Rent a Bridesmaid

by Jacqueline Wilson

  ‘So this isn’t your first bridesmaid rental?’ asked Jasmine.

  ‘No, it’s my third. I was Mr and Mrs Flower’s bridesmaid – they’re this lovely elderly couple and they’re almost like a gran and grandad to me now. And then there’s Simon and Matthew – I was their bridesmaid as well, and they’re lovely too, just like uncles, and they both danced with me at their reception,’ I said.

  ‘And now you’re a bridesmaid at Mandy and Ian’s wedding and I expect that will be lovely too,’ said Jasmine.

  ‘Well, I hope so, because it’s ever such a big posh wedding,’ I said.

  For some reason that made Jasmine and all the people listening laugh.

  ‘Well, we’d better let you line up with the other bridesmaids now, because I think the bride’s limo has just arrived,’ said Jasmine.

  Mandy was struggling out of the car, fussing about her beautiful white dress, moaning at her two pink matrons of honour because they weren’t helping her properly. Then she suddenly spotted the camera. Her tight mouth stretched into a serene smile, she stepped forward, smoothing her lace, and fluttered her fingers at her assembled bridesmaids, not even frowning when Lovejoy lumbered forward to greet her and trod on her hem.

  The crowd gave a little cheer – but when I darted over to stand beside Lovejoy they gave me an even bigger cheer! I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t help turning round, wondering if they were cheering someone else entirely, and they laughed. Lots of them waved and the cameraman hurried forward to get a clear picture of me. It was almost as if it were my wedding.

  It was much more solemn inside the church. The organ music made the back of my neck prickle. We stepped slowly and gracefully up the aisle behind Mandy and her father, even Lovejoy keeping in step, and then sat quietly without fidgeting while the vicar conducted the wedding service.

  It was the first time I’d heard all the proper old-fashioned church words and I thought they sounded beautiful. Mandy and Ian stood together, looking at each other as they recited their vows. Mandy suddenly looked much younger and softer and Ian had tears in his eyes. He was trembling so much he found it hard to put the gold wedding ring on Mandy’s finger.

  I imagined Dad putting a ring on Mum’s finger to keep her safely married to him until death did them part. I gave a big sniff, because no one can look a beautiful bridesmaid with a runny nose.

  Ian kissed Mandy and there was a little sigh all over the church, and I peered around looking for Dad, wondering if he were daydreaming about Mum too. He did look a bit sad, but when he saw me staring he blew me a kiss and gave me a thumbs-up sign.

  The wedding was over so quickly. Mandy and Ian processed back down the church, the matrons of honour behind them, and then us six bridesmaids. Everyone smiled at us, and Lovejoy pranced about a bit for their benefit, even dropping a curtsy every now and then. I gave up trying to control her and walked on solemnly, clutching my little rosebud posy.

  Then we were outside again, with the crowd throwing confetti and rose petals. The television crew was still there, and Jasmine talked to Mandy and Ian. Mandy kept tossing her head and smiling in a showy fashion, not knowing that a piece of bright pink confetti had landed on the tip of her nose looking like a very big spot. Ian looked at her fondly and blew gently so the confetti drifted away.

  I suddenly felt all tearful again and had to swallow hard to stop myself crying, which was just as well, because Jasmine turned to me.

  ‘Let’s have your professional opinion on the wedding, Tilly. Was it a lovely wedding?’ she said.

  ‘Oh yes, it was beautiful,’ I said.

  ‘I expect it will be hard to beat,’ said Jasmine. ‘So have you got another wedding lined up?’

  ‘Not yet,’ I said. ‘But I’m hoping.’

  ‘You sound as if you’ve got someone in mind,’ said Jasmine, laughing.

  ‘Oh, I have,’ I said, carried away. ‘I wish I could be the bridesmaid at my dad’s wedding.’

  The people around me all went ‘Aaah!’ Jasmine looked momentarily at a loss for words, and then she patted me on my silk shoulder.

  ‘That’s so sweet,’ she said.

  Then she looked away from me, and said straight to camera, ‘Well, this is a happy day for everyone here, especially our little rent-a-bridesmaid Tilly. This is Jasmine Symes for London Local.’

  Then she smiled and said goodbye to me and went to sit in the van while the camera guys started packing up their equipment.

