Rent a Bridesmaid

by Jacqueline Wilson

  ‘Well, thanks, but . . . I’ve got someone round at my house just now, actually,’ said Matty.

  ‘It’s Marty, isn’t it?’ I said flatly.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Matty. ‘Look, tell you what, you come round too. Then you can meet Marty – I just know you’ll like her lots. Then we can all hang out together.’

  ‘Oh, I’ve just remembered, Dad and I have got to go shopping,’ I said. ‘Sorry. Bye.’

  I put the phone down and sat very still, staring at the carpet.

  ‘We’re going shopping, are we?’ said Dad quietly.

  I shrugged. ‘Not really. It was just an excuse. Matty’s got that Marty round at her house.’

  ‘You really might like her,’ said Dad, who had obviously been listening.

  ‘As if!’ I said.

  ‘OK. Well, we really might like a shopping trip. Come on, kiddo. Let’s go!’

  ‘Shopping like going to Sainsbury’s?’ I said.

  ‘As if!’ said Dad, imitating me. ‘Shopping like going to the Flowerfields Shopping Centre and finding you some new bits and bobs. Hairslides and felt pens and story books. And I’d better look for a new shirt and tie if I’m going to a really posh wedding. I spilled tiramisu all down my front at Simon and Matthew’s do. Now that was what I really call a good wedding!’

  ‘Because you hooked up with Miss Hope!’ I said daringly.

  ‘Tilly! I hate that expression! And it’s all nonsense anyway. Miss Hope is your teacher. Of course I’m going to be sociable with her. She’s a very nice lady, but that’s all. Now, don’t be silly.’ Dad was so brisk that I believed him.

  He was still a bit huffy with me when we set off for Flowerfields, but we both had a strawberry milkshake and a cheeseburger and fries, and cheered up.

  ‘Now let’s shop until we drop,’ said Dad.

  I chose two small rosebud hairslides from Claire’s, a new set of felt tips from Smiggle and a Puffin Classic called A Little Princess from Waterstones. Dad chose a pale blue shirt with a flowery tie from Pink.

  We watched the DVD of Inside Out in the afternoon and had baked potatoes for our tea.

  ‘It’s been a great day, Dad,’ I said when he came to kiss me goodnight.

  ‘I’m glad you enjoyed it, poppet,’ he said. ‘Don’t read too late, will you?’

  ‘Just ten minutes,’ I said, but A Little Princess proved surprisingly easy to read. It was so gripping I raced through chapter after chapter. I loved reading about Sara’s beautiful pink party dress – and was horrified when Miss Minchin said she had to change into an old black dress because she’d just got news that her father had died.

  I stopped reading then and tried to go to sleep. It was really late now but I couldn’t help worrying about my own dad. What would I do if he died suddenly? It was such a terrible thought that I had to put the light on to stop myself imagining all the different ways Dad might die.

  I was in such a state that I even imagined he might be dead already, felled by a sudden heart attack in his armchair downstairs. I sat up, listening hard. I couldn’t hear the buzz of the television. Perhaps Dad had got up to switch it off, tripped over something – oh no, had I left my pack of felt tips on the floor? – and was now sprawled lifeless on the carpet?

  I had to go and check. I got out of bed, my legs so trembly I nearly keeled over. I slipped quietly along the landing, hugging myself, so scared I didn’t even dare call out.

  Then I heard Dad’s voice and went limp with relief. He wasn’t talking to me. Was he talking to himself then? Then I heard him laugh softly. He was on the telephone!

  I crept down the stairs, listening.

  ‘That’s so sweet of you, Sarah,’ he said.

  Sarah?

  Who on earth was this Sarah? And then I remembered the posh ballpoint pen Miss Hope had lent me because I’d forgotten to bring any pens on my first day at this new school. The silver part had been engraved in tiny swirly writing.

  Sarah Mary Hope.

  Chapter Sixteen

  MANDY BYGRAVES WASN’T quite as nice as the Flowers or Simon and Matthew. She lived in such an immaculate house that Dad and I had to leave our shoes at the door when we went round to visit her.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind. It’s just that I have a thing about muddy carpets,’ she said, as if Dad and I had been wading through a boggy field instead of walking in sandals along a dry pavement.

