India paused to look at me. “Do you think Marianne–”
Sal giggled at the name. Having been Zane Rafferty’s number one fan, the prospect of having her very own dress made by one his closest employees obviously tickled her. And while India shook her head at her mum, no doubt for being childish, I imagined the pair in their brand-new dresses, striding, hands on hip, up the aisle. One for career reasons, one out of pride.
“As I was saying,” India said, causing her mother to laugh some more. “Do you think she’ll introduce me to her contacts?”
I smiled. While I often found India a tad overconfident, I couldn’t deny her ambition. Be her a scientist, a professional mourner, or a fashion model, the girl went for it. Hence her attire. Blue shorts, a red T-shirt and a bright yellow cardigan, India had obviously taken inspiration from Marianne and Zane Rafferty. Add to that a string of chunky green wooden beads and an array of colourful bangles on her wrist, India wanted to impress.
“Although I can’t see why she wouldn’t,” India said, in answer to her own question. “I mean look at me.” She swept her hair to one side again, as we all got back to unpicking the dresses.
“What’s this?” The first to break the silence, Sal frowned and pulling whatever it was free, held it up.
“A dry-cleaning label,” I said, recalling how it had scratched my thigh when Mum first insisted I try the dress on.
Sal gave it a closer look. “It’s not, you know.” Bemused, she turned her attention to me. “It’s a price tag.” She shifted forward in her seat and held it out for me to take. “Here. Check it out.”
I squinted as I tried to make out the faded writing. “You’re right,” I said, surprised by what I was looking at. “It’s even got the name of the boutique on it.” I looked to my sister, confused. “But why was it still attached?”
“Mum must have forgotten to take it off,” Sal said.
“Well, there’s no other explanation,” I said.
India stopped what she was doing and looked at us both like we were stupid. “Are you two for real?”
“Excuse me?” I said.
“It’s there because Grandma and Grandad aren’t married,” India said.
Sal laughed. “Of course they are. What on earth gave you that idea?”
“More to the point, why would Mum give me someone else’s wedding dress?”
India continued to stare at us like we were lacking. “Have you ever seen evidence of this alleged union?”
I thought for a moment and forced to concede that I hadn’t, I looked to Sal who shrugged, enough to tell me that she hadn’t either.
“And don’t you think, knowing what Grandma is like, there’d be at least one great big photo of the event hanging where everyone could see it?”
I had to question if the girl had a point. Huge pictures aside, not only hadn’t I seen a wedding album, I couldn’t recall even a framed snapshot of Mum and Dad’s big day. I looked to my sister again. “Nah,” I said, dismissing the idea. “We’d know if they weren’t.”
“Of course we would,” Sal said.
Sal and I gave it a second before we both jumped out of our seats and raced to the kitchen to get Leo and Ryan’s take on the matter.
“Great timing,” Leo said, as he placed a plate of sandwiches on the table.
“Leo was just telling me his parents are coming over,” Ryan said. “Apparently they want to meet us all before the wedding.”
“As much as I can’t wait to meet them,” Sal said, dismissive. “What do you think of this?” She handed the tag to Ryan.
“It’s a pricing label,” he said, clearly wondering what the fuss was about.
“Exactly!”
Ryan looked back at her, bemused.
“Off Mum’s wedding dress,” Sal said.
“So?” Ryan said. “Maybe she forgot to take it off.”
