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!'
Ah, sisterly love.
I feel no crawling, so I'm reasonably confident the spider has merely climbed back to the roof of the gazebo. Plus, realistically, my boobs are so squashed together that you couldn't slide a place card between them. It hasn't gone down there. That tunnel has caved in.
I ignore the dirty looks from the other bridesmaids and move back into position for the shot.
'Alright, that'll do here. Can I have the bridesmaids and groomsmen by the lake, please?'
Five bridesmaids trip lightly to the lake and one plods. No prizes for guessing which.
I suppose it could be worse. Will (my best friend of forever) only has an evening invitation, but as a great concession Brittany invited my boyfriend, Darren, so I have at least one person here who likes me. We've been together nearly eight months in total, although we split up for a while. Admittedly that 'while' included my graduation ball, but Will came up for it so it was fine. Anyway, we're back together now. We even set up a couple of our friends as a joint venture. That's got to mean something, right? I wonder if I'll catch the bouquet...
Okay, we're probably a way off that. But it's still fantastic to have him here. Makes me feel like I can make it through today.
A few more photos in excruciating positions and there's just the group shots left.
Darren comes to stand beside me in the crowd and wraps his arm around my waist. I smile gratefully at him. He's so handsome. Tall and dark with blue eyes, exactly my type.
'Nearly finished,' he says comfortingly.
'Further in, please,' the photographer yells over the din. 'Get friendly. Act like you like each other.'
'Act' being the operative word for many of the guests.
I dredge up one more smile and, after a few painful minutes, it is finally over.
'And we're done!' the photographer calls. 'Now everyone get under cover, because it looks like it's going to hammer it down any minute.'
I look up. Rolling black clouds are closing in. Finally the weather is aligning with my mood.
'Come over here for a minute,' Darren says, pulling me away from the crowd. 'We need to talk.'
'But it's going to rain!' I protest, gesturing to the crowd racing towards the marquee. 'I can't change out of this dress, you know. So whatever you need to say, say it as quick as possible. You've got thirty seconds.'
'Okay,' he blinks. 'I-have-to-leave-now-I'm-meeting-Karen-we're-dating-now-so-I'm-breaking-up-with-you.'
I blink back. I stare at him. I must have heard that wrong.
'What?' I ask slowly.
'I-have-to-leave-now-I'm-meeting-Karen-'
'Karen?' I interrupt. 'My friend Karen? My friend Karen who we set up with your friend Adam?'
He shifts from one foot to the other. 'They didn't get on, but I thought she was really nice. Look, I didn't plan it, it just...'
'...happened, yes,' I interrupt.
Can you tell I've heard this before?
'Look, I'm really sorry, Mel,' he says, attempting a contrite expression. It doesn't suit him. It looks like a five-year-old has drawn it onto his face. 'But you know we weren't going anywhere, what with me moving back home. I wanted to come and support you at the wedding, but now that's over I think it's best if I just head off.'
It's not bloody over! Alright the ceremony is over, but the reception is only just beginning and this is the bit I need the support for! During the ceremony nobody was allowed to talk to me!
'Go,' I mutter. 'It's fine.'
He perks up. 'Really?'
No, of course not really!
'Really,' I say. 'Just go.'
'Thanks, Mel,' he says. He takes my hand and squeezes it. 'I hope we can still be friends. Hey, maybe when you find someone else we can all meet up and do something.'
Is he serious?
'Bye,' I say and turn away.
I tear off towards the marquee, just as the heavens open and the rain pours down.
At least it hides my tears.
~~~~
I get into the marquee and rush straight to the toilets, where I stare into the mirror. My pink dress is now several shades darker, the trailing ringlets from my once-elegant up-do have collapsed and I have black rivers running down my cheeks. Waterproof mascara, my ass. You know what rain is? It's water. So why exactly is there more mascara on my cheeks than on my eyelashes?
So, in summary, I'm dumped, drenched and depressed. Great. That's exactly how I wanted to start off the reception from hell.
Please God, could you promise me one thing? Don't let Brittany get married more than once.
At least I brought make-up and hair supplies. Well, as many as I could cram into the miniscule clutch Brittany let us have.