  ‘Hey, you were so cool, Tilly!’ said Marty, sounding really impressed.

  ‘You were a beautiful advert for my dresses,’ said Marty’s mum.

  ‘You look lovely, though I like the way I did your hair more than all those curly-whirlies,’ said Melissa.

  Dad patted me on the back and said, ‘Well done, Tilly,’ but he didn’t say any more. He didn’t comment on my wish. He didn’t say very much all the long afternoon at the wedding reception. I couldn’t sit with him while we were having the meal. I had to sit with Lovejoy and all the other bridesmaids at a special table just for us.

  We had smoked salmon with fiddly bits of greenery, then chicken in a white sauce with sauté potatoes and asparagus, and then Mandy’s favourite pudding, banoffee pie. It’s my favourite too, so it was a lovely meal, but it was a bit boring sitting with the other bridesmaids because they all knew each other and chatted together and I got a bit left out.

  I talked to Lovejoy some of the time, but then she gestured wildly with her fork while she was eating and spilled chicken and white sauce all down the front of her dress. She didn’t seem that worried but I couldn’t bear to look at her bodice after that because it was clear her dress was ruined.

  There were a lot of very long speeches. Lovejoy yawned loudly through most of them. We all perked up a little when the best man toasted us bridesmaids and said we looked like little pink roses. Then he gave us each a present. It was a silver bangle with roses engraved around it. So now I had a silver necklace with a flower pendant, a silver bracelet with a heart, and this new silver bangle. I was going to have to find an old chocolate box in which to keep all my special bridesmaid jewellery.

  Then when the meal was all over the best man danced with each of us bridesmaids in turn. He didn’t do proper dancing, he just messed about whirling us round and round, but it was quite good fun. Then Dad came to dance with me. He said he hoped I was having a good time. I said I was, and that I hoped he was too. He smiled at that but he still looked very serious.

  I was sure I knew why. He was daydreaming about Mum too, wishing and wishing that she would come back and we could have our own wedding. We were both getting very tired by this time.

  ‘I think I might whisk you home to bed,’ said Dad. ‘Or do you really want to stay on at the wedding to the bitter end?’

  I protested a little, but I really didn’t mind leaving early. It was a very grand reception in a huge marquee lit by fairy lights with a proper band instead of a disco, but somehow it was nowhere near as much fun as the other two receptions. We had to go and say goodbye to Mandy and Ian and thank them for having us.

  ‘Well, thank you for coming,’ said Mandy. ‘You were quite the little star of the show, Tilly. You absolutely hogged all the television coverage.’

  I’d thought she’d be pleased but she was clearly irritated. Still, Ian thanked me properly and insisted on giving me a special envelope with Tilly’s Fee written on the front in fancy italic handwriting. It seemed rude to open the envelope in front of him, but when I peeped in the car, I saw it was a fifty-pound note!

  ‘Look, Dad! I’ve never had so much money in my life! Should I give it back? It’s too much, isn’t it?’ I said.

  ‘It’s much too much. But I suppose you can keep it. Mandy and Ian seem to have lots of money. And they did have their wedding televised because of you,’ said Dad. ‘Though poor Mandy obviously felt they didn’t pay enough attention to her.’

  ‘It was nearly all about me, wasn’t it?’ I said. ‘Imagine, everyone watc
hing me on television!’

  ‘I wouldn’t get too excited. I don’t think they always show all the news items they film,’ said Dad. ‘But we’ll see when we get home. We’ll watch it on iPlayer.’

  They did use it, though I started to fear that Dad was right, because my wedding item was right at the end of the news, just before the weather forecast. They showed my entire interview, and at the end, after I’d said the bit about wanting to be a bridesmaid for my dad, the presenter in the studio put her head on one side and said, ‘Sweet!’

  ‘Oh, Dad! Was I really sweet?’ I asked.

  I looked round at Dad. I hoped he’d be smiling but he looked even more serious.

  ‘Oh, Tilly,’ he said.

  ‘I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to make you sad, Dad. But maybe Mum will be watching and she’ll come back and it will really happen,’ I said.

  ‘Tilly!’ Dad took me by the shoulders and looked straight into my eyes. ‘Please don’t, sweetheart.’

  ‘It could happen,’ I insisted.

