Being fitted for a custom-made dress is everything I imagined it to be. I’m standing here, on this sort of podium thing, while a very stressed-out lady called Annie, with no fewer than four tape measures around her neck, takes my measurements.
When Jack and I arrived, we were separated and shown to opposite ends of the shop for our fittings.
I’m drinking a latte, much to Annie’s annoyance, as I always seem to be holding my cup in the hand that is most in her way at any given time. As I go to take another swig, my cup is snatched from my hand.
‘Good morning, Auntie Di,’ I say brightly. ‘Don’t worry, I wasn’t drinking that.’
‘You can drink it after,’ she says.
Fliss walks in not far behind her, sucking at the straw of an iced coffee as she scrolls wildly at something on her phone screen.
‘Hey,’ she says blankly, far too engrossed in whatever is on her phone.
‘Hey, Fliss,’ Annie chirps. ‘So, I’ve taken Georgie’s measurements, and I have an idea for the dress. I can show you if you’d like?’
‘Can you show me?’ I ask her. ‘I’m the one that’s going to be wearing it.’
‘Yes, but Felicity is paying the bill,’ my auntie reminds me. I feel my eyebrows shoot up. I’m not going to be allowed to forget this grand gesture in a hurry.
‘It’s OK,’ Fliss insists. ‘You can show us both.’
‘So, I’m thinking a knee-length, gold, flapper-girl dress, with lots of fringing,’ she says, grabbing a sketch from the table to show us what she has in her head.
Fliss grabs the piece of paper quickly and looks at it.
‘This is almost nicer than my dress,’ she says. ‘I want a gold dress.’
‘Felicity, darling, you’re getting married – your dress needs to be white,’ her mum reminds her.
‘I guess,’ she says reluctantly. She sucks on her straw for a few more seconds. ‘OK, sure. Make the gold dress for her.’
Oh, how kind of her. That’s such a Felicity thing, to be jealous of another girl’s dress on her wedding day. If she had her way, she’d wear all the dresses, and everyone else would be wearing black plastic bin liners.
‘Can I step down now, please?’ I ask.
‘Yes,’ Annie replies. ‘All done.’
I step down and climb back into my high heels.
‘Your style has changed quite a bit,’ Fliss observes. ‘When we were at school, you were kind of kooky and alternative. Then, you go to LA and come back like the leader of the WI, and now…’
‘And now?’ I prompt her.
‘You look fresh off the pole,’ my auntie chimes in. I shoot her a filthy look, triggering her to say: ‘Just joking, my sweet.’
‘You are very… sexy now,’ my cousin adds, which I think is a tactful way of saying slutty. The thing is, I’m not slutty at all, I’m just wearing clothes and shoes that accentuate my curves and lengthen my legs. ‘What’s your wedding dress going to be like?’
Shit, I hadn’t actually given it much thought – I guess that wasn’t a good sign, was it?
‘I’m still undecided on the style,’ I lie. Can you imagine what they’d say if they found out I tied the knot with a stranger, while wearing a ‘whore-red’ cocktail dress, completely hammered in Las Vegas?
‘I’ve got some you could try on,’ Annie chimes in, suddenly my friend now she thinks it might equal a sale.
‘No, no,’ I insist. ‘It’s fine, I’ve got a place in LA I’ve been going to.’
‘Ooh, Blackpool not good enough for you now?’ my auntie asks, putting on what I’d assume is a stuck-up voice.
My mind immediately jumps back to my conversation with Sue last night, about how I’ve come back thinking I’m better than everyone.
‘No, don’t be daft,’ I say, ready to do whatever it takes to dispel the rumour I’m a snob. ‘I’d love to try something on.’
‘Well, we’re off,’ my cousin says. ‘We’ll check on Jack’s outfit, then pay the bill on our way out.’
‘See you ladies later,’ Annie calls after them before turning to me excitedly. ‘I know your size, I’ll go grab some dresses.’
This doesn’t exactly feel right, but neither does everyone judging me, thinking I think I’m too good for my hometown and the people in it.
Annie comes back in, wheeling a rack with several garment bags along with her.
‘So, take a look, see if there’s any you fancy,’ Annie says. ‘I’ve picked you a few, based on what I think you’ll like – kind of going off your look, but obviously a little purer, because, you know, I assume you’re having a white wedding?’
‘Of course I am,’ I lie, cringing at my Las Vegas shambles. ‘Thank you, I’ll take a look.’
As I flick my way through the dresses, nothing really catches my eye… until one. They say that when you’re looking at wedding dresses and you see the one that’s right for you, you just know. It’s a sleeveless, floor-length white dress, with tiny crystals all over the bust that become more sparingly scattered around the lace as it reaches the floor. It’s like something a princess would wear, and exactly the kind of dress I could see myself tying the knot it.
‘I’ll try this one, please,’ I say, before I can think better of it.
‘Sure,’ Annie says. ‘I’ll give you a hand to put it on.’
Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that I’ve spent the past four days so scantily clad, but the first thing I feel once I have the dress on is just how covered I feel in it. I suppose that’s the idea of wearing a white dress on your wedding day, right? You’re supposedly pure, so it makes sense to keep it all covered up, before finally getting your kit off for your hubby for the first time. It’s funny. I must be one of the only modern brides, who isn’t religious, who didn’t sleep with her husband before she married him.
I feel nothing but overdressed – that is, until the second I step back on my podium. As I look at my reflection in the wall mirrors that surround me, it hits me: I’m not getting married any more. Don’t get me wrong, I’m under no illusions, I know my engagement is off. But seeing myself in this wedding dress, it really, truly, completely hits me like a train. I am not going to get to wear a dress like this. I am not going to have a wedding. I am not getting married.