I repair the damage as best I can and venture out into the room.
~~~~
The first person I meet is my father. Oh, joy.
'Where's Darren got to, my girl?' he greets me, hitching up his trousers for the hundredth time today.
'He's gone,' I say dully. 'He's dumped me and gone off with one of my friends.'
'Good, good,' Dad says, taking my arm. 'I've just been chatting to a super bloke and I want to introduce you. One of Phillip's colleagues. A doctor, Melanie, a doctor!'
Having both his daughters married to doctors would be the fulfilment of all my dad's hopes and dreams. As opposed to if one of us had actually become a doctor, which would probably have sent him into mourning. Somehow, the whole women's movement managed to completely bypass him.
Still, I suppose it would be okay to meet this friend of my brother-in-law. I'm not actually against the idea of 'marrying well', as my dad puts it. I can see the advantages.
Maybe this is all part of some grand plan and today Prince Charming will come and rescue me.
Hey, it could happen.
I perk up a little, as Dad steers me through the throng to a group of mostly middle-aged men in regulation black tuxes.
Oh, wow, that must be him. He's gorgeous. Like Darren, only airbrushed. For once Dad might have got it spot on.
I smile at him as we approach and he smiles back.
Then something blocks my view.
'Malcolm, my elder daughter, Melanie.'
I look up from Malcolm's chest to his face and can't quite believe my eyes. He must be twice my age at least and he's got a belly like a beer keg. Which is probably what it is, judging by the florid complexion.
'Delighted to meet you, Melanie,' he says, taking my hand and kissing it. My skin crawls like a thousand spiders are scuttling all over it.
No, don't think about spiders.
I repress a shudder. I look over his shoulder, but Gorgeous Guy is nowhere to be seen. Dad strikes again.
'Nice to meet you too,' I manage. 'If you'll just excuse me, someone's trying to get my attention.'
And I hurry off before Dad can stop me.
~~~~
It's still tipping down, so I can't escape outside. As I attempt to swim to safety, I get caught in Great Aunt Marion's net.
'Melanie,' she says, gesturing with her glasses, 'Eleanor and I were just talking about how difficult it must be for you to watch your younger sister get married before you.'
Oh, joy.
'Not really,' I say blithely. 'I'm only twenty-one, after all. Brittany's getting married very young, that's all.'
'I was married by your age,' Great Aunt Marion warns, hitching up her bosom.
'So was I,' Eleanor chimes in.
I don't know how or why, but none of my family has advanced past the 1950s. Nor do they realise that anyone else has.
'Well, things are different now,' I say, pointlessly. 'Anyway, I'm not ready to get married yet. I want to work first and live on my own. My friend Susan and I have a flat share lined up and I'm applying for jobs. I've got an interview next week, actually, for a job as an administrator. It's not my dream, but it's a foot in the door. I'll stay there six months and then move on to something better.'
'A flat share?' Great Aunt Marion sounds appalled. You'd think I'd announced I was going to go and live in a brothel. 'You mean you're not going to stay at home until you get married, like Brittany?'
Is there a diplomatic way of saying that I'd rather cut off my own arm with a rusty steak knife? A rusty steak knife that's really, really blunt? A rusty steak knife that's really, really blunt and covered in Ebola germs?
There is absolutely nothing I can say right now that will avoid a lecture.
Or is there?
I fake a sneeze. 'I'm sorry, Great Aunt Marion,' I say, wiping my eyes, 'my allergies are acting up. Cat hair just sticks to everything, doesn't it? I'll have to go. Speak to you later. Bye!'
And, yet again, I run.
~~~~
Dinner is announced and I have never been so grateful in my life. One, this massively cuts down the number of people who have access to me. Two, I have been looking forward to this meal literally for months. Ever since I got on the scales upon getting home from university and realised that all the finals-induced panic-eating had done serious damage and I would have to go on a diet if I didn't want to end up on The Biggest Loser, I've promised myself that today I could eat anything I wanted. Or as much as I can manage without actually splitting this dress, anyway.
