Always With Love

by Giovanna Fletcher

  ‘Can I help at all?’ asks the sales assistant, a sleek-looking woman in her thirties who I’m sure would look fabulous in every one of these dresses.

  ‘I booked an appointment. For Jane May?’ says Mum. ‘I’m the bride.’

  ‘Well, lovely to meet you. I’m Zoe. I’ll be helping you with the dresses today,’ she smiles, instantly becoming warmer now she knows we’re actual customers and not just cooing over dresses we have no intention of buying. ‘Can I ask, when is the wedding?’

  ‘End of May – so not long. That’s OK, though, right? I’ve not left it too late?’

  ‘Not at all. I’m sure it’ll be fine, Jane,’ Zoe smiles sweetly, nodding her head as she thinks through the dates and makes a note on the pad in her hands. ‘Now, let’s start this morning off with you selecting a few looks and styles you like, and then we can take it from there. How does that sound?’

  ‘Great,’ Mum gulps, an excited squeak escaping. ‘Let’s go for that one first,’ she laughs, grinning towards Charlotte who has now managed to get herself inside the skirt of the dress she loves, even though it’s still hung up on its beautiful padded satin hanger.

  ‘Lovely choice,’ Zoe replies with a courteous smile that doesn’t reveal whether she actually thinks it is a suitable match for Mum or not. But I guess that’s a good saleswoman tactic: keep it neutral.

  Three minutes later we’re in the biggest changing room I’ve ever seen, with Mum and Zoe one side of a huge grey curtain getting into the mammoth gown and Charlotte and me waiting outside to see what the big puffy dress looks like on Mum’s slender frame.

  Charlotte doesn’t say anything while we wait – instead, she sits motionless with her hands on her lap and her eyes glued to the curtain in front of her. Her expression is a mixture of excitement and anxiousness. She’s clearly looking forward to seeing Mum in the style of dress she’s been drawing for her, but also worried it might not be what she imagined.

  ‘It’s so heavy!’ calls Mum through the curtain.

  ‘Really?’ I ask.

  ‘There’s a lot of material,’ mutters Zoe, sounding like she’s still fastening it together.

  Silence falls on us all again as we listen to the rustling of fabric as its layers get ruffled, fluffed and smoothed down.

  ‘Are you ready?’ giggles Mum, once their movement has come to a stop.

  ‘Yes!’ screams Charlotte, like she’s at a Christmas pantomime.

  The curtain is dramatically whipped back to reveal Mum looking like a gorgeous princess. I’m surprised to find the whole thing more manageable than I’d imagined it was going to be. I thought the skirt part was going to be ridiculous and more meringue-like. I thought it was going to be hideous. I thought we’d both hate it.

  ‘Wow,’ says Charlotte with a giggle.

  ‘Oh, Mum,’ I manage to say through the lump that’s formed in my throat.

  ‘It looks completely different on you to any other bride I’ve seen in it,’ says Zoe, squinting at Mum’s form in the gown while stepping to one side and holding on to the tape measure that’s dangling around her neck. She looks more like an actual seamstress rather than a sales assistant in a department store. ‘I’ve seen brides be dominated by this number, but you give it a timeless beauty … It looks classical and sophisticated. Maybe it’s the way you wear your hair, too, but up like that, it gives the whole look an almost regal feel.’ She’s on the verge of gushing now, clearly getting excited by the sight of Mum in the dress she’s no doubt seen on hundreds of women before. Now that she’s started to share her opinion, she seems reluctant to stop. ‘I’m not just saying this. Honestly, we don’t work on commission or anything, but you make the dress your own!’

  And she does.

  I thought we were going to see it on, have a giggle and then have to explain to Charlotte that, although it was a pretty dress, it wasn’t quite right for Mum who wanted something a little more understated and simple. But this is neither of those things. Instead, it’s flamboyant, detailed, big and fancy. It highlights her slim figure while accentuating her curves – curves I never knew she had.

  It suddenly dawns on me that I’ve never seen Mum in anything fancier than a plain dress (usually accompanied by thick black tights). This is so far removed from that. It’s so much more. So delicious and dreamy. She’s a true vision of beauty. I can hardly take my eyes off her.

