‘I know.’ She nods. ‘But they’re so rank, I feel like they shouldn’t be anywhere near this dress.’ She stops to stroke the glorious white satin of the nearest gown before continuing. ‘I’m hoping the steam cleaner place will steam my pants too. Like a two-for-one deal down there. They’re yesterday’s because I haven’t been home yet – I had a Bumble date last night. I thought he was going to be a really cool, sexy hippie type, because he had long hair and his name was Rayn. But it turned out his name’s Ryan and he just can’t fucking spell. He was so dumb, he doesn’t even know what bananas are. How do you not know what bananas are? He thought I meant bandanas, how weird is that? Anyway, his dumbness was just too cute – I had to sleep with him. I hadn’t shaved my legs, though, so I didn’t take my tights off during sex and just told him it was a medical condition.’
‘How do you... Did you cut a hole... ?’ I begin, but the mental image is too much, and I laugh instead.
She laughs too and her whole big, beautiful, naked body jiggles happily. ‘What are you looking at?’ she says merrily, because I was totally staring. ‘Are you horrified by my left boob? I know it’s much bigger than the right, but the nipple is so much nicer, isn’t it?’
I laugh again and turn back to the dresses. ‘Which one are you trying on?’ I say, not wishing to engage in that nipple chat. Not again. She always wants to know which nipple is better looking and we’ve told her a thousand times it’s the left one. Obviously. Duh.
We pick out dresses and help each other climb in. It’s nothing like putting on any dress I’ve ever worn before. The closest comparison is like wrestling around inside a wet suit. Things have to be positioned and placed. My boobs have to be slotted into the right section. It feels like a filing system alphabetised with body parts. Joely is not even close to being able to get hers on properly, given they all come in a standard size 12–14, but the effect – at least from the front – is still dazzling. She’s going to make a really gorgeous bride one day. Maybe even to Rayn/Ryan? We could serve bananas after dinner as, like, an inside joke.
My dress is an over-the-top meringue of a dress. I couldn’t have chosen more of a costume. It’s so not me, but it’s wonderful and dramatic. It’s too big for me and Joely pops her head out of the changing room to order the surly assistant to fetch some clamps that will hold it together at the back.
Ready at last, we draw back the curtain and walk side by side towards the giant wall mirror. And there we stare, silent and united, at our reflection.
‘WE LOOK SO GOOD!’ shouts Joely at last, and I catch the assistant in the mirror, sneering and rolling her eyes.
‘We really do,’ I agree, nodding at myself happily. Not even the other woman’s obvious judgement can take away from how cool this is. I am fully in character now, swishing my enormous skirt around, feeling like Elizabeth Bennett, and enjoying the filmic feel and sound of it.
‘Er, Lilah?’ a nervous voice interrupts our giggling, and I turn around in slow-motion to see Will standing by the door, car keys in one hand.
It’s Will. Will is here. Staring at me with an odd look on his face. Shit. I forgot I asked him to pick me up at five. I assumed we’d be done by now, and then I didn’t let him know we were running late.
Will is here. And I am here. We are both here in a bridal boutique, where I am standing in a puffball white wedding dress staring at my suddenly very, very pale boyfriend.
‘This is not what it looks like,’ I say quickly, wondering what it looks like.
There’s another moment of silence and then he goofily side-grins. ‘You look phenomenal,’ he says, and takes a step closer. He laughs as he circles me, admiring the dress from every angle. ‘White is so your colour!’
(Told you.)
I laugh too, relieved that he’s not freaked out.
Wait, why isn’t he freaked out? He should definitely be freaked out.
‘That dress is just... it’s just...’ He trails off, looking lost and wide-eyed, exactly like a puppy.
He’s not a puppy, I remind myself.
‘A silly meringue?’ I finish for him.
‘No, no, I love it!’ he says, emphatic now. ‘I think it’s beautiful and you look so... well, Lilah, you look so beautiful.’
He looks misty-eyed at me and I suddenly really want to take the dress off and put my t-shirt back on. It’s hot in here. Isn’t it hot in here? Did they turn up the temperature? Why would they do that? Don’t they know sweating in a wedding dress is unbecoming?
The shop assistant interrupts. ‘Can I help you, sir?’ she says, using that extra unhelpful tone she’s a total expert in.
He sneaks a look at me and Joely, who winks at him.
‘Er,’ he says, thinking on his feet, ‘no, thanks, I’m fine. I’m just the groom, having a sneaky peek at my bride’s dress.’
Nope, wrong thing to say. Joely throws her hands up in the air, exasperated.
‘The groom?’ the woman says icily. ‘I thought you two –’ she jabs a long, thin finger at me and Joely in our wedding finery – ‘were marrying each other?’
We exchange a look and my fake wife-to-be pipes up hotly, ‘Do you have some kind of a problem with a three-way marriage? Because that is straight-up prejudice and my millions of followers—’
The woman interrupts. ‘Get out’.
That’s more than fair.
