Читать книгу The Big Little Wedding in Carlton Square: A gorgeously heartwarming romance and one of the top summer holiday reads for women - Michele Gorman - Страница 10

The window of the chic Sloane Square shop only has two dresses in it, and I can’t see myself wearing either of them. Philippa and Abby are already inside, though, waving me in, so I can’t just leave. Steeling myself, I crash into the glass door as I push to open it. What the hell?

The only shops around me that keep their front doors locked are the pawnbrokers. What shoplifter in her right mind would go round nicking wedding dresses? Just try stuffing one of those down the front of your jeans.

‘Sorry,’ I say to the forty-something woman who unlocks the door. Her smile is radiant, but it doesn’t reach her perfectly made-up eyes. Everything about her says elegance, from her pale grey shift dress and high heels to her sleek blonde chignon and the simple gold necklace and earrings she’s wearing.

‘Won’t you make yourself comfortable?’ she whispers.

‘Okay, thanks,’ I whisper back. The deep-pile carpet muffles my steps, but we all hear my charm bracelet tinkling.

Philippa and Abby rise from the cream velvet sofa for kisses. ‘Darling! We’re having champagne.’ My future mother-in-law’s booming voice shatters the peace in the shop. ‘Do have some.’ She glances at the woman, who hurries over with a crystal glass. ‘Isn’t this going to be marvellous fun?’

I catch Abby rolling her eyes at her mum. She’s only twenty and probably has better things to do than come wedding dress shopping. She knocks back the champagne and holds out her glass for more.

‘We’ve just been chatting about designs,’ Philippa continues. ‘Yah, do you have something special in mind, darling?’

‘I figured I could just try some on and see what looks good.’ I never know what I’m looking for when I shop. I just go along the rails and pick out whatever catches my eye.

Only there aren’t any rails in here. It looks like a miniature Versailles, all gold and mirrors and dangly crystal chandeliers.

There aren’t any other customers, either.

‘Right, absolutely,’ Philippa says. ‘But if you tell Sarah what kind of thing you have in mind, she can bring some dresses out for you. Or she could bring them all out. Sarah, could you bring out all the dresses you have in Emma’s size?’

Sarah looks flummoxed by this notion. ‘We do have quite a few dresses. Do you have a preference for lace, silk or chiffon? Pearls, beading or plain? White, off-white, cream or we have some other neutral colours?’

I’m in so far over my head I think the lifeguard has just blown his whistle. What I need is Mrs Delaney from next to the dealership to translate all this for me. She might not know anything about the champagne they’re knocking back, but she’s been a tailor her whole life. She knows her silk from her rayon. ‘I’ve always liked lace,’ I say.

Sarah seizes on this snippet and holds on for dear life. ‘I’ll choose some dresses,’ she says, going through a mirrored door at the back of the shop.

‘Abby was telling me about the wedding her friend’s sister just had,’ Philippa says as we wait for Sarah to come back. ‘It sounds absolutely dreadful. Paper plates. One can’t imagine!’

‘Mummy, they were being ironic. Everybody’s doing peasant weddings now. It’s all hay bales and paper streamers. I think it’s a hoot.’

‘Hoot or not, darling, isn’t the point,’ says Philippa. ‘If one can’t afford a proper wedding, then have a small one, by all means. But don’t skimp. Paper plates aren’t ironic, they’re tacky. To think how their parents must have felt. And a falafel cart at a wedding? They may as well have just ordered Domino’s and been done with it. I’d be absolutely mortified.’

It obviously doesn’t cross her mind that a proper wedding might be a stretch for us too. I can feel my cheeks burning.

‘It’s such a shame your mother couldn’t come today,’ Philippa says to me as she finishes her champagne. She’s oblivious to my cheeks.

‘She’s gutted, but she says she’s looking forward to meeting you soon.’

That’s a total lie. She has no idea I’m here. I practically wore dark sunglasses and a trench coat to the Tube so no one would see me. I’m cheating on my mum with my future mother-in-law and not even Kelly knows about it. I couldn’t bring Mum with me, though, could I? She’s nervous enough about meeting Philippa. I couldn’t make her do it on Philippa’s home ground.

This way I can make both Philippa and my mum happy. Mum and I’ll go with Kell later this week to look at more dresses. Nobody needs to know about today.

Sarah returns wheeling a golden rail hung with a dozen or so frocks and leads me through a mirrored door.

This just got real.

