‘Who’s for shots?’ Gareth will say, looking around ‘ Shotiau?’ He’ll make Rob do shots with him - sambuca, whiskey and vodka - and Rob will say he can’t handle any more after the apple sours. He’ll have his arm around Rob and he’ll tell him that he loves him, that he’s really happy he’s happy. Gareth, meanwhile, will be at the bar ordering shots. ‘They wouldn’t know fashion if it woke them up in the morning and gave them a little kiss.’ ‘They’re just jealous,’ he’ll tell the girl from Minneapolis or Wexford or Rome. When they get to the hostel in Temple Bar - and Huck- nall has finally stopped going on about the ten-minute wait for Big Mike’s suitcase, he’ll ask if Iron Man Three has a reservation.Īnd in Fitzsimons on the first night, to every girl that Peacock talks to, one of the boys will come up and say, ‘Don’t bother, Iron Man’s gay.’ When they board the plane, Larry will tell the air stewardess that Peacock’s ticket isn’t valid, that his name is Iron Man Three. And that will be it: Peacock will be called Iron Man Three for the rest of the trip. He’ll take the piss out of Caerphilly’s clothes shops, and say David Beckham wore a pair of shoes just like these to the Iron Man 3 premiere. He’ll accept the jibes, and say none of the boys has any idea about style. Peacock will stand there, between table and bar, and kiss his own biceps. Gareth will shout to Peacock: ‘Mate, why don’t you do yourself a favour and just come out?’
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‘I’ve seen straighter semicircles,’ Rob will say. ‘Doesn’t he look benter than a horseshoe?’ ‘Couldn’t believe it when I met him at Paddington,’ Hucknall will say. When Peacock - with perfect stubble and coiffed hair - goes to the airport bar, everyone will laugh at his shoes that seem to be made of straw. ‘Rob’s dad is left-footed, but he’s definitely right-handed. ‘I’ve done my research,’ Big Mike will say. ‘You sure no one here’s a secret leftie, though?’ Huck- nall will ask. The boys will all say that’s easy, and start suggesting additional rules, but Big Mike will be defiant: the left-hand rule is king. Failure to adhere will result in a forfeit, as decided by Lead Ruler Larry. If you find yourself holding two drinks, your own drink must be in your left hand.
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And he’ll loudly declare the weekend’s drinking rule: pints must always be held in the left hand. When the Caerphilly boys join the now-London ones at the airport bar, Big Mike will confirm that it’s Dublin they’re headed to. ‘Don’t make a difference to me,’ Peacock will say. ‘Bet Big Mike’s too scared to book somewhere foreign.’ ‘Bet you it’s Dublin,’ Hucknall will say, leaning back in his chair, his knees spread wide, his hands smoothing his tan chinos. Hucknall will have spent the whole morning moaning about the fact they’re flying from Bristol, and why couldn’t Big Mike have just told them where they’re going? They’ll sit in the bar getting drunk and studying departures screens. Hucknall and Peacock, travelling from London, will arrive at Bristol before the others. Larry said to the woman, ‘Your housemate’s a bit wild’, and the woman replied, ‘I don’t have a housemate, love. She’d taken Larry back to her place, and in the middle of the night he’d heard sex noises coming from the room next to hers.
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He had two kids and a house by the time he was twenty-seven, and he’ll think about that as he listens to Larry telling the story about the woman he picked up at the Kings. Rob’s father will be fifty-four in two weeks and will think there’s something significant about the fact, about being twice the age of his son. He’ll take a swig of his can, and look to Rob’s father. He’ll just be glad to get out of Caerphilly for the weekend he’s been waiting months for this, has imagined how it all might go. Gareth will nod and Gareth will sympathise. ‘It’s covered in notes for this fuckin stag. ‘You should see my desk in work,’ Big Mike will say. He’ll spend the journey to the airport telling Gareth, and anyone who listens, that Rob had better never marry again, that he couldn’t handle the stress of organising another one of these. It will be crumpled and creased from the constant hand-scrunching and metronome swatting against his suitcase – the only check-in bag on the entire trip. The plastic polypocket will be wedged thick with flight tickets and hostel reservations. And Big Mike, the best man, will spend the first twenty minutes reading and rereading the A4 itinerary he typed up on MS Word. The five travelling from Caerphilly will drink on the minibus. He’ll tell them to bring euros and don’t bother packing shorts. The best man won’t tell them it’s Dublin until they get to Bristol Airport.