Matty said I drew heaps better!
‘I can’t draw anywhere near as good as you,’ I said modestly. ‘But I did use to love drawing monsters. I’m not supposed to draw them any more though.’
‘Why?’
‘Oh, because . . . It worries my dad. I used to draw all sorts of scary stuff, see, after . . .’ I let my voice tail away.
‘After your mum?’ said Marty.
I tensed. Had Matty told her? It was my biggest ever most dreadful secret.
‘What did Matty say?’ I asked, my voice going wobbly.
‘Matty said you didn’t have a mum. That must be so sad. When did she die?’
I breathed out. Matty hadn’t told. She really was a true best friend. Somehow it made it easier to tell Marty myself.
‘My mum isn’t dead,’ I said, picking up Marty’s snake and winding him round and round my arm. ‘She just left.’
‘Left?’
‘Yes, because – because she’s not really like other mums.’
‘You mean she doesn’t care about you?’
‘She does! She just doesn’t want to be tied down. She’s an artist. She needs to be free,’ I said. ‘That’s what Dad told me.’
‘But she’s not free. She’s got you and your dad,’ said Marty, shocked.
‘It’s hard to explain,’ I said. That’s what Dad had said too.
‘So she just left and never came back?’
‘No! No, she’s come back heaps of times. Well, several. And she sends birthday and Christmas presents. She’s still my mum, but she just doesn’t live with us,’ I said, winding Marty’s snake tighter and tighter around my arm.
‘So where does she live then?’
‘I’m not quite sure where she lives now. Somewhere abroad, I think.’
‘But you can still phone her and email her and Skype her?’ Marty went on relentlessly.
‘Look, it’s none of your business,’ I said.
Marty blinked. ‘You’re right. It’s not. Sorry.’ She unwound her snake and mimed wrapping him round her neck and pulling him tight. ‘I should learn to shut up and stop being so nosy.’
‘It’s OK,’ I said. ‘I like your snake.’
‘Do you really? He’s called Basil and I love him to bits. I made him all by myself. Melissa thinks he’s revolting. She hates all my animals but I think they’re cool. I don’t go on about them at school in case they call me a baby – you know what people can be like,’ said Marty. ‘Matty understands though, doesn’t she?’
‘We play Warrior Princesses,’ I said.
‘That sounds seriously cool,’ said Marty.
I took a deep breath. ‘Maybe we could all play it some time,’ I suggested.
‘Oh, wow, yes. Great,’ said Marty.
‘Look, tell you what,’ I said, squatting on the crowded floor and grabbing the drawing pad. ‘We could do a picture together now. You do Supermart. And I’ll do some monsters. I’ve missed drawing them. It’ll be fun.’
So we sat side by side and I invented some brand-new monsters with staring fish eyes and extra little dangly limbs and enormous slimy warty bodies with long bare pink tails, and Marty drew Supermart kicking and punching and stamping on them all. We described what was happening as we drew and coloured. I kept inventing brand-new monsters and Marty imagined ever more painful ways of squashing them. We were so absorbed that we didn’t hear Mrs Michaels calling. We didn’t hear Melissa yelling to us halfway up the stairs. We only looked up when Dad and Mrs Michaels came into the bedroom, shaking their heads at us.
‘What are you two up to? Didn’t you hear us calling? What’s that you’re drawing?’ Mrs Michaels asked.
‘Just a game,’ said Marty, closing her drawing book quickly.
‘I bet it’s something to do with your silly old Supermart cartoons,’ said Mrs Michaels, sighing. ‘You could be quite good at art if you’d only draw something properly.’
‘Oh, Mum, you don’t half nag,’ said Marty – but she suddenly jumped up and put her arms tight round Mrs Michaels’s waist.
‘That’s right,’ said Mrs Michaels fondly. ‘Naggle, naggle, naggle, all day long. And with good reason!’
I had a lump in my throat watching them. I cuddled my dad lots, but it wasn’t quite the same as cuddling a mum. I remembered how soft my own mum felt, and the beautiful rosy smell of her perfume. For a moment the ache for her was so bad I thought I’d crumple up amongst all the rubbish on Marty’s carpet – but Dad put his arm round me, keeping me upright.
