Page 9

‘TONY STARK! You handsome bastard!’ a voice bellows from behind us.

Oh, it’s Andy. Also known as Captain America but for the longest time, also known in our family as the Flanker, mainly because he likes rugby, it rhymes with wanker and we liked having a codename for him.

Andy got married two years ago, has two kids but still acts like he’s single.

It’s like the wife and kids are an inconvenience to him so he continues to go on monthly golf trips, raves and stag dos.

If I was a betting man, I would probably put a solid grand on the fact he cheats on his wife too, which is why him and me are never likely to be mates.

It always surprises me that Max still hangs out with him or thinks that there are any redeeming qualities there.

‘Steve Rogers, a pleasure.’ He even has his hair smoothed back to add to the smarminess. ‘So, are we ready for this? The water in Mallorca don’t taste like it oughta because I tell you my friend, it’s going to taste like beer and sambuca. Am I right?’

I think this is what the young people refer to as ick. ‘As long as we deliver this lad back to his fiancée in one piece and with eyebrows. I’m on a promise to Amy,’ I tell them.

‘BORING!’ Andy bellows. ‘Coops has also found that strip club, mate. It’s going to be wild,’ he says, putting a hand up for Max to high-five.

I’m glad to see my little brother joins in with some reluctance.

‘I see that look, Charlie boy,’ Andy says.

‘You of all people need a lap dance and a bit of fun. Max has already told me you broke up with that tattooed bird.’

I look over at Max and fake a smile. I’m not sure you can call it a breakup when you’ve only been out for three months but I’m glad the news has circulated so quickly.

‘Yes, I’m single and ready to…’

‘Get knobbing,’ Andy says a little too loudly, waving his arms and shield in the air.

Have a break? Feel the sun on my face and get a decent tan.

If I’m honest with myself, I’m not sure I was properly heartbroken after Krystal.

I was more disappointed that I’d wasted time on a relationship that wasn’t up to scratch, and that finding someone to share my life with was proving harder than I thought.

She also has my phone charger, though she says she doesn’t. So, mean and a thief.

‘You don’t have much luck with the ladies, do you Chuckster?’ he gloats. ‘What happened to that dancer you went out with? She was fit, should have locked her in.’

‘She didn’t want a family,’ I say plainly.

‘Minor details then,’ he says laughing. To him maybe but quite a dealbreaker as it turns out to others. ‘You’re just too uptight, mate. We’ll find you a senorita to bob about on your dick and loosen you up a bit. Ain’t that the truth, Maximus?’

Even Max puts a pint glass to his lips at this point to hide from the crassness of it all. I don’t really know Andy’s wife but feel a wave of sympathy for that poor girl.

‘Next round’s on Gareth, I reckon. Oi! Spiderman, get your stingy webbed fingers in your pocket and get the pints in!’

I look over at Spiderman who from what I can see is just wearing themed pyjamas.

Those are fleece. He’ll die of heat exhaustion.

Meanwhile, Andy heads over to a group of women who also appear to be on some sort of hen do, eighties themed and raucous, they all wear penis necklaces and are as half cut as the rest of our group.

He leans against a table to introduce himself, posing with his shield. Utter twat.

‘Don’t do that, Chuckles,’ Max tells me, as I half prop him up next to a pillar in this badly lit fake pub.

‘Do what?’ I ask innocently.

‘That face. I know you look down on Andy. He’s a good friend.’

I laugh under my breath. ‘When you were nineteen, that good friend once left you on the night bus.’

‘He was drunk,’ Max says defensively.

‘He left you, took your girlfriend home and shagged her. You cried. For days.’ He played Coldplay love songs on repeat. I had to force him to turn them off and get in the shower.

‘Bros before…’

I put a hand to the air. ‘Don’t you dare repeat that line in front of my face or I’m going home.’

We both laugh. We share the same eyes – bright blue, just like Mum’s, and they shine a little too brightly sometimes in that we always expect the best from people and put far too much trust in them.

‘I’m not saying don’t have fun this weekend but if he’s a twat, I will drown him in the hotel pool and make it look like an accident.’

‘He’s got kids,’ Max says. I scrunch up my nose at my gold-hearted little brother.

He’s always been loyal to this bunch, which speaks volumes about him really.

I look around; maybe they’re not all that bad.

I guess they’re here to help celebrate him and his impending nuptials.

Kudos too to the lad in the purple face paints dressed as Thanos. That is commitment to the cause.

‘Do I have to wear this the whole time?’ I ask him, changing the subject. ‘It’s synthetic. In the heat, it’s asking for trouble.’

‘I’m not quite sure. Wrighty has the mankinis in his carry-on.’

Oh good, there’s more than one. ‘Not sure there’s one big enough for me,’ I inform him.

Max shrugs. ‘Yeah, don’t flatter yourself.

’ He wraps his arms around me again. I’m not sure what all these men feel for Maxi Pad, but I love him, genuinely.

I won’t say that out loud because I’m not drunk yet but I’m here for him, always.

I pull out the unfortunate wedgie situation that seems to have formed with my outfit.

Damn this one-piece malarkey. How do women handle these?

Most likely thongs but I don’t think Iron Man would tolerate that. How do I pee in this?

I glance over at Andy, right in the thick of that hen do now and perilously close and intimate with one of them.

‘Avengers!’ I shout across the room, a half-formed idea in my head.

‘I think it’s time to assemble.’ Everyone in costume roars and I’ll admit, I didn’t think I’d feel so powerful saying those words aloud.

I angle my phone for a selfie, ensuring that old Captain America, with his arm on a lady’s waist, is fully in frame.

‘Hulk! Smash!’ I order, and everyone poses. Perfect. Time to get that on social media and tag the crap out of it.

‘Excuse me,’ a girl says as she pushes past me, heading for the toilets. She wears denim cutoffs, Crocs laden with charms, sunglasses on her head. Full holiday mode activated.

‘Sorry…my bad, wasn’t looking.’

She looks me up and down at the sorry state of my costume. I know, I know, it’s not even a full mask. It’s elasticated. I mean, she can talk though. I think that’s a UB40 T-shirt she’s wearing. That’s a bit sad. I didn’t even realise they were a thing anymore.