‘Careful!’ he said. ‘Better go and take off your bridesmaid’s dress first. You don’t want tea stains all down it if you’re going to be wearing it to another wedding.’
‘So I can go to it!’ I gasped.
‘I said if, Tilly.’
I didn’t push him further. I knew he was going to give in. I changed into my pyjamas and hung my bridesmaid’s dress up carefully, fluffing out the skirts. I examined it all over for stains or little rips and was very relieved to find it was still pristine.
I drank my tea and ate my cake and then lolled around on the sofa with Dad watching television. His mobile pinged with a message. Dad won’t let me have my own mobile yet, which is incredibly mean and old-fashioned of him, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I have to wait until I’m ten.
Matty has her own mobile, needless to say.
‘Here. Message for you, Tilly,’ said Dad, handing me his phone.
Was ur dress success with wrinklies???
Zoo was Ace. Monkeys RUDE.
Their red bums!!! LOL. Matty.
She’d added three smiley faces for good measure.
I fidgeted, not sure how to reply. Maybe I didn’t even want to. I hated it when Matty called dear Mr and Mrs Flower and all their friends wrinklies. Well, Julie really was wrinkly – so much so that her thick powder got caked in her creases, but that wasn’t really her fault. Mrs Flower had a dear little face with hardly any wrinkles at all.
I was even more upset that she’d said the zoo was ace, using capitals for emphasis. I pictured her having a brilliant time with that awful Marty, both of them shrieking idiotically at the monkeys.
I’d always loved the monkeys best when Dad and I used to go on our Sunday trips to the zoo. I laughed at them when they scampered about or made faces or snatched food from each other – but I felt like crying when the mother monkeys cuddled their babies, running their fingers tenderly through their fur. There was nothing remotely funny about their neat little bottoms tucked under their tails.
Matty clearly meant the baboons, which actually did have pretty startling behinds. Fancy not knowing the difference.
Ur stupid. U mean baboons, not monkeys,
I started texting.
Dad was looking over my shoulder. ‘Hey, don’t send that,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t sound very friendly.’
‘Well, I’m not sure I want to be friendly. I’m a bit sick of her. I’m not sure I even want her for my best friend any more,’ I said. ‘She can be so stupid at times.’
‘Downright stupid,’ said Dad. He said it in a squeaky old-lady voice. He sounded just like Julie.
That shut me up. I deleted my message and got my drawing book and crayons. I wondered about doing a zoo picture, but I’d already done that. I drew Mr and Mrs Flower on their honeymoon instead. I didn’t know what the Isle of Wight looked like, but it seemed safe enough to draw them on a sandy beach. I gave Mrs Flower a pretty sundress with a floral print. Mr Flower wore a big bright shirt and shorts down to his knees. They were both in deckchairs eating ice creams.
The beach all around them looked a bit empty, so I drew Dad and me too, building a sandcastle together. I filled in the rest of the sand with palm trees, though I wondered if they were a little tropical for the Isle of Wight. I wanted the trees there so I could draw lots of different monkey families on their holidays. I drew a row of tiny deckchairs along the branches so the mum and dad monkeys could bask in the sunshine, while the baby monkeys slid down a slide into a paddling pool on the sand, and then scampered all the way to the top again to repeat the experience.
They looked so funny that I couldn’t help chuckling, even though I’d invented the joke myself. Dad peered over my shoulder and he laughed out loud, telling me I was a brilliant artist. He’d said that several times to me in the past, but then he’d always added, ‘You obviously take after Mum,’ which always upset us both. But this time he didn’t say it, just went on remarking on the monkey antics and shaking his head at my invention.
I think he was exaggerating simply to make me feel good – but it certainly worked. I returned Matty’s text just before I went to bed.
Dress mega success. Luv monkeys too.
Tilly x
Dad brought me breakfast in bed on Sunday morning (a bowl of apricot yoghurt with a real apricot cut up on top, and then toast and honey) and then we lazed around in our pyjamas in the living room. Dad browsed the Sunday papers on his iPad and I did another drawing. It had a monkey theme again, because I wanted Dad to like it.
