“Lucie, darling!” Petra waved from the other side of the central London bridal boutique. Lucie closed the door behind her, causing the old-fashioned bell above the door to tinkle again.
She took a deep breath, lifted her chin and plastered on what she hoped was a confident smile.
Here goes…
She strode across the shiny shop floor, acutely aware that the harsh lighting would be emphasizing her every flaw, and that the team of fluttering women surrounding Petra would no doubt be assessing her as she approached: *Age. Weight. Height. Wealth. Occupation. Worth knowing? *
Lucie had encountered some of Petra’s friends before, back when they were at university together, but only for short periods of time, and she’d been younger, slimmer and angry enough at the world not to give a damn then anyway. But now… insecurity wobbled at her edges. She didn’t want to be the odd one out, the short, plain bridesmaid who made the rest look good. And boy, did they look good! It was like walking into the backstage area of a catwalk show. Every single one of them was tall, slim, polished, perfect.
“Lucie!” The women parted and Petra emerged, clad in just a white basque, stockings and a scrap of lace that served as her underwear. She held out her hands and Lucie took them, relieved that her friend offered a warm welcome. “Thank you so much for coming. I know it’s short notice but once Harry proposed, I thought I’d get the old ball rolling and all that! Oh darling, come here. Mwah! Mwah!” Petra kissed the air either side of Lucie’s head then took a step back and smiled down at her. “Don’t you just look fabulous!”
Lucie shrugged then smiled. Petra’s friends were still staring at her as if she had two heads. Which today she did; a large spot had appeared on her chin overnight. Even toothpaste and concealer had done nothing to disguise the hideous protrusion. It was a greasy volcano ready to erupt at any moment. She had a brief image of aiming it at the other bridesmaids then pressing the tender flesh either side of the spot and coating them all in sticky white pus. That would show them. They wouldn’t be so perfect then.
She shivered. Why was she being so defensive? These women could well be perfectly nice and she was just probably just being overly sensitive; a product of her own insecurities.
“Thank you, Petra. And you look… well…” Too skinny. Too tanned. Too tired. “Gorgeous as ever!”
Petra ran a hand over her platinum blonde hair and smiled broadly, flashing pearly white, perfectly straight teeth. But as she smiled, Lucie couldn’t help noticing that the rest of Petra’s face remained frozen. Her forehead was unlined, flawless. Her eyes had no crow’s feet; not a line in sight, and her lips were full and pouty.
Oh Petra! You’ve succumbed…
During their time at university, Petra had always been outwardly confident and self-assured, but Lucie knew the real girl beneath the veneer. The nineteen-year-old Petra had been troubled, insecure and desperate for love and approval. She’d been the girl who’d binged on chocolate bars and pizza then gone straight for the toilet to throw it all up before she could absorb any calories. She’d exercised frantically every morning and evening in the gym, pounding away at the treadmill in her quest to remain waif-like. Lucie had worried about her; a lot.
When Petra had met Harry, she’d calculated his worth as a long-term investment, as husband material, and done everything in her power to impress him, snag him, then keep him. Lucie knew that even back then, Petra had turned a blind eye to Harry’s philandering, and she could only hope that Harry had turned over a new leaf now that he was more mature and about to marry his long-suffering girlfriend. They’d had their breakups and makeups but whatever sins he committed, Petra always took him back. It wasn’t exactly the recipe for a perfect relationship, but then what did Lucie know about relationship success?
“Come say hi to Mummy!” Petra took Lucie’s hand in her own, her slim fingers long, cool and smooth, and guided her through the other women and over to the changing rooms. “Mummy!”
“What?” The sharp tone of Mrs Barnsley came from behind a red satin curtain. It reminded Lucie of the curtains at the theatre that hid the stage from the audience. Petra and her mother both played their parts well, Lucie knew that; she’d seen the family charade before.
“Mummy, come on out. Lucie’s here.”
“Lucie who?”
