent's, an off-licence, an antique shop with a rocking chair, and a tearoom called Tessa's Teahouse.
"Oh, we'll definitely go and have a cup of tea in Tessa's Teahouse," says Emmeline, giggling. "It all looks so quaint. I do hope the service staff dress as elegant maids, or as butlers, and act as servants, and treat customers as mistresses and masters in a private home, rather than as café patrons. Like those maid and butlers café that are found predominantly in Japan."
"You're so daft, Em," I say. "But let's not go there yet though. I want to see the sea."
"Your wish is my command!" says Martha.
We drive past a restaurant, a pub, and a white hotel with a big green lawn and several swings.
Martha turns down a steep little lane towards the seafront. There are more houses now with sloping gardens. Some of the houses have BED AND BREAKFAST signs.
"We could stay in one of those," says Livi.
"Hm. We'll pick one later," says Mum.
We drive downwards, round the bend, Martha's foot hard on the brakes – and then we are at the seafront.
"We're here!" says Carrie. "And it looks awesome."
"Pretty," says Rose, smiling.
Crescent Cove is perfect. There is a high cliff on either side (the 'horns' of the crescent) sheltering a beautiful cove of soft golden sand. There is hardly anyone on the beach (which I find a little odd seeing as it's a Saturday), just a few families with little kids slowly trailing seaweed and half-heartedly sticking flags in sandcastles. An old-fashioned artist with a beard and a baggy blue shirt is sitting up on a white wall, painting. At the other end of the wall there is a small car park, a little wooden hut for toilets, and a beach shop-cum-café festooned with buckets and spades and an old tin ice-cream sign spinning out.
"It's just like a picture in an old story book that my mother used to read to me!" says Martha. "It's so lovely!"
"I'm so pleased it's lovely," says Mum. "I was hoping and hoping it would be and yet sure it would be this ropy old pebbly place, all grey and ugly."
"Let's park the van and have a little run on the beach," I say. "I want to feel the sand between my toes."
We put the van in the little car park. Livi pulls open the van door and we all hop out. I take a deep breathe. The air smells fresh and salty. After we get the feeling back in our legs, we go on the beach. I kick my shoes off and wiggle my toes in the soft powdery sand.
"Oh, that feels so good! I love it!" I shout happily.
Livi, Emmeline, Rose and Carrie kick off their own shoes off and do the same.
"It feels great!" says Livi. "Come on – roll your jeans right up, girls. We'll go and have a paddle."
Mum and Martha hang back while the rest of us run across the sand, slowly as it becomes hard and damp, and then we shriek as the first wave wash around our ankles.
"It's absolutely freezing!" Rose cries.
We wade around up to our knees, jumping waves, stooping to search for shells, walking up and down the little ridges in the wet sand. When we go back to Mum and Martha, the girls and I are soaked right up to our butts but they just laugh at us.
"They'll dry soon enough. That's what the sun's for!" says Martha.
"Are you hungry? Shall we have a picnic?" Mum asks me and the girls.
Mum and Martha spring up and pad over the sands, not bothering to put their shoes on. They go into the beach shop while Livi gets a blanket from the van and spreads it on the sand. When Mum and Martha come back they are carrying seven ice creams between them with two big carrier bags over their arms.
The seven of us sit down cross-legged and we lick our ice creams appreciatively. Each ice cream is vanilla flavoured with marshmallow and digestive biscuit swirls and fudge chucks, decorated with a crescent-shaped wafer.
"They're a Crescent Cove special," says Martha.
"Yummy!" says Emmeline.
When we finish our ice creams, Mum and Martha produce sandwiches, packets of crisps, mini chocolate rolls, apples, bananas and cans of fizzy drinks.
"This is not a picnic, it's a veritable feast!" Carrie says, clapping her hands.
After we eat all our wonderful lunch, I suggest that we should have a little walk and explore Crescent Cove.
"We need to find a place to stay first," says Mum. "I hope they're not all fully booked."
"It's not half term yet. We should be fine," says Martha. "It's just a question of where to find the best bed and breakfast guest house."
I spy the artist on the little wall. He's quite old and a bit pudgy with a bland and unreadable expression on his face and a little beard. He's wearing a big blue shirt and old jeans dappled with paint and scarlet red Converse shoes.
"I could ask him," I say, and I stand up and stroll over towards him.
