STOCKINGS AND CELLULITE

by Debbie Viggiano

  On the morning of Morag’s and Matt’s wedding, a combination of jet lag and time disorientation almost made me forget what day it was.

  ‘Happy Birthday darling,’ Jamie kissed me, ‘the big Four Oh!’

  ‘And on this landmark occasion I am about to fulfil a lifelong ambition – a bridesmaid no less. Well, Matron of Honour actually. Talking of which, what time do we need to be ready?’

  ‘One hour.’

  ‘One hour?’ I shrieked.

  ‘Just kidding. Two hours.’

  ‘Two hours?’ I shrieked again flinging back the bed covers and scampering off to the shower.

  ‘Move over, I’m coming in too.’

  As we blasted ourselves with the power shower’s numerous jets, I mentally took a step back. Back to this same day, but exactly one year ago.

  On that particular day, just like now, I had showered and taken care with my hair and make up to celebrate both my birthday and New Year’s Eve. But the man by my side had been a very different one. A very adulterous one. And exactly one year ago today my world – as I had then known it – had crashed devastatingly around my ears. At the time, I’d thought I’d never recover.

  Jamie stepped out of the shower, towel slung around his midriff. He caught my eye.

  ‘That’s a rather serious face. Penny for your thoughts?’

  I wrapped my own towel around me before kissing him tenderly.

  ‘I was just thinking what a lucky lady I am to have you in my life. You’re just – well – perfect I suppose!’ I gave a shaky laugh which caught in my throat. Tears suddenly spurted from my eyes like the power shower’s water jets.

  ‘Hey, there’s no need to cry,’ Jamie gently kissed me back. ‘I can’t help it if I’m perfect, can I?’

  I grinned through the tears. ‘Silly. I love you.’

  ‘That’s good, because I love you too. More than words can ever say, do you know that? Cassie, look at me.’ He put a finger under my chin, tilted it up so he was looking directly into my eyes. ‘Cooking aside, you’re pretty much perfect too you know.’

  A little later, as Jamie sauntered from the dressing room, I felt the air whoosh out of my lungs.

  ‘You look amazing,’ I stared at my handsome Brad Pitt look-alike, every inch as good as a Hollywood Superstar.

  ‘My God,’ Jamie gazed back at me. ‘You look absolutely stunning.’

  The all-in-one body hadn’t let me down and was perfect under the Grecian column dress which softly clung to every voluptuous curve. My hair was swept up in a simple twist and threaded with fresh flowers. For once my skin was glowing, either from the Bahamian sun or the outrageously expensive new make up I had splurged on. As I stood in that room with a man who was the stuff of fairytales, I felt gloriously happy.

  Wedding parties took place almost every hour on the hour at the hotel. The sight of wedding guests milling around or bustling off to a particular venue was not an uncommon sight. As Jamie and I came out of the elevator and crossed the vast reception area, our attire therefore caused no stirring reaction from other guests save for the occasional smile or nod of good wishes.

  We walked across a sun terrace just as Matt and Morag emerged from a palm fringed pathway, both looking resplendent in their wedding finery.

  ‘Howdy-doody folks,’ Matt grinned and gave us a hug. ‘Are we all ready? Anybody want a swift glug to steady last minute nerves?’ he extracted a slim flask from his inside pocket with an exaggerated jittery hand.

  ‘Quit fooling you daft bugger,’ grinned Morag.

  ‘Lead the way Ms McDermott,’ said Matt impersonating a condemned man, ‘before I change my mind.’

  ‘Before you change your mind?’ snorted Morag. ‘If anybody should be anxious it should be me! Do you realise I am about to become the fourth Mrs Harding?’

  ‘And the final,’ Matt assured patting Morag’s bottom. ‘You’re the real thing and I’m never going to let you go. Not even when you’re nagging me,’ he grinned.

  ‘No more fishwife,’ said Morag firmly, ‘just wife.’

  ‘Come on then. Let’s go and get married.’

  We strolled off toward the appointed wedding venue, a grand decking area with soaring arbours smothered in rippling ribbons. The scent of floral arrangements floated on the air with the ocean providing a breath-taking backdrop.

  As the dashing Bahamian minister greeted us, I couldn’t help thinking how much fun the children would have had if they’d been here with us. I felt a lump rise in my throat. Oh no Cass. Don’t cry. Not now. I blinked and gulped, hastily swallowed. This was Matt’s and Morag’s big day. All the same, it would have been lovely to have the kids here with us too. Look at that little girl over there – she was probably no more than Livvy’s age and clearly having the time of her life, grinning away.