Petra cast Lucie an apologetic glance. “Lucie Quigley. You know… my friend from university. She’s going to be one of my bridesmaids.”
“Never heard of her.”
Petra looked like she was holding back tears. Lucie reached out to hug her, but thought better of it. Petra had never been one for hugs, always trying to maintain that stiff upper lip that had been drilled into her since childhood.
The curtain rattled back and revealed a woman who could have been Petra’s slightly older sister. Her hair was the same shade of blonde, her eyes were the same cornflower blue and she was just as skinny as her daughter as she stood there in nothing more than an ivory slip. For a woman who had to be in her late fifties, Joanna Barnsley appeared to be very well preserved indeed. Perhaps too well preserved. A bit too angular and flawless.
“Mrs Barnsley.” Lucie held out a hand. “Nice to see you again. We did meet, many years ago, so I’m not surprised you don’t remember me. Congratulations, by the way!”
Joanna Barnsley’s hand was papery and limp as a dishrag; and she made no effort to return Lucie’s firm, solid shake. Lucie fought the urge to rub her palm on her jeans.
“Congratulations?” Joanna looked surprised.
“Well, yes… on Petra’s engagement. As mother of the bride, you must be thrilled.”
“Oh!” Joanna gave a small nod. “Yes, of course. Ecstatic.” As her features remained frozen, it was hard to ascertain whether she was happy or not.
Lucie glanced at Petra, but her friend was wearing her own mask.
“Do you want to see the dress?” Petra tugged Lucie’s hand, encouraging her to move away from her mother.
“Yes, of course!” As Lucie followed her friend to the furthest changing cubicle, she remembered this feeling. At times, Petra could be cold and aloof, hurtful even, but a lot of it was to do with concealing her own fragility. A lifetime of loneliness, neglected by her rich businessman Daddy and alcoholic high society mother, Petra had been sent away to a prestigious boarding school as a child. She’d been happy there, she’d once told Lucie, but dreaded the long lonely summers at the family home. All she’d longed for, all her life, was a family of her own and a husband who would love her. But Lucie had a terrible feeling that marrying Harry would not be her old friend’s path to true happiness. Familiar feelings of protectiveness surged through Lucie. She’d experienced them during the three years at university, when she and Petra had formed an unlikely friendship through their shared enjoyment of Jane Austen and Stephen King. They’d even worked on their dissertations together, sharing ideas and proofreading each other’s work. And Lucie, who had grown up with her own vulnerabilities, was able to understand Petra’s. So even though they hadn’t seen much of each other since graduating, their friendship still had a solid basis. It was the main reason why Lucie knew she had to accept Petra’s invitation to be her bridesmaid; she couldn’t risk hurting Petra by declining.
“Here…” Petra pushed the curtain out of the way to reveal a beautiful silk garment, the colour of clotted cream, that fell like a waterfall from its hanger. The top of the slim bodice was adorned with tiny seed pearls which ran diagonally from the right shoulder to the waist, then spread out like the branches of a tree down the flared skirt. It was truly breathtaking.
“Oh, Petra, you’ll look absolutely stunning in that.”
Petra nodded. “I know. It’s from a new French designer and cost the earth, but Daddy said I could spend what I liked. This will be the society wedding of the season, so it’s important that I look the part. Don’t you think?” She turned sad blue eyes on Lucie.
“Yes, of course. You’ll look like a princess. Absolutely. Harry will be bowled over by how lucky he is.”
Petra fell silent and stared into space. Lucie followed her gaze but couldn’t see anything of interest.
“Petra? Don’t you think Harry will be delighted when he sees you in that dress?”
“Perhaps.”
“I’m sure he will. You’ll be perfection!”
“Nothing is ever perfect, Lucie. Nothing.”
Lucie watched her friend carefully. She was lost for words. How should she reply to such a sad comment coming from a woman about to marry the man she loved?
