The Bridal Party Read online

  She and Gaia left Clarisse to unpack and went to find their own bedrooms. Nada chose one that was relatively small, preferring that rather than having to share space with others. Gaia, with no such desire for privacy, had opted for one of the larger twin rooms.

  Nada brought her bag up and plugged her phone in to charge. Then she lay down on the bed, enjoying the comfortably thick duvet beneath her, and gave herself a moment to think. The others would get here soon, and it was time to snatch some peace and quiet before the celebrations began.

  She let out a deep breath, and stared at the ceiling, listening to the breeze brush past her window, and the odd creak of a floorboard from somewhere within the bones of the house.

  Here it was, she thought.

  The hen do, at last.

  Three

  It was hard to believe that the weekend was finally happening, after all this time. Clarisse had only been with her fiancé for a couple of years, but the first conversations they’d had about her hen do dated from well before that, when she had just started her career as an English teacher.

  It had been a lonely time for Nada. All the university friends she’d done her teacher training with had moved forward, getting jobs in schools around London. She remembered meeting up with them, and all they’d been able to talk about was work: the discipline issues, the endless amount of marking and the differing degrees of head teacher lunacy.

  It had been hard for Nada not to feel left behind. Even getting her teaching certificate had failed to give her any confidence in her own abilities. Every classroom she’d entered seemed to threaten to plunge into chaos at any moment, and it had always felt like the students were a pack of animals waiting to pounce on every mistake she made. She’d never managed to find a way to establish herself, to have that that presence in front of students that other teachers seemed to have so naturally. When it had come to the point where they’d all started applying for jobs in the last stages of training, Nada had been unable to shake off the feeling that teaching wasn’t right for her. She’d avoided applying, staring blankly at school websites with a vague uneasiness in her stomach.

  It was then that she got the news that her mum had fallen ill. It had seemed like a sign. Her father had died many years before, and with no else around to help, a clear path had revealed itself to Nada. It had almost been a relief: she’d been able to put off thinking about her career without having to feel defensive, and had filled her time with some low-key teaching assistant work and looking after her mum.

  It was during that time, when many of her friends had surged ahead, that Clarisse had reached out to her. A text, asking to meet up. A coffee in a Costa somewhere central. Nada remembered the taste of the foam on her lips, the bustle of important professional-looking people in the background.

  She remembered Clarisse leaning in and saying that she was thinking of getting married but wasn’t sure if she should. That she had been seeing a man for a while now, but hadn’t told anyone.

  A man called Noah.

  Lying on the bed, Nada’s brows knitted into a frown at she thought of him. Thankfully, Clarisse had ended up with someone else.

  Thankfully, but thanks to who?

  She wrestled out of the comfort of the bed and looked out of the window. Her room was facing the wood; the trees stood sentinel at the border of the lawn, as if itching to come closer. Everything seemed to be shivering: the blades of glass, the branches of the trees. There was only a slight breeze, but it was enough to set the world on edge.

  Nada took the scarf circling her shoulders and bunched it up more tightly around her neck. Just a glance outside was enough to make her feel cold. She looked at the woodland, with the odd leaf floating down from the branches.

  I’d best get going, she thought. I promised Clarisse a drink.

  Not that Nada had any desire for alcohol yet. She regretted making that promise to Clarisse – it hadn’t felt right, coming from her. She could normally trust Gaia and the others to cover that sort of topic. She’d only said it because Clarisse had needed her to say it. And she owed Clarisse everything. The weekend was supposed to be about drinking, and not having a care in the world. If that didn’t sit right with who she was, then she was just going to have to be a different person for a few days. She could do that for Clarisse.

  She put her suitcase on the bed and unzipped it. But within seconds, she realised that something was wrong.

  At first, it was just a feeling: that things were not quite how she’d packed them. That clothes that had been in one compartment were now in another. That her bag of toiletries, carefully tucked into the netting, was now among her socks and underwear.

  But soon it became very clear that something was missing.

  Someone had been through her bag.

  Four

  Reeling a little from shock, Nada rummaged through the bag again. Could it be that things had jostled around in her travels; that she’d just missed it?

  But no – her outfit for tonight had been removed and replaced with something else.

  Tamsyn had been in touch relatively early on to say that she had planned a murder mystery for the first evening of the weekend; that they were each going to play a part, and find out who the ‘killer’ was in their midst. She’d said it was going to be organised professionally, with two actors coming to the house to perform certain characters and made sure everything ran smoothly.

  It was the sort of thing that made Nada cringe inside just to think about it. She’d never been good at putting on accents or dressing up; it had always felt juvenile to her. The only experience she’d had of murder mysteries was amongst friends: the idea of professional actors coming in (and probably taking it far more seriously than was needed) was something she’d never heard of. It was sure to make it even more forced, pressuring Nada to be someone else when she had a hard enough time being herself. It was easier for some of the others, those who had an international background; their accents slipped and changed anyway, their voices not fixed in the way Nada’s was. Elena was even a professional actress, or trying to be, at least. It was all so foreign for Nada, for whom such games belonged in childhood.

