‘I can’t believe it was only last year that we were here with Annie,’ Bridget said, pushing open the heavy door to dash inside.
‘You must have taken a sneaky peak at dresses for yourself. I did and I don’t even have a boyfriend.’
‘All I could focus on then was getting my PhD handed in. Can you remember? I was trying so hard to pretend Annie’s inconsiderate timing wasn’t completely stressing me out.’
‘Well, it all worked out fine in the end, Dr Donovan.’
We started browsing through the dresses on the rails, and shortly afterwards the shop manager came over.
‘Now, I’ve put my foot in it by asking this before, but you two look familiar. I never forget a bridal party. No! Don’t tell me! Let me see…’ She circled us like a lioness sussing out a weak spot to pounce on. ‘Neither of you were the bride… both bridesmaids? No, I said don’t tell me! Dark hair, I’m thinking… Italian… and one of you blonde and pale… But the same strong nose, full mouth… Oh, yes! You’re that family of sisters. With the mother. And this’ll be, what…?Don’t tell me!There was the maternity empire line, buttoned sheath, and diamanté princess. So, this is the fourth of you to get married! You’ve both been bridesmaids three times before. So, whose turn is it next…? SHHH! I haven’t said you can tell me yet! I’d say… you. The eldest sister finally gets to be the bride!’
She pointed one finger at me, triumphantly. ‘Wait here for two minutes. I’ll bring out some styles you’ll love while Phoebe pours the bubbles. PHOEBE?’
And before either of us could protest, she’d disappeared into the back of the shop.
‘Remind us why we always come here, again?’ I muttered, yanking out a random dress and thrusting it at my sister. ‘Here, this style will suit you.’
Bridget ignored the dress, and its formidable price-tag, wantonly squashing the flounces and frills between us as she reached over to put an arm around my shoulders, leaning her head against mine. ‘We don’t have to do this. It was your idea.’
I shook her off with a flap of my hands. ‘I want to do this! I’m very excited to be wedding-dress shopping with my baby sister. I don’t understand why being the oldest means for some reason I should have got married first, and the fact that I haven’t means I must be upset about it. I’m not!’
The clearly off-her-rocker shop manager hurried back in, holding an ivory dress covered in tiny lace that looked devastatingly close to the dress that I’d tried on, cried in, ordered, paid for, had altered and then dumped at a charity shop still in its plastic wrapping eight years ago. She skidded to a halt in her black brogues, gaping at me, then glancing at the dress and back to me again. ‘Now I remember!’
‘That’s why we come here,’ Bridget mused. ‘You’ve gotta hand it to her, she’s freakishly good at finding the right dress.’
‘Lace off-the-shoulder sheath, one of our most popular 2011 styles. But now I’m thinking second marriage, maybe we want to go calf-length chiffon? Something more mature?’
‘It’smywedding!’ Bridget snapped in reply.
The manager flinched. ‘But you don’t even seem stressed! At least, you didn’t when you came in. Are you sure?’
‘Yes, I’m sure!’ Bridget waved her engagement ring furiously. ‘So, either put that boring dress back and find something to better suit a woman prone to the odd snackccident, or we’ll find a bridal shop where we don’t have to play a game of guess-who before we can even start browsing.’
‘Right.’ The shop assistant didn’t seem fazed. She was probably well used to overwrought customers, after all. ‘PHOEBE! Hurry up with that bubbly, and please add a complimentary Danish to the tray! I’ve a challenge on my hands with this one!’
Ninety minutes later, after Bridget had ploughed her way through twelve dresses, two pecan plaits and a fair amount of bubbles for eleven thirty on a Saturday morning, we were done. When Bridget tried on the tenth dress, we knew, although she tried a couple more just to be sure. Of course, I cried. Bridget looked like a fairy tale, and at the same time absolutely her. Even she had to admit the ball-gown dress embroidered with hundreds of tiny multicoloured flowers looked stunning.
‘It’s perfect.’ I sniffed.
‘It is,’ the shop assistant agreed gravely. ‘When do you need to pick it up?’
‘Um…’ Bridget stopped twirling and caught my eye in the mirror’s reflection.
‘We can have this one ready for you in six weeks, including the minor alterations. Although I strongly recommend a final fitting in advance of the big day.’
‘Can I let you know?’
‘We still need to confirm the venue availability,’ I interjected. ‘But it will be some time in the next few months. Probably June-ish time.’
‘Will it?’ Bridget saw the look of suspicion on the manager’s face and took a deep breath before answering her own question. ‘It will. June. Ish.’
‘Oh, look.’ I grinned at her while typing away on my phone. ‘Ginger’s confirmed that Hatherstone Hall is open and available from the fifteenth June. Shall I confirm that date?’
Bridget furrowed her brow. ‘The pop-up tea shop is the fifteenth.’
‘The twenty-second, then?’
‘No, that’s too close to the pop-up. It’ll be far too much.’
