Chapter 34
The bridal boutique is on a pretty little street in Islington full of vintage shops, homeware stores and the kind of sparsely stocked boutiques that smell like Diptyque candles and where it isn’t certain exactly what they actually sell, but whatever it is, you want to buy it. Kate pushes the pram swiftly along the pavement, checking the address from Leonie on her phone.
Pulling into Paddington station with Rosie in tow, Kate had experienced a buzz of excitement. The guard helped her and the pram down off the train and then they were swept up into the crowds, the sound of buses and taxis filtering in from the street outside and pigeons flapping above them on the ornate rafters of the station.
It took her longer than she had expected to make her way to Islington. She’d had to make a quick detour to the station toilets to change Rosie’s nappy and give her a feed before heading to the Underground.
As she looks up from her phone, she spots the shop she has been aiming for. The sign above the door is painted seashell pink and gold and, in the window, stands an ivory gown in flowing silk with a short train that ripples along the floor.
The door is locked, but a salesperson dressed in a chic navy jumpsuit and nude heels looks up from the counter and heads across to open it. Kate can glimpse Leonie and the rest of the group, minus Emma, sitting on a dusty pink velvet sofa at the back of the store sipping prosecco.
‘Sorry I’m late.’
The shop assistant’s professional smile droops as she spots the pram.
‘Are you bringing that in?’ She glances from the pram to the narrow doorway and back again.
‘Unless you want me to leave my daughter out in the street?’
Rosie lets out a little grumble as if affronted at the thought.
‘Of course, of course,’ comes the quick response, a polished smile appearing on her face again as she unbolts the door, rattling it forcefully until it opens.
Together, the two of them just about manage to manoeuvre the pram up the steps and inside. The salesperson looks distinctly put out. Try doing that across half of London, Kate wants to say. But she smiles widely instead. ‘Thank you so much, I really appreciate your help.’
There’s laughter coming from the back of the room and as Kate approaches, everyone leaps up to greet her, but Leonie places a finger on her lips. ‘Shh! We don’t want to ruin the surprise,’ she whispers, then turns to Kate and gives her a tight hug. ‘She’s just trying on the first dress. It’s sooooo good to see you, Kate.’
A lump rises in her throat at the familiar smell of her friend’s Calvin Klein perfume and the strength of the embrace. She gives a little wave to the other bridesmaids: there’s Emma’s sister, Clara, who seems to be taking the role of maid of honour extremely seriously, with a clipboard in hand and professional make-up, plus some old school friends and a cousin who Kate remembers meeting at various birthdays over the years. Emma’s mum, Caren, is here too, her glass of prosecco nearly empty and her cheeks slightly flushed.
‘Oooh! Pass her here!’ Caren says as soon as she sees the pram.
Kate dressed Rosie in a puffy yellow dress for the occasion and everyone ‘aww’s as she hands her over to Caren, flashing matching yellow bloomers and very chubby little legs.
‘She’s just gorgeous!’ Caren says, trying to keep her voice quiet. Seeing the way the women coo over her and watching as Rosie soaks it all up, batting her long lashes and making suitably adorable noises, something swells inside Kate’s chest.
There’s a sound of rustling and suddenly the curtain of the changing room is flung open to reveal Emma, absolutely radiant in a plunging white ballgown. Her mouth opens in shock. For a brief moment, Kate’s stomach clenches with fear. It’s so good to be back in London and to see Leonie, but maybe she should have told Emma she’d be coming, given her time to process her feelings rather than just showing up like this.
‘Kate!’ she cries, a look of unfiltered happiness spreading across her face. ‘I’m so happy to see you!’
Kate is suddenly being folded up in a bundle of white taffeta and the fiercest of hugs. The knot in her stomach releases.
‘I wouldn’t have missed it,’ she says into her friend’s armpit, struggling to get her words out as all the air is squeezed out of her. ‘I’m sorry for before.’
Emma steps back, holding Kate at arm’s length. Then she glances over towards the rest of the group, spotting the pram. ‘And Rosie too!’
‘I hope it’s OK that I brought her?’
‘Of course it’s OK. It’s more than OK. Oh my God, look at her! She’s such a little angel!’
Kate glances over to where Rosie is letting herself be passed around between the women, totally calm.
‘Um, can we talk about you and this dress?’ Kate says, returning her attention to her friend, who does a little twirl, the long train swishing along the floor. ‘You look absolutely beautiful, Em.’ Kate’s eyes grow misty.
Caren is full-on sobbing and Clara passes her a tissue from her clutch bag; she’s clearly come prepared.
‘Yes, you look amazing, Em,’ says Leonie, the other bridesmaids echoing.