  She had tried to forget that it was going to happen until an email from Tamsyn popped into her inbox. The theme of the mystery was announced: a 1950s cruise. Or at least some sort of fantasy version of a 1950s cruise, as Nada found out when she’d received a separate email telling her that she had to get herself a nurse’s outfit.

  She’d dutifully bought one, trawling through Amazon to find a costume that wasn’t too sexy and vaguely worked with the time period. The resulting outfit was cheap and tacky: she had tried it on once, immediately detesting the sight of herself in the mirror, and put it back in its plastic package.

  But now the package contained something else.

  She took the costume out and, her eyes widening with disbelief, placed it on the bed.

  Instead of the nurse’s uniform, there was a peculiar outfit covered in a chequered black and velvet pattern. The skirt finished in uneven strands at about knee length, and the top was wide enough to hang loosely, presumably to be tucked in at the waist. Most curiously, there were a couple of shoe covers, designed to make shoes look like they curved at the end, and a hat that speared into two large horns above the ears.

  What on earth was it? she wondered, dropping it onto the bed. It took her a few moments to process what had happened, and to see that it was supposed to be a medieval jester’s costume.

  ‘Gaia!’ she called out into the hall, trying to keep her voice steady.

  ‘Yes?’ came the reply. But Gaia’s voice didn’t sound normal either: it seemed off, strangled somehow. Could the same thing have happened to her?

  Nada hurried across the landing and into Gaia’s room. Gaia was holding up a costume of her own, her face blank with dismay.

  ‘What is this?’

  Her outfit was vaguely Tudor. It consisted of a mauve robe that left the shoulders almost completely uncovered and ballooned at the waist, with a gold-patterned white strip leading down from the midriff to the hem. In her other hand was a tiara.

  ‘Did you pack that?’ Nada stammered.

  ‘For a 1950s cruise? I was supposed to be a private eye!’

  ‘Gaia, the same thing happened to me. Someone went through my bag and put in a different costume. Of a medieval jester.’

  Gaia’s eyes widened. ‘What?’ she cried.

  Nada held up her hands. ‘Let’s just think this through before we tell Clarisse.’

  ‘Why are you worrying about Clarisse? Surely we need to call the police or something?’

  ‘Can we just wait a second? Talk it over?’

  They looked at each other for a moment, Gaia breathing heavily. She was not someone who hid her emotions easily: everything about her normally languid composure would tighten, and her flaring nostrils and a normally invisible vein lining her brow were sure-fire indicators that she was ready to protest.

  ‘Come downstairs with me so Clarisse won’t hear us,’ Nada urged. ‘Let’s deal with one thing at a time. She’s going to freak out – we need to come to a decision before we talk to her.’

  Gaia eventually nodded, her eyes still blazing with anger.

  There was no sound from Clarisse’s side of the hall: presumably her luggage had been left untouched. Nada and Gaia stepped quietly down the stairs and made their way to the kitchen.

  Gaia started. ‘Nada, this is fucked up.’ Nada winced a little: it was still too loud for comfort. ‘Could we stop worrying about Clarisse for a moment?’ Gaia urged. ‘I mean, someone has gone through our stuff.’

  She was right, of course, but Nada couldn’t help it. In the shock of seeing what had happened to her bag, the feeling had somehow remained that Clarisse
had to be protected. It was absurd, but she had carried that anxiety around all day; it was like it had taken hold of her. Clarisse had to be spared from everything that could go wrong.

  ‘I know, I know,’ she said. ‘Was anything stolen?’

  Gaia shook her head. ‘Just the costume.’

  ‘So someone went through our bags and replaced our costumes with medieval ones. Why would anyone do that?’

  ‘And how? How did they manage to get to our bags? We either had them with us or they were checked in. Could someone at the airport have done it?’

  Something dawned on Nada.

  ‘Wait – we did leave our bags. At the airport, when we went to sort out the rental cars.’

  Gaia nodded. ‘You’re right. We left them in the airport lounge with Afreya and Elena. Do you reckon they went through them?’

  Nada paused for a moment. ‘They must have done. This must be some kind of prank.’

  ‘If it’s a prank, then I am not seeing the funny side. Like, at all.’ Gaia wrinkled her nose in frustration.

  ‘Think about it. The whole weekend is supposed to be full of surprises, right? That’s what Tamsyn said in her emails, again and again. That we had no idea what was in store for us.’

  ‘Tamsyn’s not here, though.’

  ‘Well, someone else must have been in on her scheme.’

  Gaia puffed in anger, the vein appearing again. ‘You’re probably right, you know. How much do you want to bet that this was planned, that we were never even supposed to do the 1950s murder mystery? That we’re actually going to do a medieval-themed one instead?

  ‘I suppose that would make sense.’ There was a beat while they both pondered this, and Gaia began to pace around the kitchen. Nada bit her thumb, denting the skin, as she always did when thinking, and continued: ‘It all just seems so unnecessary. I hate the idea of someone going through my things.’

  ‘I don’t care about that,’ Gaia said matter-of-factly. ‘Our bags probably get searched all the time. But I do care that someone took my costume. It might have been a shit costume, but that’s still basically theft. And for what? Just to surprise us?’