  ‘What do you think?’ I ask Mum, because it’s clear what the rest of us think, but she’s stayed quite quiet since being confronted with the sight of herself in this dress.

  ‘I love it,’ she whispers, her hands running along the fabric draped across her tummy, her apparent elation causing her face to turn rosy and glow. ‘I absolutely love it.’

  ‘Yes!’ grins Charlotte, looking incredibly pleased with herself as she punches her fist in the air. ‘I knew it.’

  ‘You did,’ nods Mum, releasing a girlie laugh.

  ‘You sound surprised that you like it?’ Zoe says, no doubt wondering why Mum chose to try it on in the first place.

  ‘I thought I wanted something less like a wedding dress. It’s not my first wedding, you see. However, Charlotte has had other plans and has been begging me to try on something like this,’ Mum explains, with a shrug, unable to tear her eyes away from her reflection in the mirror in front of her.

  ‘So you wanted something more like this one you selected?’ asks Zoe, her hands gesturing towards another dress Mum has brought in with her to try on. It’s completely the opposite to the one she’s currently wearing. I’d say it’s still pretty, but rather plain and boring in comparison.

  Scrap that.

  It now looks dull and magic-less. It doesn’t look special at all.

  ‘Yes, exactly. And even that was fancier than what I’d imagined I’d go for,’ Mum pouts, frowning at the previously preferred dress, clearly bemused by her unexpected change of heart.

  ‘You’ll be surprised how many brides come in with a set idea of what they think they want, but quickly start changing their minds when they try on different cuts and styles.’

  ‘Really?’ asks Mum, her face a little brighter, happy to hear she’s not the only one to want something so different to what she’d planned.

  ‘Absolutely,’ Zoe passionately nods. ‘So many women have never worn dresses like these before. Seeing a model in a design, and then picturing yourself in it is very different to the reality of having your body in one. I always think it’s best when a bride comes in with no expectations at all, that way they won’t be disappointed when their dream dress looks awful on them … it happens more than I’d like,’ she admits, looking gloomy at the thought of past brides. ‘You’ve done it the best way round, believe me.’

  ‘Maybe you should try what you had in mind and see what you think now?’ I suggest. ‘There’s no harm in seeing it on. It might help you make a decision either way.’

  ‘Great idea,’ nods Zoe, smiling at Mum and waiting for her to agree to the suggestion.

  ‘Go on, then,’ she sighs.

  The curtain closes and once more the sound of swishing fabric is heard.

  ‘Just like a princess,’ Charlotte says to Minnie Mouse, before giving her a tight squeeze.

  I can’t help but grin at her pride over being right and her unashamed way of saying ‘I told you so’, even if it is just to her stuffed toy.

  ‘Hmmm …’ Mum says moments later, clearly having been switched into the other dress. It’s a contemplative tone, telling us that she’s not been instantly won over by the new design.

  ‘What do you think?’ I ask, eager to see it on. ‘Do you like it? What does it look like?’

  I’m not left waiting long. Seconds later Zoe pulls back the curtains to reveal Mum looking elegant in the simpler sheath number. She still looks lovely and every inch the beautiful bride, but somehow something is missing, and I’m not sure whether it has something to do with the dress itself or the grumpy look on Mum’s face. She looks like a child who has been forced i
nto wearing a hideous outfit given to her by a great aunt or something, not like she’s been put into another special frock.

  ‘What do you think?’ I ask, having to stop myself from chuckling at this petulant side of her that I’ve rarely seen before.

  ‘If I’d put this on first I’d have loved it,’ she replies as she looks herself up and down in the mirror, turning from side to side and taking in the whole image from every angle possible. The sight causes her to sigh dramatically.

  ‘And what do you think of it now?’ I ask patiently, guiding her to the obvious conclusion, because I’d be greatly surprised if she decided to go for this one after all this crabby behaviour.

  ‘All I’m thinking about is being back in that one,’ Mum replies glumly, looking longingly back across the room to the first dress.

  ‘That’s a good thing!’ I sing, not understanding her attitude.

  ‘I can’t go for that one, though,’ she huffs. ‘There’s only blooming six people coming to the service.’ She shakes her head sadly.