‘Come and see what a lovely job Mrs Michaels has made of your dress, Tilly,’ he said gently.
I tried on the bridesmaid’s dress. Mrs Michaels had not only sewn on new rosebuds, she’d sprayed my dress and ironed it so that the skirts stuck out beautifully and it looked brand new.
‘There, you’ll do me proud now,’ she said. ‘Let’s take a few photos of you, sweetheart. My husband’s got a fancy camera. Will it be all right if I use a photo on my website, Mr Andrews?’
‘We’d be proud, wouldn’t we, Tilly?’ said Dad.
‘But my hair isn’t right. Mandy Bygraves says I’ve got to have it properly styled,’ I said.
‘Silly woman. I like little girls to look natural,’ said Mrs Michaels. ‘Tell you what, I’ll get our Melissa to brush it for you – she’s got a knack with hair.’
Melissa did my hair, letting it hang loose, with just one little plait wound with more tiny rosebuds – and she gave me pale pink lipstick too!
‘I expect you’d like some lipstick too, Marty,’ she joked, waving the lipstick near her mouth.
‘Yuck!’ said Marty, and sucked her lips safely inside her mouth.
I loved the lipstick. It even tasted wonderful. I stood on top of Mrs Michaels’s work table and turned round and round, holding out my skirts, while Mr Michaels snapped me at every angle.
‘You’ll be Madam Mandy’s prettiest bridesmaid, no doubt about that,’ said Mrs Michaels.
Chapter Seventeen
I WOKE UP early on the day of the wedding. I lay cuddling Stripy, rehearsing in my head exactly what I had to do. Mandy had put all us bridesmaids through our paces several times, making us keep exactly in step, pointing our feet, our heads held high. The others didn’t listen properly and barged into each other, which made Mandy very snappy.
‘For goodness’ sake, you’ll wreck the whole wedding if you carry on like that on my big day,’ she said.
She was particularly fierce with Lovejoy, the bridesmaid twinned with me. She was as tall as me, though she was two years younger and kept getting the giggles.
‘Do stop that silly chortling, Lovejoy,’ said Mandy severely.
‘I can’t help it, Aunt Mandy. We all look so daft mincing about like this,’ said Lovejoy.
‘I’m trying to help you look dainty, not daft. Though that’s a big ask in your case, Lovejoy,’ said Mandy.
Lovejoy simply giggled again, but her mum looked furious.
I couldn’t help feeling there were going to be several big arguments by the time the wedding was over. I didn’t really care, just so long as the wedding itself went splendidly. I had loved the Flowers’ wedding. I had loved Simon and Matthew’s wedding too. But this was a big-time wedding, with Mandy in a fairy-tale princess white wedding dress and Ian in top hat and tails, and the two matrons of honour and six girls in raspberry-pink frills. We were even arriving at the church in style. I had to be at Mandy and Ian’s house at eleven to have my hair done, and then me and my dress had to pass a close inspection. At half past twelve all us bridesmaids then had to pile into a pink limousine! Mandy gave us strict instructions that we weren’t allowed to mess about or act rowdy, and we absolutely mustn’t crease our bridesmaid’s dresses under pain of death. I rather expected that Lovejoy at the very least would be enduring this pain when we arrived at the church, but that was her lookout.
I was determined to enjoy this last chance to be a bridesmaid no matter what. I wondered if the television crew really woul
d turn up. Dad had said that this was wishful thinking on Mandy’s part and that a real news team wouldn’t ever turn up just for a wedding.
‘Not even if there’s a rent-a-bridesmaid?’ I asked.
‘Not even,’ said Dad, shaking his head at me sympathetically.
I realized he was right but I couldn’t help hoping all the same. It would be so wonderful if I was actually on television in my raspberry-pink bridesmaid’s dress. Matty might actually regret giving it to me! Cathy and Amanda and all the other girls in my class would be so impressed. And all the girls at my old school too. And maybe, just maybe, Mum might happen to turn on her television just at the right moment and see me!
I looked pretty in my bridesmaid’s dress – everyone said so. Much prettier than normal. Much, much prettier than I used to be. My hair was still a bit thin and wispy, but I liked the way it looked after Melissa had styled it, and maybe it would look even better after Mandy’s hairdresser had sorted it out. My dress would look brand new and I’d be wearing snow-white socks and new shoes that Mandy was buying specially.
