Sequins and Snowflakes

by Jane Linfoot

  ‘Here we go…’ I’m holding Alice’s dress in the air with one hand, struggling to hang onto it in the force-ten wind, and fumbling to unlock the door with the other, when Alice’s hangover fog suddenly clears.

  ‘Sera, Sera, why’s your name painted on the shop window?’

  How a few white letters can bring her back into the room, when a kale and kiwi smoothie completely failed, I have no idea. Between us, I had to hide the Pimms earlier too, because she was hell-bent on having a high ball of ‘that delicious cordial’ again. Sometime soon I may have to tell her the awful truth about the alcohol content, but maybe I’ll wait until after the wedding. Let’s face it, every bridesmaid needs her Bridezilla-taming weapon and Winter Warmer could be mine. Johnny might be sticking his oar in right left and centre with Quinn, but at least he came through on that one.

  ‘Paint on the window?’ Pushing through into the entrance, I flick on the tree lights and fling out an excuse. ‘Graffiti…happens all the time… we just haven’t cleaned it off yet.’ In my rush to sort out Alice’s problems I’ve momentarily overlooked how family scrutiny makes me wither. They can’t help being critical. At home they make me feel about as important as a worm. They were so dismissive of my fashion choice, I didn’t bother to send them invitations to my degree show. And thus far I’ve managed to keep them out of my professional life. If Alice wasn’t having a bride crisis of epic proportions, we wouldn’t be within ten miles of the shop.

  ‘Enjoy the Jimmy Choos, I’ll be back in a minute’ I hang her dress on a hook in The White Room and point her to a Louis Quatorze chair. With any luck the shoe display will keep her occupied while I grab my bridesmaid’s dress from the store.

  I swear it’s only a few seconds before I’m haring back, hurrying so much I’m stumbling over the bursting dress bag. But when I reach The White Room it’s empty.

  ‘Bugger.’ I’m cursing under my breath. ‘Alice… where are you?’ When I call it’s in the kind of sweet voice you’d use to tempt a naughty kitten to come back. I’m rustling back across the entrance hall with my bundle, when I catch a glimpse of her flicking through the dresses on the rails beyond the Christmas tree. And holy shit, somehow she’s wandered into the Seraphina East room. I accelerate and arrive breathless at her elbow.

  When she turns to me, her brows are knotted into a puzzled frown. ‘Graffiti, my foot. Why didn’t you tell us what you were doing, Sera?’ She’s using that accusing stare she does. On a scale of one to ten, where one is low and ten is off the scale, the intensity is twelve.

  I ram my dress onto a hook in the fitting room and hurtle back into The White Room to get hers. Then I hang that up too and find the patch of wall to lean my back against. ‘There was nothing to tell.’ My chin’s jutting now. ‘Who in our family would have cared I was a designer?’ No one was ever interested in what I was doing. Apart from going ape when I failed.

  Alice gently fingers a lace strap. ‘But these are beautiful.’ Her voice is almost a whisper now. As she runs her fingers through her hair and shakes her head her frown softens. ‘I can’t believe we didn’t know, that’s all.’

  ‘Fashion didn’t exactly tick the parental boxes.’ When I hook my foot around my leg I feel less stressed. A worthless waste of time. Not that I’d throw it back at Alice now, but that’s what my entire high-flying family said about my degree. Including her.

  Alice has worked her way around to the celebrity photos. As she picks one up she’s literally gawping. ‘And you even did a dress for Josie Redman? The Josie Redman?’

  I blow upwards to clear the sweat from my forehead. Sometimes it feels like that celebrity dress is going to haunt me forever. And how come starchy old Alice has even heard of Josie? She wouldn’t be seen dead near anything as down-market as a copy of Hello! magazine.

  ‘It was no big…’ I’m about to say ‘deal’, when I’m cut off in mid-sentence.

  ‘It certainly was the Josie Redman.’

  Oh my. It’s Jess. Still exploding with pride about Josie. And from the way she’s stamping, she’s come to give Alice a piece of her mind. If I wasn’t leaning on the wall, I’d have to collapse on the sofa because the thought of this confrontation has turned my legs to jelly. Disapproving Jess, bumping into London-centric Alice, in the sodding Seraphina East room. Add in the treacherous dress and worst-case scenarios don’t get any more awful. My best hope is to make a run for the kitchen and leave them to fight it out.