I drew a monkey wedding, with a little monkey bride in a white dress, a matching white ribbon tied on the end of her tail, and a miniature bunch of bananas for a bouquet. The groom balanced a top hat on his head, and wore a tail coat and striped trousers, but I left his funny monkey feet bare. They had a bridesmaid, of course – in fact they had a whole troupe of bridesmaids processing two by two. The older taller ones were walking upright, holding out their silk skirts carefully, but the little ones at the back were gambolling about on all fours, their dresses tucked into their frilly knickers.
I called Dad to have a look, and he laughed and told me I was brilliant again. I coloured it all in, while Dad listened to that funny old Archers programme on the radio. Two of the Archer men were deep in discussion about a new type of combine harvester. I decided to start a third monkey picture, with a countryside setting this time, though I wasn’t at all sure how to draw a combine harvester or even a tractor, but Dad said I’d better go and have a bath and get dressed instead.
‘Can’t I stay in my PJs all day?’
‘Well, you can, but you’ll look a little odd going out to lunch in them,’ said Dad.
‘We’re going out to lunch? Yay! Can we go to Wagamama?’
‘No, we’re going to have a Sunday roast today – well, I think we are.’
‘In a pub? Can I have a fizzy lemonade again?’
‘We’ve been invited to lunch at someone’s home.’
‘Really?’ I was puzzled. We never went out to lunch with anyone. ‘Did Matty’s mum ask us?’
‘No, though she’s always said we’d be very welcome.’
‘So who is it? Dad, stop messing about and tell me!’
‘We’re going to lunch with your friend Simon,’ said Dad.
I stared at him, wrinkling my nose. My friend Simon? The only Simon I could think of was a horrible boy in my class who always picked his nose and made me feel sick.
‘Not Simon in Miss Hope’s class?’ I asked incredulously.
‘No, your Simon. The potential bridegroom,’ said Dad.
‘But we don’t know him. We haven’t phoned him yet, though I do hope you do soon.’
‘I phoned last night, after you were asleep.’
‘Oh, Dad, I wanted to listen too!’
‘Yes, well, I wanted to check everything out first.’
‘And did he sound nice?’
Dad smiled. ‘He sounds incredibly nice. We had a really long chat. And then Simon invited us for lunch. So chop chop, Tilly. You can have first bath.’
I skipped upstairs and rushed to get ready.
‘Should I wear my bridesmaid’s dress, Dad, so they can see what it looks like?’ I asked.
‘No, you need to keep it spotless. But we’ll take it with us in the car so they can have a look at it,’ Dad called from the bathroom.
‘Yes, but they’ll be taking a look at me too, and I don’t look anywhere near as pretty when I’m not in the dress,’ I said.
‘You’d look pretty in a plastic bag,’ said Dad.
‘But you would say that, wouldn’t you. You’re my dad.’
‘Well, dads are allowed to be prejudiced,’ said Dad. ‘But you look lovely, honestly.’
I wasn’t at all convinced. I looked very pale and ordinary when I wasn’t in raspberry silk. My hair wouldn’t fluff out properly and my T-shirt and jeans looked too ordinary. I put my best dress on instead, navy with bluebirds flying all over it. I hoped it looked O
K with my denim jacket. My socks were clean but they weren’t bright white any more. I worried that Simon and Matthew might think me a bit scruffy. I hoped they’d be so distracted by my sparkly trainers that they wouldn’t notice my socks.
Dad made an effort with his clothes too. He wore his jeans, but they were his best pair, and he put on a proper white shirt.
‘Should I wear a tie or not?’ he asked. ‘A tie looks smarter, but I don’t want to look as if I’m trying too hard.’
I gave Dad a sideways look. He never usually fussed about clothes.
‘Guys like Simon and Matthew are generally very well turned out,’ he said sheepishly.
Dad was generally right about things, but he was wrong about Simon and Matthew. They definitely weren’t very fashionable. Simon was quite plump, with very short hair because he was going quite bald at the front. He wore an old sweatshirt with a star and baggy jeans and old canvas shoes.
‘Hi – you must be Michael – and this is Tilly! Hey, Tilly! You look just the way I imagined. And is this the famous dress?’ Simon said, peering at the cellophane bag. ‘It’s a fantastic colour. And you’ll look fantastic in it.’
