Lucy in the Sky

Molly’s work friend, arrives to join us, then Sandra, and then Molly’s friends from university until eventually there are nine of us squeezed around the table, drinking champagne cocktails.
    She might’ve booked a tacky stretch limo, but apart from that Molly was hoping to avoid drawing too much attention to us tonight, so she’s not very impressed when Jenny pulls out a whistle shaped like a penis and starts to blow on it. That opens it right up for the other hens and soon poor Molly is being showered with a bright pink feather boa, handcuffs and L-plates, among other delightful little trinkets like glow-in-the-dark penis earrings. Nice. I notice Amy is rather quiet amid all the mayhem so I lean across to her and ask her how her mum was. ‘She’s fine, thanks.’ She picks up her Diet Coke and takes a sip, looking away from me. I feel like I’ve been dismissed.
    The sun sets over the harbour, casting an apricot glow across the Opera House. It’s time for dinner so we make our way further around the Quay to where we’ve booked a table at an Italian restaurant. As we sit down, a jolly Italian waiter with an impressive moustache starts to serenade us.
    Several bottles of red wine later I feel stuffed to the brim and can’t believe I’m even considering dessert. Am I mad? The waiter comes around to top up my glass. The bottle’s almost empty so I wave my hand vigorously and direct him to Molly’s glass. ‘She’s getting married.’ I’m feeling more than a little tipsy now.
    ‘Aah, married!’ he says, looking heartbroken. ‘Shame. So beautiful…’ And then he starts to sing again: ‘Happy marriage to you, happy marriage to you…’
    Forty-five minutes and lots of laughter later we’ve paid the bill and Molly and I lead the way, arms linked through each other’s as we practically stumble down the stairs to the street where our bright pink limo awaits. The other hens squeal with delight. When our limo driver gets out of the car, I notice with glee that he looks a bit like a cross between Eric Bana and Mark Ruffalo.
    ‘I’m getting in the front…’
    Molly drags me back in fits of laughter. Poor guy has no idea what he’s in for. We start to pile into the back of the car. It’s a little shabby, which you wouldn’t know from the outside, but we’re not really in the habit of giving a jot right now. Amanda cracks open the champagne.
    ‘Molly, what are you doing ?’ I look out to see her standing on the pavement, swaying slightly. Amy is talking to her. I almost fall over as I exit the vehicle and join them.
    ‘Are you alright?’ I try to pronounce my words properly. Amy looks at me brightly. Whoops, I forgot she wasn’t a drinker. What was that she said yesterday morning?
    ‘ Seeing Nathan wake up after a night on the town is enough to put me off …’
    Nasty thought, nasty thought…Go away.
    ‘Amy’s going to her mum’s!’ Molly exclaims, as though it’s the most disappointing news she’s ever heard.
    ‘No!’ I protest. ‘It’s only eleven o’clock. You have to come dancing!’
    ‘No, really, girls, I’m going to go. I promised my mum. Sorry,’ she says, perfectly sober.
    ‘Do you want a lift?’ Molly slurs.
    ‘No, it’s okay.’ She smiles tightly. ‘My parents live only up the road.’
    ‘Are you rich ?’ I ask, drunkenly, surprised. You’d have to be wealthy to live in this area.
    ‘Come on!’ the other hens squeal.
    Molly drags me away and we stumble back into the car. Jenny passes us a couple of full champagne glasses.
    ‘I don’t think I need any more,’ Molly says. ‘I’m feeling a little bit peeeesssed.’
    We cruise out of the Rocks area and into the city, winding our way through the streets towards King’s Cross. Our next stop is a nightclub.
    Jenny’s blowing Molly’s penis whistle. I start to giggle and find I can’t stop.
    James seems so far away, so separate from everything that I’m going through now. I feel happy, free. I could stay here, I think. I could not go back.
    We arrive in King’s Cross, Sydney’s red-light district. Molly and I called the club the other day and arranged a guest list, so we don’t have to queue for ages to get in. The doorman lifts up the rope, leering at Jenny’s penis whistle and paying extra-special attention to Molly’s low-cut dress. But she doesn’t mind; it’s her night.
    Inside, the music is pumping and the room is teeming with guys looking trim in tight T-shirts.
    Is this a gay bar, I