It was mean to say it, but I wouldn’t be able to help looking the best bridesmaid, especially as I was the only one who’d be holding her head up high and walking daintily.
Mum would look at me and then suddenly rush to her television and freeze-frame it. She’d stare at me, her heart beating. ‘My Tills,’ she’d murmur. ‘My own little girl.’ She’d have tried to put me right out of her mind but now she’d look at me, transfixed. She’d see I wasn’t just much prettier. I was much more grown up too. Too old to cling to her or cry or need her to do anything for me. I could help her, make her cups of tea, chat to her like a grown-up. We could be like two special friends. She’d see that she might like living with me now. She’d realize just how much she’d missed me and Dad.
She’d start the television again and watch the clip of the wedding, and this time she wouldn’t scoff and say weddings were naff. She’d see how wonderfully romantic they were. She’d imagine herself in white lace, with Dad at her side – and me as their bridesmaid in a raspberry-pink dress.
I’d been so silly to think that Miss Hope and Dad would get together. They barely knew each other. They had never fallen in love, lived together, had a child. They weren’t a family. I liked Miss Hope and Dad obviously liked her too, but we didn’t love her, not the way we loved Mum.
It was a shame about Miss Hope all the same. She could be a guest at Mum and Dad’s wedding, wearing her red dress with the white belt, and she’d smile bravely and throw confetti over Mum and Dad but there’d be wistful tears in her eyes. Still, Mr and Mrs Flower and Simon and Matthew would be guests at the wedding too, and they’d comfort her, and you never knew, Miss Hope might well meet someone else at our wedding and dance the night away with them, forgetting all about Dad.
No matter how lovely Miss Hope was, she could never be as special as Mum. Mum and Dad and I belonged together. And now, after waiting such a terribly long time, it looked as if all my wishes might actually come true.
I was in such a happy daydream that I jumped when Dad came into my bedroom holding a tray.
‘I thought the special bridesmaid might enjoy breakfast in bed,’ he said. ‘How’s my girl? Have you got butterflies in your tummy? This is clearly the wedding of the century, according to Mandy Bygraves . . . When you’ve finished your toast and honey you’d better hop in the bath and scrub for England because I dare say Mandy will be inspecting you carefully.’
Dad seemed in a very jolly mood. Had he been daydreaming too?
‘Dad, about these television people . . .’ I said tentatively.
‘Tilly, it’s not going to happen,’ said Dad, though he sounded hopeful.
‘It might,’ I said.
And it did, it did, it did! Dad dropped me off at Mandy’s and then made a hasty retreat, saying he’d meet me at the church. I didn’t blame him. The house was packed tight with females, big and small, and they all seemed to be screeching their heads off. Mandy was squawking the loudest, running around in her petticoat and wedding veil snapping at the bridesmaids, her phone clamped to her head as she furiously complained about the pinkness of the roses just delivered by the florists. There was a smaller, fiercer, wrinklier version of Mandy also shrieking down her phone, clearly Mandy’s mum. Then there were the two best-friend matrons of honour, only they seemed more like worst enemies now, arguing bitterly about who was going to dance first with the best man. Four of the bridesmaids in various states of undress played chase all over the house. Lovejoy was only wearing knickers and wasn’t a pretty sight. The fifth bridesmaid was wailing and struggling to escape because she said the hairdresser’s tongs were too hot, and the hairdresser herself was practically beating her about the head with her hairbrush to get her to stay still.
I could see why the fifth bridesmaid was moaning when it was my turn to get my hair styled, but it was fascinating too, watching in the mirror as my straight hair was turned into crinkly cascades. I shook my head experimentally to see what it felt like.
‘Don’t do that! You’ll shake all the curl out, silly,’ said the hairdresser. ‘Oh dear heavens, I can’t wait to be back in a proper salon. You bridesmaids! It’s more like a bear garden than a wedding.’
But at half past eleven we were miraculously all ready, hair curled and decorated with fresh rosebuds, new shoes still unscuffed and raspberry-pink dresses immaculate.
‘Oh, Mandy, come and see. They look adorable!’ said Mandy’s mum. ‘They’ll do you proud.’
