The Big Little Wedding in Carlton Square

by Lilly Bartlett

  The ladies at Auntie Rose’s table aren’t backward in coming forward when we join them with our drinks. They’ve been looking forward to this for weeks. June’s even traded her tracksuit for trousers and one of those silky printed tops with a big bow that office workers liked to wear in the eighties.

  ‘Do you like East London?’ Doreen asks, doing her trademark cleavage cross-twiddling.

  ‘Yah,’ he answers politely.

  ‘What do you like about it?’

  ‘Oh gosh, yah, I like that Emma was born and raised here amongst so many people she loves. And once I’ve spent more time here, I know I’ll love it as much as she does.’

  ‘Lor’ love a duck, ’e ain’t half charming!’ says June.

  ‘She likes you,’ I tell Daniel.

  He flashes them all his killer smile. I happen to know that those teeth took two and a half years to straighten out. I never had braces, so my own overlap a tiny bit. ‘Thank you. I was just telling Em that it’s not my natural milieu, but I hope I don’t put my foot in it too badly!’

  I cringe. Must get him to stop saying milieu. ‘It’s not his usual part of town,’ I explain.

  My family and friends don’t seem to know what to make of Daniel. His poshness would normally set their teeth on edge, but their curiosity at this exotic specimen overcomes any ingrained mistrust. Before long they’re showing Daniel how to play cribbage, firing questions and answers back and forth, and even though I’m sure they don’t completely understand each other, they’re laughing like old friends.

  Doreen meets me at the bar. ‘Your Daniel seems nice.’ She doesn’t bother keeping her voice down, so half the bar can hear her. ‘Can’t play cards worth a damn, though.’

  ‘He’s probably just letting you win,’ I say.

  ‘You and your auntie, both too cheeky by ’alf.’

  ‘How is she? With you all, I mean?’

  Doreen puts a leathery hand on my arm. ‘She’s all right, my love, not much more forgetful than the rest of us. She’s been all right at home?’

  ‘Usually. She’s wandering more lately, though.’

  ‘She’s safe here.’

  Most of the time you wouldn’t think there was a thing wrong with Auntie Rose. She never gets muddled up and she doesn’t forget words. She just gets into her head sometimes that she’s got to be somewhere else. If someone’s around when she grabs her coat or handbag and announces ‘Right, I’m off’, then we can go with her. But every so often she makes her announcement to nobody, and we have to send out a search party.

  So far she hasn’t left the neighbourhood, but you can’t turn her around once she gets going, either. It might be the laundromat or the café or a specific shop. No amount of coaxing will get her to turn back. It doesn’t matter that she never has laundry to do or a shopping list to tick off. She’s going wherever she’s decided to go, and that’s all there is to it.

  She doesn’t seem distressed or frustrated that she can’t tell you why she wanted to go in the first place. Whenever we ask her she just shrugs and says, ‘One of life’s mysteries.’

  But what if she decides one day to go to Heathrow, or Downing Street through a rough neighbourhood? That’s what I worry about.

  I hear Barbara behind me as I’m carrying the drinks back to the table. ‘So where is this young man I keep hearing about? Hello, my love!’

  ‘Uncle Barbara!’ I throw myself into his waiting arms. ‘Come and meet Daniel. He’s heard all about you.’

  Of course I’ve told Daniel about Uncle Barbara, but nothing prepares him for meeting my uncle in the flesh. First of all, he’s Uncle Colin’s identical twin. All six foot three hairy inches of him. Secondly, he’s built like a railway siding. And thirdly, he’s wearing a swingy red and white dress and shiny black knee-high boots.

  He claps Daniel on the back with more force than someone in a frock should have. As everyone shifts round to make room for him I catch Daniel’s eye. He’s grinning like he can’t imagine anything more fun than being surrounded by old ladies and cross-dressers.

  Uncle Barbara used to be Uncle Mark, but I haven’t called him that in a very long time.

  ‘You’ve picked bridesmaids and groomsmen now, yeah?’ Uncle Barbara asks us. ‘They need some warning, you know. And you need time to find outfits. Once that’s set, everything else can work around them.’

