Shopaholic Ties the Knot

  “Not quite!” I smile gingerly and run my eyes over her outfit of ancient navy blue sweatshirt, jodhpurs, and riding boots. She’s got an amazing figure for a woman her age. No wonder Suze is so skinny. I glance around the room, but I can’t see any telltale suit-carriers or hatboxes.

  “So, um, Caroline… I was just wondering what you were planning to wear today. As mother of the bride!”

  “Mother of the bride?” She stares at me. “Good God, I suppose I am. Hadn’t thought of it like that.”

  “Right! So, you… haven’t got a special outfit ready?”

  “Bit early to be dressing up, isn’t it?” says Caroline. “I’ll just fling something on before we go.”

  “Well, why don’t I help you choose?” I say firmly, and head toward the wardrobe. I throw open the doors, preparing myself for a shock — and gape in astonishment.

  This has got to be the most extraordinary collection of clothes I’ve ever seen. Riding habits, ball dresses, and thirties suits are jostling for space with Indian saris, Mexican ponchos… and an extraordinary array of tribal jewelry.

  “These clothes!” I breathe.

  “I know.” Caroline looks at them dismissively. “A load of old rubbish, really.”

  “Old rubbish? My God, if you found any of these in a vintage shop in New York…” I pull out a pale blue satin coat edged with ribbon. “This is fantastic.”

  “D’you like it?” says Caroline in surprise. “Have it.”

  “I couldn’t!”

  “Dear girl, I don’t want it.”

  “But surely the sentimental value… I mean, your memories—”

  “My memories are in here.” She taps her head. “Not in there.” She surveys the melee of clothes, then picks up a small piece of bone on a leather cord. “Now, this I’m rather fond of.”

  “That?” I say, trying to summon some enthusiasm. “Well, it’s—”

  “It was given to me by a Masai chief, many years ago now. We were driving at dawn to find a pride of elephants, when a chieftain flagged us down. A tribeswoman was in a fever after giving birth. We helped bring down her temperature and the tribe honored us with gifts. Have you been to the Masai Mara, Rebecca?”

  “Er… no. I’ve never actually been to—”

  “And this little lovely.” She picks up an embroidered purse. “I bought this at a street market in Konya. Bartered for it with my last packet of cigarettes before we trekked up the Nemrut Dagi. Have you been to Turkey?”

  “No, not there, either,” I say, feeling rather inadequate. God, I feel undertraveled. I scrabble around in my mind, trying to think of somewhere I’ve been that will impress her — but it’s a pretty paltry lineup, now that I think about it. France a few times, Spain, Crete… and that’s about it. Why haven’t I been anywhere exciting? Why haven’t I been trekking round Mongolia?

  I was going to go to Thailand once, come to think of it. But then I decided to go to France instead and spend the money I saved on a Lulu Guinness handbag.

  “I haven’t really traveled much at all,” I admit reluctantly.

  “Well, you must, dear girl!” booms Caroline. “You must broaden your horizons. Learn about life from real people. One of the dearest friends I have in the world is a Bolivian peasant woman. We ground maize together on the plains of the Llanos.”

  “Wow.”

  A little clock on the mantelpiece chimes the half hour, and I suddenly realize we’re not getting anywhere.

  “So anyway… did you have any ideas for a wedding outfit?”

  “Something warm and colorful,” says Caroline, reaching for a thick red and yellow poncho.

  “Erm… I’m not so sure that would be entirely appropriate…” I push between the jackets and dresses, and suddenly see a flash of apricot silk. “Ooh! This is nice.” I haul it out — and I don’t believe it. It’s Balenciaga.

  “My going-away outfit,” says Caroline reminiscently. “We traveled on the Orient Express to Venice, then explored the caves of Postojna. Do you know that region?”

  “You have to wear this!” I say, my voice rising to a squeak of excitement. “You’ll look spectacular. And it’s so romantic, wearing your own going-away outfit!”

  “I suppose it might be rather fun.” She holds it up against herself with red, weatherbeaten hands that make me wince every time I look at them. “That should still fit, shouldn’t it? Now, there must be a hat around here somewhere…” She puts down the suit and starts rooting around on a shelf.

  “So — you must be really happy for Suze,” I say, picking up an enameled hand mirror and examining it.