Petra seemed to return from a dark corner of her mind and straightened like a puppet being hauled upwards on its strings. “And now you need to see your dress!”
Lucie battled a sudden wave of nausea at the thought. She tried to keep an eye on her weight, but although she didn’t see herself as chubby, she certainly was curvy – especially compared to the gazelles surrounding her right now. Were any of them under five foot eight, or bigger than a size ten? Lucie had boobs, a bum and curvy thighs. She dressed to suit her shape and didn’t bother following fashion, because a lot of the time it did nothing to flatter her figure.
“Mariella!” Petra curled a finger at a woman holding a tape measure and she approached them promptly. “This is Lucie. She’s the last of my bridesmaids.”
The woman eyed Lucie from top to toe. “So all eight are now present?” The woman’s English was laced with an accent, possibly German, but Lucie couldn’t be sure.
“Yes. Could you show her the dress?”
“Certainly. One moment.”
Mariella marched off and Lucie marvelled at her perfectly styled grey hair. It was swept into an elegant chignon and not a hair was out of place. It must have taken a lot of strong hairspray to get that hold. Lucie touched her own hair. She’d been up at six to wash and dry it, but she knew that the walk from the station had destroyed her attempts at styling it, and that her hair was probably now lying flat and shapeless, with the usual kinks that stopped it looking sleek and shiny.
“Don’t worry, I’ve arranged for us to have the best stylists for the wedding, so we’ll sort your hair and your… uh… eyebrows and all that once we get to New York.”
Lucie opened her mouth to reply but stopped herself. In Petra’s world, women were immaculate from the hair on their heads down to the lack of hair on their nether regions. She’d deal with any fussy stylists when she had to. She’d never waxed her eyebrows and she wasn’t about to start now.
She hoped.
She’d wait and see…
Well, she didn’t want to be the only almost-monobrowed woman there, now did she?
“Here we are.” Mariella returned with a garment draped over her arm. She pulled the tape measure from around her neck with her free hand and again eyed Lucie up and down. “I think we need to let this out. Or maybe even start from scratch.”
Lucie willed herself not to blush but Mariella had just passed judgement on her weight and it was not an easy thing to ignore. She almost felt as if she should apologize to Petra and to Mariella for being bigger than a size ten but that would be ridiculous.
“That’s okay though, isn’t it, Mariella? I mean… you can make the dress bigger can’t you?”
Mariella pursed her lips and held up the garment.
The shop fell silent and Lucie realized that everyone else was listening.
She scrunched up her toes and fought the urge to run from the room and out onto the street, to hide herself from these skinny rich people and their scorn. But she was an adult, and running away would be ridiculous. She liked her curves most of the time, so she wouldn’t let these women’s opinions sully her confidence.
“I can add extra material, yes. But it will cost more, obviously.” Mariella raised a silver eyebrow at Petra.
“That’s not a problem. Daddy will cover it, of course!” Petra waved a dismissive hand at Mariella and the shop owner turned on her heel and marched away.
“So, Lucie, are you bringing a plus one?”
“Yes.”
“Might I ask who it is?”
Lucie chewed her lip. Dale and Petra had never really hit it off. They’d only met a few times, but Dale just seemed uncomfortable around Petra, and Lucie wasn’t really sure what Petra thought about him.
“Dale.”
“Dale?” Petra frowned. “Your old friend the gardener. Don’t you have a significant other now, Lucie? What about that Charles… What was his name again? The one you told me about with the country house and the labradors. Wasn’t he a teacher at a private school?”
“Oh, that didn’t work out.” Lucie shook her head. Charles had lasted for almost a month, but when he’d whispered to her, over dinner at a very nice little Italian restaurant, that he wanted to wear her bra and panties, Lucie had gone home alone. Some people enjoyed that type of thing, and they were perfectly entitled to, but it just wasn’t Lucie’s cup of tea. Besides, Charles was six foot four and at least eighteen stone; he’d have stretched her knickers beyond repair, and it was so difficult to find comfortable ones.