  Mandy left her own pinky-beige high heels standing to attention at one side of the door. Her fiancé, Ian, had his own little mat for his brown brogues, though they were as highly polished as a conker. He padded around the house in gleaming white deck shoes, while Mandy wore amazing pink high-heeled mules with fluffy swansdown at the front. I might not have liked Mandy very much, but I loved her slippers. I wondered if she’d let me try them on. I kept gazing at them longingly but she didn’t take the hint. Perhaps she was scared I had verrucas.

  She led us into her living room. It was spectacularly clean and neat, with a cream sofa with two fat purple cushions, and a matching pair of cream chairs. There was a large porcelain leopard on either side of the electric fire, while china Siamese cats marched two by two along the mantelpiece. There were no real cats, large or small, probably because they’d scratch the furniture or shed hair on the sofas.

  Mandy seemed worried by my hair too, actually lifting it up and twirling locks around her fingers, frowning.

  ‘Your dad will have to drive you round to my place early so that your hair can be styled properly to match all the others,’ she said.

  She wasn’t too keen on my pink shoes either. I’d taken them to show her in their special shoe bag.

  ‘I’m ordering satin shoes for the other girls. I think we’d better order an extra pair for you, Tilly. These are rather cheap and cheerful, if you don’t mind my saying,’ she said, holding them at arm’s length.

  I did mind her saying.

  She didn’t even like my beautiful raspberry-pink silk bridesmaid’s dress very much, even though it was the whole reason she’d got in touch with me! She got it out of its special cellophane bag and examined it minutely.

  ‘Yes, it’s a lovely design, of course. Mrs Michaels is going to make five more, exactly this style and shade, and two for my matrons, slimmer fitting of course, and lower cut. But this dress isn’t quite up to scratch any more. Those decorative rosebuds have gone out of shape. They look more like little pink cabbages now. I think all the decorative twiddles need to be replaced. And have you had it dry-cleaned?’

  ‘Yes, and it cost a fortune too,’ said Dad.

  ‘Mmm, well, I don’t think you went to an expert in silk even so. It’s gone a bit limp, hasn’t it?’ said Mandy, rubbing a fold doubtfully.

  ‘I don’t think so. Tilly’s looked after it very carefully,’ said Dad. ‘Look, perhaps it might be more sensible for Tilly to bow out now. You’re having your dresses made for the other little girls. You don’t really need Tilly too. You don’t mind too much, do you, Tilly?’

  I shrugged awkwardly, not really sure. I badly wanted to be a bridesmaid again, especially at a big wedding, but I didn’t fancy Mandy forever picking holes in my appearance on the big day.

  ‘Oh, but I must have Tilly! I’ve only got five little girls for bridesmaids. I must have a sixth for symmetry. Besides, she’s the little celebrity rent-a-bridesmaid. She’s the talking point. Ian’s got a friend who works for one of the London television news programmes. He’s bigging it up to one of the producers and they’ve more or less promised to send a camera crew to do a little feature on the day. Just think, Tilly, you’ll be on television! At my wedding!’

  I blinked. Television!

  ‘I think Tilly can do without her fifteen minutes of fame,’ Dad started, but then he saw my face. ‘So you want to after all, Tilly?’

  I nodded emphatically.

  ‘All right then,’ he said.

  ‘I should think so,’ said Mandy, a little affronted. ‘But, as I say, we need to freshen up the original dre
ss a little, and check the colour hasn’t faded, plus add new rosebuds. Can you take her round to Mrs Michaels now with the dress?’

  ‘No!’ I said.

  They stared at me.

  ‘Tilly,’ said Dad.

  ‘I don’t want to,’ I said.

  They were both frowning now. They didn’t understand. I wasn’t meaning to be rude or awkward. I just couldn’t stand the thought of meeting Mrs Michaels. I especially couldn’t stand the thought of meeting Mrs Michaels’s daughter Marty.

  But I couldn’t get out of it. I begged Dad to take the dress to her house for me while I stayed in the car, but he said I was being silly.

  ‘Mrs Michaels will want to see the dress on you, Tilly, even I know that,’ he said.

  ‘I can’t bear the idea of going there. I don’t like her,’ I said.

  ‘You’ve never even met her. And I think you’ll probably like her very much if she makes such beautiful dresses,’ said Dad.

  ‘Well, she might be all right, but I absolutely definitely know I totally dislike her daughter,’ I said.

