Chapter 25 #2
The next couple of dresses don’t quite hit the mark either. Then Olive steps out of the changing room in a very simple shift dress in duck egg blue, paired with a short white jacket.
‘I don’t like the colours, but do you think the style works?’ she asks eagerly.
‘Perfect!’ says Elle, with a big thumbs up.
‘I agree – it looks fab, Olive,’ I add.
‘You could even carry off those colours if you wanted,’ says Elle.
‘Or you could try these colours,’ suggests Zoe and she, Olive and Elle start poring over fabric samples.
But I get distracted by seeing someone with blond hair like me and a similar figure to mine stepping out of another changing room wearing the most dreamy, sleek, snowy white wedding gown, and I suddenly have a moment of thinking that maybe it would have been incredibly special to have married James after all.
Even though I’d always thought I was indifferent on the subject of marriage.
And I have to disappear off to the bathroom for a few minutes, so I can shed a few tears in private, without spoiling the girls’ day out for everyone.
So, it’s now early afternoon, we’re all starving, but the shopping has been a success and we’re just leaving the bridalwear shop laden with bags and boxes of accessories, and with all the dresses on order.
We’re about to get an extremely late lunch, when who should I see coming out of a shop across the mall but Carol.
‘Oh no,’ I mutter, ‘That’s James’ mum. Bet you she’s going to rope me in for that WI gala weekend. The question is, can we get into the next shop without being seen?’ Uh oh. She’s spotted me. ‘That’s a no then.’
There’s no avoiding her now. She gives a big wave and makes a beeline for us. Yep, she looks like she’s on a mission, as usual.
‘Hi Carol. Lovely to see you.’
‘Amy! Fancy bumping into you here.’ She gives me an almost-kiss on each cheek.
‘How have you been?’ I ask.
‘Oh busy, darling. As always.’ She looks enquiringly at Olive and Elle.
‘You might remember Elle – she was at the funeral. And this is Olive. I met Olive, err, more recently.’ I don’t want to have to explain about the FFC. Carol doesn’t know quite how often I visit the crem. ‘This is Carol, James’ mum.’
‘Oh yes, sorry Elle, I should have recognised you.’ She turns and shakes Olive’s hand. ‘How do you do?’
‘Pleased to meet you,’ Olive and Elle say at the same time, clearly not quite sure what to make of the encounter.
Carol, ever the detective, clocks that we are outside a bridalwear shop.
‘So, when’s the big day?’ she asks, smiling at Elle.
‘Soon. It’s the 17th of June.’
‘Well, congratulations.’
‘Oh, it’s not me. I’m not the one getting married.’
‘Amy! You kept that one quiet. And here I was thinking you were still obsessing over James. But quite right, it’s time you moved on with your life. I knew Gareth would be perf—’
‘No! It’s not me, either.’ Uh oh. Now this is starting to get awkward.
‘It’s me,’ Olive chips in cheerfully. ‘I’m the bride-to-be.’
‘Oh!’
It’s not often Carol’s left lost for words.
‘Oh dear, I’m so sorry. I just thought—’
‘That I’m too old to be getting married?’
‘No, well, I err—’
‘Well, I believe when you find true love, you should grab it and hold on tight, no matter when it comes in life. Not everyone’s lucky enough to find true love once, never mind twice.
I’ve had my share of sorrow, as have many of us,’ she looks at me, and then at Carol again, ‘but now I’m getting another chance of happiness. ’
Carol is looking very ill at ease now. She doesn’t do feelings. Least of all in public.
Olive continues, ‘I know I’m a very lucky lady, and not least having such lovely friends as Amy and Elle, to help me prepare for the wedding.’
‘I see. Well, congratulations,’ Carol replies.
Poor Carol, she’s so out of her depth with this kind of talk. I need to bring the conversation back to something more trivial.
‘So what brings you to Westwater, Carol?’ I ask.
‘Well, as you know, I don’t really like shopping in these sorts of places, but I needed to pick up some things for the WI gala.
Talking of which, I could do with your help on the Saturday that weekend, Amy.
If you could get to mine for, say, eightish, we can make an early start on the preparations – the marquees will open at eleven o’clock sharp. ’
I knew it. There’s no way out of this. I’ll have to resign myself to my fate.
‘Which Saturday is that?’
‘It’s Saturday, the 10th of June.’
‘The tenth? Oh what a shame. Amy’s booked up for that date,’ pipes up Olive.
I look at Olive.
‘I am?’ Olive gives me a pointed look. ‘I am! Yes, of course, I err…’
Carol looks at Olive, clearly awaiting an explanation.
‘Yes, we’ll be away on my hen weekend.’
Really? Hen weekend? First I’ve heard.
‘Goodness! A hen weekend?’ Carol looks rather surprised.
‘Oh, yes,’ Olive and I say, at the same time.
‘Yes, unfortunately we’ll be away all weekend,’ Olive adds.
‘And you can’t spare Amy for half a day?’
‘No, we’ll be too far away, you see,’ says Olive firmly.
Carol looks curious.
‘What have you got planned exactly?’
‘Well, I can’t say too much. It’s a surprise.’
It certainly is a surprise! I had no clue Olive was planning a hen weekend. But talk about serendipity!
‘Well, Amy, it’s rather a shame you won’t be able to help,’ Carol says, looking a little disappointed.
‘Yes, I’m really sorry about that, Carol,’ I reply.
‘Oh well, never mind. I’d best be off. I’ll call you next week, Amy.’
‘Right, yes, thanks.’ I give her a tiny wave.
And off she goes, embarking on her next mission. Life never slows down for Carol. Not for a moment. Not for anything.
I turn to Olive.
‘You dark horse! I didn’t know you were having a hen weekend.’
‘No, neither did I. I was really just trying to get you out of a tight spot with Carol, and it was the first thing that sprang to mind. But do you know, now I come to think about it, I actually quite like the idea of having a hen weekend. What do you reckon?’
Elle and I look at each other. I’m sort of hoping she’ll answer this one.
I’m not sure I’m the best person to ask about hen nights, never mind hen weekends.
To be honest, I’ve been avoiding hen nights since James passed.
The thought of being pressured into ‘hooking up’ with a bloke, as seems to be the expectation on most of these nights, fills me with dread.
And I’m trying not to go out and get plastered – it only leads my thoughts into gloomy places.
So I generally find an excuse not to go.
I’m just about to fill the silence with something when Elle says, ‘I’d love to go on a hen weekend, if you don’t mind me tagging along.’
‘You wouldn’t be tagging along at all – I’d love you to be there, Elle.’
‘Fab! Thanks, Olive. And you never know what eligible bachelors we might meet! We could do with finding new blokes, couldn’t we, Amy?’
Well, I can hardly rain on Olive’s parade now.
If Elle wants to go, I’d better make the effort too.
And after all, this is not likely to be the standard get-pissed hen weekend.
But I am definitely going to need to reset Elle’s expectations as far as my finding a bloke is concerned.
I’m perfectly happy with the bloke I’ve got – sort of got anyway.
I muster up some degree of enthusiasm for my response.
‘Okay, so where do you want to go, Olive? Edinburgh? Dublin? Paris?’
‘Hmmm. I’ll have to give it some thought. Perhaps we’d better have a girls-only FFC meeting next week and devise a plan.’