‘Oh, I just remembered, you’ve got your date with Daaaave,’ she said.
‘And you’re never going to call him that again.’
Madeleine smiled. ‘Have fun, catch ya.’
Trousseau
Aiden was waiting on the footpath when Madeleine turned her car into the street, and he gave her an enthusiastic wave. She found a park a little way past him, and he walked up to meet her.
‘Hi, Maddie,’ he said as she got out of the car.
‘Hello to you.’ She pressed the auto-lock on her key ring and joined him at the kerb. ‘Are you sure you’re ready for this?’
He leant in and planted a kiss on her cheek. ‘I can’t wait.’
The salon was in a street off the main drag in Newtown, and wasn’t open to the general public. As Lucy was the owner, designer, seamstress and receptionist in one, all fittings were by appointment only. Madeleine pressed the intercom when they arrived at the door.
‘Hi, it’s Madeleine Pepper,’ she said when Lucy answered.
‘Come on in.’
There was a buzz, and the door released. Madeleine pushed it open, stepping inside as Lucy came down the hall into the reception area, a tape measure around her neck, her signature oversized red-rimmed glasses perched on the end of her nose.
Madeleine had clicked with Lucy from the start. After the engagement, she had spent a couple of Saturdays traipsing around the big bridal salons in the city, but nothing grabbed her. She knew what she didn’t want – too much fuss or frou-frou – but she didn’t really know what she did want. Lucy was the first person to be able to make sense of that. Madeleine had found her on the internet, and fallen in love with the dresses on her website – delicate, vintage-inspired, subtle not showy.
‘Hey, Madeleine,’ Lucy cooed. Then she stopped dead, her cheeks turning pink. She’d obviously just spotted Aiden coming in behind her. ‘Well, I hope this isn’t your future husband,’ she said, regaining her composure. ‘You know it’s bad luck for him to see your dress . . . And, well, I don’t know, it might bring bad karma to the whole place.’
‘Don’t be concerned,’ Aiden assured her, flashing her one of his most charming smiles. ‘I’m merely the best man.’
‘Merely is definitely not the word that comes to mind . . .’
‘Aiden Carmichael, Lucy Chu,’ Madeleine said, introducing them. ‘Aiden’s standing in for the matron of honour, she couldn’t make it today.’
Aiden took Lucy’s outstretched hand. ‘Nice to meet you.’
‘Am I detecting an American accent?’ she asked.
‘You are,’ said Aiden. ‘Henry and I went to college together.’
Lucy looked at Madeleine. ‘I didn’t know your fiancé was American,’ she said. ‘Are you living here too, Aiden, or just visiting?’
‘Just visiting, sadly.’
‘That is sad. It’s a tragedy, in fact.’
‘So, I’m excited to see the dress,’ Madeleine said pointedly, to drag Lucy away from whatever little fantasy scenario she had going on in her head.
Lucy roused herself, blinking at Madeleine as she pushed her glasses back up on her nose. ‘And I’m excited to see you in it! I’m pretty thrilled at how it’s turned out. Come along,’ she said, turning back into the hall.
The salon was originally a single-storey terrace house. The front bedroom wall had been knocked out to form the reception area. The next bedroom off the hall was the changing and fitting room, and the former living room beyond it was the ‘salon’ proper, replete with chandelier, red velvet lounges, and gilt-edged mirrors positioned around the room at various angles. It was more like a waiting room in a bordello than a bridal salon, but that was one of the reasons Madeleine had loved the place the first time she visited. By then she was a little over all the virginal, hearts-and-flowers bridal confectionery. Perhaps Genevieve had a point about sexing things up a bit.
Aiden was shown into the salon, where an old record player was cranking out crackly music from the thirties. Lucy was all about setting the mood.
‘There’s champagne in the ice bucket over there,’ she told him, ‘and orange juice in the bar fridge, if you think it’s too early to have it straight.’
‘It’s never too early.’ He winked at her.
‘Man after my own heart,’ said Lucy. ‘I wish,’ she muttered under her breath to Madeleine. ‘Make yourself comfortable, Aiden, while I go and transform your . . . gosh, what are you to him?’ She frowned at Madeleine.