‘I feel like a princess!’ Emma says delightedly, her face giddy with happiness. ‘But, obviously, a very empowered princess who doesn’t need rescuing and does princessing part-time alongside her badass career.’
‘Wow, that’s quite a vibe,’ laughs Leonie. ‘But, seriously, babe. You’re a knockout.’
Kate can’t speak. She suddenly can’t believe she nearly missed out on this moment, on seeing her friend so happy and being able to share in that glow as if Emma’s joy is a campfire and they’re all huddled around, soaking up the warmth.
‘It’s a bit long, though,’ Emma says, swishing the skirt, her feet buried beneath the fabric.
‘These are just samples!’ chips in the hovering shop assistant. ‘If you choose a dress with us, it will be precisely made to your measurements, with several fittings and rounds of alterations.’
‘Ooh, fancy,’ says Leonie, eyeing Kate and making her laugh.
‘Very fancy,’ agrees Emma, before turning her attention back to her reflection in the mirror. ‘I’m not sure if it’s the dress though.’
‘It’s only the first one you’ve tried on,’ says Clara, consulting her clipboard. ‘I’m going to give it a seven?’
‘There are plenty more to try on!’ trills the sales assistant, dashing to fetch a dress from the rails of silk and lace.
Emma’s cousin pours Kate a glass of prosecco and she settles into the velvet cushions as Emma disappears back into the changing room to try on the next dress. Rosie is still being cuddled on the other end of the sofa, so Kate lets herself sink back and sip her prosecco, enjoying herself.
There are a lot of beautiful dresses. There’s a minimalist white sheath dress that hugs Emma’s body as tightly and lovingly as a best friend comforting you after a break-up and an oyster tulle confection covered in pearls, among many others. Each one is given a score, but none of them are deemed quite right. The longer they go on, the more determined the sales assistant seems, appearing with new dresses they hadn’t spotted on the rails.
Finally, a loud squeal escapes from behind the curtain.
‘Guys! This is it! This is the one! I love it so much!’
As the curtains part and Emma emerges, the group of women take a collective inhale. Even the sales assistant, who is hovering at the back of the group with another pile of dresses slung over her arm, audibly gasps.
‘Oh, Emma. My darling, you look just perfect.’ Caren’s voice is soft with emotion.
Rosie, now back in Kate’s arms and sitting on her lap so she can see, opens her eyes wide in wonder.
The dress is made from the faintest blush silk dotted with lace flowers. A tight bodice hugs Emma’s frame perfectly before the fabric skims her hips and gathers in a shining pool at her feet. Tiny floaty sleeves hanging off the shoulder make her look like a Grecian goddess.
‘And look, it has pockets!’ Emma slips her hands inside them and twirls.
The women let out a collective ‘Oooh!’
‘It’s perfect!’ exclaims Leonie.
‘You look like a film star.’
‘The dress says princess, but the pockets say badass career woman.’
‘I’m writing “this is the one!” on the clipboard! In capital letters!’ says Clara, clapping her hands together.
Emma pauses in front of Kate and Rosie, her cheeks pink with delight.
‘Kate, Rosie, what do you think?’
‘I love it, Em. It’s perfect. Rosie, how about you? Don’t you think Auntie Emma looks beautiful?’
She looks down at her daughter and as she does, she notices that a frown has appeared on Rosie’s forehead. She opens her mouth and in one horrifying second, Kate recognises the expression on her daughter’s face.
‘No!’ Kate cries, trying to stop what is about to happen. But she’s too late.
Erin once told Kate that when her sons were babies they were able to projectile vomit a distance of up to three metres. Kate never believed her. Not until she watches her daughter open her mouth wide and empty the contents of her stomach directly onto her best friend’s wedding dress.
There’s a shocked silence as no one seems to know how to react.
‘Oh Emma. I am so, so sorry …’ Kate’s eyes fill suddenly with hot tears. Maybe she shouldn’t have come after all. She’s ruined Emma’s perfect dress and she’s ruined the day too.
But then Emma tilts her head back and starts to laugh. And before long, the others are joining in too, Clara handing Kate a handful of tissues and Caren helping her wipe up both Rosie and the dress.
‘At least she’s still only breastfeeding,’ says Caren as they dab at the material of the dress, while the sales assistant watches on in horror, mouth hanging open.
‘I feel awful,’ Kate says. ‘I’ll pay to get it dry-cleaned …’ But Emma reaches out and squeezes her shoulder.
‘Babe. I’m about to spend four grand on a dress. I think they can pay for dry cleaning.’
And suddenly everything is OK again.