"Hey, there," I say when I approach him. "I was wondering if know any good B&Bs around here – if you're local, that is."
"Huh?" says the artist, turning to me with half-lid eyes.
"A B&B. Could you recommend one for me and my hen party?"
The man stares at me for a moment, like I've just spoken in a totally different language. Before I have a chance to turn away, the artist slowly raises his arm and points.
"There's a row of B&Bs just up the hill in Primrose Terrace," he tells me in a monotone.
It's my turn to stare at him for a second. "OK," I say slowly. "Well, thanks for that and, er, good luck with the…" I glance at his painting, and then back at him "Bye!"
I jog back to the others and relay the information that the artist (numbly) told me. Everyone stands up and brushes themselves down. We head for the van and use the blanket to get all the sand off our feet. After we put on our shoes, the girls and I get in the van and head for Primrose Terrance.
On our way there, I think about the artist on the beach. Why did he speak to me in a flat and unemotional way? And his painting – what was up with that? When I looked at his painting earlier, there was nothing but a long strip of cobalt blue across the canvas. It looked to me that he has been painting that strip for hours. Maybe he's on something.
We reach the bed and breakfast guest houses less than five minutes later. There's a little alleyway behind the terrace of houses where there's a car park. It's a tight squeeze to get the van slotted in the space, but Martha has the vehicle parked in a matter of moments. Everyone collects their bags, and we exit the van and the car park.
"OK, here we are, Primrose Terrace. Which guest house do we fancy?" says Martha.
We gaze up and down the street. They are tall narrow Victorian houses painted in pretty pastels, pale yellow, pale, peach and white.
"What about the one that's painted primrose yellow to match the name of the terrace?" Carrie says.
"That's quite a good choice," says Martha. "But maybe…?"
"There's the pink," says Livi.
"Not pink," says Emmeline, and I nod in agreement.
"How about the peach one? That's got lovely roses in the garden," says Rose.
"Again – how about we let Jenny decide?" says Mum.
"Exactly – that's what I was about to suggest. Let Jenny pick the place," says Martha.
There's only one house to look at. I jog towards the white house at the end. It has a shiny green door and green willow-leaf curtains and there are white flowers painted on a sign above the door.
"Hey, guy!" I call. "Let's stay in the white one at the end. It's called Lily Cottage!"
While the girls walk up to the house, I ring the bell and wait. By the time they reach me, I ring again. Nothing happens.
"They're obviously not in," says Mum. "Maybe we'd better go next door after all."
The door opens, revealing an old man wearing glasses, a purple sweater, and dark blue jeans.
"Hello?" he says numbly.
"Hello, there," says Mum. "We were wondering if you have got any rooms available."
The old man says nothing – he just stares at her.
"Er, hello? Earth to old man?" Livi waves her hand in front of his face. "Is there room for us?"
After another long moment of wordless staring, the old man lets us in.
"Finally," I hear Carrie mutter as we enter.
The old man closes the door and turns to us. "I've got a double bedroom free with an en suite bathroom and a sea view and a twin bedroom," he tells us, deadpan.
"We'll take it," says Martha.
The man goes into his pocket and takes out to keys and hands them two Martha.
"Your rooms are on the first floor. Have a nice…" He lets out a yawn. And rather than finish his sentence, the old man shuffles into one of the room, leaving the rest of us standing awkwardly in the hallway.
"Well, that wasn't at all weird, was it?" says Rose.
"I know, right?" What was up with him?" says Emmeline.
"It's sure whatever it is, it'll pass," says Mum. "Right now, let's get to our rooms and unpack."
And that's what we do. Mum and Martha take the twin room and the rest of us take the double bedroom. It's a lovely old-fashion room with patchwork quilts on the beds, a rocking chair in the chair, two comfy armchairs with flowery cushions, a scarlet Chinese storage chest, and bright paintings all around the white-washed walls.
"There are only two beds here, so we'll have to share. Luckily they're king-sized," I say. "Rose and Carrie can be on one while the rest of us sleep in the other."
When we finish unpacking, the girls and I regroup with Mum and Martha and we set off to explore Crescent Cove. As well as the beachfront, there's a shopping district – a bustling centre of the town, where you can get everything from fashion to popular treats to eat. And there's the marina – a harbour that's visited by many people and boats.
As time goes on, I become increasingly mystify by the bland, zombie-like resident of the town. I thought only the artist and the B&B host were acting up – it's everyone.
