He laughs. ‘Mummy mentioned a chocolate fountain, that’s all. Guests can dip fruit in it. She thinks it will be such great fun.’
Of course she does. She’ll probably want fruit that has to be airlifted in individually by private jet and chocolate sourced from some remote Aztec civilisation and made with leprechaun’s tears.
‘Mmm, maybe.’ The reception would look like there’d been a massacre at Willy Wonka’s factory five minutes after this lot gets into a chocolate fountain. ‘Let’s see where we find for the reception first.’
Daniel grimaces. ‘Right, it’s just that she’s got an image of the wedding in her head now,’ he says. ‘Of course we’ll do what we want. It is our wedding. It’s only that I wouldn’t want to disappoint her if we don’t use any of her ideas.’
‘The last thing I want is a disappointed mother-in-law, so of course we’ll use some,’ I say. Just don’t ask me how.
The pub has thinned out by the time Kelly nudges me later. ‘The prawn man’s here.’
‘Told you we’d eat,’ I say to Daniel, who can’t take the grin off his face. ‘What is it?’
‘I’ve read about them,’ he says.
‘What, prawns? They swim in the sea.’
‘You sometimes eat ’em with Marie Rose sauce,’ Kell adds.
‘Cockle men,’ he says. ‘Or prawn men. I didn’t think they were real.’
‘Aw, bless, he looks like he’s seen a unicorn,’ Kell says, waving the man over.
‘All right?’ the prawn man asks, tipping his basket of seafood toward us so we can have a look. We politely glance into the basket even though he always sells the same things. He’s getting on a bit now and I’ve been eating his prawns since I was a little girl in here with Mum and Dad. He never says more than he has to. He just tips his cap as he goes from table to table, passing out snacks and collecting money.
We get three pints of prawns, which we demolish in about a minute. As I watch Daniel go to the bar to get his round in for us all, I get a little misty watching everyone’s smiling faces. That’s my fiancé, the most popular toff in East London.
The window of the chic Sloane Square shop only has two dresses in it, and I can’t see myself wearing either of them. Philippa and Abby are already inside, though, waving me in, so I can’t just leave. Steeling myself, I crash into the glass door as I push to open it. What the hell?
The only shops around me that keep their front doors locked are the pawnbrokers. What shoplifter in her right mind would go round nicking wedding dresses? Just try stuffing one of those down the front of your jeans.
‘Sorry,’ I say to the forty-something woman who unlocks the door. Her smile is radiant, but it doesn’t reach her perfectly made-up eyes. Everything about her says elegance, from her pale grey shift dress and high heels to her sleek blonde chignon and the simple gold necklace and earrings she’s wearing.
‘Won’t you make yourself comfortable?’ she whispers.
‘Okay, thanks,’ I whisper back. The deep-pile carpet muffles my steps, but we all hear my charm bracelet tinkling.
Philippa and Abby rise from the cream velvet sofa for kisses. ‘Darling! We’re having champagne.’ My future mother-in-law’s booming voice shatters the peace in the shop. ‘Do have some.’ She glances at the woman, who hurries over with a crystal glass. ‘Isn’t this going to be marvellous fun?’
I catch Abby rolling her eyes at her mum. She’s only twenty and probably has better things to do than come wedding dress shopping. She knocks back the champagne and holds out her glass for more.
‘We’ve just been chatting about designs,’ Philippa continues. ‘Yah, do you have something special in mind, darling?’
‘I figured I could just try some on and see what looks good.’ I never know what I’m looking for when I shop. I just go along the rails and pick out whatever catches my eye.
Only there aren’t any rails in here. It looks like a miniature Versailles, all gold and mirrors and dangly crystal chandeliers.
There aren’t any other customers, either.
‘Right, absolutely,’ Philippa says. ‘But if you tell Sarah what kind of thing you have in mind, she can bring some dresses out for you. Or she could bring them all out. Sarah, could you bring out all the dresses you have in Emma’s size?’
Sarah looks flummoxed by this notion. ‘We do have quite a few dresses. Do you have a preference for lace, silk or chiffon? Pearls, beading or plain? White, off-white, cream or we have some other neutral colours?’
I’m in so far over my head I think the lifeguard has just blown his whistle. What I need is Mrs Delaney from next to the dealership to translate all this for me. She might not know anything about the champagne they’re knocking back, but she’s been a tailor her whole life. She knows her silk from her rayon. ‘I’ve always liked lace,’ I say.
Sarah seizes on this snippet and holds on for dear life. ‘I’ll choose some dresses,’ she says, going through a mirrored door at the back of the shop.
‘Abby was telling me about the wedding her friend’s sister just had,’ Philippa says as we wait for Sarah to come back. ‘It sounds absolutely dreadful. Paper plates. One can’t imagine!’
‘Mummy, they were being ironic. Everybody’s doing peasant weddings now. It’s all hay bales and paper streamers. I think it’s a hoot.’
‘Hoot or not, darling, isn’t the point,’ says Philippa. ‘If one can’t afford a proper wedding, then have a small one, by all means. But don’t skimp. Paper plates aren’t ironic, they’re tacky. To think how their parents must have felt. And a falafel cart at a wedding? They may as well have just ordered Domino’s and been done with it. I’d be absolutely mortified.’
It obviously doesn’t cross her mind that a proper wedding might be a stretch for us too. I can feel my cheeks burning.
‘It’s such a shame your mother couldn’t come today,’ Philippa says to me as she finishes her champagne. She’s oblivious to my cheeks.
‘She’s gutted, but she says she’s looking forward to meeting you soon.’
That’s a total lie. She has no idea I’m here. I practically wore dark sunglasses and a trench coat to the Tube so no one would see me. I’m cheating on my mum with my future mother-in-law and not even Kelly knows about it. I couldn’t bring Mum with me, though, could I? She’s nervous enough about meeting Philippa. I couldn’t make her do it on Philippa’s home ground.
This way I can make both Philippa and my mum happy. Mum and I’ll go with Kell later this week to look at more dresses. Nobody needs to know about today.
Sarah returns wheeling a golden rail hung with a dozen or so frocks and leads me through a mirrored door.
This just got real.
She hangs three dresses on what look like solid gold hooks. ‘Erm …’
We’re staring at each other.
‘Thanks very much,’ I say.
When she smiles I realise she means to stay in here while I get changed.
‘Do you have your bra with you?’ she asks.
‘Right here,’ I say, pointing