  ‘So?’ I shrug.

  ‘You don’t think it’s over the top?’ she asks, a sliver of hope squeezing its way through.

  ‘I think you look absolutely stunning in it, Mum.’

  ‘I feel it.’

  ‘Well, the day is about you and Colin feeling special and amazing. If that’s how you feel in that gown, then that’s the right choice. Simple.’

  ‘Maybe I should try it on again,’ she mutters, her eyes drifting from her dream dress back to the mirror.

  ‘Fab idea,’ says Zoe, taking control of the situation. I’m sure it’s not the first time she’s been faced with a dilemma like this. In fact, I’m sure she’s used to dealing with far worse.

  The curtain closes.

  Swishing.

  Ruffling.

  Fabric moving.

  The curtain opens.

  Mum looks gloriously happy again, literally her face lights up as soon as she sees herself in the reflection. It clearly makes her feel spectacular – she’s even standing in a different way. She has more confidence, more poise. She’s like a majestic snow queen in a fairy tale. I don’t feel there’s any way we could let her leave this store without purchasing the dress that’s made her look this happy.

  ‘Oh gosh, isn’t it smashing?’ Mum exclaims, suddenly becoming girlie and light.

  ‘You look incredible,’ nods Zoe, still on her knees having fluffed up the under-layers and smoothed out the top one. ‘You’ll make such a stunning bride.’

  Suddenly I think of mum on her wedding day, of me holding her hand and leading her down the aisle, of Colin’s reaction when he sees her in this masterpiece, as I lead her towards him, giving her over to his care … I’m overcome with emotion. So much so that my throat closes up, my nose burns and tears work their way to my eyes.

  ‘It’s perfect,’ I blub, my words almost inaudible through the gentle sobs that can’t be contained no matter how hard I try to hold them in. ‘Colin is a very lucky man.’

  ‘No, I’m a lucky woman to have found someone so special,’ Mum replies, her own eyes brimming with tears as she knots her fingers together, a tactic I know she uses to steady herself when her emotions are on the wobble.

  ‘I think we’re all lucky,’ Charlotte squeaks from her seat, her eyes wide with innocence and wonder. ‘I bet Mum and Dean are so happy right now. I know they brought us all together from their cloud in the sky.’ She smiles at us both before looking down and giving Minnie another squeeze.

  What a lovely thought. Her mum, my dad, working out how to help us all move forward with love, laughter and a new sense of togetherness with others who have felt a similar loss.

  ‘What a wonderful bunch you are,’ Zoe says quietly, sniffing as she gets up from the floor and exits the changing room, leaving us on our own.

  ‘Come here,’ Mum says to me and Charlotte, gesturing us over by flapping around her hands in a scooping motion.

  I slide in under the groove of her armpit, just as I remember doing as a child, while Charlotte rests her cheek on Mum’s tummy while wrapping one arm around her waist and the other around mine. Mum squeezes us into her and the exquisite wedding dress she’s still standing in.

  ‘I love you, girls. You’re both incredibly special and important …’ she whispers softly. ‘I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you, but thank you.’

  We stay like that, in a hug for three, for at least a minute – absorbing the love and feeling more united than ever.

  ‘Can I have pancakes for lunch?’ Charlotte asks eventually, her voice squeaky as she looks up at us with a cheeky little expression on her adorable face.

  We both laugh.

  ‘It’s a girlie day!’ Mum says back with a gasp, as though she’s shocked at the question having been asked. ‘It would be rude not to.’

  ‘What are you going to have on yours?’ I ask, still holding on to them both as my hand glides over Charlotte’s long brown hair.

  ‘Hmmm …’ she ponders, licking her lips as she gives the tough decision a great deal of thought. ‘I think banana and chocolate sauce.’

  ‘Yum!’ I reply, my tummy rumbling, even though it’s absolutely stuffed from last night’s dinner and this morning’s breakfast.

  ‘Well, I guess I’d better get out of this then,’ Mum sighs, looking down at her dress as though she’s reluctant to do so.

  ‘But you’re getting this one, right?’ Charlotte squeaks.

