It was a winter wedding, and the heavy, floor-length chiffon bridesmaids’ dresses had seemed lovely and romantic in theory. The church was packed, the aisle laid with a burlap and lace runner, edged with flickering tea lights, scattered with white rose petals. The first bridesmaid down managed to take half the candles and flowers with her on the train of her dress. The second caught fire…
Sarai, Cardiff
Daisy eyed her bridesmaid dress with more than a shade of concern. It had still done up fine two weeks ago at the final fitting, but, right then and there, the waistline looked impossibly small. The four silver frocks hung serenely from the living room curtain rail in Nora’s flat, two each side of Nora’s own gown, which was still cocooned inside its huge black dress bag for safely.
She’d been fretting about how Sarah would take it (‘it’ being her unexpected delicate condition). It did seem like the most awful sort of F-you. Hey Sar, I know you’ve been struggling with infertility, and – oh – your marriage just somewhat imploded, but… guess what?? Sarah had been suitably excited and gracious over messages since hearing the news, but, still, Daisy feared there may be awkwardness there in person, and considering that there was already going to be awkwardness in spades between Sarah and Bea, she hadn’t really wanted to exacerbate matters.
Bea had yet to arrive – she was having dinner with her mother before heading over to Bridal HQ apparently, which – knowing how much Bea disliked spending time with said mother – smacked of an excuse. Nora and Cleo clattered about in the kitchen – the blender hummed happily and reassuringly, Nora’s bright laugh rising above it. She was marrying the love of her life – what use had she for nerves? Daisy had never seen a woman with feet so warm. The last time Daisy had been here listening to that blender churn, Nora had been making frozen margaritas for Harry’s birthday. Tonight she was making nutritious vegetable smoothies so as to ensure they all had glowing skin come the morn.
“And the baby will LOVE IT,” Nora had declared, after she had finished waxing lyrical about the toxin-busting benefits of drinking the powdered juice of young green barley. (Daisy had the sense that baby would be happier with a Mars Bar, if she was being honest, but she’d go with the anti-oxidant flow.)
“You’re so strong, Daisy.” Sarah picked up her silent phone before putting it straight back down for at least the third time since she’d arrived at the flat. “You’re having this baby on your own. I mean, I know you’re not on your own, own – just you’re not with Darren anymore. Your family is across the ocean. You know.”
“I know.” Daisy smiled and laced her hands across the curve of her stomach, an affectation in pregnant woman that had always irritated her, yet she had adopted almost immediately without even realising it. “I’m going to be a single mom, yeah. But this child is going to be so loved. So loved. I mean, just look at how much its aunties are spoiling it already!” Daisy gestured over to her clutch of small gifts on the coffee table – each of her friends had turned up with “something small” that they “couldn’t resist”: soft, square muslins printed with silver moons and stars; a suitably unisex Babygro with a circus motif across the front; a tiny plush lamb doll with a sleeping face and preposterously white woollen fluff.
Sarah smiled. “I know. Lucky tyke.”
“And Darren is, if anything, almost too involved.” Daisy rolled her eyes. “I think he’d move in with me if I let him. You know, he’s messaged me all week going all like, hey, what’s up, what are you having for lunch? And I thought he was just making conversation, being nice. Then I realised he was monitoring my diet for sufficient intake of leafy green veg.”
Sarah giggled. “He’ll be thrilled with what you’re about to get given to drink then.”
“I know. I don’t want to tell him about it, to be honest. I don’t want to set a precedent.”
“You’re not tempted then? Having him move in, at least for a little while?”
“God no. Me and Belly are just fine on our own,” Daisy assured her; her middle wasn’t yet distinguished enough for her to truly get away with ‘Bump’, so she’d settled on Belly for now.
“I just suck at being alone,” Sarah confided. “I was sat there opposite Cole yesterday, and it was all I could do not to just take him back. Eurgh. I never thought I’d be that girl. Nobody wants to be that girl.”
“What girl?” Daisy probed gently. “The girl who misses her husband, who she loves? You know I love Cole – granted it was a shitty, shithead thing of him to do – but I’ve always been a great believer in not throwing the baby out with the bathwater.”
Sarah smiled. “And is my marriage the baby or the bathwater in this brilliant and topical metaphor?”
Daisy laughed. “Does it matter? I just mean, if you miss the man, spend some time with him. Let him beg on his knees for forgiveness. It might be the best way for you both to heal, even if ultimately you don’t end up staying together. I think it’s a stronger sort of woman who knuckles down and saves what’s worth saving – you know?”
Sarah was saved from responding – the flat’s buzzer made her jump.
“Can somebody let Bea in please?” Nora called from the kitchen. Daisy immediately made a move to unfold her legs out from underneath her. Sarah hopped to her feet.