  I gazed at her through my watering eyes. How weird. She looked remarkably like Livvy. I stared hard. Harder. My God. It was Livvy! And there was Toby. And Petra and Jonas. And – oh my goodness – there was Edna. Good grief, what were Nell and Ben doing here? And there was Dylan, but thankfully no sign of Rocket. No! Not Charlotte and Stevie too! I turned to look incredulously at Jamie, but he’d dropped down on one knee. There was a sudden hush.

  ‘Darling Cassie. When we first talked about getting married, I promised that when the time was right I would give you a proper old fashioned proposal, but it ended up being in the kitchen surrounded by dirty pots and pans. So here I am down on one knee again, but this time surrounded by our children, family and friends. Will you marry me?’

  I gasped and began to laugh and cry all at the same time. Whoever invented waterproof mascara, at that moment I silently thanked them from the bottom of my heart. Speechless, I could only nod my head as I waited for my voice to return.

  ‘Yes,’ I whispered. ‘YES!’

  Everybody cheered and clapped and suddenly we were all rushing towards each other, hugging, clasping hands, laughing, the men awkwardly clapping each other on backs, the way men do. The minister gave us all a minute or two before discreetly clearing his throat.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, let us begin.’

  ‘Oh, but we don’t have our wedding rings,’ I interrupted.

  ‘Yes we do,’ smiled Jamie fishing in the silk lining of his suit.

  And so it was that two radiant brides and two handsome grooms stood side by side to solemnly repeat their respective marriage vows in a carefully orchestrated double wedding.

  Afterwards we converged as one, congratulations ringing in the air as a photographer snapped away, eventually taking us to one side for some spectacular shots against the shoreline. All that remained was to celebrate with our nearest and dearest at the wedding feast before dancing the night away and enjoying fireworks to welcome the New Year.

  Much later, I slipped away to the Rest Room, desperate to take the shine off my nose and re-apply fresh lipstick. Morag was hot on my heels and crashed through the door looking incredibly elated.

  ‘Congratulations on keeping a monumental secret,’ I beamed at her glowing reflection in the ornate mirror.

  ‘Can you keep a secret yourself?’ she whispered furtively, ‘just until I can buttonhole Matt?’

  ‘Spill the beans.’

  ‘I’m pregnant!’

  ‘No! Are you sure? Have you done a test?’

  ‘Of course I’ve done a test,’ Morag tipped her bridal bag open conjuring before my very eyes a test kit confirming a positive result. ‘God knows how many of these sticks I’ve widdled on over the last few months. Ovulation tests. Pregnancy tests. Thank goodness for my pharmacist friend.’

  ‘Ah yes, I remember you saying,’ I nodded. ‘Perhaps I should buy one of those menopause tests. I don’t know why I didn’t think of doing that before actually.’

  ‘Well I expect your gynaecologist will do that along with a pregnancy test, just to rule out any possibility-’

  Our eyes collided as the obvious dawned on us both at the same time.

  ‘Um, I don’
t suppose you have a spare test on you by any chance?’ I quavered.

  ‘What a ridiculous question,’ Morag huffed. ‘You shouldn’t even need to ask!’ She instantly produced a fresh kit. ‘Go on. In you go,’ she shoved me into a cubicle, squashing herself in behind me.

  ‘Morag!’ I hissed. ‘What on earth are you doing? If somebody came in right now-’

  Too late, footsteps were approaching. The Rest Room’s door swung open just as Morag pushed me backward, slamming the cubicle door shut. Oh terrific. I eyeballed her furiously and snatched the tester stick from her proffered hand. Morag jerked her head towards the loo. I frowned and shook my head in the negative, then likewise jerked my head indicating she turn around. She rolled her eyes but obliged. The minute her back was turned I hitched up my gown. Elsewhere a toilet energetically flushed.

  ‘All done?’ she whispered over her shoulder.

  Moments later a hand dryer whooshed into life and then the door banged back on its hinges. We were alone again.

  ‘Just give me a sec,’ I murmured.

  I stared at the twin windows, watching, waiting. Inexplicably I was holding my breath. Goodness, this was weird. And surely ridiculous. Whatever was I doing jammed in a toilet cubicle with Morag’s chest taking up most of the available area, peering at a pregnancy stick when I was simply menopausal?

  ‘Well?’ she asked, turning around.

  I didn’t answer.

  ‘Well ?’ she repeated impatiently.

  I met her gaze, my face expressionless. ‘Well, well, well.’