‘A very dear friend,’ Aiden said.
Lucy released a wistful sigh. ‘We’ll see you in a little while.’
As soon as she closed the door of the fitting room, she turned to Madeleine, eyes wide, making exaggerated pointing gestures towards the salon. ‘He’s hot!’ she said, her whispered voice similarly exaggerated to match her gestures.
But Madeleine was distracted by the dress draped on the dummy in the corner of the room. It was just as she’d pictured it . . . no, it was better than she ever could have imagined, from the richly beaded bodice to the ivory silk that swirled down to the floor in gentle folds. Madeleine drew closer to look for the tiny monogrammed M and H entwined around each other at the centre of the bodice, and a lump rose in her throat.
‘Lucy, it’s so beautiful,’ she said, her voice barely making it out of her throat. She wanted to wear this dress, she wanted Henry to see her in this dress . . . But then she remembered what he’d said yesterday, and her excitement evaporated. She was never going to be able to feel the same way about the wedding now. No matter how well it turned out, and how much he tried, she was going to feel a little silly, like an overgrown girl having a princess party.
‘Madeleine?’ Lucy was saying.
She stirred. ‘Sorry, I was a million miles away.’
‘Playing out the wedding in your head?’ Lucy said. ‘Brides always do that when they see their finished dress for the first time. Now let’s get you into it.’
Madeleine stripped down to her underwear. She actually had followed Genevieve’s advice and bought two bras, the one she was wearing now, and an identical twin, wrapped in tissue paper and tucked away in a drawer at the flat, to be worn for the first time on her wedding day. She had also bought a few pairs of those seamless long-line tummy-flattening pants. She didn’t need to lose weight, but even so, she could never get rid of the curve of her belly. Henry said he didn’t know why it bothered her, he thought it was sexy . . .
Lucy held the dress for Madeleine to step into, then carefully drew the gossamer-fine cap sleeves up her arms and positioned them on her shoulders. The sleeves formed a line that plunged down into a deep V-neck – Genevieve needn’t have worried, she was showing enough cleavage. Lucy had started on the buttons at the back. Madeleine remembered that there were close to thirty tiny pearl buttons, and as Lucy patiently proceeded to do them up, the dress took shape around her, and tears crept into her eyes.
Lucy looked over Madeleine’s shoulder at her reflection. ‘Uh-uh, no tears on the dress!’ she warned. She darted around in front of her and quickly blotted her cheeks with a tissue. ‘Water marks silk, you know.’
‘It’s just so beautiful, Lucy,’ said Madeleine. ‘I’m actually quite overcome.’
‘That’s all well and good, but no tears!’
She knelt down to help Madeleine into her shoes. Lucy had helped her find the perfect pair, and then had them sent away to be covered in the same fabric as the dress. She’d left them here at the salon; Lucy said it was better that way, fittings were a complete waste of time without the shoes, and harassed brides-to-be were all too prone to forgetting them.
She helped Madeleine up onto the small dais, and walked around her, pinching in the fabric here, adjusting there, narrowing her eyes as she assessed the dress from every angle. ‘You’ve lost more weight,’ she tutted.
‘I haven’t been trying to,’ said Madeleine.
‘Well, I should hope not,’ said Lucy. ‘You certainly don’t need to lose any more. Bu
t this happens to a lot of brides. It’s all the stress. You have to try to make sure you keep eating healthy. Waif is not a good look for a bride – you want to look glowing, ripe for the picking, so to speak. Fecund, even.’
Madeleine raised an eyebrow. ‘Did you just use the word “fecund”?’
‘I did,’ Lucy confirmed. ‘You know, when you think about it, it’s entirely appropriate for a bride to look fecund, even if people don’t marry to have babies any more.’
Try telling Henry that.
After Lucy had trimmed and tucked, and Madeleine had performed the full range of movements to her satisfaction, she finally walked out into the salon. Aiden looked genuinely stunned.
‘Well done,’ said Lucy, watching him. ‘Excellent reaction.’
‘It’s not an act,’ he said, holding a hand to his heart as he gazed with unabashed admiration at Madeleine. ‘Maddie, once again, I have to say that Henry has to be the luckiest man alive.’