I decide to express my concern with Rose, Carrie and Martha in the pub when Livi and Emmeline get a round of drinks in and my mum is using the ladies.
"I thought it was my imagination when the artist spoke to me. His voice was flat and without expression. Not to mention his painting – nothing but a long blue line across the canvas. I thought he was on drugs. Then there's the B&B host. I just thought because he was old and everything. But it seems that everyone in Crescent Cove is about as dull as a Scientology lecture."
"It's just as well you noticed it, Jenny. I didn't," says Martha. "When your mother and I were paying for the food at the beach shop and the owner and the owner and manager told us the price, he didn't feel or expressed any emotion. I assumed he had a very late night. That's why I didn't say anything."
"So something is making the resident of this town look like zombies. But what?"
"More importantly, who is behind it?" says Rose.
"Here's a big clue: he's tall, dark and faceless, wears a dressing gown and has a white, 'menacing' rabbit," says Carrie.
"Hmm, maybe. The Grandmaster could be brainwashing everyone to create his own army," I say. "But then again, he may be still licking his wounds after his latest plan was foiled by Frank and the others last weekend."
"What about last weekend?" Livi asks, setting a tray of drinks on the table. Emmeline follows suit.
"Oh! Er… I was just, um…" I fumble for words.
"Talking about how it was your last weekend of freedom before the wedding," Carrie remarks.
"That's it! I was just thinking about how I will no longer be footloose and fancy-free. How I'll be tied to one man for the rest of my life. No offence, Martha."
"None taken," she says.
"Well, it's just as well we got the drinks in – so you can take your mind off it," says Emmeline.
"And when Mum comes back we can get this party started – again!" says Livi – and right on time, Mum approaches our table.
In no time the party is back on track. I'm back to being mellow – laughing and drinking and having a good time.
Until half an hour later when…
"Last orders, ladies and gentlemen. Last orders," the barman says, in a flat voice.
"Last orders? But it's nearly seven o'clock!" Mum says, looking at her watch.
I glance to Martha, Rose and Carrie. There is something definitely weird happening with this town.
"Well, this blows!" says Livi. "But not to worry – I'm sure that there are other establishments that are willing to keep their doors open for longer."
Famous last words!
Like the pub, every shop in town is literally shutting up shop – all the pubs, clubs, restaurants and bars. Even the theatre and cinema – everywhere! And rather than the people who left the places complain, they all go to their homes out B&Bs. By the time it's gets to twenty past seven, Crescent Cove has turned itself into a ghost town.
"What kind of crazy-arse town is this place?! It's about as useless as Victoria Beckham when she was in the Spice Girls!" Emmeline exclaims. "Now what do we do?"
"It looks like we have no other choice than to head back to the B&B," I say.
"I brought some hen party games with me. And there's a few bottles of champagne left in the van – we can have the party there!" says Livi.
We end up walking back to the B&B as there are no taxis to take us there.
When we finally get there, Emmeline helps Livi with the games and champagne (still Sprite for Carrie and Rose). We continue the hen party in the living room – back to the drinking, laughing, and gossiping. We play a selection of fun hen party games, including Wedding Film Charades, Pin the Trunks on the Hunk, Mr. and Mrs., and the Toilet Paper Wedding Dress game.
At quarter to eleven we decide to call it a night. Normally a night of drunken debauchery would go on until the early hours. But since every place in Crescent Cove has shut down, we really don't have much of a choice. After we dispose the toilet paper and empty bottles and wash up the cups and plates, we all head upstairs, feeling tired and quite merry. The girls and I say our goodnights to Mum and Martha and we go into our room to change into our nightwear. Then we slip into our beds, say goodnight to each other, and turn out the laps on the bedtable.
While the others have no problem dozing off, I'm still wide wake. Staring up at the shifting lights and shadows on the ceiling, I try to figure out what is going on in Crescent Cove. First it's the lifeless and apathetic residents, now it's the enforced curfew. What the hell? Something is making everyone in the town look as wooden as the acting in Hollyoaks – but what? Possible toxins in the water system? Or is it mind control? And if the Grandmaster is behind it all, what does he plan to do with everyone? And how can Rose, Carrie, Martha and I stop him? We're only here for one night – we're leaving in the morning…
Finally, I feel tired enough to go to sleep and I drift off at long last.