“But Dale…” Petra widened her eyes and defensiveness bubbled inside Lucie. What was wrong with Dale? He was a good guy. She had to stop Petra right now, before she said anything mean about Dale, because Lucie knew that she’d be unable to stop herself from venting if he was attacked.
“Yes.” She took a deep breath. “We’re together. He’s my boyfriend now.”
“You’re together?” Petra’s eyes widened, moving her eyebrows a millimetre or two up her forehead, as her surprise defied the botox.
“Yes. We are.”
“How long?”
“Oh…” How long? Dammit! Think! “A… a few months.”
“You’re with him? He’s your lover? You’re bumping uglies?”
Uglies? “Why is that surprising? And Dale is gorgeous.”
“Well no… I mean… he’s easy on the eye, I can’t deny that, and I wouldn’t say no if I was after a bit of rough… but… as a potential husband?”
Lucie counted to ten. She would not bite. Petra’s privileged, if lonely, upbringing had taught her to pass judgement on others without consideration for their feelings. So what if she wasn’t actually dating Dale; it just seemed to be the right way to shut Petra up. And his parents thought they were together, so letting Petra believe it too wouldn’t hurt. They might even look more convincing in the photographs if they had to behave like they were a couple.
“We’re in love. Madly. Moving in together too.”
Digging yourself deeper.
“Oh. Well, congratulations. So he’ll be sharing your room in New York? Sitting with you for the wedding meal? Holding your hand?”
“Of course.” Is she testing me?
“Wonderful!” Petra recovered quickly. “He might even propose when you’re out there. How romantic would that be? A Christmas proposal in Manhattan.” Petra’s eyes glazed over.
“Hmmm.”
“You know…” Petra sighed.
“Yes?”
“Harry didn’t actually ask me like that.” She glanced around conspiratorially. “He didn’t make what I think of as a proper proposal.”
“He didn’t?”
Petra shook her head then moved closer to Lucie. “It was more of a… well… it doesn’t matter. It just wasn’t as romantic as I would have hoped.” She blew out her cheeks, then continued as if she couldn’t keep it in any longer. “Put it this way, he was drunk, he’d been misbehaving and I was annoyed. It was more of an ‘I guess the time has come’ than a declaration of undying love.” Petra seemed to shrink as she relayed these details, and Lucie’s heart ached for her.
“I’m so sorry.”
Petra pulled herself upright. “It’s okay.” She plastered on a bright smile. “I got what I wanted, right? That is all that matters.”
Lucie smiled in a way that she hoped was encouraging, but inside she was filled with pity. Poor Petra. For all her apparent snobbery, she had such an air of vulnerability. Not many people saw it, but Lucie did. She was probably one of the only ones who knew that Petra was not a complete spiky-edged ice-maiden, that underneath it all, she was just as lost as most people.
Three hours later, Lucie was slouched on a leather sofa in one of London’s trendy bars. The dim lighting was a blessing, since she knew her cheeks were red, her eye makeup was smudged and her hair now sat helmet-like on her head. The dress fitting had been exhausting and somewhat humiliating as she’d been measured, prodded and talked about as if she wasn’t actually there. As Petra, Joanna and Mariella had debated how best to make the curvy bridesmaid look just right for the wedding, so that she’d fit in with the rest, Lucie had allowed herself to drift away, enjoying memories of the night before at her flat with Dale. They’d shared an extra large pizza and giggled at that American TV show where the insane group of friends played pranks on one another. Of course, she now had to tell him that he was attending the wedding as her boyfriend, but seeing as she’d allowed his parents to believe it, she hoped he wouldn’t mind deceiving the wedding party too.
By the time Mariella had finished with her, Lucie hadn’t a clue what the dress was going to look like. She’d been lost in the comfort of her daydreams. All she knew was that it was bright, silky and floaty and that she’d liked the sensation of the material against her skin. Whether it would suit her or not, she had no idea, and she didn’t really mind. It would be Petra’s day, after all, and Lucie wanted to help make it a good one. So even if she ended up resembling a pavlova, she’d do it with her head held high.