Mandy peered round her bedroom door. She was in the middle of having her make-up done, so she had one very fierce eye and eyebrow and one that seemed barely there by comparison, so she looked like a pirate – but she gave us a sudden beaming smile.
‘You look lovely, girls,’ she said. ‘Now, no mucking about in the limo, remember! Just sit still and don’t crease your dresses.’
We couldn’t help playing about a bit, pretending we were movie stars quaffing pink champagne to match our dresses. Lovejoy pretended she was a drunk movie star and flopped about and then mimed copious vomiting, which made the rest of us start to feel sick for real – but we got to the church without further disaster.
There were guests going in, quite a lot of onlookers gathering around the little railings – and a van parked opposite with several men carrying unwieldy equipment, and a lady in a smart blue suit.
‘OMG!’ said the oldest bridesmaid. ‘Look! It’s the telly!’
All the bridesmaids struggled frantically to get out of the limo, crushing each other as well as their dresses.
‘Fancy, the television people coming to film Aunt Mandy!’ said Lovejoy, jumping out and capering wildly.
A lady in black with a clipboard came running up to her. ‘Ah! You must be the little rent-a-bridesmaid!’ she said. ‘Come over here, dear. We’d like you to do a little piece to camera before the wedding gets started.’
Lovejoy looked bewildered, but followed her obediently. I was so shocked I just let her.
‘Tilly! Hi, Tilly!’ It was Marty. She came running up to me. ‘Hey, Mum insisted on coming to see all her dresses on show and, guess what, the television crew have interviewed her. She’s ever so thrilled. They want to interview you too. They’re over there.’ Marty gestured and saw Lovejoy grinning inanely at the cameraman. ‘What’s she doing? It’s not about her!’
Marty charged over to the television people. ‘Stop! You’ve got the wrong bridesmaid. She’s not Tilly.’
The lady in black frowned. ‘You’re not Tilly?’ she demanded of Lovejoy.
‘I never said I was,’ said Lovejoy, truthfully enough. ‘But I am a bridesmaid – honestly.’
‘But this is the actual rent-a-bridesmaid!’ said Marty, pulling me over to them. ‘This is the one you want. Tilly. She’s my friend.’
‘Hello, Tilly,’ said the lady in black. ‘At last! Where’s your mum, dear? I’d like her permission to interview you.’
‘She hasn’t got a
mum,’ said Marty.
‘I have, but she’s not here,’ I said. ‘But I’ve got a dad.’
I looked around wildly – and there was Dad, elbowing his way through the crowd of onlookers.
‘Oh, Dad, please can I be on television?’ I pleaded.
‘Oh Lord, what next? I never thought—Oh well, yes, I suppose so,’ said Dad.
The lady in black got him to sign a piece of paper on her clipboard and then took me to the pretty woman in blue.
‘This is Jasmine, our presenter. She’s going to ask you a few questions. Just talk straight back to her – don’t stare at the camera.’
‘It won’t take very long, will it?’ I asked anxiously. ‘Mandy won’t like it if her wedding is held up.’
‘Ah, sweet,’ said Jasmine. ‘Don’t worry, darling, we’ll be quick as a wink. Then we’ll film you with all the other bridesmaids going into church and stick around for a little shot when you all come back out with the bride and groom. OK? Stand up straight then – and how about a nice big smile, because it’s a really happy day, isn’t it?’
It might actually be the happiest day of my life if all my daydreams came true – so I smiled and smiled.
‘When you’re ready,’ said the cameraman.
‘Now, Tilly, you’re the little girl who’s the rent-a-bridesmaid,’ said Jasmine. ‘Tell us how you got the whole idea.’
‘Well, my best friend Matty gave me her own bridesmaid’s dress, this one, and I just loved it so much,’ I said. ‘Only no one I knew was getting married, so we thought I might advertise to see if anyone needed a bridesmaid. So I put an advert in Sid, our newsagent’s, window.’
‘How very enterprising,’ said Jasmine. ‘How much do you charge then, Tilly?’
‘Not very much. In fact you don’t really have to pay me anything. I’m happy to be a bridesmaid for free, though everyone’s insisted on paying me so far because they thought I did a good job,’ I said proudly.