  Of course he’d know all about it. I don’t often think of him that way, but when he was Uncle Mark he was married. His wife took off with their two boys after finding him in one of her frocks. They moved away up north, and it’s only in the past few years that his sons have even started talking to him. He goes up every few months, and I have to give him credit for that because it doesn’t sound like it usually goes very well.

  ‘Kelly’s my bridesmaid,’ I tell him, ‘and Daniel’s sister and one of his best friends.’

  ‘And my flatmate, Jacob, will be my best man, along with three of my school chums as my groomsmen,’ Daniel adds. ‘It’s going to be an awful lot of fun!’

  ‘An awful lot!’ croaks June as smirks dash round the table. I can tell they’re not making fun of Daniel. Only his odd figures of speech. I can’t blame them. He does talk like Bertie Wooster sometimes.

  ‘You’ll need another bridesmaid, Emma,’ Uncle Barbara says. ‘It’s bad luck to have an odd number. We had three at my wedding and look what happened.’

  ‘It made you queer,’ Auntie Rose chips in. ‘Only joking. I know the difference between a queer and a trannie.’

  But not the difference between being offensive and not, clearly. ‘Mum,’ I shout over to their table. ‘How many bridesmaids did you have?’

  ‘Four,’ she says. ‘Why?’ She gasps, throwing her hands over her mouth. ‘Have you got only three? Oh no, Emma! You’re doooomed.’

  ‘You’re all taking the piss,’ I say. ‘Hilarious.’

  ‘It does look better for photos to have an even number on each side, though,’ Uncle Barbara points out. ‘If you’re looking for another, I’d be willing to step in.’

  He sounds jokey, but he’s blushing under his beard.

  Aside from my parents, Uncle Barbara is my closest relative under seventy and I’d love for him to be one of my bridesmaids, but can you imagine the looks on my new in-laws’ faces seeing him come up the aisle? ‘Thanks, Uncle Barbara, I’ll let you know, okay?’

  ‘Just don’t wait too long, like I said. I’d have to get me dress. And shoes, accessories…’

  ‘There is such a lot to think about,’ Daniel says, turning to me. ‘So many decisions to make. How would you feel about chocolate?’

  ‘I’m all for it!’ Auntie Rose says.

  ‘Is this another question like your mother’s about fish? You’re not going to suggest making the entire reception out of seventy per cent dark, are you?’

  He laughs. ‘Mummy mentioned a chocolate fountain, that’s all. Guests can dip fruit in it. She thinks it will be such great fun.’

  Of course she does. She’ll probably want fruit that has to be airlifted in individually by private jet and chocolate sourced from some remote Aztec civilisation and made with leprechaun’s tears.

  ‘Mmm, maybe.’ The reception would look like there’d been a massacre at Willy Wonka’s factory five minutes after my side gets into a chocolate fountain. ‘Let’s see where we find for the reception first.’

  Daniel grimaces. ‘Right, it’s just that she’s got an image of the wedding in her head now,’ he says. ‘Of course we’ll do what we want. It is our wedding. It’s only that I wouldn’t want to disappoint her if we don’t use any of her ideas.’

  ‘The last thing I want is a disappointed mother-in-law, so of course we’ll use some,’ I say. Just don’t ask me how.

  The pub has thinned out by the time Kelly nudges me later. ‘The prawn man’s here.’

  ‘Told you we’d eat,’ I say to Daniel, who can’t take the grin off his face. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I’ve read about them,’ he says
.

  ‘What, prawns? They swim in the sea.’

  ‘You sometimes eat ’em with cocktail sauce,’ Kell adds.

  ‘Cockle men,’ he says. ‘Or prawn men. I didn’t think they were real.’

  ‘Aw, bless, he looks like he’s seen a unicorn,’ Kell says, waving the man over.

  ‘All right?’ the prawn man asks, tipping his basket of seafood toward us so we can have a look. We politely glance into the basket even though he always sells the same things. He’s getting on a bit now and I’ve been eating his prawns since I was a little girl in here with Mum and Dad. He never says more than he has to. He just tips his cap as he goes from table to table, passing out snacks and collecting money.

  We get three pints of prawns, which we demolish in about a minute. As I watch Daniel go to the bar to get his round in for us all, I get a little misty watching everyone’s smiling faces. That’s my fiancé, the most popular toff in East London.