  But just this once I don’t. Much to my surprise, I’m moving my mouth. What’s more, words are coming out. ‘This is Jess, the force behind Brides by the Sea. She’s my mentor and butt-kicker.’

  ‘And you must be Alice?’ As Jess jumps forward to shake hands, the force almost snaps Alice’s wrist off. ‘If you don’t mind me saying, it’s time you woke up to how wonderfully talented your sister is and how much she’s done for this shop.’

  As Alice takes back her hand, she’s rubbing her arm. ‘If you don’t mind me saying, it’s lovely to be let into the secret of what Sera’s actually doing with her life,’ she says icily.

  Jess is peering at Alice like a hawk. ‘You didn’t know?’ As Alice shakes her head, Jess’s eyebrows go skywards and she lets out a snort. ‘Well, that explains a lot.’

  I’m bracing myself for the fallout. But Jess isn’t looking at me. Instead her gaze falls to the floor, and she’s honing in on the cream-leather toes sticking out from under Alice’s pale grey cigarette pants.

  ‘Excuse me, but are those Gucci Horsebits?’ Jess is drooling the way I do when I come face to face with a coffee cupcake.

  ‘Yes.’ Alice’s mouth softens. ‘I’m afraid I have some in every colour.’ She sounds as if she’s confessing a deep vice here, but I assume they’re talking shoes.

  ‘Me too.’ Jess lifts up the hem of her wide-leg trousers to show a navy version. ‘Have you tried the driving moccasins?’

  Oh my. Who would have thought they’d be bonding over loafers.

  Alice clasps her hands. ‘Yes. They’re so comfy, aren’t they? Did you find any of the backless flowery summer ones?’

  Staring down at my beaten-up ankle boots, I’m suddenly feeling marginalised.

  Jess rolls her eyes. ‘The Princetown grey ones were like rocking-horse shit. I had to have mine couriered from Paris. Did you get your hands on any?’

  As Alice nods I cough. ‘Not wanting to get in the way of the Gucci love, but are you going to try your dress on, Alice?’

  ‘Of course.’ Jess is straight in there. ‘But how about some prosecco first? Or better still, while Sera helps you into your dress, I’ll make you one of my bride’s specials… guaranteed to relax you.’ We all know Jess’s drinks veer towards coma-inducing rather than relaxing, but given I’m driving it probably doesn’t matter what Alice has.

  As she hears the word ‘relax’, Alice perks up. ‘Thanks, that sounds fab.’ And hooray that for once she isn’t insisting on boring old mineral water.

  Jess whisks back the fitting-room curtain and comes to a strategic halt, her hand hovering over Alice’s dress cover. ‘May I?’ Sometimes she’s such a pro. Well, every time, really.

  ‘Please do.’ Alice is perching on the sofa edge, her arms tightly crossed.

  Jess smiles her ‘cat in the cream factory’ smile, as she eases down the zip. ‘I’ve never un-wrapped a Givenchy before. This one’s so light, it’s barely there.’ As she steps back and pulls the cover off the slimmest satin column, she lets out a low purr of appreciation. ‘Wonderful.’ She looks at Alice. ‘Come on then… we’ll help you into it, then I’ll sort the drinks.’

  As Jess and I stand outside staring at the white-on-white stripes of the fitting-room curtain, and waiting for Alice to strip and wriggle into her dress, I can’t help thinking how different that dress is from anything here. When I come back to earth, Jess is scrutinising my nose.

  ‘I couldn’t see it on Skype, but you two are very alike, you know.’

  I pull a face ‘I don’t think so’.
I’m twirling a lock of wavy blonde hair around my fingers, because in thirty years, no one has said that before.

  She frowns. ‘Obviously your hair isn’t the same.’ At least Jess is conceding that. ‘But if you look beyond that, you’re like two peas. Especially your expressions.’

  What? Surely I don’t look that uptight and constipated. I’m about to take her up on this when the curtain moves and Alice’s face pops out. ‘Please can you do me up?’

  That’s the cue for us both to fight our way through into the fitting room, which thankfully is wide enough for the worst-case capacity of a bride with a massive entourage in tow.