  “Tarquin’s a dear boy.” She turns round and taps her beaky nose confidentially. “Very well endowed.”

  This is true. Tarquin is the fifteenth richest person in the country, or something. But I’m a bit surprised at Suze’s mother bringing it up.

  “Well, yes…” I say. “Although I don’t suppose Suze really needs the money…”

  “I’m not talking about money!” She gives me a knowing smile and suddenly I realize what she means.

  “Oh!” I feel myself blushing furiously. “Right! I see!”

  “All the Cleath-Stuart men are the same. They’re famous for it. Never a divorce in the family,” she adds, plonking a green felt hat on top of her head.

  Gosh. I’m going to look at Tarquin a bit differently now.

  It takes me a while to persuade Caroline out of the green felt hat and into a chic black cloche. As I’m walking back along the corridor toward Suze’s room, I hear some familiar voices in the hall downstairs.

  “It’s common knowledge. Foot-and-mouth was caused by carrier pigeons.”

  “Pigeons? You’re telling me that this huge epidemic, which has wiped out stocks of cattle across Europe, was caused by a few harmless pigeons?”

  “Harmless? Graham, they’re vermin!”

  Mum and Dad! I hurry to the banisters — and there they are, standing by the fireplace. Dad’s in morning dress with a top hat under his arm, and Mum’s dressed in a navy jacket, floral skirt, and bright red shoes, which don’t quite match her red hat.

  “Mum?”

  “Becky!”

  “Mum! Dad!” I hurry down the stairs and envelop them both in a hug, breathing in the familiar scent of Yardley’s talc and Tweed.

  This trip is getting more emotional by the minute. I haven’t seen my parents since they came out to visit me in New York four months ago. And even then, they only stayed for three days before going off to Florida to see the Everglades.

  “Mum, you look amazing! Have you done something to your hair?”

  “Maureen put some highlights in,” she says, looking pleased. “And I popped next door to Janice this morning, so she could do my face. You know, she’s taken a course in professional makeup. She’s a real expert!”

  “I can… see!” I say feebly, looking at the lurid stripes of blusher and highlighter painted on Mum’s cheeks. Maybe I can manage to wipe them off accidentally on purpose.

  “So, is Luke here?” says Mum, looking around with bright eyes, like a squirrel searching for a nut.

  “Somewhere around,” I say — and Mum and Dad exchange glances.

  “He is here, though?” Mum gives a tense little laugh. “You did fly on the same plane, didn’t you?”

  “Mum, don’t worry. He’s here. Really.”

  Mum still doesn’t look convinced — and I can’t honestly blame her. The truth is, there was this tiny incident at the last wedding we all attended. Luke didn’t turn up, and I was completely desperate, and I resorted to… um…

  Well. It was only a tiny white lie. I mean, he could have been there, mingling somewhere. If they hadn’t had that stupid group photograph, no one would ever have known.

  “Jane! Graham! Hello!”

  There’s Luke, striding through the front door. Thank God for that.

  “Luke!” Mum gives a relieved trill of laughter. “You’re here! Graham, he’s here!”

  “Of cour
se he’s here!” says my father, rolling his eyes. “Where did you think he was? On the moon?”

  “How are you, Jane?” says Luke with a smile, and kisses her on the cheek.

  Mum’s face is pink with happiness, and she’s clutching onto Luke’s arm as though he might vanish in a puff of smoke. He gives me a little smile, and I beam happily back. I’ve been looking forward to this day for so long, and now it’s actually here. It’s like Christmas. In fact, it’s better than Christmas. Through the open front door I can see wedding guests walking past on the snowy gravel in morning dress and smart hats. In the distance, the church bells are pealing, and there’s a kind of excited, expectant atmosphere.

  “And where’s the blushing bride?” says Dad.

  “I’m here,” comes Suze’s voice. We all look up — and there she is, floating down the stairs, clutching a stunning bouquet of roses and ivy.

  “Oh, Suzie,” says Mum, and claps a hand to her mouth. “Oh, that dress! Oh… Becky! You’re going to look—” She turns to me with softened eyes and for the first time seems to take in my dress. “Becky… is that what you’re wearing? You’ll freeze!”

  “No, I won’t. The church is going to be heated.”

