Copyright 2013 Jennifer Gilby Roberts
Short Story (5,500 words)
~~~~~
It's 2.13 pm. My little sister, Brittany, has been Mrs. Phillip Beresford for 52 minutes and this day has already been the longest of my life.
They could have had the common decency to elope, instead of making us spend the day at some stately home where we fit in like dandelions at Chelsea Flower Show. I'm surprised Brittany wanted Dad within a mile of Phillip's parents. But then, I suppose it's too late now for them to lock Phillip in the cellar and call off the wedding.
'Can I have the bride and bridesmaids, please?' the photographer calls, waving his camera in a threatening manner.
I attempt to take a deep breath and get stuck halfway through. I would kill to get out of this dress. Wearing it is like being wrapped in a boa-constrictor. It just about fit when Brittany bought it, but it certainly doesn't now. It took two people to get the zip done up. My strapless bra has sunk into my skin and is garrotting various internal organs as we speak. Not to mention it's 90 degrees out here and I feel like I'm wearing a greenhouse.
'Smile, Melanie,' Brittany hisses, as I reluctantly move to stand beside her under the huge wooden gazebo (sod's law means the sun has now gone in, so even the shade isn't a bonus). She grabs my arm and pulls me to her other side, nearly mowing down another bridesmaid. 'And stand this side. It's less obvious that way.'
My stye, she means, that my eye developed yesterday. As if it wasn't bad enough being the only bridesmaid who isn't straight out of a bridal magazine. Any minute now she's going to ask me to step aside so I don't spoil her perfect wedding album. I know she only let me be a bridesmaid because Dad insisted.
'Turn sideways, shoulders to me, chins up, bouquets towards the bride - that's lovely,' the photographer croons. 'And SMILE.'
This position is actually painful. No one told me to take up yoga to prepare for today. Psychotherapy, yes, but not yoga.
I extend the painful twisting to my lips until I look like a demonstrator off a home shopping channel.
'Hold it!'
As I'm standing there, fighting to keep my smile from morphing into a snarl, I notice movement in front of my eyes.
'One more!'
A very large, very black spider slides down a thread from the roof of the gazebo and stops millimetres from my nose.
I freak. I scream, jump backwards and send two bridesmaids crashing to the floor. They scream in shock. Brittany screams in temper. The photographer screams in anguish. Yet another shot is ruined. The hoards of other guests start tittering. The perfect groomsmen hurry over to help.
'Melanie!' Brittany snaps, as the groomsmen lift two bridesmaids (with the combined weight of a marshmallow) to their feet. 'Can you not pose for two seconds without ruining everything?! What the hell happened this time?'
'It was a spider!' I protest, checking very carefully for its location. I can't find it. Where has it gone?
Oh God, it didn't land on me, did it? Is it crawling down my cleavage as we speak?
I have no choice. I have to check.
'Melanie!' Brittany growls, grabbing my arm again and spinning me so I'm facing away from the guests. 'What the hell are you doing? Get your hands out of your dress!'
'But the spider!'
She moves forward until there are centimetres between us and stares me down. 'I don't care if you have a poisonous scorpion climbing up your leg. Pose, smile and shut up!'