She hangs three dresses on what look like solid gold hooks. ‘Erm …’

We’re staring at each other.

‘Thanks very much,’ I say.

When she smiles I realise she means to stay in here while I get changed.

‘Do you have your bra with you?’ she asks.

‘Right here,’ I say, pointing to my chest.

‘Oh, that might not work with the dress, but never mind, I can get you one to try.’

She opens the door just as I’m hopping out of my jeans. Philippa waves when she catches my eye.

‘Mummy, don’t be awkward,’ I hear Abby scold as I yank the door shut.

Sarah gets me into the first dress and buttons about a thousand tiny pearls up my back. Now I know why she didn’t leave me alone to do it.

Everyone gasps when I step from the changing room and Sarah leads me to a platform with a wraparound mirror.

I can hardly believe it’s me. The white sleeveless lace top of the dress hugs my torso perfectly, plunging to a narrow waist and then flaring over my hips. Suddenly I wish I had brought Mum. I can go through the motions again with her, but I’ll never again have this exact feeling of seeing myself in a wedding dress for the first time.

I shove the unwelcome thought aside and slowly twirl on the platform.

‘It does swamp you a bit,’ Abby says. ‘Because you’re short. A less poufy skirt might be better. Can we have some more champagne, please, Sarah?’

I was thinking the same thing. About the dress, I mean. Sarah’s never going to trust me with a drink in one of her dresses.

She shows me some simpler designs till we find one that I have to admit I sort of love. It’s got a lace overlay all the way from the neckline to the hemline, but it’s not poufy. The cap sleeves and straighter cut even makes me look a bit tall.

‘Yah, that’s it,’ Philippa says. ‘You may have found your dress. A column dress isn’t easy to wear, but it looks beautiful on you.’

‘It rahly does,’ Abby says.

It really, really does, I think. I’d wondered if so much white might wash out my pale skin, or be too much contrast against dark hair, but it looks fantastic.

‘You’ll need something for your head, of course,’ Philippa says. ‘Is there a family veil that you’ll wear?’

‘No, no family veil.’

‘Oh good, because actually I had another idea. A fresh floral crown! Wouldn’t that be darling? The florist could do it in the most beautiful summer blooms and make simpler ones for all the guests. Imagine the photos. Isn’t this going to be the most beautiful wedding?’

I doubt she’s thinking of simply weaving daisy chains like Kell and I used to do with the dandelions that grew on the verge in summertime.

When Sarah tells us that for a fee we can expedite the eight-week lead time to order the dress, Philippa starts yah-yahing like it’s a done deal.

Hold on, I can’t buy this dress! Mum doesn’t even know I’m here. Besides, I’ve got no idea how much it costs. I searched in vain for price tags when Sarah went to get me a bra.

‘Oh good,’ I find myself saying. ‘And the price of the dress?’

When she tells me I nearly fall off my borrowed high heels. ‘Mum will want to see it first, of course,’ I say to their triumphant faces.

‘Of course,’ Philippa and Abby chorus.

‘Send her photos!’ Abby says.

I could do that. If she knew I was here.

Abby uses my phone to snap a dozen pics of me in the dress while Philippa keeps saying, ‘This is such great fun!’

I feel a little sick as I pretend to wait around for Mum’s response. ‘She’s not answering,’ I say. ‘Sometimes she doesn’t have her phone with her. I can always bring her back here, right?’

‘Absolutely,’ Sarah assures me.

Her smile doesn’t falter as we all say goodbye, but I think Sarah knows she’ll never see me again.

As I walk to where my scooter’s parked I delete the dress photos and the unsent text to Mum. There’s no sense tormenting myself with that dress when I’ll never afford it.

I wonder how Mum managed to buy a dress for her wedding. I know she and Dad had even less money than I do, though they did get married during the nineties recession. Things were probably cheaper then.

I nearly have a heart attack when my phone buzzes with a text just as I’m getting on my scooter. It’s Mum. She knows I’m here. I glance at my phone. Mum doesn’t know I’m here. It’s Daniel.

Hope you’re surviving the bear pit of wedding dresses. Want to meet the gang for a drink? Dxoxo

Pure hell drinking champagne and trying on gorgeous dresses. Let’s meet! Emx

Daniel’s friends always go to the same pub in Chelsea. It’s pretty, atmospheric and comfortable and they usually manage to get a table even when it’s full, like now. It’s not miles different from the Cock and Crown, except for the people.