  “It’s lovely, isn’t it?” says Suze. “So unusual.”

  “But it’s only a T-shirt!” She gives a dissatisfied tug at the sleeve. “And what’s this frayed bit? It isn’t even finished properly!”

  “It’s customized,” I explain. “It’s completely unique.”

  “Unique? Don’t you have to match the others?”

  “There aren’t any others,” explains Suze. “The only other person I would have asked is Tarquin’s sister, Fenny. But she said if she was a bridesmaid again she’d jinx her chances of marriage. You know what they say, ‘Three times a bridesmaid.’ Well, she’s been one about ninety-three times! And she’s got her eye on this chap who works in the City, so she doesn’t want to take any chances.”

  There’s a short silence. I can see Mum’s brain working hard. Oh God, please don’t—

  “Becky love, how many times have you been a bridesmaid?” she says, a little too casually. “There was Uncle Malcolm and Aunt Sylvia’s wedding… but I think that’s it, isn’t it?”

  “And Ruthie and Paul’s,” I remind her.

  “You weren’t a bridesmaid at that,” says Mum at once. “You were a… flower girl. So it’s twice, including today. Yes, twice.”

  “Did you get that, Luke?” says Dad with a grin. “Twice.”

  Honestly, what are my parents like?

  “Well, anyway!” I say, trying quickly to think of another subject. “So… er…”

  “Of course, Becky has a good ten years before she needs to worry about anything like that…” says Luke conversationally.

  “What?” Mum stiffens, and her eyes dart from Luke to me and back again. “What did you say?”

  “Becky wants to wait at least ten years before she gets married,” says Luke. “Isn’t that right, Becky?”

  There’s a stunned silence. I can feel my face growing hot.

  “Um…” I clear my throat and try to give a nonchalant smile. “That’s… that’s right.”

  “Really?” says Suze, staring at me, wide-eyed. “I never knew that! Why?”

  “So I can… um… explore my full potential,” I mumble, not daring to look at Mum. “And… get to know the real me.”

  “Get to know the real you?” Mum’s voice is slightly shrill. “Why do you need ten years to do that? I could show it to you in ten minutes!”

  “But Bex, how old will you be in ten years’ time?” says Suze, wrinkling her brow.

  “I won’t necessarily need ten whole years exactly,” I say, feeling a little rattled. “You know, maybe… eight will be long enough.”

  “Eight?” Mum looks as though she wants to burst into tears.

  “Luke,” says Suze, looking perturbed. “Did you know about this?”

  “We discussed it the other day,” says Luke with an easy smile.

  “But I don’t understand,” she persists. “What about the—”

  “The time?” Luke cuts her off neatly. “You’re right. I think we should all get going. You know, it’s five to two.”

  “Five minutes?” Suze suddenly looks petrified. “Really? But I’m not ready! Bex, where are your flowers?”

  “Er… in your room, I think. I put them down somewhere…”

  “Well, get them! And where’s Daddy got to? Oh shit, I want a cigarette—”

  “Suze, you can’t smoke!” I say in horror. “It’s bad for the—” I stop myself just in time.

  “For the dress?” suggests Luke helpfully.

  “Yes. She might… drop ash on it.”

  By the time I’ve found my flowers in Suze’s bathroom, redone my lipstick, and come downstairs again, only Luke is left in the hall.

  “Your parents have gone over,” he says. “Suze says we should go over too, and she’ll come with her father in the carriage. And I’ve found a coat for you,” he adds, proffering a sheepskin jacket. “Your mother’s right, you can’t walk over like that.”

  “OK,” I agree reluctantly. “But I’m taking it off in the church.”

  “Did you know your dress is unraveling at the back, by the way?” he says as he puts it on.

  “Really?” I look at him in dismay. “Does it look awful?”

  “It looks very nice.” His mouth twitches into a smile. “But you might want to find a safety pin after the service.”

  “Bloody Danny!” I shake my head. “I knew I should have gone for Donna Karan.”

  As Luke and I make our way over the gravel to the tented walkway, the air is still and silent and a watery sun is coming out. The pealing bells have diminished to a single chiming, and there’s no one about except a sole scurrying waiter. Everyone else must already be inside.