  ‘Isn’t she the one Matty sometimes plays with?’ said Dad. ‘She must like her.’

  I rolled my eyes, unable to believe he could be so tactless.

  ‘Tilly! I hate it when you pull that face. You’re getting a bit above yourself, young lady. Now, we’ll go round to this Mrs Michaels’s house straight away – you can give her a twirl in your dress, she can prink about with the frills and sew on a few rosebuds or whatever, and then we can go home. Then after Mandy-fussy-knickers-Bygraves’s wedding I think we’ll definitely call it a day on being a bridesmaid,’ Dad said sternly.

  He drove us round to the house in Lingfield Avenue. I expected it to be bizarrely horrible, picturing it like a yellow bouncy castle with a red-nosed clown girl hanging out of the window blowing raspberries at passers-by. It was a surprise to see it was a perfectly ordinary semi-detached house with a pretty garden, all lavender and roses.

  ‘Please you go by yourself, Dad,’ I tried again, handing him my bridesmaid’s dress.

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Tilly, stop this nonsense,’ said Dad.

  I had to get out of the car, open the green gate and go up the crazy paving to the front door. Dad knocked while I hung back. I heard someone calling inside and then the door opened.

  The girl standing in the hallway was one of the prettiest girls I’d ever seen. She had long straight shiny brown hair, so soft and silky it fell smoothly past her shoulders without a single tangle or unruly wisp. She had big blue eyes in a lovely pink-and-white face. She was wearing a pink T-shirt with bluebirds flying across it, immaculate blue jeans and pink sequin trainers. She didn’t look like a real girl at all. She seemed perfect in every way, like a big beautiful doll on a glass counter in a toy department.

  ‘Hello,’ she said politely.

  ‘Hello,’ said Dad. ‘We’ve come to see your mother about a bridesmaid’s dress. I’m Mr Andrews and this is my daughter—’

  ‘Tilly!’ she said, smiling. ‘Matty told us all about you.’

  ‘You’re Marty?’ I gasped, utterly astonished.

  She looked appalled. ‘I’m not Marty!’ she said. ‘I’m Melissa, her big sister. I’m not a bit like Marty!’

  ‘Thank goodness!’ said a voice behind her. Another girl pushed forward. ‘Hi, Tilly. I’m Marty.’

  She was sooooo different from her sister. Marty’s hair was a great fuzzy cloud of curls. She had blue eyes, but hers were crinkled and mischievous. She had pink-and-white skin, but her nose was all over freckles and she had a smudge on one cheek and blue marks round her mouth where she’d obviously been sucking a biro. She was much shorter than Melissa, and she wore a red sweatshirt with POW! and spaghetti bolognese stains on her chest, crumpled jeans with a rip at the knee, and white Converse boots with Supermart inked all over them. She looked like a doll too – but one of Matty’s Warrior Princesses, all torn and tangled and triumphant.

  ‘Come in!’ she said, taking my hand and pulling me inside, as if we’d known each other for years. ‘You’ve got Matty’s yucky pink bridesmaid’s dress, haven’t you – the one with all the flounces. Still, it looks much better on you than it does on her. She looked totally hilarious. Mind you, all my mum’s dresses are total frilly disasters.’

  ‘That’s enough, Marty!’ A lady who was clearly Marty’s mum seized hold of her and jokingly put her hand over her mouth. ‘Excuse my younger daughter! Do come into my workroom, both of you. Melissa, can you pop the kettle on? And, Marty, make yourself scarce upstairs, young lady.’

  ‘Oh, Mum! Can’t I stay and talk to Tilly? I want to get to know her. She’s Matty’s best friend,’ said Marty.

  ‘Well, let me see Tilly in her dress and work out how to make it look like new – and then you can go and play together for a bit, so long as her dad doesn’t mind,’ said Mrs Michaels. She smiled at Dad, who was looking bemused. ‘My husband’s in the living room, watching the big match on the telly. Perhaps you’d like to join him, while Tilly and I get on with the girly stuff?’

  Dad’s not really into football but he looked relieved all the same. Melissa brought him a cup of tea and me an orange juice.

  ‘I really should be offering you both champagne,’ said Mrs Michaels. ‘I was so delighted to see that little piece in the Argus. And it’s had such brilliant repercussions! I’ve had three different bridesmaid orders already, not to mention multiple dresses for Mandy Bygraves! Thank you so much, Tilly, for being such a brilliant advert. Any time you’d like a new party frock you just have to say the word and I’ll make you one for nothing. Now, dear, you pop behind the screen and put your dress on, and let me have a good look.’