I'm seated between Mum and one of the other bridesmaids on the top table, which is bliss. Bridesmaid Girl #1 doesn't give a toss about me, so talks exclusively to her other neighbour, Bridesmaid Girl #2. My mum does care about me (I think), but says little and nothing offensive. At last, things are looking up.
Even better, I spy Gorgeous Guy at the next table. I can't speak to him, but I can certainly admire the view.
'How are you doing, Melanie dear?' my mum asks quietly.
I shrug. 'Okay,' I say. There's no point in complaining. Mum will sympathise, but she won't interfere.
'I haven't seen Darren since the photos,' she says. 'Is he okay? Where is he sitting?'
'There's an empty seat with his name by it at the back,' I say, trying to speak without moving my lips in case someone in the family can lip-read, 'but he's not there. He's gone off to meet his new girlfriend.'
She starts. 'You didn't tell me you'd broken up! Why did you bring him?'
'Because I didn't find out until after the photos,' I say. 'Apparently he felt that was the most appropriate time to tell me.'
'Oh, Melanie,' Mum whispers. 'I think you're better off without that one.'
'Absolutely,' I say, despite the tears pricking my eyes. 'Good riddance. It's time to find someone better.'
'That's the spirit,' she says and squeezes my hand under the table.
Oooo, they're bringing the starters!
I perk up, until the plate is placed in front of me.
What the hell is this?
The venue provided Brittany with a whole list of mouth-watering entr\u00e9es and she has picked...a salad. I've been on a sodding diet. Do you have any idea how many salads I've eaten? And I didn't even like the first one!
Brittany's been slimming too, though she wasn't exactly hefty to begin with. Apparently she isn't planning to let herself go now she's married, either.
Dessert had better be something spectacular to make up for this.
I'm quite tempted not to eat it on principle, but I'm hungry and I'm suspicious now that the main course may not be any better.
'Mum,' I say as she delicately picks at her salad, 'do you know what the main course is?'
'Chicken and mushroom pasta, I think, dear.'
I can't stand mushrooms. As far as I'm concerned, they taste like what they're grown in.
I eat the salad, feeling mutinous.
~~~~
I'm picking through my pasta, trying to remove every trace of mushroom so I might actually get to eat some of it, when my attention is caught by the conversation going on beside me. Bridesmaid Girls #1 and #2 appear to be discussing Gorgeous Guy.
'He's so handsome,' one breathes. 'Do you know him?'
'Oh, yes.'
'Well, who is he? What's his name?'
'James Matthews, he works with Phillip and my husband. But hands off, he's taken. He's engaged to the blond woman sitting next to him. Cathy? Kerry? Something like that.'
Bridesmaid Girl #1 groans. 'That sucks. Why are all the good ones taken?'
Why, indeed.
It's official; the only thing I have to look forward to today is dessert.
~~~~
I perk up again when they clear away our dinner plates. Finally, my reward for all those weeks of denial and exercising. Well, sort of exercising. I've taken some very long, strenuous walks down the high street and back.
The waiter places a cocktail glass in front of me. I can't quite believe my eyes.
Fruit salad. It's a sodding fruit salad. What kind of dessert is that?! Where's the chocolate? Where's the cream? Where's the health warning?
It's a good job Brittany won't be coming home tonight, because if she did she wouldn't be here tomorrow morning.
I eat it, because I'm still hungry. I stab the pieces of fruit viciously with my fork, imagining each one is Brittany.
'When do you think they'll cut the cake?' Bridesmaid Girl #1 asks #2, apparently no more impressed by the dessert offering than I am.
The cake! I can't believe I forgot about the cake! That'll make things better. You can't make a cake without sugar.
Can you? Has she found a way?
No, even Brittany must have got a proper wedding cake.
Did she say something about cheesecake, or did I imagine it? You can't really have a multi-tier cheesecake. Maybe it'll be a whole load of mini cheesecakes on a cupcake stand. I may have to sneak a second one. And a third. Maybe a fourth.
'After the speeches, I guess,' Bridesmaid Girl #2 replies.
Oh, God, the speeches. I'd forgotten about them too. That's what I get for blotting the wedding out of my mind for so long.
I think now might be a really good time to go and check my make-up. For half an hour or so.
