Five
‘The bride is heeere,’ she calls up the stairs.
‘Your face,’ is all I can say.
‘Lace did it, isn’t she fabulous?’
‘Fabulous?’ I repeat back. I don’t think Rebecca has ever said that word in her life.
I follow Rebecca up the stairs, and we go into Lace’s studio. There’s a big cheer for my arrival. Nina and Abi both have a mouthful of cheese. Jean-Ivy pounces on me, saying something in my ear, but I don’t hear what it is because I’m too distracted by Linda Butters.
‘Amy, you’ll have to come here for a hug because I’m not getting up,’ Linda says with a chuckle. She is sitting on the French daybed with a plate full of cheese and biscuits. In a daze, I do as I’m told. ‘I almost didn’t recognise you with your hair,’ she says. ‘It’s very dark.’
Nina slips a glass of red into my hand.
‘You may need this,’ she says.
I do, very much so. I take a gulp. I see Mum hasn’t arrived yet. Classic. We’re talking about the woman who left so late for the hospital that she almost gave birth to me in the car.
‘Doll, there you are,’ Lace says as she comes into the room, cuddling two extra bottles of red wine, wearing a black shift dress.
She inspects my hair for a long second, then takes my hand and announces, ‘Everyone, please make yourself comfortable. We won’t be long.
’ We go down to the next floor and open the door to an empty room.
There is peeling wallpaper and exposed floorboards with paint splashes.
The only piece of furniture is a floor-length mirror balancing against the wall.
On the back of the door, the dress hangs in its cover.
‘Why do you look so nervous?’ Lace says, unzipping the garment.
‘Jean-Ivy and Mum. It’s going to be a disaster.’
‘It’s tradition to have your closest women present when trying on your wedding dress.’ She steps away, revealing the dress. ‘What do you think?’
I step back. There are no patterns, no frills, no diamonds – a simple white dress. It’s stunning.
‘Lace, you made this?’ I go to touch it, but Lace grabs my hand.
‘No, I bought it from Primark. Of course I made it. Do you like it?’
‘Like it? It’s exactly what I wanted.’
‘No, you wanted your mum’s dress.’
‘What was I thinking?’
‘I mean, I wanted to make you something more va-va-voom, but, actually, I think this will be perfect.’
It takes time to put it on because Lace makes me go super carefully, as if the dress is made from cobwebs, but we get there in the end. I stand in front of the mirror, stunned at seeing myself in a real wedding dress. In the wedding dress that I’m going to get married in.
‘I want to ask you something,’ I say.
‘What to do with your hair on the wedding day?’ Lace says, eyeballing the dark nest on my head.
‘That. And I want you to be my bridesmaid.’ I smile in the mirror and see her pinching her lips together.
‘I know we’ve just met, but I feel like you’ve been such a big part of this wedding frenzy that it would be strange not to have you there for the big day.
’ She fiddles with the back button of my dress and shakes her head.
‘Come on, it will be fun. Lots of red wine.’
‘I’m not going to be able to make it,’ she says, a hint of disappointment in her voice. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t.’ She looks down, avoiding my eyes. Jean-Ivy shouts from the top of the stairs.
‘Hurry up, girls! I’m BURSTING with excitement.’
There is silence. The disappointment that Lace won’t be there on my wedding day hits me harder than I thought. I had assumed she would say yes. I want to ask why not, but I know her well enough now to know she won’t tell me.
‘Right,’ she says, flicking my hair out. ‘Before we show them the masterpiece, let me make some tweaks.’ She puts pink lipstick on me, lines my eyes with thick eyeliner and clips my hair up. It has somehow made me look . . . pretty.
I come into the studio, hand in hand with Lace. Rebecca starts squealing and waving her arms whilst Nina and Abi repeat, ‘Oh my God, Amy.’ Jean-Ivy has her hands over her mouth very dramatically. And Linda . . . Linda is sobbing, of course.
I don’t know how to stand. My arms feel awkwardly attached to my body, so I cross them, but that feels strange too, so I clasp them behind my back. Lace pulls them apart and then lifts my chin with a single finger. The buzzer goes. My heart thumps. Mum is here.
‘I’ll go,’ Rebecca says. She runs out of the door and down the stairs. Lace takes my hand and squeezes it. Jean-Ivy fills her wine glass up to the brim.
‘What is it with your generation and fussy coffee?’ Mum says, waltzing into the room with a Beanie coffee in hand.
‘Well, let’s have a look then.’ She stands in the way of Abi and Nina and inspects me up and down.
I wait for some remark about the dress not resembling hers, but instead, her face softens.
‘Amy, you look—’ Mum suddenly stops. She breaks eye contact with me and glares at Jean-Ivy.
‘Pity I have to share this moment with her.’
Pop. The moment is over.
‘Mum, we spoke about this.’
‘Oh, look, Rose has returned from the ocean,’ Jean-Ivy mutters into her wine.
‘Ladies, let’s keep it civil,’ Linda says from the French daybed.
‘I think you have a little something on your face,’ Mum says to Linda, not kindly.
Sure enough, a piece of cracker is sticking to Linda’s cheek.
Linda wipes it away, and the crumb falls on the floor.
‘Good woman,’ Mum says, in that patronising way that rubs everyone up the wrong way.