  As I catch a view of the front of the dress, I can’t help gasping. ‘Oh, Alice, it’s amazing.’ The high collar is slashed at the throat, and the bodice somehow skims and clings at the same time. It’s simple, yet so sophisticated. ‘And it’s so fab with your bob.’ What’s more it’s pure, unadulterated silk. There’s not a single sequin, or bead, or bow.

  Unsurprisingly, Jess has got into pole-fastening position around the back, so I don’t fight her. But from where I’m standing I can see Alice grimacing.

  ‘It’s feeling a bit tight.’ She’s smoothing the fabric over her ribs.

  ‘That’s probably just the cut,’ I say, because it’s very unforgiving. There’s nothing to spare. Straight up and down doesn’t begin to cover it, but Alice has the figure to carry it off. ‘It’ll be better when the fabric warms up and gives.’ I’m thinking how a millimetre or two will make all the difference, when I’m awestruck for a second time. ‘Alice, for the first time in your entire life you look like you have boobs.’

  Alice stares at me blankly. ‘No, I definitely don’t.’

  We all know I won’t be arguing. It’s probably the clever cut of this super-high-end dress. Or the fact that the cashmere jumpers she wears every day fit so loosely, I haven’t noticed her filling out. Maybe there’s hope for my flat chest after all.

  ‘Sera, can you come and help me here.’ It’s Jess, with her tetchy voice on. And although she’s frowning, she can’t possibly have got the zip stuck. She knows better than to do that on a Givenchy. ‘When did you say you had the fittings for this, Alice?’

  ‘About a month ago.’ Alice runs a hand through her bob. ‘The dress was perfect. All they had to do was the hem. I tried it on again when I picked it up a week later.’

  As I join Jess around the back of the dress I take in the finest of zips, with loops and buttons that fasten across once the zip’s done up. But most of all I take in Jess, frantically trying to squeeze the zipper edges together. And a wide strip of bare flesh right either side of Alice’s spine.

  ‘And you tried the dress and saw them pack it up?’ Jess is asking. She’s skilfully twisted Alice around, so Alice can’t catch a view of her back in the mirror opposite.

  As we exchange wild-eyed glances, I can’t believe Jess is managing to sound so calm.

  ‘Yes, I zipped up the dress cover in the fitting room myself. They make you do that.’ Alice is as definite about that as she is that her boobs haven’t grown. ‘Why, is there a problem?’

  I’m so pleased Jess is with me to handle this. I’ve no idea what the hell has gone wrong, but how do you break it to your sister that she’s chosen a dress with nothing to let out in the seams, which is currently looking like it’s at least four inches too small.

  Jess purses her lips. ‘It’s actually a very good thing you’ve tried your dress on today, Alice, this far ahead of the wedding…’ Her voice is incredibly level and controlled, given the bombshell she’s about to drop. ‘You suspected there might be a problem, and I’m going to level with you here…’ She’s doing as much preparation as she can, but eventually she’s going to have to come out with it. ‘I’m not sure we’re going to be able to get the zip up.’ She holds my gaze behind Alice’s head.

  As we wait for her to blow, my eyes feel like they’re going to explode from the pressure in my head. One, two, three, four…

  ‘Wh-a-a-a-t?’ When it comes it’s a howl.

  Jess waits for the werewolf noise to end. ‘You were so right when you said the dress was feeling a bit tight.’ Carefully Jess guides Alice’s hands onto her back so she can feel the width of the problem for herself. ‘Here.’ She spins her around by a few degrees so she can get a complete back view.

  ‘Oh my fucking…’ Alice wails. ‘What the hell happened?’

  Jess moves around to face Alice and as she takes her hand she’s talking quietly. ‘You aren’t the first bride to have a dress that doesn’t fit. And you won’t be the last. It’s a dreadful shock and completely devastating. But there are two things working in your favour. First, you have time to spare, and second…’ She scans the rails of white dresses. ‘You couldn’t be in a better place. So stay calm and trust us. We’re going to sort this out.’

  When people talk about wringing their hands, until this moment I thought it was a move that only existed in the heads of soap-opera directors. But here I am, one hand clenched inside the other in front of my chest, living out my own dramatic cliché. And even though Jess has pointed out we have wedding dresses coming out of our ears, I know there’s nothing remotely like Alice’s dress on the rails at Brides by the Sea. As for what went wrong, Jess leap-frogged that question very neatly. She’s right that we need solutions not explanations. But how the hell did we end up here?