I unwisely take another deep breath and suddenly I hear 'rrriiippp'.
Oh God, I think my dress has given way.
I reach behind my back and try to investigate without anyone noticing. Yes, the straining zip has been wrenched away from the seam down the middle of my back. I can feel a draught and the crushing pressure has eased. It's so nice.
I'll have to fix it, though. I can't go around for the rest of the day with my dress open at the back. Curse Brittany for not giving us shawls. Admittedly it is August and we're in the middle of a heat wave, but even so. Did she never consider that this might happen?
No, because all her other bridesmaids are perfect so the only one this would happen to is me. And seeing me humiliated could only improve her day.
What on Earth am I going to fix it with? I haven't got a safety pin. Hairpins? Ribbon? Can you stick a dress together with hairspray?
It's still holding together at the top. I'll just have to cover it up. There must be someone here I know who brought a shawl or a scarf or something I can put on.
I look around. I'm not seeing any. Where's that person who's always cold when you need them?
What, then? A napkin? A tablecloth? Am I going to run around for the rest of the day with a cape, being Super Mel?
Before I can make a plan, there's the sound of fork on glass and Phillip is standing up. There's no escape.
For fifteen minutes I'm forced to listen to a nauseating speech about how beautiful and wonderful and generally perfect my sister is and how fabulously lucky he is, etc. etc. etc. I've got to say, I have my suspicions that he didn't write it himself. It just doesn't sound like him, although admittedly I don't know him that well. That and I swear I heard the exact same speech at my friend Janie's wedding last year.
After he's finished his obligatory compliments to the bridesmaids and read out a stack of boring cards from people who "couldn't" make it, he finally sits down.
I would sigh in relief, but I'm rigid with tension because now my dad is going to speak.
I would kill to be somewhere else. Anywhere else. Stuck down a mine, a few feet from an erupting volcano, in the middle of a lake of quicksand...
He heaves himself to his feet, stomach bouncing off the table and rippling like a mound of jelly.
'Ladies and gentlemen,' he says, tugging at his waistcoat, 'thank you all for coming. It's a real joy to see so many people here to celebrate the marriage of my beautiful daughter. Isn't she gorgeous?'
The inevitable applause and cheers.
'Brittany is, of course, my younger daughter,' he continues, and I flinch. I twist my hands under the table until my knuckles turn white. 'I always thought that Melanie would go first and she had her opportunity a few years ago, but she let him go and now her sister's beaten her to the altar.'
God, when will he get over that?
There's a somewhat awkward silence, but he doesn't seem to notice.
'Anyway, we're very proud of Brittany. Not only is she beautiful, she's a wonderful cook, a good cleaner and no one can get a stain out like she can. I'm sure she'll make a terrific wife.'
He pauses to take a sip of his drink. I notice Brittany's smile has become a tiny bit forced.
'And we couldn't be more pleased that she's managed to land Phillip. He's the son-in-law any parent would wish for. A doctor, from a good family - what more could you ask? Well done, Brittany!'
More than a few exchanged glances between the guests.
'I'm not much for making speeches, so I'll finish up.'
Hallelujah.
'Just a quick reminder that we've still got Melanie on our hands and we're open to offers! Stand up, Melanie.'
I'm going to kill him.
Stiffly I get to my feet and smile weakly. I get a few sympathetic looks. Gorgeous Guy looks pityingly at me.
'Anyone interested, just let us know!'
He sits. I sit too, smile frozen in place. God, I knew it was going to be bad, but that surpassed even my expectations. At least Dad looks pleased with himself. No one else is. The applause is decidedly muted.
I sit and smile through the best man's speech, which is dull by comparison. As far as I can tell, Phillip hasn't done anything except train to be an ideal husband. So either he's really, really dull or he's a big fat liar.
Finally, it's over. But I still can't relax. What the hell am I going to do about this stupid dress?
The master of ceremonies gets to his feet and addresses the guests, 'That's the formal part of today finished! The band will be starting in twenty minutes, so everyone feel free to let your hair down.'