I liked him straight away. So did Dad. Simon led us into his sitting room. It had Sunday papers all over the big sofa and lots of books everywhere and, best of all, a big white Staffie with a sparkly pink collar lying on her own little sofa. She raised her head and barked at us, but in a very friendly manner.
‘How do you feel about dogs, Tilly? This is Lulu. She might look a little fierce but she’s an absolute softie.’
‘I think she’s lovely,’ I said enthusiastically. ‘Would she mind if I patted her?’
‘She’d like it very much,’ said Simon.
‘Careful though, Tilly,’ said Dad anxiously, clearly fussed about Lulu’s large jaw stuffed with big teeth.
‘I promise she loves children,’ said Simon. ‘I often take her to school.’
I stared at him. I had a comical vision of him in a sweatshirt with a badge and little shorts and rolled-down socks.
‘I’m a teacher,’ he said. ‘Well, I’m actually head of Larch Road Infants, but I still like to do as much teaching as I can.’
‘I loved it in the Infants,’ I said, stroking Lulu carefully. She seemed to enjoy it, because she gave a little sigh and lolled against me.
I remembered finger painting and the water trough and the playhouse where we played Mums and Dads. And I had a mum as well as a dad then, and she came to collect me every afternoon and I skipped home hanging on to her hand tightly, as if even then I was scared she’d run away from me.
There was a lovely smell of cooking wafting through the house and the sound of whistling.
‘Is your partner a teacher too?’ Dad asked.
‘No, he sells second-hand and antiquarian books, mostly on the internet now, but he still has a little shop in Market Lane,’ said Simon.
‘Castle Books!’ Dad and I cried in unison.
It was our absolute favourite shop! We’d stumbled across it by chance when Dad went to the market to buy fruit and vegetables. We’d wandered off down the alleyway hauling carrier bags of oranges and apples and potatoes, past poky little shops selling second-hand clothes, dish-mops and dusters, and old vinyl records, and right at the end was Castle Books. It was as small and shabby as the other shops, but the wall above the shop window was painted with castle turrets and pretend crumbling brickwork so that the shop looked like a real castle.
When we went inside, we saw the books had long since erupted from the shelves and had spread like lava over most of the floor. We had to step very carefully, but the larger piles of old art books made very useful seats if we wanted to browse. There was a special children’s section filled with old Ladybird books and tattered Enid Blytons and half a shelf of Noel Streatfeild paperbacks that I was steadily buying with my pocket money.
We’d got to know the bookshop owner, a smiley, scruffy man with curly hair and a curly beard, and generally a curly smile on his face. And now that exact same man came into the living room, a stripy apron over his T-shirt and jeans.
‘Hello, I’m Matthew Castle,’ he said politely – and then he did a double-take. ‘Hello! You’re you! Si, these are my special customers! What a coincidence.’ He grinned at me. ‘So you’re our little rent-a-bridesmaid!’ he said.
‘Yes, please,’ I said.
I rolled back the cellophane and showed them my bridesmaid’s dress. ‘Do you like it? I’ve got a matching petticoat and pink shoes. They actually rub my feet a bit but I could try wearing socks – I need some new ones anyway. And I could put a pink ribbon in my hair if you like. It might make me look a bit prettier,’ I gabbled.
‘You’ll look adorable!’ said Matthew.
‘You’ll be our finishing touch – beautiful proof that this is a special wedding, not a visit to an insurance office,’ said Simon.
‘If you wanted a bridesmaid, why didn’t you ask one of the children at your school?’ Dad asked.
‘I didn’t even think of it until I saw Tilly’s enchanting advert in the newsagent’s shop. But then how could I possibly choose between all my assorted Infants? If I singled out some similarly pretty little child, I’d be accused of gross favouritism and the other mothers would hate me. Ah, what about Tilly’s mother? I take it she’s in favour of Tilly being our bridesmaid?’ Simon asked. He saw Dad and me exchange glances. ‘Sorry. I think I’ve put my foot in it,’ he said quickly.
‘Are you a single parent, Mr Andrews?’ Matthew asked.