  Dad escaped to the living room while I put my dress on very carefully. I took my shoes off before stepping into it, just in case I got it dirty.

  ‘What a careful, sensible girl you are,’ said Mrs Michaels approvingly, seeing my stockinged feet. She turned me round, squinting at me. ‘I don’t know what Mandy was moaning about. Your dress still looks perfect to me. You’ve taken great care of it. And I wouldn’t imagine young Matty handed it over in pristine condition. She’s a messy little monkey, almost as bad as my Marty.’

  ‘It was ever so kind of her to give it to me. It’s the most beautiful dress in the world,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, it did turn out rather well, even if I say so myself,’ said Mrs Michaels, fluffing out the frills. ‘And it’s such a lovely shade of pink too. It really suits you. You’ve got exactly the right colouring. And you’re the right size too. It’s going to be a bit of a nightmare sorting out those Bygraves nieces. I think their mothers must give them ten meals a day – and another ten all through the night. It’s going to be hard work getting those girls to look a picture, but I’ll do my best.’

  ‘Mandy Bygraves wants me to have new rosebuds,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, I suppose yours have got a bit squashed. I’ve been fashioning a whole flower bed of them for all the finished frocks. Whip your dress off and I’ll sew some fresh ones on for you. It’ll only take twenty minutes. You pop upstairs and play with our Marty. Off you go,’ said Mrs Michaels.

  When I’d changed back into my ordinary school uniform, I went hesitantly up the stairs. Marty wasn’t at all how I expected. I didn’t detest her. I actually quite liked her. Astonishingly she seemed to like me too. And she knew Matty and I were best friends. Maybe she wasn’t trying to take her away from me after all. But even so, I still felt shy. Maybe she’d change the moment we were together in her bedroom? Sometimes girls were all nicey-nicey in front of other people, but then they turned on you in private.

  I got to the top of the stairs and hovered on the landing. Maybe I’d just stay there, very still and quiet, until Mrs Michaels called to say my dress was ready. But then Marty herself peered out of her bedroom and did a delighted double take when she saw me lurking.

  ‘Hi, Tilly! I was just going to see if you’d stopped all the boring dressy stuff so you could come and
play – and here you are! In you come!’ She seized hold of me and pulled me into her bedroom.

  It was immediately clear that it wasn’t just Marty’s bedroom, that she shared it with Melissa, like Matty had said. One half of the room was excessively neat and beautiful, with a glass-topped dressing table and a bright pink stool and a black furry rug. A ballet dancer ornament twirled on the shiny surface, together with a white plaster arm with rings on every long white finger and bangles adorning the wrist. There were posters of pop stars and YouTubers and fashion models pinned on a cork board with geometric neatness.

  Bunk beds took up the whole of one wall. The bottom bunk had a carefully arranged duvet, with a fluffy white cat nightdress case. The top bunk was a terrible mess, with weird soft toys climbing all over it, and a big snake made of old tights swinging headfirst from the bedpost.

  It didn’t take even a split second to work out which sister had which bunk. Marty’s side of the room was in chaos, with old clothes and trainers and art things and Lego and half a Coco Pops packet spilled all over the carpet. I had to pick my way through the rubble, pausing to admire her posters. They were all inventive comic strips, with a girl with exploding curls flying through the air, Supermart! emblazoned on her scarlet catsuit.

  ‘Wow!’ I said. ‘She’s you! Who did them for you, Marty?’

  ‘No one. I did them,’ Marty said proudly.

  ‘They’re brilliant. I absolutely love this one of Supermart on the moon! And here she is as a cowboy – oh, and I love the circus one too. You’re so clever,’ I said.

  ‘Do you really think so?’ Marty asked. ‘All my family think they’re totally weird. Especially Melissa. Though that’s maybe because I gave Supermart a bossy big sister called Mighty Fart.’ She burst out laughing and I did too.

  ‘I bet Matty loves them,’ I said.

  ‘Yeah, she does. But she told me you can draw heaps better. She says you’re absolutely ace at drawing, especially monsters. Hey, will you draw some for me?’ She scrabbled on the floor for her large drawing pad and found several loose crayons under the bed.