Daniel’s flatmate, Jacob, waves when he sees me and nudges Daniel who, judging by his flapping arms, is in the middle of telling Cressida a story. I’ve no idea where he gets it, but he’s practically Mediterranean when it comes to hand gestures.

He jumps up when he sees me. ‘No dress?’ His lips find mine.

‘No, not yet, and I wouldn’t bring it here even if I did get one. You’re not allowed to see it till the wedding.’

‘Seven years of bad luck,’ Jacob says.

When he speaks his pronounced Adam’s apple bobs up and down. You couldn’t call his skinny face, receding chin and giant beak attractive. He looked familiar when Daniel first introduced us. It took me a few meetings to realise why. Dad once took me to see the old Disney film, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, and Jacob is the spitting image of cartoon Ichabod Crane. He’s super nice, though, which is why he’s usually seeing someone, despite looking like a caricature.

‘That’s for smashing a mirror, you berk,’ Cressida tells him, unfolding herself from the booth. ‘Mwah, mwah.’ She kisses the air above my ears. I can smell the perfume in her long, straight chestnut hair. It’s something sharp and citrusy, almost like a man’s cologne. I air-kiss back without the sound effects. She’d know I was taking the piss.

Cressida comes standard as part of Daniel’s friends and family package. I met her within weeks of our first date. As she’s his good friend Seb’s little sister and a regular fixture on his nights out, I think Daniel was keen to put my mind at ease. Just because Cressida is gorgeous and they’re nearly best friends who’ve gone away on exotic holidays together their entire lives doesn’t mean I should be concerned. You get the picture. She sounds like a nightmare, right?

I was all set to pretend to like her, so no one was more surprised than me when I actually did.

‘Daniel says you’ve been summoned to the great Godfather’s for the next supper,’ she says.

‘Should I be worried?’

‘Yah, no, Harold is richer than Croesus, but he’s not too big a bore. Besides, you’re with Daniel and Daniel can do no wrong. He’s the golden boy.’

‘What would you like, Em?’ Daniel asks. ‘It’s my round. Cressida?’

‘Here, try this first,’ she suggests, grabbing a bottle of pink wine from a sweating ice bucket to pour me a glass. ‘We got them to stock it and it’s finally warm enough to drink.’ She means the weather, not the wine. ‘Maybe your uncle would like it for his pub.’

‘Mmm, that’s good!’ I say, trying to imagine Uncle Colin serving rosé to the Cock and Crown regulars. He won’t even have Chardonnay. ‘This is fine, Daniel, thanks.’

I slide into his spot beside Cressida as he goes to the bar.

Even if Daniel hadn’t so obviously loved her – and platonic or not, love is love – I’d have obsessed over Cressida, especially since I suppose I’ve let my mum’s opinions about the la-di-das, as she calls them, cloud my view. They speak differently and have double-barrelled surnames and all come from the same schools.

But Cressida has been nothing but kind to me and I really, truly was happy when Daniel asked if she could be one of our bridesmaids.

‘We drank cases of it last summer when we were in Saint-Paul-de-Vence, remember, Jacob?’ she says. ‘It’s such a shame you couldn’t come with us, Emma, you’d have loved it there! Nothing to do for two weeks but drink wine by the pool. It was divine. Which reminds me. What if we did something similar for your hen do? Or even hire the same place. I’m sure we could get the villa again, and you can have all your friends and family there under the same roof! It’ll easily sleep twenty and it’s so much more personal than having hotel rooms on some city break. I think your Auntie Rose would love it. There are a few steps down to the pool, but we could always help her up and down.’

Her deep brown eyes dance with delight at the idea. She’s never met Auntie Rose and thinks she’s a genteel East London Miss Marple.

‘Well, I did only know Daniel a few weeks when you went away,’ I say. ‘It was a bit early to crash his holidays.’

‘We’d have loved having you there,’ she says. ‘You’re such a breath of fresh air for us.’

She’s always saying things like this and they sound like compliments, but I could also be the cut-price flavour of the month. I never feel like I know for sure.

There’s no doubt we’re different, a fact that she’s either hyper-aware of or seems to completely forget.

Take my hen do. She’s got completely bonkers ideas about where to go. I’m not sure whether staying in a French villa would be more or less pricey than the long weekend at the spa in Baden-Baden she suggested last week, or going to see the Bolshoi Ballet in St Petersburg. That’s St Petersburg, Russia, not some theatre in Kent, in case you wondered.