First, I get the lump in my throat, then my bottom lip begins to tremble, and finally, when I can’t hold it in a second longer, tears fall from my eyes.
‘Oh God, I’m sorry,’ I apologise.
‘Oh, don’t worry,’ Annie tells me. ‘Brides almost always shed a few tears when they catch a glimpse of the dress they want.’
As my pretty little tears turn into big sobs and sniffles, Annie backtracks.
‘Erm, well, they usually don’t cry this much… I’ll give you a minute.’
Finally alone, I don’t even try to hold back the tears. I cry my eyes out – something I think I’ve needed to do since I caught John cheating. It feels good to get it out, but devastating. The image of myself, in my dream wedding dress, crying my eyes out, is one I don’t think I’ll ever forget.
Just when I think things can’t get any worse, Jack wanders into the room. He’s wearing a black and white pinstripe suit, black and white brogues and a white gambler hat.
‘I look fresh out of Bugsy Malone,’ he laughs, looking at himself in the mirror.’ ‘You… do not. You look amazing, holy shit.’
I hurriedly wipe my eyes before Jack can see I’m crying, but nothing gets past him.
‘Hey, what’s up?’ he asks, offering me a hand to help me down. ‘Talk to me, Georgie.’
Jack sits me down on the sofa, grabbing a tissue from the box on the table before dabbing my cheeks gently.
‘Thank you,’ I say softly, staring blankly into space.
‘Georgie, come on, you know you can talk to me, what’s up? Did Fliss or your auntie say anything?’
‘No – not this time.’
‘Really? Not even about the fact you’re trying on a wedding dress for your cousin’s wedding?’ he laughs.
‘I wasn’t trying it on for hers, I was trying it on for mine,’ I tell him, dropping my head into my hands.
‘Oh,’ Jack replies softly.
For a moment he doesn’t say anything, just wraps one of his big, strong arms around me and squeezes me tightly.
After sitting quietly for a few seconds he lets go, taking my face lightly in his hand so I’m looking him in the eye.
‘This is so embarrassing,’ I admit. ‘I haven’t tried on any wedding dresses since I got engaged, and Fliss and my auntie were asking about it, and I thought it would seem odd if I didn’t act like I was interested, so I said I’d try one on. All the wedding stuff has been tough, but seeing myself in a dress is just too much – especially this one, which it turns out is my dream dress.’
‘You do look incredible in it, seriously. Kind of took my breath away when I saw you – although, obviously, when I noticed you were crying my priorities shifted. Any man would be lucky to see you walking down the aisle in that dress.’
‘I’m not getting married,’ I point out. ‘Worse still, I got married, drunk, in Vegas, in a red dress. Red, the colour of whores and murder.’
Jack laughs.
‘Georgie, I know you think you’ve blown your chance to get married, but that’s crazy. Maybe you think so because you’ve lost John, but he didn’t deserve you. And you seem to think our wedding was your one wedding. Lots of people have more than one wedding these days…’
‘Little girls don’t grow up planning their different weddings in their head, they plan one. One dream wedding.’
Jack strokes my cheek softly.
‘Once our wedding is annulled, it’s cancelled out – it didn’t happen,’ he tells me.
I raise my eyebrows. Quite the insight coming from the man who didn’t know an annulment was a thing before he met me.
‘I Googled it,’ he admits.
‘I just need to get a grip,’ I say, pulling myself to my feet. ‘And I need to get this dress off.’
‘You don’t need to get a grip, you just need time to process everything that’s happened. Time heals,’ he reminds me. ‘You do need to get that dress off, though. I’m petrified you’re going to get tears and make-up on it, and they’re going to make us pay for it.’
‘Shit, yeah. And I can’t afford it. Most of my money is going to you.’
Jack gives me a sort of guilty smile. I wasn’t trying to make him feel bad – a deal is a deal.
‘I’m scared,’ I admit. ‘I’m scared. I’m scared to admit I’m scared. I’m scared because I’m so scared. What’s going to happen to me?’
I can see a real sadness in Jack’s eyes. He must feel sorry for me, this weak little girl who is a third of the way through her life (if she’s lucky) and has somehow managed to find herself with no job, no fiancé, no home and no prospects. I’d probably pity me, too.
‘I know things feel hopeless,’ he tells me. ‘But it’ll get better. I lost my mum when I was really young, and with every day that goes by, I’m petrified I’ll forget her. I only remember random things like the smell of her perfume and the way her mac and cheese tasted, but the longer I go without smelling that smell or tasting her cooking, it gets more and more likely I’ll forget. Then, when my dad died…’
I feel my face fall. Jack notices immediately.
‘Sorry, I’m not trying to depress you. All I meant was that I lost both my parents, I didn’t have any siblings or grandparents – just a great aunt in England somewhere who didn’t even know me. I was alone, and Vegas is an awful place to be when you’re lonely. But things got easier, time went by, and look at me now – a married man.’
I wipe my eyes as I laugh.
‘There she is,’ Jack smiles. ‘Come on, let’s get you out of these clothes.’
Just as Jack begins unzipping me, Annie walks back in.
‘Erm, hello,’ she says angrily, as though she’s interrupting something.
‘Yeah, you should probably do this,’ Jack says with a awkward laugh. ‘Hard to keep my hands off her.’
As Annie helps me remove the dress I can’t help but notice she’s skirting around me, scared I might start weeping again.
‘Don’t worry, I’m done crying,’ I assure her.
Suddenly, things just don’t seem so bad.