If the room felt small before, it feels teeny now. Lace takes Mum’s arm.
‘Rebecca, will you get Charlotte a glass of red? Charlotte, please make yourself at home. You get the red velvet chair as the Mother of the Bride.’ Mum glares at Jean-Ivy as she makes her way to the chair, and Jean-Ivy raises her glass to her mockingly.
‘Jean,’ I snap. Jean lowers her glass.
‘So, it’s a yes to the dress?’ Lace asks.
Linda cheers with two arms. ‘YES.’
‘Absolutely,’ Jean-Ivy says.
‘I love it,’ Abi says.
‘Pardon?’ Jean-Ivy says. She’s staring at Mum with one hand to her ear. ‘What was that, Charlotte?’
‘I said it doesn’t matter what you think,’ Mum says.
I sink. Here we go.
‘I bought the dress actually, so it very much matters what I think,’ Jean-Ivy retorts.
‘Purr-lease. My ex-husband bought the dress like he bought your implants,’ Mum snaps back.
‘Both of you, stop being so blooming selfish,’ Linda cuts in. I’m surprised she’s even trying; she’ll get eaten for dinner by these two.
‘Selfish?’ They both say at the same time.
‘The whole reason my daughter is having to rush this wedding in the first place is because of you,’ Mum snaps. Linda glances at me, hurt. I want to bury myself.
‘Mum!’
‘My dad has dementia, Charlotte,’ she cries. ‘I’m sorry there is a small sacrifice on Amy’s part, but that’s what families do. They SACRIFICE for each other.’
‘Well, old leather pants here certainly sacrificed my family, didn’t she?’ Mum points to Jean-Ivy, who is swirling the wine in her glass, sniggering to herself.
‘You didn’t put out for five years, Charlotte. What do you expect the man to do?’ she says. The room goes silent.
My dress tightens around my lungs. Five years?
That’s like 1,800 tally marks. I feel a wave of heat come over me, and the dress gets even tighter.
That could be me and Josh. We’re already over the six-month mark.
What if we get married, and then it gets to a year, then two, then a decade.
I’ll be an old lady with a wrinkly, paper-thin hand, still marking tally marks in my notebook.
I pull on the dress to try and get air, but it’s tailored so wonderfully that it’s stuck to my body.
‘I need to get out of this,’ I say and begin reaching behind for the zip. I call for Lace. Where has she gone?
‘Ladies, we’ve got to stick together in this man’s world,’ Nina says in her teacher’s voice.
‘Five years . . . really?’ Linda says with surprise.
‘Oh, please Linda, as if you’re getting it all the time,’ Mum bites back.
‘I have a very healthy sex life, Charlotte,’ Linda brags. I want to be sick.
‘Do you even remember what an erect penis looks like?’ Jean-Ivy laughs.
‘Well, sorry I can’t get wet over tucked-in checked shirts and cord trousers,’ Mum argues back.
I keep reaching for the zip. Why is this dress so tight? My hairline is damp, and the clip Lace put in has slipped out. They’re yelling in each other’s faces, and I can’t make sense of what they’re saying anymore. I need to get out of this dress.
CRASH! Everybody freezes. A mannequin is on the floor. Suddenly, everything loosens. I can breathe again; my zip is undone. Lace is standing next to me.
‘If you’re not a bridesmaid, please vacate my studio instantly,’ Lace announces. She has her hands on her hips and is staring at Mum and Jean-Ivy. I’ve never heard her sound so cold before. There is a pause, and then they all start on Lace.
‘You can’t kick me out, I’m her mum.’
‘I paid for the dress.’
‘I’ve done nothing wrong,’ Linda says and starts to cry again.
Lace points to the door. ‘This is my studio, and I want you to leave,’ she says.
Mum, Jean-Ivy and Linda all turn to me.
‘Amy?’
‘Amy?’
‘Amy?’
I am staring down, still trying to get the oxygen back in me.
‘I think it’s best if you go,’ I say, breathless.
‘Amy?’ Mum says, shocked, as if it’s me who’s let her down today.
‘Excuse me, I bought the dress, Amy,’ Jean-Ivy says, waving her hands frantically.
‘Amy, you wouldn’t kick me out?’ Linda snuffles.
‘It’s my wedding. It’s my wedding day. I’m getting married,’ I say. This is the one time in my life it should be about me, but none of it is. ‘Please, can you just go.’ I point to the door. Jean-Ivy huffs and storms out. Mum is next.
‘I can’t believe you’re kicking me out with her,’ she mutters aggressively, then storms down the stairs.
I’m too angry to feel bad. All I asked was for her to keep the peace for my wedding, but she couldn’t even hold it in for 15 minutes.
The last to go is Linda, who doesn’t say a word to me but sniffs into a tissue as she leaves.
I can’t keep her happy for the rest of my life, no matter how much Josh wants me to.
They don’t even reach the front door before they start arguing again. They shout over each other as they go down Redchurch Street until their voices fade.
A movement from inside a drawer gets everyone’s attention. Peppy stumbles out and waddles to the French daybed. It takes him two attempts to lift his weight up and onto it.
I’m the first to speak. ‘Lace, what the hell are you feeding that cat?’