“Don’t worry. I’ll go.”
Bea was rosy-nosed from the cold, a thick bobble hat pulled down low over her brows and an oversized chunky-knit scarf wound round and round her neck. She obviously hadn’t been expecting Sarah to be the one to open the door to her; her smile froze on her face.
“Hey.” Sarah stepped back to let Bea in to the warm. “You’re just in time. I think we’re about to get some sort of juiced up tree to drink.”
“And here I thought we’d be drinking champagne.” Bea cautiously moved around Sarah, tentative, like you would edge past an animal you thought might be inclined to bite you. She shed her coat, started to unwind her long scarf. “How are– have you been– okay?” she asked, stilted.
“I’m good. I’ve been looking forward to this weekend.” Sarah hesitated for a moment. “I wouldn’t want my – personal problems – to impact on Nora’s big day at all.” Let’s let the awkwardness belong to another weekend.
Bea smiled ruefully, obviously reading her loud and clear. “If we’re talking impact, I’ve got a bit of a confession.” She walked on into the living space.
“Mel!” Nora, her hair slathered in conditioning mask and wrapped tightly in a microfiber turban, half hugged and half palmed off a pint glass full of concerningly thick, dark green liquid to Bea. “Bridesmaids, assembled!” she bellowed, like she was referring to a troupe of superheroes. She took a deep gulp from her own glass of veggie concoction and – to her very great credit – didn’t allow her reaction to show too much on her face.
“Okay, now I’ve brought wedding flicks!” Cleo was pulling plastic DVD boxes out from an Asda carrier bag. “Confetti. Bridesmaids. The Proposal. Four Weddings and a Funeral. Muriel’s Wedding. 27 Dresses. Father of the Bride – parts 1 and 2, naturally.”
“Woah, easy there Blockbusters!” Nora laughed, seeing that the plastic bag of films was hardly depleted. “We haven’t got all week.”
“Stick on The Proposal,” Daisy demanded, from where she still lounged on the sofa. “Ryan Reynolds is always a good idea.”
“Seconded,” Sarah agreed, politely sipping from her own smoothie.
“Okay, hang on. First, I’ve got a confession to make,” Bea winced. The room froze.
“What is it?” Nora asked, dubiously. (Bea heard “what now?”)
“So I’ve been reconnecting with my mum.”
“That’s great!” Nora beamed.
Bea smiled back through gritted teeth. “Don’t think that too soon. Anyway, we had a bit of a girlie evening. She decided to… do my hair.”
Nora’s eyes flicked up; Bea was still wearing her bobble hat.
“Oh, god. Just tell me that you still HAVE hair,” she begged.
“I’ve been trying to wash it out all day,” Bea promised, as she reached up and removed her headgear. Her usual sharply shaped long bob fell free to her collar bones, but gone was the usual glossy brunette. Instead Bea had been left with a strong pinkish rinse that left her looking like she’d soaked her head in Ribena for a week straight.
The other four girls fell about laughing, veggie smoothies only barely escaping relations with Nora’s cream carpets.
“SHE SAID IT WOULD BE WARMING,” Bea yelled over the hysterics. “WARMING WINTER LOW-LIGHTS. FUCK.”
“And this is it after you’ve been washing it out?” Cleo asked through her giggles.
“Yes, and I’ve even tried to put permanent brown dye over the top of it. It’s just too, too…”
“BRIGHT!” Daisy supplied with a delighted squeal, before falling about laughing all over again.
“Oh, Mel, you look like a Myspace profile picture,” Nora sniggered.
“To be fair, your mum’s not wrong. It’s a lovely, warm shade. It’s just maybe a little… vibrant. Particularly considering it’s by accident.” Sarah grabbed up her handbag. “Okay, Nora, where’s the nearest food shop?”
“We’ve got food in, Sar,” Nora blinked, obviously confused by the abrupt change in topic.
“We need lemons to strip out the dye,” Sarah declared matter-of-factly. She glanced at Bea’s pink barnet again. “Lots of lemons.”
“Right!” Nora grabbed up her keys and coat. “Five minutes’ walk back towards the tube. I’ll show you. Get the film on,” she instructed Cleo and Daisy. “And, Jesus, you’d better open a bottle of wine as well. We can drink it as well as the smoothie.”
“Your hair.” Bea gestured weakly at the towel-turban, but Nora pished-pished it.
“Who cares!” she cried. “I’M GETTING MARRIED TOMORROW. And my bridesmaid looks like a cartoon character.” She darted away as Bea reached out to smack her arm. “Come on, look alive, if we get moving we can be back before the scenes where Ryan takes his shirt off. TO THE TESCO METRO!”