And then it hits me. Thank God I never got round to getting my hair cut. As the guests get up I take the whole lot down, pin back the sides and voila! The split is covered - my hands confirm it - and I still have room to breathe. I should have thought of this before. Of course the back of my neck is already sweating in the heat, but you can't have everything. Wearing a shawl would probably be worse.
'Can everyone please gather round for the cutting of the cake,' says the master of ceremonies.
Finally, things are looking up.
~~~~
I'm confused anew when I get a good look at the cake. It looks like your standard multi-tier wedding cake. It can't be cheesecake then, I must have misheard. You couldn't get cheesecake to do that. Not unless you made it with Polyfilla.
'Such a clever idea they had about the cake,' a middle-aged woman with a floppy hat whispers to her friend.
'Why? What did they do?'
'Well, it's a cheese cake.'
'A cheesecake? How did they get it to stay up?'
'No, silly, it's a cake made of cheese! Neither of them likes cake apparently, so they went for something a bit different. It's just a stack of cheeses with a bit of icing over the top!'
This is a nightmare. Where's my bloody cake?! I've had no proper dessert and even the favours were these stupid little candles instead of chocolates. It's not fair!
I hate my sister. I hate her. This is just cruel. She knows I need sugar. It's what runs through my veins. And 'doesn't like cake', my ass. I am so showing everyone the picture of her covered in chocolate fudge cake. Admittedly she was only six at the time, but even so.
At least I get to watch Phillip shoving a lump of cheese into Brittany's mouth. Ha, I bet she's regretting her choice now.
'Ah, Melanie, there you are,' Great Aunt Marion says. Suddenly my aunts and great aunts are circling me like a witch's coven. 'We were just wondering what happened to that boyfriend of yours. We haven't had a chance to inspect him yet.'
I'm tempted to lie, but I already told my dad and he'll rat me out the first chance he gets.
'We split up, actually,' I admit, dredging up a smile. 'We weren't likely to stay together anyway with him moving back home to Leeds in September. No harm done. Plenty more fish in the sea.'
Glances are exchanged all around the circle.
'You really need to start taking this more seriously, dear,' Great Aunt Clara says, tapping my arm with her fan. 'You're not getting any younger.'
I'm twenty-one!
'And Brittany's married now,' adds Aunt Beatrice.
So my sister's a freak! She only left school two months ago!
'And you've already dated so many men you'll be getting a terrible reputation,' puts in Aunt Christine.
Four! I've dated four! And it's not my fault they all turned out to be losers.
'She's leaving home, you know,' Great Aunt Marion puts in. 'Going to live with one of her university friends. In a flat. Miles away from her parents.'
There's a chorus of tuts and a Mexican wave of shaken heads around the circle.
'In my day,' Great Aunt Caroline pronounces, 'no respectable girl left home until she got married.'
But it's not your day! You had your day, now it's mine! There's nothing wrong with a bloody flat share!
'Honestly, Melanie,' Aunt June says sorrowfully. 'What are we going to do with you?'
How about bloody well leave me alone!
'Oh, I'm beyond help,' I say lightly, only it comes out almost as a sob. 'Excuse me; I just have to go...'
I turn to escape - yet again - and charge right into a waiter carrying a tray of drinks. A wave of chilled champagne hits me with surprising force, once again soaking the dress that has only just dried from earlier, and drips down me like I have my own personal rain cloud.
That's it. I've had enough.
~~~~
Since then I've been hiding under a table. It's working surprisingly well. The tablecloth is long and I picked the table nearest the toilets that no one wants to sit at. I have two bowls of sugar cubes nicked from the table and am quite happy.
Well, happy is a bit of a stretch. Let's just say I may yet survive the day.
Suddenly my table cloth is lifted (that sounds like a euphemism, doesn't it?) and a tall, dark figure crawls underneath. Will, who's been my best friend all my life (almost literally, apparently I was three days old when we first met), gives me a wry grin.
'How did you know I was here?' I ask, grinning back.
'Some sixth sense,' Will replies, looking around my hiding place. 'No one I asked had seen you for ages and your Great Aunt Marion filled me in about Darren running off and your shameful lack of interest in finding a husband etc., so I figured you had to be hiding somewhere. It's been pretty bad, huh?'