  ‘No. Not now. Mum’s obviously made a new life for herself. And we’ve made a new life for ourselves too. I thought you were starting to be happy again.’

  ‘I am happy, Dad. But think how even happier we’d be if Mum came back,’ I said.

  ‘It’s not going to happen,’ Dad said firmly. ‘Get it into your head, Tilly, once and for all.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  IT’S NOT GOING TO HAPPEN. IT’S NOT GOING TO HAPPEN. IT’S NOT GOING TO HAPPEN.

  I tried and tried to get it into my head. I imagined inside my skull, where all the weird grey coils of my brain were stuffed in tight. I thought the words IT’S NOT GOING TO HAPPEN – imagined them written in red felt tip round and round every bit of my brain. I could see the scarlet. I blinked my eyes quickly to make it seem as if the words were flashing on and off inside my head. I tried sooooo hard, but it didn’t work.

  Inside all the brain coils there was a tiny screen for ever switched on, showing the same film over and over. I watched it on and off throughout the night, whenever I was awake. Which was a lot.

  It was still playing the moment I got up. When I looked in the mirror to brush my hair, I couldn’t even see myself properly. I just watched the screen inside my head.

  It was Mum and Dad and me. Mum was wearing a long white dress, but not a great long flouncy affair like Mandy’s. Mum’s was a soft, flowing, silky princess dress, maybe with embroidery on the bodice and all round the hem. Flowers? I peered harder at the screen. No, they weren’t flowers; they were little birds. Bluebirds, for luck. They circled Mum, flapping their tiny wings, making her feel so lucky and safe and happy that she’d never ever need to run away again.

  Dad was wearing a blue shirt to match, and his best grey suit, and a new blue and silver tie that I’d bought him specially because I loved him so much, and he’d never ever run away.

  I was wearing a beautiful bridesmaid’s dress, but it wasn’t raspberry pink! I needed a brand-new bridesmaid’s dress for my mum and dad’s wedding. The raspberry-pink dress had been worn three times already. No, four, because Matty wore it first of all.

  Mrs Michaels had made me a new bridesmaid’s dress for nothing, because I’d brought her in so much new business. It was sky blue, the purest bluest blue, made of the softest silk, with such a full skirt that I needed three frilly petticoats to flounce it out properly. When I twirled round fast, the skirt and petticoats whirled right up to my waist, but it didn’t matter because I had specially made sky-blue knickers to match. I wore blue shoes too, suede ones just like that funny old song Dad sometimes sang when he was happy.

  I wore my silver flower necklace and my silver bracelet and my silver bangle, and Mr and Mrs Flower and Simon and Matthew and Mandy and Ian all nodded and smiled. Mrs Flower had made Mum’s wedding cake, three layers of sponge with thick cream, and white icing on top, and silver bells for decoration. Matthew gave us a set of books to take on our honeymoon. He’d let us take our pick from his shop. Mum chose a big art book, Dad had an adventure book and I picked out an old volume of fairy stories and they all ended happily ever after.

  Mandy didn’t give us anything, perhaps because she was still a bit mad at me for being on television for three minutes when she was only on for twenty seconds. I timed us both.

  Mrs Michaels and Melissa and Marty were there, waving. Marty and Matty were chatting away together, but I didn’t mind, because I knew Matty was my best friend for ever, with Lewis second. And I liked Marty so much now that I decided she could be my third best friend. Cathy and Amanda were bumped right down to joint fourth. They were there – my entire class was there. Miss Hope was there too, and that was the only worrying part, because I wanted her to have a happy ending too. She was smiling and waving at us, but I could see she was really sad.

  I wished for a moment that Dad came from one of those cultures where a man can have two wives. He could have Mum as his best wife for ever and Miss Hope as his second-best wife. Then I could have two mums, and that would be magic, because at least one would be there all the time.

  I wanted to draw the wedding. My hand itched to start the moment I’d had breakfast, but Dad was hovering, keeping an eye on me. I knew it would upset him if I drew my fantasy Mum-and-Dad wedding. I wondered about drawing a bride and groom and bridesmaid with no features, pretending it was just an imaginary wedding, but Dad wasn’t daft.