  ‘Well, it is bigger than I’d have liked and is a bit showier than I care to be …’

  ‘But …’ protests Charlotte.

  ‘But,’ agrees Mum, a smile working its way on to her lips. ‘Sometimes you’ve got to listen to your heart and throw caution to the wind.’

  ‘Does that mean you’re getting it?’ Charlotte asks, her face on the verge of exploding.

  ‘There’s no way I’m leaving without it,’ Mum laughs. ‘So, yes!’

  ‘YES!’ Charlotte shouts, gripping hold of her even tighter than before.

  ‘The first dress you tried on too!’ I smile, thrilled with Mum’s decision and in no doubt that it’s the right one.

  ‘Exactly, and now we get to have pancakes and shop for you two all afternoon.’

  ‘See, this is the best day ever!’ Charlotte laughs, releasing her hold on us so she can jump up and down on the spot.

  27

  ‘So, how was your girlie day?’ asks Billy when I speak to him that night.

  I decided to skip dinner (it’s fair to say I couldn’t stomach any more food) and have a bit of a pamper night instead: hot bath, facemask, cucumber over my eyes – a chance to actually cut my toenails and paint them a pale gold colour. It’s not something I treat myself to very often, but now I feel full of zen and inner peace.

  ‘Great. So great,’ I reply sleepily from my bed where I have just been relaxing with Jane Austen’s Emma.

  ‘Glad to hear it.’

  ‘I was thinking I might head back out and see you,’ I say, looking forward to hearing his reaction.

  ‘Are you joking?’ he asks. ‘When?’

  ‘I haven’t worked it out yet. Perhaps I’ll talk it over with Rachel, Peter, Mum and Colin. See when’s best for them all to cover.’

  ‘It’s only been a week,’ he says, his voice higher pitched than normal.

  ‘Is that a bad thing? Would you rather I didn’t come back out?’ I ask, suddenly feeling like I’m getting mixed signals and that he might not want me over there after all.

  ‘Don’t be daft. I meant I thought I was going to have to bend your arm and convince you to take more time off somehow. I didn’t expect you to be saying this already,’ he laughs. ‘So, when were you thinking?’

  ‘Not sure. Like I said, I’ll talk to the others,’ I say, feeling disheartened about the idea now that his initial reaction was less than enthusiastic.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘But the last day of shooting hasn’t changed, has it?’

  ‘N
ope, still May 13th. Although I might have to stick around for a few days the following week – Rhonda wants me to meet a few people, but I’ll try and get that done straight away so I can come home on the Thursday or something.’

  ‘That’s really close to the wedding,’ I note.

  ‘I know, but what can I do? It’s not like I’m going to miss it. I said I’d be back at the end of that week and I will,’ he snaps, taking me by surprise. ‘I’m meeting important people, not going out and getting pissed in a bunch of clubs. Because I could be doing that, and I’m not.’

  ‘Right …’ I frown, taken aback by the sudden swing the conversation has taken when I thought I was calling him with good news.

  ‘Not that I want to be doing that,’ he says, sounding confused and displeased at his own argument. ‘I’m just saying, I’m working really hard. I’m not off on a jolly in La La Land.’

  ‘Of course. I know that,’ I say, wanting to immediately stop his spiky tone, seeing as talking on the phone two days in a row is such a rare treat.

  I don’t want him to stop calling altogether because he’s worried one of us will say the wrong thing and upset the other. But I can’t help feeling his priorities are changing. I know he’d say I’m wrong, but I can see his ambition and hunger growing more and more, making me wonder where he sees me fitting into the whole picture … Hollywood and acting are reclaiming his heart, but does that mean my hold on it is slipping? Because it definitely feels like it’s getting harder to hold on.

  ‘I’ve been thinking …’ Mum says, coming into my room an hour later and perching on the bed, just as she’s done since I was a little girl.

  ‘What about? Your wonderful dress?’ I tease.

  ‘Yes,’ she laughs, her hand covering her mouth as a giggle escapes.

  ‘I’m not surprised.’

  ‘It was me who said I didn’t want a big fancy wedding. That I only wanted us six to be a part of it … maybe I was wrong.’