‘You don’t think it’s too much?’ she asked, checking herself in one of the mirrors.
‘What?’ He frowned. ‘What are you talking about? It’s very understated, very elegant.’ He took her by the hand and held it up to lead her into a pirouette. ‘I think congratulations are definitely in order, Lucy,’ he said.
‘Why, thank you, sir.’
‘Now, the matron of honour said to remind Maddie to check that she can sit on a toilet without the help of a special ops team.’
‘We’ve already checked,’ Madeleine assured him.
‘I’m extremely particular about that kind of thing,’ said Lucy. ‘My designs are always wearable, I don’t believe the poor bride should be all trussed up like a turkey at Christmas. It’s her day, she should be able to enjoy it in comfort.’
‘It’s true, it really is very comfortable,’ said Madeleine, looking over her shoulder to check the view from behind in the mirror.
‘Now, what are you going to do with your hair?’ Aiden asked, and unexpectedly he brought his hands to the base of her neck, lacing his fingers through her hair to hold it up. Madeleine felt shivers right down her back, but not the kind that was like someone walking over her grave. Different to that.
‘What do you think, Lucy?’ he asked. ‘Personally, I’d like to see her in a veil.’
‘Aiden –’
‘Me too,’ said Lucy. ‘I tried to talk you into that in the first place, Maddie.’
‘I just don’t want to look . . .’
‘What?’ they said in unison.
‘Well . . . too bridey, I guess.’
Aiden released her hair, and Madeleine was able to breathe out again. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘you’re not exactly in disguise. People are going to realise you’re the bride.’
‘Very funny,’ she said.
‘Why don’t we just try it?’ Lucy suggested. ‘I think I have the perfect one.’
‘That doesn’t mean I’m going to wear it,’ Madeleine warned.
‘But it doesn’t hurt to try.’ Lucy whisked out to her studio, and Aiden smiled down at Madeleine.
‘Henry is going to be totally knocked out. You look gorgeous, really.’
She could feel tears pricking at the corners of her eyes again, and she swallowed hard to keep them at bay.
Aiden was watching her thoughtfully. ‘Would you like a glass of champagne?’ he asked.
‘Sure, why not?’ she said with a brave smile.
As he crossed to the ice bucket, Lucy came back into the room, a piece of silk organza draped over her outstretched arms. ‘Okay, let’s try this.’
She positioned the veil, catching it into place at the back of Madeleine’s head. She supposed it did frame her face. It made her feel . . . regal or something. And self-conscious. She wondered what Henry would make of it.
Aiden turned around, holding a glass of champagne for her. ‘Now there, you see – I’d marry you.’
‘There’s an offer you couldn’t refuse,’ said Lucy, only half joking.
A phone started ringing from the back of the building. ‘Sorry, do you mind if I get that?’ she asked.
‘Of course not,’ said Madeleine. ‘Please, take your time.’
As Lucy skittered from the room, Aiden passed Madeleine the glass of champagne.
‘Oh,’ said Lucy, popping her head back in, ‘and there’s a layer you can wear over the face, if you want to try how that looks.’ She disappeared again.
‘I do,’ Aiden declared.
‘I don’t know –’
‘Just humour me,’ he said, feeling behind her for the layer. ‘I think there’s something very . . .’
‘What?’ Madeleine prompted him.
He drew the veil over her head and let it fall softly over her face. ‘I don’t know. It’s mysterious, even a little sexy,’ he said, gazing straight into her eyes through the filmy fabric. ‘And it’s such a great moment when the groom lifts back the veil,’ he said, as he did the same, ‘like he’s opening a present.’
‘That’s the whole problem,’ said Madeleine. ‘Isn’t it a bit outdated? I mean, he’s literally unveiling his newly acquired chattel.’
‘No,’ Aiden disagreed. ‘Don’t be so cynical, it’s all part of the ceremony.’
A ceremony Henry wasn’t even all that keen to be taking part in. Madeleine took a gulp of her champagne as ‘The Way You Look Tonight’ started to play on the stereo.
‘Now this is a beautiful song,’ said Aiden. ‘You know what else we should make sure you can do in that dress?’
