Mother Hens by Sophie McCartney

Author:Sophie McCartney [McCartney, Sophie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2023-06-15T00:00:00+00:00

Several rounds of shots, three pitchers of cocktails and with all of Jac’s stolen breakfast buffet rolls demolished, the party is finally in full flow. As Debs mum-dances on a sun lounger, off her engorged tits on a concoction of alcohol and liberation, Amy is trying her luck with the eighteen-year-old (at best) pool boy, and Jac is life-coaching two student nurses about why they need to leave their moronic-sounding boyfriends. Watching over the proceedings like a proud mother, I too am very much trying to live by my own rallying cry of ‘seize the day’ and ‘live for the moment’, but it’s proving tricky. With Connie still unaware of the fact we’re sharing the same airspace, for her I’m clearly out of sight out of mind. But from where I’m sitting – only a hundred feet away – she’s very much at the forefront of mine. I can see that curvaceous booty of hers shaking away, hear her smug shrill laughter, and smell the scent of betrayal still lingering heavily in the air.

Having suppressed my rage, and desire for a wee, for the best part of an hour, with my sunglasses on and head down, I slip away from the others and head off in search of the loos to officially break the seal. Wary of being an easy-to-identify illegal immigrant in this land of sex appeal and bare bottoms, I move stealthily through the crowd, keeping one slightly drunken eye out for Marco and his cock of a clipboard. I’m about to enter the main building when I see a sight more terrifying than an A4 piece of plywood with paper attached to it; one that sends me leaping for cover behind the relative safety of an outdoor tiki bar. There, only a few metres in front of me, along with two musclehead henchmen, is the shady-looking drug dealer from the Irish bar. Shit! Did he see me?

Peeping out from behind a storage fridge, I watch with intrigue as the three men work their way speedily through the partygoers. As they stop for a hushed tete-a-tete, I can’t help but wonder what they’re doing here… apart from selling illegal narcotics to a perfectively captive audience, of course. I imagine in places such as this, it’s like shooting up fish in a barrel. As they turn their attention back to scouring the masses, it occurs to me they appear to be looking for someone in particular. A jolt of fear strikes my heart: could it be us? Surely not. How would they even know we were here? It also seems a bit extreme to come after four women who accidentally put in a pre-order for a few lines of cocaine when they could be off supplying blow to half the tourists on the island.

Making their way through large groups of gyrating day-clubbers, it doesn’t take them, or me, long to spot the object of their interests. Strolling over to a cornered-off VIP area, scary dealer man signals for the

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