‘Call me Michael, please. Well, yes, I suppose I am now. I’m bringing up Tilly. I know it’s a bit unusual, but—’
‘Not unusual at all. I’ve got two single dads at my school, and they’re both doing a splendid job, like you, Michael,’ said Simon.
‘I don’t know about splendid,’ said Dad. ‘In fact I’ve been a bit rubbish at it one way and another.’
‘Tilly, do you like cooking?’ said Matthew.
I nodded. ‘I can cook heaps of things,’ I boasted.
‘Well, that’s great, because I could do with a bit of help in the kitchen. Come on, lovely.’
So we left Dad and Simon having a bit of a heart to heart while we went to cook. I peered at all the pots on top of the stove and got a bit worried.
‘I don’t think I can do that sort of cooking,’ I admitted. ‘I know how to boil eggs and I can do baked beans on toast, but I’ve never done a proper meal.’
‘That’s my job. You’re going to be the pudding girl,’ said Matthew. He took a large blue glass bowl out of the fridge. ‘Trifle! I’ve done the boring bit – the sponge and the jelly and the custard. I want help with the topping. Do you think you could whip up some cream for me and then do the decorating?’
I loved decorating the trifle. Matthew showed me how to whip the cream with a funny whisk, smoothing it all over the top of the custard, and then I set about making it pretty. Matthew gave me glacé cherries, almonds, little green sticks of angelica, small pink icing roses, tiny silver balls and rainbow hundreds and thousands.
‘Which should I use?’ I asked.
‘Whatever you like. All of them!’ said Matthew.
I edged the trifle with a circle of alternate cherries and almonds, and then I started filling in the rest. Matthew showed me how to put more cream in a little bag and then squeeze it out of the nozzle so that it made a little creamy whirl. I topped each with a pink rose, snipping tiny pieces of angelica to look like stalks. I circled the middle rosy whirl with little silver balls and then sprinkled the hundreds and thousands all around.
‘Oh my, it’s a work of art!’ said Matthew. ‘Pop it back in the fridge while I get the chicken out of the oven. Can you get the table properly laid, sweetheart? Cutlery in the top drawer, napkins in the drawer underneath – and let’s arrange those pretty flowers and put them on the table too.’
We’d bought them a slim bunch of carnations, very ordinary ones from a garage because we couldn’t find
a proper flower shop open. I looked for a vase, but Matthew brought out a set of eight little blue glasses.
‘Fill each one half full of water and then pop one carnation in each,’ he suggested.
It made the flowers look very special when I arranged them in a row along the wooden table.
‘There are two flowers left over,’ I said.
‘Well, we won’t waste them,’ said Matthew. He stuck a carnation each side of my hair, like slides. ‘Very pretty. I think you’d better reproduce the look on our wedding day.’
When we called Dad and Simon into the kitchen for lunch, Dad looked strange, and his eyes were a bit red, almost as if he’d been crying. I looked at him anxiously, hoping he’d be able to enjoy his lunch. It was a wonderful lunch too: the chicken with special bread sauce, crisp roast potatoes, cauliflower, runner beans and peas. Matthew carved and dished out the meat, and then pulled the wishbone with me. I ended up with the bigger end, so I got the wish.
I closed my eyes tight, wondering what to wish for. I could wish that everyone would admire my trifle. That Dad would stay happy. That Matty would be my best friend for ever. That I would look lovely for Simon and Matthew’s wedding. That the Flowers were blooming on their honeymoon. So many different wishes! But in the end I wished the same old wish, though I knew it would be wasted.
I wish Mum would come back!
Some of the other wishes came true anyway. Dad cheered up, especially after he’d had a glass of wine with his lunch. All three men clapped when I fetched the trifle from the fridge, and told me it was absolutely delicious when they ate it, as if I’d made it all by myself.
When Dad and I were back home, he seemed to go a bit quiet and sad again.
‘Are you all right, Dad?’ I asked, hovering beside him. ‘You do like Matthew and Simon, don’t you? You don’t mind if I’m their bridesmaid?’
‘I’m thrilled you’re going to be their bridesmaid. They’re lovely guys. I had a really good talk with Simon and he was so understanding.’
‘Did you talk about . . . Mum?’
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