They’d arrived at the bar to be greeted with a champagne spread apparently arranged by Harry, and Lucie had sunk two glasses of fizz immediately, keen to numb herself from the trauma of her dress fitting experience. It had worked nicely and now she was full of canapés – she might have had more than her fair share but the other bridesmaids hadn’t eaten a thing – and she was enjoying her third glass of Veuve Clicquot. She’d only allow herself one more drink, as she had to get the train back at four and she didn’t want to fall asleep and end up at the wrong station. She’d done that once before, after a night out with some people from work, and it hadn’t been pretty, especially when she’d been woken up by a policeman at the station who’d thought she needed medical assistance. She hadn’t, she’d just been in a very deep sleep and what he thought was blood down her front turned out to be the chilli sauce from her kebab. She cringed at the memory. The taxi home had cost a fortune and the grease had ruined a perfectly good blouse.
“Mind if I sit?”
Lucie glanced up at the woman who’d approached her. She’d seen the pretty blonde at the boutique but hadn’t recognized her.
“No, of course not. Help yourself.” Lucie patted the seat next to her and the woman sat down.
“I’m Tania Fitzroy. Petra’s Maid of Honour.” She held out a hand and Lucie took it. Tania’s handshake was businesslike but her skin was cool and smooth as marble.
“Lucie Quigley.”
“Yes, I know. Lucie Quigley, Petra’s giggly friend from university. AKA giggly Quigley.”
“Giggly Quigley?” Lucie vaguely recalled Petra calling her this once or twice a long time ago but she hadn’t thought the nickname had stuck. “Impressive that you know that. I’d quite forgotten it myself.” Lucie nodded. Affecting a light-hearted air had been part of the persona she’d tried to create for herself at university. No one had known her there, it had been a fresh start and she wanted to be the girl who had fun, the girl who didn’t give a damn, the girl whose mother hadn’t died in a car crash.
“As Maid of Honour, I made – excuse the pun – it my business to know who the rest of the bridesmaids would be. I found out age, background, marital status and a few odd anecdotes to feed my speech. I needed a nickname for you all as part of the fun. It’s always good to make your audience laugh, don’t you agree? Especially with some rip-roaring stories from the past!” She widened her eyes as she said past, making Lucie think of a documentary she’d watched recently about people taking illegal drugs. They often had that half-crazed stare, and she wondered for a moment if Tania indulged or if she was just a bit loopy.
Lucie gave a small smile, although she was a bit concerned now about which anecdotes Tania would be sharing. She couldn’t think of any terrible tales from her friendship with Petra, but Tania didn’t seem like the type to spare anyone’s dignity.
She drained her glass and shrugged inwardly. The champagne had dulled her self-consciousness to an acceptable level, and she no longer cared if she was being judged. Tania certainly wouldn’t be calling her giggly Quigley if she’d known her growing up. She’d let it go, though. No sense fighting it, and it didn’t really matter. Better to be known as giggly Quigley than the sad, quiet one.
“She’s making a mistake, you know?” Tania raised an eyebrow as she gazed at Petra. The bride-to-be was browsing the canapé selection, her hand hovering over each one then withdrawing, no doubt after she counted the calories.
“What, eating?”
“No!” Tania frowned at Lucie. “Marrying Harry. It’ll end in tears.”
Lucie sat up, suddenly alert. “You think so?”
“Of course. Petra is making a huge mistake going through with this debacle. He doesn’t love her. Not at all.”