‘What?’ she asked warily.
‘Dance.’ He slipped the glass out of her hand and popped it on a side table. Then he took her hand in his and scooped his other arm around her waist, pulling her close.
Madeleine brought her hand to rest on his shoulder as Aiden started to waltz her around the room. ‘Hey, you’re not bad,’ she said.
‘My mother made us take dancing lessons when we were young.’
‘Really?’
He nodded. ‘Me and my brother, before our high school prom. She said girls will always fall for a boy who can dance.’
Madeleine didn’t think Aiden needed dancing ability to get girls to fall for him, but it was a nice bonus. And he was very light on his feet.
‘How’s Henry on the dance floor?’ he asked.
‘Are you kidding? He would never get up and dance in front of people.’
‘He’s going to have to at his wedding.’
‘I wouldn’t count on it.’
Aiden paused to look down at her. ‘He has to do the bridal waltz with you on your wedding day.’
Damn tears again. Madeleine steeled herself.
‘What’s wrong, Maddie?’ he said kindly.
She tried to shrug it off. ‘I’ve just found out Henry’s not that crazy about having a big wedding, he’s only doing it for me.’
‘Well, he wouldn’t be the first man to feel that way,’ said Aiden, starting to sway to the music again. ‘The bride’s the driving force behind most weddings, but the groom usually gets into the spirit of it on the day. You shouldn’t worry, Henry’ll come around.’
Madeleine sighed. ‘I don’t know. I hope so.’
The song built to its climax as Aiden swept her around the room, finally dipping her low to the closing strains.
‘Bravo!’ Lucy stood in the doorway, applauding enthusiastically. ‘I hope your husband can dance like that, Maddie. Or else I’d be tempted to hire Aiden here as his stand-in.’
Thursday night
‘Not hungry tonight, mate?’ asked Liv, watching Dylan push the food around his plate.
‘No, not much,’ he said.
‘Do you feel all right?’
‘Just tired.’
‘Maybe you should try to get an early night,’ she said. ‘You too, Lachie.’
‘Just because we’re twins doesn’t mean I feel the same way,’ Lachie informed his mother.
‘Yes, but you’ve both got your big sleepover party tomorrow night,’ Liv remi
nded them. Like they needed reminding. Dylan in particular was very excited. His brother was the popular one, and since starting high school they didn’t automatically both get invitations to things any more. Liv had known this would happen one day: they had to establish their separate identities, all the literature on twins said so. But still, she felt for Dylan sometimes. Not that he ever complained; he was happy in his own company, and he didn’t really fit in with a lot of Lachie’s friends anyway. But they played cricket with Jared, and he’d invited the whole team to his birthday bash, and Dylan had clearly been thrilled to be included. He’d probably tired himself out from the anticipation.
‘I tell you what,’ said Liv, ‘I’ll clear up and stack the dishwasher –’ usually the boys’ evening chore – ‘if you both head off now, get ready for school tomorrow and pack what you need for the sleepover.’
‘But I finished my homework this afternoon,’ Lachie whined. ‘I wanted to go on the PlayStation.’
‘Okay,’ said Liv. ‘So I’ll leave the stacking to you?’
He groaned, and trudged off up the hall after his brother.
They were going straight to Jared’s house from school, and they had a bye for cricket this week, part of the reason Jared’s parents had chosen this Friday for the sleepover. So Liv would have the night free, and she didn’t have to pick them up until ten on Saturday morning.
She hadn’t mentioned this to David. Not that he’d asked; he thought she had the boys all weekend, and there was no need to correct that assumption. They had enjoyed another extremely pleasant date, with food this time. When he arrived to meet her in the city, he had already booked them into a very nice harbourside restaurant. Liv would have been worried about his intentions, and his expectations, if it had been for dinner, but for lunch it was quite safe. But Liv wasn’t sure how much longer she’d be ‘safe’, so to speak. It wasn’t David, it was her – that wasn’t a line, it was fact. She was having a great deal of trouble finding anything wrong with him, and that was just unnerving. Nobody’s perfect, so there had to be something, surely. And the deeper it was hidden, the worse it probably was.
The Best Man Page 24