LITMIR.BIZ

       CHAPTER ONE

      WHAT ON EARTH was she doing here? Gabby Johnson forced a smile to her face and her nerves into submission as the word mistake flashed through her mind in neon. Get a grip, Gabby. This was supposed to be fun, for heaven’s sake—a hen weekend, friends together for two days of female solidarity and a good time to be had by all.

      The problem was it depended on your definition of a good time.

      ‘Right!’ The maid of honour, to whom Gabby had just been introduced, a vivacious petite redhead called Lorna, clapped her hands together. ‘Ladies, I have a timetable of fun activities planned to celebrate the upcoming wedding of our very lovely friend Charlotte.’

      Gabby relaxed slightly as everyone cheered. She reminded herself that this was a celebration—that it had been kind of Charlotte to include Gabby. They had been friends in college, lost touch and then reignited a friendship of sorts after bumping into each other a few months ago.

      ‘OK,’ Lorna continued. ‘So here we are in the lovely city of Bath, in this fantastic house right in the centre, and this is our plan for the evening. I promise that cocktails will be involved later. But first, I have a fun activity planned. Before I explain that, it’s time to have a glass of bubbly whilst we all get changed.’ Lorna turned around and gestured to seven luminous pink bags. ‘These are all named, and I hope I have got the sizes roughly right.’

      Gabby stepped forward with everyone else and took her designated bag, watching as everyone else peered into theirs, listening to their shrieks of laughter. Panic began to shrivel the edges of her introverted soul.

       Come on, Gabby. Woman up. How bad can it be?

      The pops of champagne corks as everyone pulled mini bottles from their bags should have reassured her, but then...

      ‘It’s a bunny suit!’ one of the women exclaimed. ‘I have always wanted to try one of these on.’

      A bunny suit? Somehow she’d expected a more low-key affair. Dinner and drinks. Maybe a cocktail. Bunny suits hadn’t figured anywhere in the equation. Now she was going to spend the evening in one.

      Why, oh, why couldn’t she be like all the other women in the room, who seemed enthused by the whole idea? She would have sold her rapidly contracting soul in exchange for some of the palpable joie de vivre and confidence that filled the room.

      Gazing into the contents of the bag, she forced herself to maintain a smile as she tugged the costume out. A bright pink corset, a pom-pom tail, bunny ears, sheer tights... Now she understood why she’d been asked to bring a pair of pink stilettos.

      Ideas streamed through her mind: perhaps she could fake illness, perhaps she could object on the grounds of political correctness...? Get a grip, Gabby. There was nothing worse than a party pooper, so all she could do was exchange her jeans and T-shirt for the bunny outfit.

      Somehow she had to loosen up. Her childhood mantra ran through her head—in twenty-four hours it will be over. It came from the times when she’d been scared, hiding in whatever sanctuary she’d been able to find whilst her mother partied.

      Even aged three she’d known with chilling certainty that her mother would not be able to keep her safe, would be too far under the influence of drugs and alcohol. So she had always scoped out a place to conceal herself—in a cupboard, under a bed... And wherever she’d been she’d kept telling herself that she would get through it, that at this time tomorrow it would be over. Comparatively speaking, parading the streets in a bunny suit would be a doddle.

      ‘You OK?’ Charlotte had moved next to her in her bridal bunny costume. ‘I know this probably isn’t your cup of tea, but...’

      ‘Don’t be silly. It’s a laugh,’ Gabby managed and adjusted her bunny ears with an enthusiasm she hoped came across as genuine.

      Time to douse her inner cringe. Irritation threshed at her nerves—why couldn’t she take this in the right spirit and have fun? It wouldn’t be that bad; she was in a group of eight, all dressed the same—she could just fade into the background. After all, that was one of her best skills.

      ‘OK, ladies. Gather round!’ Lorna called as she produced her next exhibit—a pink top hat. ‘This hat contains eight challenges. Each of us will take one and then off we’ll go to attempt the challenges. We’ll pretty much stick together, but I do require photographic proof that the challenges have been completed!’

      Fabulous. Even her fade-into-the-background skills would struggle to provide invisibility in this situation. And what sort of challenge?

      Panic began to twist in her tummy. Gabby might chafe against her introvert nature, but she accepted it as a cast-iron personality trait. Acknowledged that it had helped keep her invisible and under the radar when she’d most needed to, and had kept her safe amidst the chaos of her mother’s lifestyle. Then later, after the horror of her mum’s death—the result of an overdose—Gabby’s quietness, her ‘invisibility’, had meant she had been allowed to live with her grandparents despite her social worker’s concerns about their ages.

      ‘Read it! Read it! Read it!’

      The chant pulled Gabby back to the here and now and she realised that someone had pulled the first challenge from the hat.

      ‘“Exchange an item of clothing with a man you don’t know.”’

      Gabby looked on as everyone laughed, and felt anxiety tornado as Lorna held the hat out to her.

      Breathe. In twenty-four hours this will be over. Her dignity would be in tatters, but it would be over.

      Inwardly praying, she pulled out a slip of paper and looked down at it. Someone, somewhere had to be kidding.

      ‘Read it! Read it! Read it!’

      Stomach hollow, she did just that. ‘“Find a hot stranger and get a kiss on camera.”’

      This caused much merriment and Gabby forced herself to join in, etching a smile on her face in a gallant attempt to join in the spirit of the occasion. Time to channel personality trait number two—the art of faking it. Throughout childhood she’d made sure she’d played a part—whatever part she’d needed to play to survive.

      A couple of hours later, as afternoon segued into the beginning of evening, her cheek muscles ached and her panic had escalated to the point of a need for a paper bag to breathe into. All around her Kate, Charlotte, Lorna, et al. had danced and spun through their challenges, and soon it would be only Gabby left. She would be the focus of attention.

      Moisture sheened her neck, even as she maintained the smile and her brain raced.

      At that moment Lorna moved over to her, a friendly smile on her face. ‘Gabby, it’s just you now. How can we help? Or if you want to give it a miss, it’s no big deal. I should have known that this wouldn’t be everyone’s thing. If you want to skip it, then it’s not a problem. We can head straight to the cocktail place.’

      For a moment Gabby nearly collapsed in relief at the opt-out clause—but then sheer annoyance at herself surfaced. Did she want to be the one person on this hen do who didn’t complete her challenge? The one person who didn’t provide a photograph for the album Lorna would be putting together for Charlotte to look back on? Dammit—she had to try.

      Keeping her lips upturned and her body relaxed, she even managed a laugh that hopefully held insouciance.

      ‘Actually, would it be OK if I slip off by myself and give it a go? I could meet you at the cocktail place after.’

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