Chapter 17 #2
She shakes her head. ‘I’m fine. We’ll be fine. It’s just…’ She shrugs. ‘This is what happens when you get married and have kids.’
Gah! I bloody hope not.
I half-smile. ‘Well, when you need to talk, I’m here to listen.’
‘Thanks, hun. I appreciate it. Now,’ she says, snapping back into seamstress mode. ‘Let’s sort out Big Mand and get her back on track.’
I knock tentatively on the door. It opens a slight crack. When Big Mand sees it is us she opens it wider.
‘I’m an idiot,’ she says, her voice small.
‘You’re a gorgeous friggin’ boss lady, Mandeep, with fabulous tits and don’t you ever forget it,’ says Cherry. Big Mand smiles as Cherry draws her into a hug.
We place all the stuff and the gowns on the bed. Cherry hands Big Mand a multipack of sausage rolls and a packet of beefy crisps. ‘No Sue?’
Hurriedly shovelling in food like coal into a blast furnace, Big Mand shakes her head.
‘She went to give Ged a hand setting up in the ballroom. She’s covering all my jobs on the list as well as her own.
I said we’d be down to help as soon as we’re done.
But she’s left her dress there and the matching trousers she wants sewn in somehow. ’
‘Right, let’s get started. Connie, you get your ball gown and we’ll see if it fits Mandeep. And don’t worry about the hair falling out, love. We’ll put the wig on you for the ball, and I also have a ton of hairpieces to clip in for the wedding service. None of it will be a problem.’
I can see relief flooding Big Mand’s face as she digests the sausage roll. She closes her eyes to savour the moment. ‘What would I do without my friends?’ When she opens them again, they are glassy with tears. ‘Thank you so much, you guys.’
Cherry puts up a palm. ‘No more crying until we’ve done the fitting. Then we can all cry into our Fannies.’
‘Our what?’
‘Our Fanny Smashers. Tash has taken charge of the bar again. She’s insisting on getting her money’s worth,’ Cherry says with a mouthful of pins as she helps Big Mand slither into my Bridgerton ball gown.
Her hands work quickly, darting around, pinning in seams, clipping the material at the back so that the bodice fits her like a glove.
‘Stunning. Absolutely stunning,’ I say, fixing the wig to her hair. ‘See for yourself.’
Big Mand swivels round to face the full-length mirror inside the wardrobe door, her hand flying to her mouth in surprise. She looks gorgeous. The champagne colour of the floaty chiffon and silk complement her perfectly.
‘Belle of the ball,’ says Cherry with a self-satisfied smile.
Once Big Mand is happy with everything, Cherry contemplates Big Mand’s former ball gown and decides that the underskirt, the overskirt and part of the bodice are all easily removable and will go on top of my best woman dress to transform it into a Bridgerton-worthy gown for the evening ball.
‘No one will know it’s the same dress,’ she says, snipping carefully at the lining and unpicking stitches.
‘Connie, hun. Can you sew these lace straps to the overskirt, please? Mandeep, I need you to hold this for me while I backstitch this seam for a new interface. This crimson colour is totes gorge. It’s so dramatic. It’ll look lovely on you, Connie.’
In no time at all, Cherry is done. She has even slit Big Sue’s skirt up the centre and put some pins in the waistband so that, when she wears it, the trousers will be on show and the dress will fall to the sides.
‘You are a miracle worker,’ gushes Big Mand.
She has hung up her gown and is ramming crisps into her mouth. She looks much more relaxed.
‘Right then. We’ll get this lot put away and head downstairs,’ says Cherry, looking pleased with her efforts. ‘Lord knows what Dom is up to with the girls.’
‘They must be playing hide-and-seek again,’ I say, observing him out of the window. Cherry comes over to have a look.
‘Is that him vaping with Kev?’ She scrunches her eyes. ‘And is he… Is that a cocktail in his hand? Jesus. You’d think he was on bloody holiday. What the eff is he playing at?’
I blink slowly. ‘But he is on holiday, isn’t he? We’re at a wedding.’
Big Mand shrugs. ‘TBF, Cherry, babes, it’s pretty much the done thing to day-drink at weddings.’
‘For us, yes. Not for him. He’s here to look after the kids. Not to have a good time,’ Cherry says, sounding vexed. She spins on her heel and marches from the room.
Poor Dom.
We tear after her. For a relatively short woman she is very speedy.
She’s flying out of the door and across the garden to her husband before we can catch her up.
Startled, Dom hides his vape behind his back like a schoolboy caught by the head teacher.
A cloud of suspiciously earthy fumes billows from his lips.
‘Kev gave me it,’ he blurts, pointing to Sister Kevin. ‘I didn’t know it was weed. I thought it was strawberry and lime flavoured.’
‘And yet you kept smoking it regardless?’ Cherry folds her arms in a matronly way.
Sister Kevin, clearly trying not to giggle, lowers his head. ‘Sorry.’
‘I didn’t think you’d catch me,’ mumbles Dom. ‘I just needed… a break.’
‘From?’
Dom lifts his gaze to hers and they lock eyes.
Oh dear. This is not his finest hour.
Cherry swallows. ‘And our children? Any news on their whereabouts?’
He huffs loudly. ‘They’re fine. Ged and Liam are babysitting. The girls wanted to play with Louis, so they took them to their room after breakfast.’
He may as well have a neon sign above his head declaring that he’s been caught red-handed trying to avoid their children and his wife’s legendary nagging.
‘For how long?’
‘Um, as long as they want? Maybe a few hours? If that’s okay?’
‘Why are you asking me?’
‘I think what he means is…’ Sister Kevin immediately drops his line of defence as soon as Cherry administers a withering glare.
‘I’ll tell you what I think, shall I?’ Cherry resumes talking to her husband.
‘I think you’ve left our children with the only two people here who have no clue whatsoever of how to look after young children.
Yes, Liam may be a music teacher, but when was the last time he changed a nappy?
When was the last time either of them sterilised and warmed up a baby bottle?
When was the last time either of them dealt with a teething child?
Did you even think to tell them about Clementine’s food allergies? ’
We wait for Dom to respond while he pales significantly, floundering under the pressure.
‘It’s basic parenting,’ states Big Mand. A high-pitched wail distracts us. Ged and Liam are racing towards us, carrying a child each. Ged reaches us first, holding Peaches at arm’s length.
‘They’ve eaten the rings.’
‘What rings?’ Cherry asks, aghast. ‘Onion rings? Donut? Cumberland sausage? Christ, not squid rings? Clem’s allergic to—’
‘The wedding rings!’ he blurts. ‘One of them swallowed our bloody wedding rings.’