  I could draw Mandy and Ian’s wedding, but surprisingly it hadn’t been as much fun as I’d hoped, even with the television people. It just seemed too much of a bother to try to reproduce everything, and if I did all six bridesmaids and the two matrons of honour, I’d use up all the ink in my pink felt tip.

  So I didn’t draw at all. I just fiddled around with the felt tips in their big tin, arranging them in different colour combinations and then running my finger up and down them, playing them like a musical instrument.

  Dad put down his Sunday newspaper. He hadn’t really been concentrating on it anyway.

  ‘Let’s do something together,’ he said. ‘We could . . . go to the zoo?’

  ‘I don’t think I like zoos any more,’ I said.

  ‘OK. Then how about a walk in the park?’

  I shrugged.

  ‘Tell you what, I’ll take you swimming!’

  ‘But you don’t really like swimming, Dad. Not like Mum,’ I said. I wished I hadn’t said it the moment the words were out of my mouth.

  ‘We could ring up Matty and her family and see if they want to go,’ said Dad.

  ‘They don’t go swimming on Sundays. They have a big family roast lunch – chicken or roast beef with Yorkshire pudding, and a real homemade pudding too, sometimes at their house, sometimes at their granny’s,’ I said.

  ‘Well, tell you what, why don’t we whizz out to Sainsbury’s and get all the stuff for a little family roast lunch. We can choose whatever we want,’ said Dad.

  ‘But we always have pizza on Sundays,’ I said.

  ‘So we’ll have a change and go for a roast.’

  ‘But we don’t know how to cook it.’

  ‘We’ll work it out. I can look up recipes on the internet. We’ll have a real cooking session. Let’s give it a go, Tilly,’ said Dad.

  He looked so eager that I said yes, even though I didn’t really fancy shopping or cooking, not just the two of us. I so badly wanted it to be the three of us. I seemed to have forgotten how to be happy all over again.

  We went round Sainsbury’s together. It took ages, because Dad kept asking me what I wanted and I couldn’t really decide. It was especially hard deciding on which roast, because they all looked so horrid. The chickens were all white and pimply and the beef was much too red and raw.

  ‘All food looks weird raw,’ said Dad. ‘Come on, decision time, Miss Tilly Andrews.’

  ‘Well, I think I like chicken best, but I also love Yorkshire pudding, so maybe the beef,’ I said, dithering.

  ‘We’ll have chicken and we’ll make Yorkshire puddi
ngs,’ said Dad.

  ‘Are they supposed to go together?’ I asked doubtfully.

  ‘Who cares? If we want them together, then that’s fine. Now, veg. And some potatoes so we can roast them. You put your thinking cap on and decide what pudding you’d like.’

  ‘Well, my favourite’s banoffee pie.’

  ‘Then that’s what we’ll go for. I’ll look up the recipe on my phone to see what ingredients we need,’ said Dad. ‘Bananas, obviously, but I’m not sure about the other stuff.’

  ‘We’ve only just had that at Mandy’s wedding,’ I pointed out.

  ‘So we’ll have it again. There are no rules that say we can’t have banoffee pie every single day for the rest of our lives.’

  ‘Promise?’ I said, though I knew Dad was only joking.

  He was trying so hard to make everything fun, though perhaps deep inside he felt as flat as I did. But I cheered up a little and tried hard too – and when we got home and started unpacking everything and assembling recipes and putting on tea towels as aprons, it really did start to be fun.

  I left the chicken to Dad, especially when it came to pulling out its innards and stuffing it. He prepared the vegetables too, because we didn’t have a proper peeler and he wouldn’t let me use the sharp knife. But I did the pudding all by myself.

  It was easy peasy. I crushed up a lot of biscuits and put them in a tin. I sliced bananas, and poured a tin of special caramel over them. I whipped all the cream and spread that on, and then I crumbled a chocolate flake into little bits and sprinkled that on top. My arm ached from all the crushing and whipping, but it was totally worth it.

  ‘Pop your banoffee pie in the fridge to chill it, and then you can get started on the Yorkshires,’ said Dad.

  They were quite easy too, though my arm ached all over again beating the eggs and flour and milk together. There was a lot of washing-up to do afterwards. When you have a takeaway pizza, there isn’t any washing-up at all. But we turned the washing-up into a game, singing the names of all the plates and pots and pans in great trills, as if we were opera stars.