© Rachel Wolcott 2006
There was no polite way of bowing out. Meredith was resigned to going through with the trip in honour of the upcoming marriage of a friend she planned to distance herself from once she’d dispensed with her bridesmaid’s duties. It may be a law of nature that single bridesmaids are viciously jealous of the bride, but Meredith wasn’t about to take the blame for this waning friendship. The zealotry behind the wedding preparations– from the website devoted to the couple’s love to the many engagement parties, bridal showers and now the hen weekend–had revealed narcissism rivalling that described in the original myth.
Upon arrival in Prague, Simone the bride sulked when the arrangements weren’t to her liking. Where was the limo? Who had put a museum on the itinerary? The complaints about the accommodation, which was a pensione, not a hotel, were endless. There had been tears when she discovered the absence of en-suite bathrooms. Fortunately, talking about her wedding, the luxury spa venue, her dress and its cost, her ring, its carats and gemstone quality, calmed her.
The party sat in a café in the old town square for most of the afternoon. They drank coffees before moving onto wine. Meredith consulted her guidebook, while the others discussed hairstyles and leafed through a folder of bridal magazine clippings. “You are going to look so beautiful,” sniffed one of Simone’s friends, before bursting into tears. Within seconds all seven bridesmaids were crying and hugging. Meredith gingerly attached herself to the outside of the huddle and hoped this would be the end of the public emoting.
While walking to a restaurant that Simone warned better be good, she climbed atop the Charles Bridge. “I am so happy!” cried the bride, throwing her hands in the air and strutting along the wall. “I AM SO BEAUTIFUL!” she sang. Meredith had always admired her subtlety and comfort with being the centre of attention.
A small group formed. There was some tongue-clucking, disapproving head shaking as well as laughter. “I’ll have some of that!” boomed a man wearing an Arsenal jersey. He and his friends roared with laughter, whooping and catcalling as they walked away. Simone responded enthusiastically, bending over to expose her cleavage and licking her lips in an effort to be seductive.
Meredith, no longer surprised by this behaviour, watched from a distance. Simone’s future sister-in-law, who was also her new best friend, was boosting herself up on the wall. Just as she stood up a pair of policemen hauled them off the ledge. Simone and her accomplice were led away screaming, with the rest of the frantic hen party trailing behind shouting and imploring the policemen to release their bride friend immediately. “She’s getting married in two weeks!” wailed another of Simone’s best friends. The policemen did not appear to acknowledge her.
The streetlights along the bridge flicked on in unison. Meredith started after the bride and her maids, not making a huge effort. Simone and the sister-in-law were bundled into a police car. The others stood by the river, a few sobbing violently. When Meredith caught up, the hotel administrator from Cardiff took charge and suggested they all go to the station and wait for Simone’s release. “We can salvage this weekend!” she commanded. Composures were regained and the group charged up the cobblestone street, stilettos a-clicking. Strangely, a cheer went up as they ran out of view. Did they know where they were going? Meredith stood alone. She took a step forward and stopped.
En route to the pensione, Meredith stopped at an Internet café to check flights, only to find nothing available until morning. Going home was not an option for at least 14 hours and hanging around the pensione wasn’t ideal. It was cosy but there wasn’t a lot to do apart from have a cup of tea in the lounge or chat to the ancient proprietress who called herself Madame Olenska. Most importantly, now that she’d escaped from group, there was no going back, and Pensione Olenska would be the first place they’d look for her.
The lobby was empty and dim save a lamp burning over the main desk. Meredith peered over the counter–all the room keys were in their respective pigeonholes. “Madame Olenska?” she called. A young man, very good looking, poked his head out of the office door. Benedikt, Madame Olenska’s grandson, handed over Meredith’s room key and listened to the story of her afternoon. He smiled and suggested they have a drink together in the lounge. Delighted, Meredith ran upstairs to freshen up, several fantasies vying for her attention at once. She flew down the stairs minutes later to find the lobby crowded with the hen party and Benedikt busy. “There you are!” cried Simone. “Let’s get going!”