The Honeymoon Hijackers

The Honeymoon Hijackers By Natasha West Copyright © 2023 by Natasha West All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. One Sasha Malone’s bum was going numb. This was what she hated about traditional church weddings. Wedging her arse into these hard, wooden church pews. Why were they like this? Were bottoms so different a few hundred years ago when the church was originally built? Did everyone have cubed posteriors? Because this seating wasn’t fit to be sat on beyond ten minutes, and it had been longer than that. Sasha checked her watch—forty-five minutes now. She needed a wee, she was cold, and she couldn’t feel her left bum cheek anymore. ‘Just get hitched already,’ she muttered to herself. The mother of one of the brides, Sasha’s Aunt Tuppence, turned from the first row, one down from Sasha, and gave an anxious look around. That was when Sasha knew something was up. When Sasha was eight, the school know-it-all had told her that Tuppence was a nickname for an intimate part of the female anatomy. Since then, she tried not to say Aunt Tuppences’ name in mixed company unless it was strictly necessary. Which Sasha had a feeling it was. ‘Tuupppeeennnccce!’ she hissed. The tired-looking man next to her gave her a look. ‘I beg your pardon?’ Sasha sighed. ‘That’s my aunt’s name. Mother of the bride?’ ‘Which bride?’ he asked. ‘Claire.’ ‘Clara?’ ‘Claire,’ Sasha repeated. ‘Oh.’ He paused. ‘I’m on the wrong side.’ He looked around him. ‘I wondered why I didn’t know anyone.’ ‘Easily done,’ Sasha assured him. Sasha felt keenly, today more than any other day, that you needed to be careful about the name of your partner. Claire and Clara were going to have a nightmare of a time in that department. They were impossible to portmanteau, just for starters. Claira? Pointless. Though it could be worse in the name department, just look at poor Aunt Tuppence, who was now heeding the call of her name, approaching Sasha’s row. ‘Sasha, hi. So glad you could come,’ Tuppence warbled, adjusting her bra sweatily. ‘You look a bit… Is everything OK?’ Sasha asked. ‘Funny you should ask,’ Tuppence said with a strained smile. ‘What’s up?’ Sasha asked, a bad feeling growing. ‘Tell you outside.’ Tuppence urged through what was starting to become a rictus grin. Sasha stood and began to exit the crowded row, pins and needles rushing to her bum cheeks. She almost fell over but steadied herself on her second cousin Jack on her dad’s side’s head. ‘Oy!’ he complained. ‘Sorry, Cuz. Your head was the steadiest thing to hand,’ Sasha apologised. Jack smoothed his hair, pretending not to check the size of his head while he was at it. Tuppence hustled Sasha out of the church, and once they were on the steps, the veneer dropped. ‘Oh, Sasha! Oh! It’s just terrible!’ Sasha wasn’t one for histrionics. ‘Spit it out.’ ‘Claire’s not coming!’ Sasha spun, looking around like this might be a practical joke. Like Claire was going to pop out from behind a gravestone and shout ‘Surprise!’ But of course, no one was jumping out from behind graves today. Probably for the best. ‘What’s going on?’ Sasha asked. ‘She and Clara … I don’t know, it’s all gone wrong!’ ‘What do you know, Tuppence? Cold hard facts,’ Sasha demanded. Tuppence gathered her strength. ‘I just got a text from Claire. She says she’s not coming.’ ‘Did she say why?’ ‘I don’t know. She said something about… she’s decided to move to Scotland. She said she’s going to open a bakery in the Hebrides?’ ‘That’s an interesting pivot for her wedding day,’ Sasha noted, baffled. ‘Wait, can she even bake?’ ‘I don’t believe so, no,’ Tuppence said, wringing her hands anxiously. ‘She tried to bake me scones once and set the oven on fire. I didn’t even know you could do that.’ ‘So, this is possibly just a freakout?’ Sasha asked. Tuppence nodded hopefully. ‘But she’s not here.’ ‘But nor is Clara,’ Sasha pointed out. Tuppence looked as though that were news. ‘Oh. No. She’s not, is she?’ Suddenly, there was a man among them bearing a dyed black beard that was probably supposed to make him look younger. ‘Hello,’ he said uncomfortably. Sasha thought he might be Clara’s dad, Simon. Everyone who ever mentioned him had followed it up with a whispered, ‘The one with the money.’ ‘Simon!’ Tuppence cried. ‘I’m so sorry!’ ‘No, I’m sorry,’ he said, his eyes glistening. ‘No, I’m sorry.’ Sasha resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the pair. ‘Simon, is it?’ He turned to Sasha. ‘Oh, yes. Hello…’ ‘Sasha. Claire’s cousin.’ ‘More like a sister,’ Tuppence said emotionally. ‘Though very much still a cousin. So, where’s Clara?’ Sasha said, cutting to the heart of the matter. ‘I just got a text from her. She’s not coming.’ ‘Training to be an architect in the Welsh valleys, I take it?’ Sasha asked scornfully. Simon blinked. ‘What? No. She’s simply decided this isn’t the right day for it.’ ‘Not the right day for it?’ Tuppence repeated, suddenly deciding she was the aggrieved party now that her daughter wasn’t the only fuck-up. ‘NOT THE RIGHT DAY FOR IT?! We’ve done all this, all this, all this…’ Sasha gave Tuppence a gentle clap on the back, and the record broke. ‘All this work, for her to decide that it’s…’ ‘Now, look,’ Simon bristled. ‘I’ve spent a lot of money on this