'Horrific,' I reply. 'You missed Dad's speech. And Brittany served up fruit salad for dessert and a cake made of cheese.'
'Unforgiveable.'
'Exactly.'
Will sits down opposite me. 'So what happened with Darren?'
I grimace. 'You know how we set up his friend and my friend?'
'Yes.'
'Well now he's gone off with my friend.'
'What a frelnik,' Will says, running a hand through his hair. 'Why do you keep ending up with these losers? How about in future I vet all your boyfriends?'
I pull a face. 'It's not that bad. I've just had a run of bad luck, that's all. Anyway, sod him. Compared to the rest of today, him walking out was nothing.'
Will rubs his neck, which is somewhat bent to fit under the table. 'How long are you planning to stay under here?'
I shrug. 'I'll have to get out for the bouquet toss, or I'll never hear the end of it. But as soon as we've waved Brittany off on her honeymoon I'm out of here.' I pause. 'That is, if you'll give me a lift, since I have no transport, no money and only a hazy idea of where we are.'
'Of course.'
'Sugar cube?' I offer, holding out the bowl. I'm sure I don't need to explain that this is a very rare compliment.
'No thanks. I think you need them all.'
He knows me so well.
The band finishes a song and the master of ceremonies booms out, 'Ladies and gentlemen, Mrs. Brittany Beresford will be throwing her bouquet in just a few moments and then she's off to Mauritius! So can we have all the single ladies here on the dance floor, please?'
I briefly close my eyes and then straighten my shoulders. 'Right,' I say, 'that's my cue. The final humiliation of today - I hope.'
'Nearly done,' Will says comfortingly. 'Make it look good and they'll be happy. Try and head-butt a bridesmaid or two.'
'With pleasure.'
Will and I crawl out as unobtrusively as possible. We get a couple of sideways glances. People probably imagine that we've been having some kind of romantic interlude under the table, but it's not like that between Will and me. We don't do the whole friends-with-benefits thing. Well, there are lots of benefits to being Will's friend, just not that kind...you know what I mean.
I walk slowly to the dance floor and take my place in a gaggle of bouquet hunters. And my family think I'm one of them.
'Everybody ready?' Brittany trills, her back to the pack. 'One, two, three!'
She throws the bouquet over her head. I make a full on leap, arms outstretched. I miss it, but that's not a problem. What is a problem is that, with a loud tearing sound, the rest of the zip parts company with the seam and the top of my strapless dress collapses to my waist, displaying my rather shabby bra, a good chunk of my breasts and even a flash of nipple to the assembled guests.
My heart starts thumping. This can't be real. I'm just having that nightmare again. Any minute now Brittany's going to grow fangs and go Twilight on me. Wake up! Wake up!
I pinch myself hard. Nothing happens. I try again. Still nothing.
Oh God, it isn't a dream.
My face burning, I retrieve the front of my dress, hold it to my chest and scuttle back over to Will. Every person in Satan's marquee except him is laughing at me. This is the worst moment of my entire life.
'Car,' I say, determined not to give Brittany the satisfaction of crying in front of her. 'Now.'
'Of course,' he replies, whipping off his jacket and draping it round my shoulders to hide the back of my dress. 'Don't worry. I've got a kilogram bar of Dairy Milk in the glove box.'
'I love you,' I say.
And we run away together.
THE END
~~~~~
If you liked Wedding Hells, you'll love:
The Dr Pepper Prophecies
25-year-old Mel Parker has a few tiny problems:
* Her job is terrible
* She's been dumped yet again
* Her ex is now her boss
* Her parents think she's a loser compared to her perfect younger sister
* All her efforts to improve her life seem doomed to failure
* There just isn't enough chocolate in the world to make up for the above.
The one good thing in her life has always been her best friend Will, who has seen her through every crisis from lost toys to pregnancy scares. But his girlfriend (who's prettier, better-dressed, more successful and secretly evil) is determined to replace Mel as the woman in his life and how is Mel supposed to compete?
So what do you do when you've pretty much given up on your own life? Help others, of course! After all, what's the worst that can happen? Well, Mel's about to find out.
The Dr Pepper Prophecies is available on Amazon for Kindle and in paperback.