A bead of sweat drips down my back but I’m conscious of not moving again. Instead, I take a deep breath, attempting to push away the sick feeling climbing my throat.
“Deep breaths,” Hattie says to me, holding Gemma’s phone up to her mouth to record a voice note. “Hi, Brad. Gemma isreallybusysupportingher older sister on areallybig day and so I’m hoping you’ll be able to entertain yourself for a moment. Thanks so much, Brad. You’re a hero.” Her tone drips with sarcasm and I smile – actuallysmile –for the first time today.
“Great, now, where were we?” Hattie asks. Gemma lifts her chin, clearly irritated her phone has been confiscated. She sidesteps Hattie to stand behind me as I’m misted with hairspray without warning.
“All done,” the stylist says. “Are you happy with the curls I’ve done at the front? They’ll likely fall out before the reception, but you have such naturally straight hair.”
“It’s lovely,” I say, brushing the strands from my face. The curls feel so intensely trivial right now.
“I think it looked better down,” Millie adds, lying back on the bed. Hattie turns and shoots Millie a look. “Never mind. The curls are cute. They definitely don’t make you lookmoreuptight than usual.”
Ah, there it is. The stinger.
I exhale slowly. The thing about being the eldest of four is that you end up taking on responsibilities before you’re old enough to do so. I believed I was far more mature and knowledgeable than I actually was. I know I got lots of it wrong: I pushed too hard when their grades were down; spoke out about shitty boyfriends before they were ready to hear it; and I had,still have, a seriousinability to ignore behaviour that needs calling out.
But I am also the one they call when things get tough – partly because we lost our mother when I was only fourteen and someone had to fill her shoes.
I’ve bailed Gemma out of credit card debt three times. She dates wealthy, older men, but somehow, always ends up paying for everything.
I’ve picked Millie up from the side of the road, since she was old enough to go out drinking with her mates, more times than I’m willing to admit.
As for Abby… Well, she’s the quietest, brainiest one of the bunch. I never had to worry about her grades – she aced every exam – but Iwouldhave to worry about whether she’d remembered to eat during revision periods or if she was allowing herself enough rest. She struggled with friendships in a way none of us ever did and, although everything seemed fine on the outside, I’d lie awake at night worrying about her the most.
And so, I’m sorry, I guess, if I come across a little uptight at times.
But if I was relaxed, nothing would get done and the girls wouldn’t have anyone to lean on when things get tough.
And that’s why I cannot possibly run. Not in front of my sisters. Not in front of family. Not today. I’ve left it too late. Just the thought of letting them down makes me want to throw up.
Ugh!
Hattie clears her throat, bringing me back to earth. “Come on bride-to-be, let’s get you into your dress.” She signals to Millie. “And turn the radio up please. I fucking love this song.”
The song playing is a familiar chart topper, the kind with a quieter bridge that leads into a big, sweeping chorus. It’s that style of song that makes you want to jump around the room, even if you don’t know the lyrics. I can never remember the name of the band, but I’ll give it to them, they know how to write a hit.
I follow Hattie into the swanky bathroom, Abby trailing behind me. I’m primed for marriage: every inch of me has been waxed and tanned over the past few days. Add in my blonde hair and angular features, I feel almost Barbie-like. But not in a good way.
The dress I chose is a ball gown shape with the sweetheart neckline and lace sleeves. The lady who worked in the shop looked me up and down once, picked it right off the hanger and told me it was the one. And although I tried other dresses, she was right, this was the best shape on me.
Now, of course, I hate it. I wish I’d picked something more daring. Moreme.
I’m not a princess. And I feel like an imposter in it.
But that’s starting to feel like a theme these past weeks. Even months. In some ways I’ve felt like an imposter in my own life, and it’s terrifying. But it’s not worth dwelling on right this second. I’ve already decided I’m going through with this wedding. We’ve been together for five years, it’s time. It makes sense. Even if my heart is sagging in my chest.
I shake myself out of it. Everyone is here for a wedding. Some of my family have travelled hours to get here. And I am programmed not to let people down.
I’m going to be the perfect bride.
I am strong enough for this.
Hattie eyes me as I remove my satin dressing gown. Ithink she can tell something is on my mind but isn’t saying anything. At least not in front of Abby. They team up to lower the dress so I can step in, raising it again as I slide my arms into the sleeves.
“Right. Let’s do this,” I say, forcing a smile and nodding to Hattie.
Abby moves the mirror, so I have no choice but to look at myself. “You’re so pretty,” she says, and I can tell by the gentleness of her voice that she really believes it.
“You’re even prettier,” I remind her, turning the attention away from me.
