The It Girl: Don't Tell the Bridesmaid. Katy Birchall
where she could hardly talk about anything else. As a couple they were a particularly big attraction for the paparazzi – they couldn’t do anything without the whole world knowing about it. But unlike my dad – and even Marianne who was indifferent to it all – Tom seemed to love the attention. ‘I was born for the cameras,’ he once said to me with a wink.
‘So, Rebecca,’ Marianne said to my mum as she ignored Fenella’s Chihuahua yapping at her from the arms of the dismayed-looking man holding him, ‘I hear that, unlike Anna and me, you’ve had the privilege of already seeing the bridesmaid dresses.’
My mum smiled mysteriously. ‘You can never know what it’s going to look like until you see it on.’
‘Speaking of which, let’s get going, shall we?’ Fenella encouraged our two mothers to take their place on the sofa and bustled Marianne and me behind separate screens that had been set up in the sitting room. Two elegant ladies followed me and began to help me undress.
I heard my mum chuckling about something with Helena on the sofa. Mum is a travel journalist and is often the other side of the world on some kind of weird assignment, but she was staying in England for the summer. Even though my parents weren’t together romantically – they never really had been in the first place – they were best friends and Mum completely ADORES Helena. So, when it came to the wedding, Mum was very much involved with the plans and Helena seemed to need her approval on every aspect of it.
‘I can’t wait to see you girls!’ Helena crowed as one of the elegant ladies yanked my hair into a bun to get it out the way and the other one began to unzip a suspiciously large clothing bag hanging up on the screen.
Marianne and I had already been subjected to a traumatic dress moment when Helena made us try on bridesmaid dresses that looked as if they had been snaffled from the cast of Sesame Street, but I had full faith that everyone had learnt from that experience and that Helena’s excellent taste as an international fashion and acting icon would shine through.
Hmm . . . whatever was being pulled over my head by various assistants did feel quite heavy.
And there was a lot of puffing going on.
‘There we are,’ one of the ladies said, panting as though she’d just finished a workout.
‘You look like you belong in a fairy tale,’ the other lady whispered, as she looked me up and down wistfully.
Yeah, for sure, I did look like I belonged in a fairy tale.
AS ONE OF THE GOBLINS.
‘Helena!’ I yelped, as the lady fiddling with the waistline of the dress practically knocked the breath out of me.
‘Divine, isn’t it!’ Helena exclaimed. ‘Diana designed them – she’s with you right now – so you have her to thank for it!’
The lady who had just finished winding me, tilted her head to the side and then smiled. ‘It’s perfect. You look like a princess.’
OK, so I know I’m no fashion designer, but is this woman BLIND?! She had put me in some kind of lavender monstrosity that contained enough netting to catch a pod of killer whales.
‘Let me see!’ Helena squealed, and Mum added, ‘Yes, we’re dying to see.’
Diana shooed me out from behind the screen and at the same time Marianne appeared from behind hers. The expression on her face reflected exactly how I felt.
‘Oh, girls,’ Helena whispered, her eyes welling up.
THANK GOD. She must have realised that this was the worst decision she’d ever made and now it was going to be an absolute pain to change the bridesmaid dresses again – and with hardly any time to go before the Big Day. Plus it would cost a fortune so Dad wouldn’t be too happy about it. I actually felt a little sorry for her.
I prepared myself to say in my most comforting and reassuring voice, ‘Don’t worry, Helena, we can achieve this feat together,’ when her face broke into a Cheshire Cat smile.
‘You look so beautiful! It’s just what I wanted – the dresses are perfect!’ She jumped up and tottered over to Diana, embracing her and, as a tear of joy slid down her cheek, turned to us again and said, ‘I could not be happier. This was so terribly important to me. I’m so proud of my girls!’
I stood in shock, confused about whether there had been some kind of chemical leak nearby and everyone in the room was losing their vision or something.
I turned to my mum for confirmation but even she was nodding slowly, a hand on her heart as she took us both in. I made a face at her, attempting to convey through the medium of my eyes that she needed to speak up and say how awful we looked.
‘I think they look splendid, Helena; you are truly talented, Diana. What are you doing with your face, Anna? You look like you’re trying to impersonate Fenella’s dear little Chihuahua.’
‘Mum,’ Marianne began, picking her words carefully, ‘I love the colour bu–’
‘Oh, Marianne,’ Helena interrupted, breezing across the room and pulling Marianne into her arms, which in these dresses – with the skirt poofing out so much – was not easy. She had to go in from a side angle just to reach her. ‘I knew you’d love it! I am so lucky to have such a wonderful daughter!’
Marianne froze, unsure what to do as Helena dabbed her eyes. They all turned to look at me for my verdict. Marianne furrowed her brow in concentration at me and I knew she was trying to do what I had been attempting with Mum. She was desperate for me to tell the truth.
But how could I? Helena was so happy and the designer was standing next to me and do you know what she was holding? PINS. A load of very sharp pins. I had no choice.
‘I think these dresses are just . . . great.’
Marianne looked at the ceiling in despair.
‘Oh, Anna,’ Helena cried, coming over to embrace me and stroke the sleeves of the dress lovingly. ‘Don’t you just love all these ruffles?’
‘I . . . er sure do.’
‘And the skirts are so big and voluminous – I just love them!’
‘Yeah.’ I smiled weakly, trying to sound enthusiastic. ‘Are you sure we’ll all fit down the aisle? Ha ha.’
‘I think I need to take it in at the chest,’ Diana was saying, examining me closely. ‘I didn’t realise you were quite so small there.’
Brilliant, thanks for that, Diana.
‘Yes, she hasn’t developed in that area quite yet.’
Wonderful, thank you, Mum.
‘If only you could wear this dress to the family dinner we’re having before you head off to Rome on your adventure,’ Helena sighed. ‘Because then Connor could see you in it! Such a shame!’
‘Uh huh. That’s really . . . uh . . . That is a big shame.’
‘We should get out of them now,’ Marianne said hurriedly. ‘Don’t want to crease them. You know. Any more than they are. Ha ha.’
‘Good point, Marianne, you’re so thoughtful.’ Helena clapped her hands. ‘But don’t worry, darlings, just a few more weeks and the whole world will see you in these magnificent designs! Doesn’t that just make you want to cry ?’
Marianne and I exchanged a grimace. Helena had hit the nail on the head.
From: [email protected]