  ‘Why don’t I get those drinks?’ I say. For one time only, it’s not an excuse for me to hide in the kitchen. It’s just because Alice and Jess couldn’t look paler if they’d been sprayed with fake snow. They need something to bring them round.

  Jess suggests instead, ‘You stay here and look after Alice. I’ll go to the kitchen.’

  Unlike me, Jess hates doing the fridge run. There’s only one time Jess takes charge of drinks – when she knows they have to be super-strong. I hope Alice likes gin.

  27

  Thursday, 22nd December

  At Brides by the Sea: Medicine bottles and Christmas macaroons

  ‘English Garden meets Christmas Crash,’ Jess says, as she drops dashes of elderflower cordial and ginger ale into tumblers, then adds gin. ‘With some Anges de Sucre macaroons.’

  As I top them up with prosecco and toss in a mint sprig, I can’t help thinking a strong cup of tea and half a ton of shortbread might have been better. After helping Alice out of the dress, I left her on a sofa, doing a pretty good impression of a mute ghost, and came to hurry Jess along.

  ‘Is it okay if I grab a bottle of Bride’s Mum’s Fentimans?’ I ask, hoping the sugar rush and gentle fizz of the lemonade might revive me.

  Jess passes me a glass. ‘Help yourself. You might want to pick up a couple of pregnancy tests later too.’ She says it as airily as if she’s telling me to buy a packet of rich tea biscuits.

  ‘Sorry?’ I feel like I’ve accidentally landed in the wrong conversation somewhere along the line here. Which is weird. It’s not as if anyone’s even started drinking yet.

  ‘You’ll need at least two,’ she says, which wasn’t the bit I was querying. ‘Probably more. People rarely believe the first one.’

  I shake my head. ‘Why would I need any?’ When, as Quinn so deftly pointed out, I live like a monk. I assumed Jess knew that too.

  Jess does her ‘no hope’ eye roll. ‘Not you, Sera, obviously. I’m talking about Alice.’

  Oh my. ‘But why would you think that?’

  ‘Brides always lose weight before the wedding, even if they stuff themselves. It’s physically impossible to keep weight on with all that adrenalin surging around their systems.’ She’s whispering at me now. ‘The only way to grow four inches too big for your wedding dress in a month is if you’re… well, you know…’ She makes her eyes wide. But thankfully this time she’s stopped short of saying the word.

  ‘In which case, maybe gin’s not the best idea?’

  The way Jess scoops up the tray, I know she’s going to override me on that. ‘The gin’s entirely med
icinal. But slip her a test, just to be on the safe side.’ She sends me a significant look as she clatters through to The White Room.

  ‘Sure.’ I’m being ironic here, muttering as I follow her. ‘Bridesmaids get all the best jobs.’ And let’s face it, they don’t come much worse than telling your sister you think she’s pregnant, when she obviously hasn’t got the first clue herself. Like I’m going to be able to bring up the subject at all let alone persuade her to pee on a sodding stick.

  It’s a long time since I’ve seen Alice this silent. She takes a few sips of her cocktail when Jess gives it to her. ‘Thank you…’ she says eventually. ‘That’s nice. Is there elderflower cordial in here?’ She sounds like she’s swapped voices with someone else while we were in the kitchen. The one she’s ended up with is too weedy and shaky for a no-nonsense power house like her.

  Jess nods. ‘Bottle Green.’ She says it as if it couldn’t be anything else.

  Alice nods appreciatively. After a few more sips, she begins to look slightly less like a corpse bride. ‘The grapefruit and honeysuckle they do is good too.’ At least now there’s more colour in her cheeks. Before they were as washed out as her cream cashmere polo neck.

  As soon as Jess finishes her next slurp she replies. ‘Have you tried the apple and plum one?’

  Oh my. What are these two like? First Gucci loafers and now Bottle Green cordials. As a reformed Red Bull addict, whose soft drink of choice would be Lime Pepsi, I have nothing to add here. The best I can hope for is that they’ll do a quantum leap and end up discussing hot chocolate. I can enthuse over that all day. I’m wondering if it would be really rude to leave them to it and nip up to the studio, when I hear the door opening. A moment later Poppy and Immie breeze in, bringing a large gust of the Siberian gale that’s howling outside.