  Chapter 4

  The window of the chic Sloane Square shop only has two dresses in it, and I can’t see myself wearing either of them. Philippa and Abby are already inside, though, waving me in, so I can’t just leave. Steeling myself, I crash into the glass door as I push to open it. What the hell?

  The only shops around me that keep their front doors locked are the pawnbrokers. What shoplifter in her right mind would go round nicking wedding dresses? Just try stuffing one of those down the front of your jeans.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say to the forty-something woman who unlocks the door. Her smile is radiant, but it doesn’t reach her perfectly made-up eyes. Everything about her says elegance, from her pale grey shift dress and high heels to her sleek blonde chignon and the simple gold necklace and earrings she’s wearing.

  ‘Won’t you make yourself comfortable?’ she whispers.

  ‘Okay, thanks,’ I whisper back. The deep-pile carpet muffles my steps, but we all hear my charm bracelet tinkling.

  Philippa and Abby rise from the cream velvet sofa for kisses. ‘Darling! We’re having champagne.’ My future mother-in-law’s booming voice shatters the peace in the shop. ‘Do have some.’ She glances at the woman, who hurries over with a crystal glass. ‘Isn’t this going to be marvellous fun?’

  I catch Abby rolling her eyes at her mum. She’s only twenty and probably has better things to do than come wedding dress shopping. She knocks back the champagne and holds out her glass for more.

  ‘We’ve just been chatting about designs,’ Philippa continues. ‘Yah, do you have something special in mind, darling?’

  ‘I figured I could just try some on and see what looks good.’ I never know what I’m looking for when I shop. I just go along the rails and pick out whatever catches my eye.

  Only there aren’t any rails in here. It looks like a miniature Versailles, all gold and mirrors and dangly crystal chandeliers.

  There aren’t any other customers, either.

  ‘Right, absolutely,’ Philippa says. ‘But if you tell Sarah what kind of thing you have in mind, she can bring some dresses out for you. Or she could bring them all out. Sarah, could you bring out all the dresses you have in Emma’s size?’

  Sarah looks flummoxed by this notion. ‘We do have quite a few dresses. Do you have a preference for lace, silk or chiffon? Pearls, beading or plain? White, off-white, cream or we have some other neutral colours?’

  I’m in so far over my head I think the lifeguard has just blown his whistle. What I need is Mrs Delaney from next to the dealership to translate all this for me. She might not know anything about the champagne they’re knocking back, but she’s been a tailor her whole life. She knows her silk from her rayon. ‘I’ve always liked lace,’ I say.

  Sarah seizes on this snippet and holds on for dear life. ‘I’ll choose some dresses,’ she says, going through a mirrored door at the back of the shop.

  ‘Abby was telling me about the wedding her friend’s sister just had,’ Philippa says as we wait for Sarah to come back. ‘It sounds absolutely dreadful. Paper plates. One can’t imagine!’

  ‘Mummy, they were being ironic. Everybody’s doing peasant weddings now. It’s all hay bales and paper streamers. I think it’s a hoot.’

  ‘Hoot or not, darling, isn’t the point,’ says Philippa. ‘If one can’t afford a proper wedding, then have a small one, by all means. But don’t skimp. Paper plates aren’t ironic, they’re tacky. To think how their parents must have felt. And a falafel cart at a wedding? They may as well have just ordered Domino’s and been done with it. I’d be absolutely mortified.’

  It obviously doesn’t cross her mind that a proper wedding might be a stretch for us too. I can feel my cheeks burning.

  ‘It’s such a shame your mother couldn’t come today,’ Philippa says to me as she finishes her champagne. She’s oblivious to my cheeks.

  ‘She’s gutted, but she says she’s looking forward to meeting you soon.’

  That’s a total lie. Mum has no idea I’m here. I practically wore dark sunglasses and a trench coat to the Tube so no one would see me. I’m cheating on my mum with my future mother-in-law and not even Kelly knows about it. I couldn’t bring Mum with me, though, could I? She’s nervous enough about meeting Philippa. I couldn’t make her do it on Philippa’s home ground.

  This way I can make both Philippa and my mum happy. Mum and I’ll go with Kell later this week to look at more dresses. Nobody needs to know about today.

  Sarah returns wheeling a golden rail hung with a dozen or so frocks and leads me through a mirrored door.

