23
“Oh my God,you want me to wear awedding dress?”
Carole stared in alarm at the bridal gown waiting for her at the Hamblehurst history museum. Tucked inside a clear protective garment sleeve, the gown was achingly beautiful, an elegant ivory satin dream with a full A-line style and a sweetheart neckline and long sleeves that tapered to pearl-trimmed cuffs at the wrists. Sheer silky fabric created a demure high neckline embellished with tiny pearls.
It was gorgeous, and looked like something Elizabeth Taylor or Grace Kelly would have worn.
The idea thatshewould wear this dress and then parade around in it in front of the rest of the townsfolk was so ludicrous that Carole felt hysterics setting in.
“Carole, I’m sorry, I thought one of our other models was going to wear this dress,” Olive said, looking flustered. “But it turns out there was a mix-up in the wardrobe planning. Oh, but you will look wonderful in this dress! Please say you’ll still do it.”
“But it’s a wedding dress, Olive! I can’t go out there in a wedding dress!”
“It’s all for a good cause, dear! This wedding dress is the jewel in the crown of our vintage fashion show. One of ourlovely old dears donated it to us and we promised to show it off today during the show. She came here specially to see it being modelled and she’ll be ever so upset if we can’t pull it off.”
Olive Nimmo really knew how to pull at the emotional heartstrings. Carole stared at the dress and sighed, thinking of the old dear, whoever she was, who’d donated the gorgeous dress and who’d presumably get some pleasure out of seeing it worn again.
But why did Carole have to be the one wearing it?
“Are you sure I can’t swap costumes with someone else?” she pleaded.
“Everyone is already in their outfits and ready to go,” Olive said, wringing her hands together. “I know this has turned into a bit of a last-minute mix-up, and I’m sorry. But the show is about to begin, and we’ve already delayed by ten minutes and the people waiting out there are getting fidgety.”
This much was true. As they’d rushed into the local history museum building, they’d dashed past the covered marquee set up on the market square where the vintage fashion show was due to take place, and everyone was seated and waiting for things to start while the emcee apologised for the delay and tried to keep everyone entertained.
“And if I’m being perfectly honest, Carole,” Olive continued in a half-whisper, “you are the prettiest model we have here today. No one else will look as good in this wedding dress as you. In my opinion, it’s a bit of good luck that we’ve had a wardrobe mix-up and you’ve ended up with this vintage wedding dress to wear.”
Carole threw Olive a look. “You’re laying it on a bit thick now, Olive.”
“Sorry. But you can see how desperate we are. And it would be such a shame if we can’t showcase this beautiful gown. Please say you’ll still do this for us?”
Carole knew she had no choice. She’d feel terrible if she refused. The volunteers had put a lot of effort into today, that much was obvious when Carole darted past the covered marquee and the various exhibits on display before hurrying to the museum offices at the back of the building where she was standing now. The team who ran the event just wanted to do the best they could and raise as much money as possible for the museum charity, so the least she could do was help in an emergency and…
… put on a vintage wedding dress and parade up and down a linoleum runway in front of the assembled residents of Hamblehurst.
She groaned at the mad thing she was about to do, even as she pulled her t-shirt over her head.
“You’ll have to help me get into this thing, Olive,” Carole said, unhooking the dress from the hangar.
“Of course I will!” Olive began fiddling with the silk-covered buttons that ran up the back of the dress. “Thank you so much for doing this. You are a star.”
It took them several minutes to wrangle Carole into the dress and deal with the long row of buttons up the back. For one awful moment, Carole thought the fabric of the bodice would rip because of the snug fit, but so long as she didn’t move too fast—or breathe, for that matter—she figured it would be fine.
Once the dress was buttoned up, Carole grabbed a hairbrush from a nearby temporary dressing table and attempted to tame her wayward locks into something resembling a bridal style, which wasn’t easy considering that ten minutes ago she’d had it yanked back in a messy ponytail while working in the garden.
But with Olive’s help, and the addition of a short net veil clipped into place and that fell to her shoulders, she soon looked the part. A quick swipe of lipstick from the bag she’d broughtwith her was the best she could do as far as make-up was concerned.
When she glanced in the full-length mirror, her breath caught. The dress was incredibly beautiful, the stuff of every bride’s dream. Her hair and make-up didn’t come close to doing justice to the costume, but the short veil hid the worst of her lack of grooming. Olive helped her into a pair of satin bridal shoes that were a bit too small, but which would have to do, because the alternative meant clomping down the runway in her trainers.
“Oh my, Carole, you look absolutely stunning!” Olive said, her smile beaming. “Here, take this little bunch of flowers as your bridal bouquet.”
Olive handed her a small bunch of white roses and ushered her towards the door of the back office. Carole hobbled along, trying to find her balance in the tight shoes and the heavy gown. By the time they’d made it out of the back offices and into the main museum exhibition area, Carole thought she’d just about got the hang of her stride.
In the exhibition area, a group of people stood by the main doors, a mix of volunteers and fashion show models who were waiting to go out to the marquee for the start of the event. It was only as Carole crossed the floor to join them that a terrible thought struck her.
“Olive! Wait! If I’m the bride in this fashion show… then who’s the groom?”
Olive gave her a baffled look and pointed to the other models waiting by the door. “Well, Tom is the groom, of course.”
