Twenty minutes later I burst through the door of Reflections Bridal Boutique. The woman behind the counter, immaculate in a crisp white shirt, her hair swept into a silky chignon, looks up in faint alarm. When I catch sight of myself in the mirror behind her, I sort of understand why. I look a mess. My hair is even bigger than usual, glittery red heart-shaped sunglasses marooned in the mass of frizzy curls, my face damp with sweat from basically sprinting the entire way from the lido.

‘Can I help you?’ she asks, clearly convinced I’ve stumbled in here by accident.

‘I’m with them,’ I say breathlessly, pointing towards the back of the shop, where Mum is standing on a small plinth in her wedding dress, a woman with a mouthful of pins kneeling at her feet. Grace and Audrey are to her right, sitting on a white chaise longue. Mum and Grace are both shaking their heads at me, practically radiating disappointment.

After all the squealing and splashing at the lido, this place is bookshop-quiet in comparison, barely audible pan-pipe versions of classic love songs soundtracking my walk of shame towards my family. Pretty much everything in here is white. I swear, it’s like being trapped inside a marshmallow. As I make my way across the pristine carpet, it is as if my very presence is contaminating the dresses one by one, staining them dirty yellow as I pass.

Grace tuts loudly as I sink down on the chaise longue between her and Audrey. I ignore her and try to focus my attention on Mum.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ I say.

Mum sighs. ‘Well, you’re here now, Mia, that’s the main thing.’ Her eyes drift down to my shorts. She frowns. ‘Is that a new swimsuit?’

I look down; the tie sides of my bikini are sticking out over the waistband of my shorts. ‘No,’ I say quickly, tucking them in. ‘I’ve had it for ages. You look really gorgeous by the way.’

Even though I’m totally trying to distract her with the compliment, I do actually mean it. Mum looks incredible, the strapless off-white dress with its beaded bodice and fishtail skirt showing off her slim figure perfectly. She spends most of her life in jeans, T-shirt and apron, so it’s fun to see her dressed up for once.

She puts her hands on her hips and twists her torso back and forth. ‘You don’t think I’m too old and saggy to go strapless?’

‘Of course not,’ I say. ‘You look well foxy. Dad’s eyes are going to pop out of his head on stalks when he sees you coming down the aisle like this.’

Mum laughs and I know I’m off the hook. Not that Mum is in any danger of looking old or saggy anytime soon. She’s only thirty-seven. Both she and Dad are younger than all my friend’s parents by miles.

‘Right, I think we’re all done here,’ the woman with the pins says, standing up and helping Mum off the plinth. ‘Let’s get you changed, and then we can move on to the bridesmaids.’ She gives us a wink and escorts Mum behind a white curtain.

‘Hey,’ Audrey says in a low whisper, pressing her shoulder against mine.

‘Hey,’ I murmur back, pulling my mobile out of my bag. I scroll through the photos I took at the lido today, changing the filters and uploading the best ones to Instagram, secretly hoping Jordan might see them and mourn what he’s missing. According to Stacey Khan, a girl in my year whose cousin goes to Toft Park, Hattie and Jordan are officially going steady now.

Mum, back in her denim skirt and vest top, emerges from behind the curtain.

‘OK, girls, you’re up,’ she says. ‘Grace and Audrey have already picked out a few styles they like,’ she explains to me. ‘So if you want to try something different you’re going to have to grab them quick.’

Originally we were going to buy bridesmaid dresses off the high street, but now Grace is back earlier than planned and we have her big old pregnant belly to factor in, Mum thought we may as well go the whole hog and have proper froufrou bridesmaid dresses made up especially. I went online earlier in the week to check out the selection and quickly identified the dress I want the three of us to wear. It’s crimson red and falls all the way to the floor in gorgeous silky folds. With its high neck and low scoping back, it shows just the right amount of skin, and is without doubt the most beautiful piece of clothing I’ve ever laid my eyes on. I showed Audrey online the other day and even she admitted it was lovely.

I head to the rack where all the bridesmaid styles are kept and reach for it, holding it up against me. It’s even better in real life, the material smooth and luxurious against my bare legs.

‘Don’t you want to try on anything else?’ the sales assistant asks.

To keep her happy, I select another couple of dresses at random and join Grace and Audrey in the changing area. We get dressed, one by one shuffling out from behind the curtain and lining up opposite the floor-to-ceiling mirrors.

Mum is already grinning. ‘My gorgeous girls,’ she says, clasping her hands together.

Stuck between Grace and Audrey, I feel short. ‘Can I get some heels?’ I ask the sales assistant.

She locates me a pair of size fives. They’re white satin with jewels on the toe – proper wedding shoes. I slip them on and instantly feel better, striking a model pose, hands on my hips. My dress is by far the nicest in every possible way; I look like a proper grownup in it – womanly and sophisticated. Audrey’s choice is a pale blue shift dress with embroidered flowers round the neckline. It’s cute but nowhere special enough for a wedding, especially next to my red. She looks uncomfortable in it, one hand hanging limply across her body, the other tugging at the hem, the whole time her eyes looking anywhere but the mirror.

