Do You Remember the First Time?

yourself. Plus, he loves Tash to bits and has always been overprotective, vetting anyone she goes out with.
    ‘Is that Ol?’ came Max’s loud voice from the bar. ‘Thought I recognised that clapped-out XR5.’
    ‘I’ve got some work to catch up on,’ said Ol. He yawned ostentatiously, winked and headed upstairs.
    ‘Don’t work too …’ my voice petered out.
    I heard the general sound of merriment through the big oak doors that led to the original ye olde trusty inne section, and sighed.
    ‘Can we not go to the bar?’
    ‘I think if there was ever a good minibar-emptying excuse it’s tonight,’ said Tash.
    I rolled my eyes. ‘Yes, because we usually require a parental consent form.’
    ‘How’s the lovely Ol then?’ she asked as we quietly crept upstairs to avoid the revellers. ‘Getting in a romantic mood?’
    I think it’s a bit insensitive to ask after someone else’s love life when you have a big white dress hanging on the back of your door.
    ‘It’s fine,’ I said. ‘I think we must have one of those relationships where you bicker a lot to show you care.’
    ‘Is that true?’
    ‘Yes. People who are too affectionate are overcompensating,’ I said blithely. ‘Apparently.’
    ‘OK,’ said Tash.
    ‘I took a test in a magazine.’
    ‘OK!’
    I bounced on the bed in her honeymoon suite. ‘Well? Are you excited then?’
    ‘Do I look excited?’
    ‘Not as much as I’d expected, actually.’
    She threw herself dramatically on the bedspread to join me, widening her eyes. ‘Oh, Flo, I just can’t believe it … you know. It’s the dreamiest thing that’s ever happened! I’m the luckiest girl in the whole wide world.’
    ‘Oh, shut up. You know what I mean, though. You must be a bit nervous, or something.’
    ‘I am. I really am. It’s just, what’s as exciting as it’s cracked up to be? Nothing.’
    ‘Getting into our first nightclub?’
    ‘Yeah, we were twelve.’
    ‘It was very exciting.’
    She grinned. ‘Still. It is quite cool.’
    ‘You’re actually doing it!’
    ‘I know!’
    ‘That’s better.’
    I rolled over onto my stomach. ‘So is it not going to be what we always thought it was going to be?’
    Tashy stuck her lip out a little as we remembered the many hours we’d spent sprawled over her bed (I always liked going to hers; her slightly sluttish mother let us eat in front of the TV) in pretty much the same positions, discussing how it would be.
    ‘Well, I suppose I’ve had sex already …’
    ‘You haven’t! You filthy bitch!’
    ‘So that’s out of the way. And, also, he’s not royal and there aren’t six million people lining The Mall with flags to cheer us on our way.’
    We were quiet for a moment, and I jumped off the bed and ceremoniously declared the minibar open. It even had Baileys in it. Ooh, we used to love that. Sugary milk!
    ‘Hey – remember these?’
    Tashy eyed one up balefully. ‘A feature of my first night of unmarried intercourse … and, possibly, my last.’
    I tore them open and we toasted each other.
    ‘To true love,’ I said.
    ‘Aha-ha-ha.’
    Actually, I’d meant it. I took a swig.
    ‘Just think – you’ll never have to make love to a man who slaps you on the rump and calls you a filly ever again!’
    ‘Neiighhhh!!!!’
    ‘Or date ANYBODY SHORT.’
    Olly and Max were both very tall. These were our minimum requirements. We’d always reckoned that short men for girls were the equivalent of that horrible joke blokes tell – ‘What have fat girls and scooters got in common? They’re both fun to ride, but you wouldn’t want your mates seeing you with one.’
    ‘Or snog anyone for a dare.’
    ‘Or sympathy.’
    ‘Christ, yeah. Remember Norm?’
    ‘It was charity work,’ I replied indignantly. ‘Helping the less blessed in the world.’
    Norm had been something of a mistake, something of a long time ago.
    Norm had been a snuffling pig, outright winner in an ugly pig competition.
    ‘Anyway, why are you starting, Bridezilla? What about Pinocchio?’
    Pinocchio told a lot of lies and had a very long narrow woody.
    ‘Pour me some more Baileys immediately,’ demanded Tashy.
    ‘I don’t want to give you a headache.’
    ‘Are you joking? We’ve booked singers from the local choral society to sing the hymns. No one’s getting out alive without a headache.’ She rolled over.
    ‘It’s turning out all right, though, isn’t it?’
    ‘We thought that at sixteen.’
    ‘Oh yeah, when we hadn’t gotten