PART 4: Maid of Horror - Chapter 1

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Hi everyone - back again with the next instalment of Lockdown on London Lane, but before we get to that: WOW. Just wow. Today it hit 100,000 reads and I'm honestly ecstatic. Thank you so much. I'm really glad so many of you are enjoying this - and glad so many of you got involved commenting on Part 3. (It was pretty entertaining to see all the opinions on pineapple on pizza, and who was taking Serena or Zach's side in the argument.)

HUGE thanks, everyone, for all the support - and now, on with Part 4! You might even spot a few familiar names cropping up this week...

HUGE thanks, everyone, for all the support - and now, on with Part 4! You might even spot a few familiar names cropping up this week

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Captain's – er, Maid of Honour's – log, day six. The lounge is littered with the remains of broken wedding favours. The bride is clutching a mascara-streaked pillow, face dismal even in her sleep. Someone is snoring in the bedroom – they're the reason I'm awake so early. Recycling box in the kitchen is overflowing. Stepped on some of the broken glass and sort of hoping it does turn out bad enough that I need to go and get stitches just so I can leave this godforsaken flat and –

            I shake myself.

            Definitely, definitely losing my mind.

            I lift up my foot, taking a peek. It wasn't even a big cut, and it's not even bled through the plaster I put on last night. No stitches required.

            Bitterly, I think that Lucy probably would've announced she was a trained nurse and able to do that for me to save me a hospital visit, but I quickly remind myself that's not fair, either. She was very sweet last night, the first one to hop up and go looking under my kitchen sink for a dustpan and brush to clean it all up, and then gently advising me to clean the cut on my foot with an antiseptic wipe and some cream before I put a plaster on.

            I definitely shouldn't be getting annoyed at Lucy right now.

            Besides me, she might be the only rational person in this damn flat.

            God, I wish I'd never agreed to this all.

            We'd had this weekend planned for months. It was only six months until the wedding, and four until the hen do (although right now, it's looking like that weekend up in York going from club to club in neon pink feather boas and draping Kim in L-plates and a cheap veil isn't going to happen if all this carries on... Or if the wedding even still goes ahead...)

            Kim always swore she wouldn't be a bridezilla, but those of us who knew her all laughed and reassured her that we were fully prepared for her to lose her mind to wedding prep. She's the kind of person who was born to get married. She's so dreamy-eyed, such a romantic... She and Jeremy have even already started working out when they want to start trying for babies, and how they'll manage it when babies do come along.

            Kim was definitely going to be a bridezilla.

            It was never a matter of if, but of when.

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