  This just got real.

  She hangs three dresses on what look like solid gold hooks. ‘So…’

  We’re staring at each other.

  ‘Thanks very much,’ I say.

  When she smiles I realise she means to stay in here while I get changed.

  ‘Do you have your bra with you?’ she asks.

  ‘Right here,’ I say, pointing to my chest.

  ‘Oh, that might not work with the dress, but never mind, I can get you one to try.’

  She opens the door just as I’m hopping out of my jeans. Philippa waves when she catches my eye.

  ‘Mummy, don’t be awkward,’ I hear Abby scold as I yank the door shut.

  Sarah gets me into the first dress and buttons about a thousand tiny pearls up my back. Now I know why she didn’t leave me alone to do it.

  Everyone gasps when I step from the changing room and Sarah leads me to a platform with a wraparound mirror.

  I can hardly believe it’s me. The white sleeveless lace top of the dress hugs my torso perfectly, plunging to a narrow waist and then flaring over my hips. Suddenly I wish I had brought Mum. I can go through the motions again with her, but I’ll never again have this exact feeling of seeing myself in a wedding dress for the first time.

  I shove the unwelcome thought aside and slowly twirl on the platform.

  ‘It does swamp you a bit,’ Abby says. ‘Because you’re short. A less poufy skirt might be better. Can we have some more champagne, please, Sarah?’

  I was thinking the same thing. About the dress, I mean. Sarah’s never going to trust me with a drink in one of her dresses.

  She shows me some simpler designs till we find one that I have to admit I sort of love. It’s got a lace overlay all the way from the neckline to the hemline, but it’s not poufy. The cap sleeves and straighter cut even makes me look a bit tall.

  ‘Yah, that’s it,’ Philippa says. ‘You may have found your dress. A column dress isn’t easy to wear, but it looks beautiful on you.’

  ‘It rahly does,’ Abby says.

  It really, really does, I think. I’d wondered if so much white might wash out my pale skin, or be too much contrast against dark hair, but it looks fantastic.

  ‘You’ll need something for your head, of course,’ Philippa says. ‘Is there a family veil that you’ll wear?’

  ‘No, no family veil.’

  ‘Oh good, because actually I had another idea. A fresh floral crown! Wouldn’t that be darling
? The florist could do it in the most beautiful summer blooms and make simpler ones for all the guests. Imagine the photos. Isn’t this going to be the most beautiful wedding?’

  I doubt she’s thinking of simply weaving daisy chains like Kell and I used to do with the dandelions that grew on the verge in summertime.

  When Sarah tells us that for a fee we can expedite the eight-week lead time to order the dress, Philippa starts yah-yahing like it’s a done deal.

  Hold on, I can’t buy this dress! Mum doesn’t even know I’m here. Besides, I’ve got no idea how much it costs. I searched in vain for price tags when Sarah went to get me a bra.

  ‘Oh good,’ I find myself saying. ‘And the price of the dress?’

  When she tells me I nearly fall off my borrowed high heels. ‘Mum will want to see it first, of course,’ I say to their triumphant faces.

  ‘Of course,’ Philippa and Abby chorus.

  ‘Send her photos!’ Abby says.

  I could do that. If she knew I was here.

  Abby uses my phone to snap a dozen pics of me in the dress while Philippa keeps saying, ‘This is such great fun!’

  I feel a little sick as I pretend to wait around for Mum’s response. ‘She’s not answering,’ I say. ‘Sometimes she doesn’t have her phone with her. I can always bring her back here, right?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Sarah assures me.

  Her smile doesn’t falter as we all say goodbye, but I think Sarah knows she’ll never see me again.

  As I walk to where my scooter’s parked I delete the dress photos and the unsent text to Mum. There’s no sense tormenting myself with that dress when I’ll never afford it.

  I wonder how Mum managed to buy a dress for her wedding. I know she and Dad had even less money than I do, though they did get married during the nineties recession. Things were probably cheaper then.

  I nearly have a heart attack when my phone buzzes with a text just as I’m getting on my scooter. It’s Mum. She knows I’m here. I glance at my phone. Mum doesn’t know I’m here. It’s Daniel.

  Hope you’re surviving the bear pit of wedding dresses. Want to meet the gang for a drink? Dxoxo