“You’re not my usual type, Jordan, but I could honestly listen to you chatting to that driver all night. Even if you are just telling him the quickest way to the club and to stop for a loo break on the way.”

Jordan smiled at Frankie as she took her seat. “I can ask him where the nearest McDonald’s is later, too.”

“I couldn’t eat another thing. Apart from perhaps a stunning French man named Jacques.” That was Gloria, grinning from ear to ear at her joke.

It earned a slap from Abby. “Mother! What did I tell you earlier? Stop showing me up. Plus, less of the desire to chew up French men. If you’re not careful, I’m going to record you and send it to Dad.”

Gloria whooped at that. “Martin would be fine. You youngsters are so uptight! Loosen up, live a little! I snogged four men on my hen do and nobody died. It’s a rite of passage.” She tapped her index finger on Abby’s shoulder. “You haven’t even snogged one yet.” Gloria raised an eyebrow as Jordan got in, sliding the van’s door shut. “What do you think, Jordan?”

Jordan turned in her seat so she could see Gloria. “About what?”

“Abby snogging some men tonight. Is it on your agenda?”

Jordan smiled, eyeing Delta, then Abby. “It’s not on the spreadsheet, but then, life can’t always be run by spreadsheets, can it?”

Cheers all around.

Gloria nudged her daughter with her elbow. “Shall we say one ginger, one blond, and one dark-haired man in Club Oraaaaaaange?” She sounded out the orange in a very French way, making Jordan smile.

More cheers, as Abby gave a rueful smile.

“Do I have a choice in this?”

“Noooooo!” came the reply.

“Although, do they even have ginger men in France?” That was Martha. “I’ve never seen one.”

“Of course they do. Although they call them roux.”

“I love it!” Gloria said. “Ready team?”

“Ready!” came the rousing reply.

Club Orange was a favourite destination of the Cannes elite. Belgian royalty partied here, as did French high society. And now, Abby Porter and her hen party. The lights were low, they had a private booth, and a bottle of Grey Goose had just arrived, sat atop a satin cushion with sparklers.

“Is this what clubbing is now? It’s a bit different to the Blackpool Ritzy, isn’t it? That’s where I went on my hen do. Not a ‘Kiss-Me-Quick’ hat in sight.” Gloria’s eyes were almost popping out of her head at such a display of decadence. Waiters buzzed around, pouring drinks for the group, and when everyone had one, Delta proposed a toast as the music boomed in their ears.