  There was another moment of silence as they both stared ahead, their minds churning. No matter which way they thought about it, nothing seemed right. It was all so much more malicious than it needed to be.

  Nada was the first to speak again, as she said in a hushed voice: ‘How well do we know Tamsyn?’

  ‘Pretty well. I mean, we’ve all been friends for long enough.’

  ‘But do you think she could have planned this? And got an accomplice to help her, once she realised that she couldn’t come? Honestly, it doesn’t feel right. She’s hardly someone I’d call a prankster; she doesn’t like to push people’s buttons. I mean, she likes to have a laugh, but this seems too much.’

  Gaia nodded. ‘Agreed. I mean, it is pretty fucking extreme.’

  Nada pursed her lips. ‘And it’s not just the idea of her planning this – what about the other two? I’m having a hard time thinking of either of them going through our bags.’

  ‘Maybe they did it together, egging each other on. Maybe this is some regressed schoolgirl behaviour from their fancy-pants international school that we’re not aware of. They’re probably going to arrive any minute and just laugh their heads off.’

  Nada answered reluctantly. ‘I expect you’re right. Still.’

  Still, it feels wrong.

  ‘God, I’m going to kill them when they get here,’ Gaia muttered.

  ‘How about that drink, then?’ said Clarisse, surging into the kitchen.

  While Nada and Gaia were dressed comfortably in jeans, Clarisse had taken the opportunity to change. She had put on a red dress and applied make-up, as if making a statement: she was over the disappointment of Tamsyn’s absence, she seemed to be saying, and was ready for the fun to begin. Taken aback by their serious looks, she stopped at the door. ‘Is everything okay?’

  Gaia and Nada looked at each other. What should they say? Clarisse didn’t even know that a murder mystery was on the cards for the weekend; someone else was supposed to be bringing her costume.

  Nada’s mind raced. She was a private person, and the idea of someone rummaging through her clothes, her toiletries, her underwear didn’t sit right with her. But telling the hen that there was tension between her friends before the weekend had even properly begun? That someone had done something that felt dishonest and hurtful, and that Nada was going to have a hard time forgiving them?

  Before she or Gaia could answer, a sound came from outside. Tyres, crunching on gravel.

  The others were here.

  Before

  For a moment, it is like they have met as friends.

  It is there, in the embrace. Nada feels comforted; it is like every other embrace she has shared with Clarisse. There is the smell of her perfume, her always immaculate hair. Her grip is stronger than one would imagine too. She has the build of someone who once used to carry more weight; her arms are thick and sturdy, the token of an unmentionable past.

  Clarisse talks in bubbly exclamations. After a series of sudden staff departures, she has now become head of the English department at her school. It is an unusually young age to get the post, and she seems to revel in the challenges. As they walk along the corridors, she describes what it is like with breathless excitement: even as she outlines all the difficulties she is facing, she sounds as if she is grateful for them. Nada notices that when she talks about the school’s rules and regulations, she says ‘we’ a lot: ‘what we feel is best for the students’; ‘what we do to ensure good behaviour’. Never mind that she is talking about decisions made by those with at least ten more years’ experience than her.

  Already the pretence is draining away, the sense that this is a normal situation dwindling with every step. This is Clarisse’s turf. There is no equal footing, if there ever was before.

  Clarisse lets her into a classroom: the walls are papered with images from GCSE texts. Elizabeth Bennet walks through muddy fields with a book in hand. Macbeth grasps at a floating dagger.

  They sit down, facing each other.

  ‘So I know that you’re going to be great, Nada, but I have to go through the motions, as it were. Not show favouritism. Especially since I’m not supposed to hire an NQT.’

  NQT. Newly qualified teacher. It stings: even though they qualified at the same time, Nada has the same status as someone straight out of teacher training, while Clarisse is a bloody head of department.

  ‘That’s fine,’ Nada replies. She is good at hiding her emotions; they are buried deep from years of practice.

  ‘So …’ Clarisse gets ready, opening a page of notes and straightening her back, adopting a professional stance. She falters a little, and leans back in. ‘Is this a bit weird?’

  Nada pauses, just for a moment. Her insides are squirming.

  ‘No,’ she lies. ‘Go on. Ask away.’

  Clarisse smiles, and picks up her pen. It is a red ballpoint; the kind teachers use to mark you down and let you know you’re not good enough.

  ‘So tell me, Nada: what are the ingredients of an outstanding English lesson?’

  Now

  Five

  ‘They’re here!’ said Clarisse, pattering away from the kitchen to the front door, her shoes clacking on the parquet.

  ‘She’s put on heels already?’ whispered Gaia.

  ‘She wants it all to begin, I guess.’

  ‘I blame you for this, you know. First drink of the weekend?’

  ‘I didn’t know about the bag drama, did I?’

  Gaia ran her hands through her thick curly hair. It was midnight black, the most apparent sign of her Greek heritage. ‘What a time for you to come out of your drinking shell. Listen, I’ll get the celebrations started with Clarisse down here while the others unpack. You find out who the thief is.’