Lucie stared at Tania, taking in her shoulder length blonde hair, a shade or two lighter than her own, and shining with health and vitality. In profile, the woman was very similar to Petra, but she was about six pounds heavier, slim but not as gaunt as her friend, and slightly shorter. Her pneumatic breasts strained at a black silk vest top, and Lucie guessed that she’d probably had some form of enhancement. Harry had tried several times to convince Petra to have a boob job, but she hadn’t been keen. In fact, as a frequent flier, she’d been terrified of having implants in case they exploded during a long haul flight, so she’d resisted, although it seemed that she had now had work done on her face. Lucie couldn’t understand why a man would want to change the woman he loved. Wasn’t true love about desiring someone just the way they were? If it was true love, of course.
Tania wasn’t beautiful in the supermodel way that Petra was, but she was certainly attractive. Yet she had an edge to her as she stared at Petra, as if she was evaluating the bride-to-be’s every move, every word, every thought. It could have been the champagne affecting Lucie’s judgement, but there was something about Tania that made her uneasy, as if she was a tigress about to pounce or a snake about to bite.
“Have you spoken to Petra about this?” Lucie placed her glass on the table in front of the sofa.
“I’ve tried but she won’t hear it. She’s determined to be Mrs Harry Goldsmith at any cost.”
“But you’re her Maid of Honour. Surely you should try to get her to see sense… if that’s how you feel.”
Tania turned stern hazel eyes on Lucie. “It’s not just how I feel, it’s the truth. But she won’t listen, so now she’ll have to deal with the consequences.” She rooted around in her designer handbag and pulled out a small brown container with a white label. Lucie caught sight of small black writing, but couldn’t read it from that angle. “I’ve such a headache.” She unscrewed the lid and shook three small white pills onto her palm. She thumbed them for a moment, before throwing them into her mouth and following up with a gulp of champagne. Lucie tried not to stare. Or to judge. This was how other people lived. Some of them.
“You could try talking to her, Lucie. Perhaps she’d listen to you. She always speaks so fondly of you.”
Lucie looked from Tania to Petra and back again. Was this woman she’d only just met correct? Should she interfere, try to get Petra to see that things weren’t right with Harry? But what evidence did she have? An old hunch and the word of a stranger?
“I don’t think it’s really my place. What if you’re wrong? I mean… how do you know?” Lucie picked up her glass, but it was empty so she put it down again.
Tanis shook her head slowly and placed a finger on her glossy lips. “Can’t say. It’s private. But if you won’t tell her to reconsider… then it will all end in tears. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Tania stood and straightened her silky tunic before bending right over, graceful as a ballet dancer, to run a hand down each trouser leg. She sprang back up, and with a shake of her blonde mane she was gone, leaving Lucie with her empty glass and a sinking feeling in her belly. She wanted to talk to someone about what Tania had said, and about her own concerns. She wanted to speak to Dale and ask his advice but he would probably still be at work, Saturday or not, and it wasn’t the sort of conversation to have over the phone.
Instead, she thought about what Dale would say. Probably tell her to stay out of it, not to interfere. She didn’t see Petra and Harry that often, so she had no real basis for her concerns. Just a hunch and now the word of a woman who could well be genuine, but who could also have her own ulterior motives.
She had no right to go to Petra and ruin her happiness, however fragile it might be. No right at all. She had no evidence to present to her friend, and saying something would only cause Petra pain.
Yet as she gathered her things and walked over to her old friend to say goodbye, what Tania had said nagged at her like toothache. What if Petra was making a huge mistake, and Harry didn’t love her as she deserved? Or, what if Petra was well aware of this and was going into the marriage with her eyes wide open? They had experienced a turbulent relationship, so Petra wasn’t some naïve eighteen year old marrying her very own Prince Charming. Petra knew what she was doing, what she wanted, where she was headed. Of course she did.
The thoughts swirled around Lucie’s head for the rest of the afternoon. As the train carried her past fields and trees, houses and high-rises, industrial estates and wasteland, Lucie couldn’t help wondering if she should have tried to talk to Petra. Other people’s lives could be so complicated, so confusing and so disturbing. She was glad to get back to her flat and settle into the comfort of her own predictable life.