Grace has selected a lilac empire-line design with cap sleeves and a knee-length chiffon skirt. The only thing that stops it from looking like a little kid’s party dress is the neckline; it makes her boobs look massive, like they’ve been inflated with air and might pop any second.

‘So, what do you think?’ I ask Mum eagerly.

‘It doesn’t matter so much what I think,’ Mum says. ‘I just want to find something all three of you will be comfortable wearing on the day.’

‘In that case, I need to speak up now and say there’s no way I can wear the one Mia’s got on,’ Grace says.

‘Why not?’ I ask.

‘Well, it’s backless for a start. How are you supposed to wear a bra with it?’ She turns to Mum, who is sitting down on the chaise longue. ‘Mum, please tell Mia that it’s totally inappropriate for me to go braless right now.’

‘You don’t have to go braless,’ I say. ‘I already checked online and they can add an extra panel of material at the back if you want.’

‘She’s right,’ the sales assistant says. ‘It’s really not a problem.’

I smile at her gratefully.

‘That’s all well and good, but where exactly am I supposed to put this?’ Grace asks, patting her baby bump.

‘Isn’t that the whole point we’re here?’ I ask, appealing to Mum. ‘To get made-to-measure dresses?’

Grace gives me a withering look, like I’m the most idiotic person on the planet. ‘That’s not quite how it works, Mia,’ she says. ‘It’s obvious just from looking at that dress that it would never work as a maternity style. I’ll be nearly eight months gone by the wedding, remember?’

‘At least try it,’ I say. ‘It might look OK.’

But she just ignores my suggestion, harping on about Audrey now instead. ‘Your choice is way too mature for her anyway. She’s only thirteen,’ she says.

‘Exactly. It’s not like she’s a little kid any more. And it’s not slutty or anything, it’s really sophisticated. Right, Auds?’

We don’t get to hear Audrey’s stammered answer because Grace totally speaks over her.

‘Mum said we all need to be comfortable and I’m not going to be comfortable wearing that in a million years. The end.’

‘You haven’t even tried it on!’ I cry, throwing a desperate look at Mum, who is frowning up at us.

‘I don’t need to.’

‘But, Mum, that’s not fair!’

‘I’m sorry, sweetheart,’ Mum says. ‘But Grace is right. You’re going to be in these dresses for over twelve hours, so you’ve got to feel comfortable. All three of you.’

I glare at Grace. If it wasn’t for her making such a fuss, I just know I could have won Mum over.

Mum clocks my face and laughs. ‘There are plenty of others to try,’ she says, gesturing at the remaining dresses hanging up.

But I don’t want any other dress. I had my heart set on this one. I pull a face, which everyone seems to ignore, and stamp back behind the curtain.

We spend the next half an hour clambering in and out of boring dress after boring dress, my head pounding the entire time. I don’t think I’ve drunk enough water today.

In the end the final choice seems to come down to Grace’s bump. And of course, the only dress that satisfies her requirements is her favourite – the kids’ party dress number. The sales assistant manages to find two more in the stockroom so we can try them on altogether.

The second we line up, Mum bursts into tears and I know my lilac-chiffon fate is sealed. I’m stupid for thinking the outcome would be any different. Pregnant belly or no pregnant belly, Grace would have got her way no matter what obstacles were in her path.

‘Fantastic,’ the sales assistant says, clearly relieved a decision has been made. ‘In that case, let’s get measuring. If we’re fast we can get all three girls done before closing time.’

‘Wonderful,’ Grace says, smoothing down her skirt and smiling serenely in the mirror. ‘I knew we’d get there in the end.’

It takes every ounce of self-restraint I have not to punch the glass with my fist.

 

I’m annoyed for the rest of the day. Mum notices on the drive home, asking me why I’m in ‘such a grump’ in the rear-view mirror, with Grace making some little dig about me always being in a grump, which isn’t even true. Things were going fine until she turned up and ruined it all. It’s Mum’s oblivion that pisses me off the most. There’s no point trying to explain, though. If I try to articulate why I’m fed up, I’ll only sound petty. They’ll think it’s just about the dress.

‘Which dress did you like best?’ I ask Audrey as we’re getting ready for bed.

‘I don’t know,’ she replies, releasing her hair from its ponytail and pulling a brush through the tangles. ‘I’m not really into that stuff.’

‘I know that,’ I say, adjusting my silk hairwrap. ‘But if you were in charge and had to pick, which one would you have gone for?’

‘Um, they were all OK,’ she says unconvincingly.

‘But which one was the most OK?’ I ask, leaning forwards.

‘I don’t know. The one we ended up getting? The purple one?’

My shoulders slump. ‘You mean Grace’s choice?’

‘Was it?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh, OK. Well, yeah, that one, I suppose.’

Wrong answer.

I get in bed, pulling the covers over me and switching off my lamp.

‘Are you OK, Mia?’ Audrey asks, her voice quavering.

‘Fine,’ I mutter.