  “Sorry if I brought up a sensitive subject just then,” says Luke as we begin to walk toward the church.

  “Sensitive?” I raised my eyebrows. “Oh, what, that. That’s not a sensitive subject at all!”

  “Your mother seemed a bit upset…”

  “Mum? Honestly, she’s not bothered either way. In fact… she was joking!”

  “Joking?”

  “Yes!” I say, a little defiantly. “Joking.”

  “I see.” Luke takes my arm as I stumble slightly on the matting. “So you’re still determined to wait eight years before you get married.”

  “Absolutely.” I nod. “At least eight years.”

  In the distance I can hear hooves on gravel, which must be Suze’s carriage setting off.

  “Or you know, maybe six,” I add casually. “Or… five, possibly. It all depends.”

  There’s a long silence, broken only by the soft, rhythmic sound of our footsteps on the walkway. The atmosphere is growing very strange between us, and I don’t quite dare look at Luke. I clear my throat and rub my nose, and try to think of a comment about the weather.

  We reach the church gate, and Luke turns to look at me — and suddenly his face is stripped of its usual quizzical expression.

  “Seriously, Becky,” he says. “Do you really want to wait five years?”

  “I… I don’t know,” I say, confused. “Do you?”

  There’s a moment of stillness between us, and my heart starts to thump.

  Oh my God. Oh my God. Maybe he’s going to… Maybe he’s about to—

  “Ah! The bridesmaid!” The vicar bustles out of the porch and Luke and I both jump. “All set to walk up the aisle?”

  “I, er… think so,” I say, aware of Luke’s gaze. “Yes.”

  “Good! You’d better get inside!” adds the vicar to Luke. “You don’t want to miss the moment!”

  “No,” he says, after a pause. “No, I don’t.”

  He drops a kiss on my shoulder and walks inside without saying anything else, and I stare after him, still completely confused.

  Did we just talk about… Was Luke rea
lly saying…

  Then there’s the sound of hooves, and I’m jolted out of my reverie. I turn to see Suze’s carriage coming down the road like something out of a fairy tale. Her veil is blowing in the wind and she’s smiling radiantly at some people who have stopped to watch, and I’ve never seen her look more beautiful.

  I honestly wasn’t planning to cry. In fact, I’d already planned a way to stop myself doing so, which is to recite the alphabet backward in a French accent. But even as I’m helping Suze straighten her train I’m feeling damp around the eyes. And as the organ music swells and we start to process slowly forward into the packed church, I’m having to sniff hard every two beats, along with the organ. Suze is holding tightly to her father’s arm and her train is gliding along the old stone floor. I’m walking behind, trying not to tap my heels on the floor, and hoping no one will notice my dress unraveling.

  We reach the front — and there’s Tarquin waiting, with his best man. He’s as tall and bony as ever, and his face still reminds me of a stoat, but I have to admit he’s looking pretty striking in his sporran and kilt. He’s gazing at Suze with such transparent love and admiration that I can feel my nose starting to prickle again. He turns briefly, meets my eye, and grins nervously — and I give an embarrassed little smile back. To be honest, I’ll never be able to look at him again without thinking about what Caroline said.

  The vicar begins his “Dearly beloved” speech, and I feel myself relax with pleasure. I’m going to relish every single, familiar word. This is like watching the start of a favorite movie, with my two best friends playing the main parts.

  “Susan, wilt thou take this man to be thy wedded husband?” The vicar’s got huge bushy eyebrows, which he raises at every question, as though he’s afraid the answer might be no. “Wilt thou love him, comfort him, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”

  There’s a pause — then Suze says, “I will,” in a voice as clear as a bell.

  I wish bridesmaids got to say something. It wouldn’t have to be anything very much, just a quick “Yes” or “I do.”

  When we come to the bit where Suze and Tarquin have to hold hands, Suze gives me her bouquet, and I take the opportunity to turn round and have a quick peek at the congregation. The place is crammed to the gills, in fact there isn’t even room for everyone to sit down. There are lots of strapping men in kilts and women in velvet suits, and there’s Fenny and a whole crowd of her London friends, all wearing Philip Treacy hats, it looks like. And there’s Mum, squashed right up against Dad, with a tissue pressed to her eyes. She looks up and sees me and I give a little smile — but all she does is sob again.