What have I done?
Ben looked up from his book. His dark brows rose, silently asking if I was all right. I nodded, knowing I must look ill. Anette tugged at her friend’s hand-knitted jumper when she saw me. Despite myself, I was suddenly glad of them being here.
“Happy New Year, Evie! This is Bea. She just started drama club with me. Bea, this is our friend Evie.”
I stuck a big smile on my face. “Hi, Bea, lovely to meet you.”
“Enchantée,” Bea said. Her hair was full of multicolored clips.
“How was your Road Trip meet cute? Did the playlist help?” Anette asked, barely pausing between questions.
“Worst one yet, unfortunately. Thank goodness I had your playlist. I don’t know what I would have done without it. Thanks, Anette.”
Anette appeared relieved. “Dad helped,” she said generously.
“Then you both saved the day.” The corner of Ben’s mouth quirked up and I felt a rush of warmth.
Until I remembered what I’d done. Oh, Sarah. I’m so sorry.
“Anette, why don’t you teach Bea Bad Lamp Random?” Ben suggested.
I shot him a grateful look and pulled up Sarah’s presentation, racing through alternative options to the manor. Even if I booked elsewhere, my friends had spent over a month organizing all the activities in the presentation, and they were all in Shrewksbury village. How was I going to tell them? And how was I going to face Sarah? Her Mathers Meltdowns™ had been infamous at university, but it had been years since anyone had seen one. That’s because all of the witnesses are dead.
I put my head in my hands, closing my eyes and breathing deeply.
“Evie,” Ben said.
“Yes?”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said, my voice muffled. Sarah was going to kill me. Maria would be furious. Jeremy . . . Well, Jeremy would probably throw a parade in my honor.
My phone buzzed. I turned to check it.
NOB: No more excuses. Where’s my meet-cute?
I shoved the phone, sending it skidding to the other side of the table. There was movement in my periphery. Anette and Ben were having a rapid, silent conversation. Anette made a winglike shape with her arms. Ben nodded at her—Okay, okay—he signed, and she stopped, turning back to her friend.
“What is it, Evie?” he asked me. The back of my throat stung at his unexpectedly gentle tone.
“It’s fine, really,” I told him. “I’ve just ruined my best friend’s hen do and I’m the world’s worst friend, that’s all. Please, go back to your book.”
“Maybe I can help.”
I raised my eyes to his. “You don’t even know what I’ve done.”
“Then tell me.”
So I did, then waited for the inevitable judgment.
“When is it?”
“Next weekend.”
“Where is it?”
“Shrewksbury.”
“That’s the middle of nowhere,” said Ben.
“Yes,” I said heavily.
Ben closed his book.
“I meant that you could have the hen do anywhere, as long as it’s similar to Shrewksbury. Is that correct?”
“With Sarah, nothing’s ever quite as simple as that.” I pushed the presentation pages across the table toward him. He started to riffle through the top ones. He paused, then flipped through to the end, where the checklist of activities was. I couldn’t look at it.
“Right,” Ben said. Then he simply stood up and walked away. So much for being less of a doofus. I buried my head in my hands again.
“Do you want a hot chocolate, Evie?” Anette asked me a few minutes later.
“I’m okay, thank you,” I mumbled into my sleeve.
“Too late,” Ben said. There was a light thud and I looked up. He’d bought them for all of us.
“Do you have all the contact details for the bookings?” he asked.
I nodded, eyes still on my drink, then pulled up Maria’s spreadsheet. “They’re all here.”
“And there definitely isn’t an alternative venue nearby?”
“I’ve looked. The only way we could still do all the activities we’ve planned is if I hired a camper van, and my friend Sarah banned any form of camping back in 2006 after the four of us nearly drowned in a field in Scotland. Long story.”
Ben leaned forward and retrieved my phone, handing it back to me. “Then brace yourself,” he told me. “Are you ready? Here, take this.”
He pushed the hot chocolate into my hands.
“You’re going to cancel everything, the sooner the better.”
I groaned loudly, though pressed my fingers gratefully around the warmth of the mug.
“There’s good news.”
“That seems unlikely.”
“You’ve got this,” he said simply. I looked at him. “From what I’ve seen, you can do anything you set your mind to. You’re going to find somewhere new and rebook it all. And if you need help, I’m here. I’ve done this before.”
“Organized hen dos?” I said, briefly stuck on the idea of Ben thinking I was capable of anything. But you think I’m ridiculous. Surely all this should just be compounding his view of me.
“Photography crews, mainly. Getting them places. Keeping them entertained. It was a lot like herding cats.” Who was this man? “Trust me,” Ben said. “Itinerary is my middle name.” I gave him a small smile and he lifted a shoulder. “So, can I pitch in?”
Before today, Ben would have been the last person I’d want witnessing me be a complete catastrophe. Yet, he’d made it all sound so doable. Having an alternative weekend already lined up would certainly help when I delivered the news to my friends about what I’d done to the original. And Sarah’s hen do wasn’t going to be saved by wallowing.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s do this.”
“Then let’s get canceling.”
Less than an hour later, the perfect hen do that Jeremy and Maria had spent months organizing was no more. The only issue had been the Sunday spa treatments at Shrewksbury. They’d been paid for up front and were nonrefundable. Ben had tried too—and I’d heard him on the phone, brisk, polite, and impressively hard to say no to. Shrewksbury was firm. It meant that I’d need to save for the next few months to pay Jeremy and Maria back, but it was the least I could do.