“I don’t remember you ever having expressed a desire to kayak before.”
She hadn’t but Annie wasn’t about to admit it. “Well, I have always wanted to and now finally I will get the chance.”
Carl wasn’t convinced and he raised a sceptical eyebrow. “Yes, well, I’ll wait by the phone with bated breath to hear how it goes. Sorry, that was really snarky!” He patted her hand apologetically. “It’s this business with David; it’s upset my natural balance. So come on then, tell me more about this kayaking trip of yours.”
Annie filled him in on how she’d managed to persuade Tony—only after threatening to show up down at the clubrooms after his next game in her leopard skin Onezee and matching slippers—that they should head out to Pegasus Town. There was a man-made lake at the subdivision there where they could hire a kayak for an hour or two’s bonding as they bobbed about together on the water. Given her reluctance to wear anything else at home during the cooler months than the Onezee, Tony was easily convinced that she would indeed carry out her threat and so had acquiesced fairly quickly on the kayak front.
She ignored Carl’s raucous laughter as she finished her explanation. She glanced at her watch, surprised to see it was already six fifteen. “Hey, we better eat up. I was hoping to get some dessert in.”
“No dessert for you, young lady.” Carl waggled his fork at her. “Not when you have a Julianne Tigre waiting for you to try on.”
***
Fifteen minutes after they’d gone Dutch on their dinner bill, Carl’s dulcet tones rang out from the behind the shop-side counter of Modern Bride. “Have you died in there, sweetness? Because I am at risk of passing away of old age if you’re much longer.”
“No, I’m not ready yet. Hold your horses! It’s not that easy getting into one of these things, you know.”
“Does Madam require assistance?” That from haughty Amanda, who hovered like an annoying wasp by the next size up in the rack of dresses from which Annie had lovingly plucked her Julianne Tigre from.
“No, thank you, I am fine. I won’t be a sec—and you lot can shove your harps where the sun don’t shine, too,” she hissed at the cherubs that gazed out at her from the wallpaper in a fitting room that was size wise on a par with her master bedroom. Its over-the-top Regency theme was at odds with the shop’s namesake Modern Bride. She frowned as she prepared to suck in one last time, because nobody loved a quitter.
At last she wrested the zipper into place and exhaled slowly, relieved there was no sudden ripping sound. She paused in front of the mirror for a glimpse before she opened the door and did the big reveal. She blinked. Oh my God—was it really her? Unable to believe her own eyes, she blinked again as she registered the reflection that gazed back at her. Yes, yes, alright so the dress was on the snug side, she thought as she ran her hands down all that lovely soft satinyness. But all brides lost weight before their wedding due to the stress of organising it. Everybody knew that—it was a fact. Or at least she was fairly sure it was a fact. Aside from not being able to breathe, though, she and the dress—the combination of them both together—well, it was everything she had ever dreamed of.
This really was her princess moment but it wasn’t a surprise. She’d known the moment she’d laid her eyes upon the swathe of ivory fabric on display in the shop window that it would be. She twirled slowly and became aware of an impatient foot that tapped outside the fitting room. With one last glimpse in the mirror over her shoulder, she called out, “Okay, I am ready, so shut your eyes!”
“She’s ready—thank God for that!” Carl glanced over at Haughty Amanda, whose lips pursed as she raised her eyes heavenward and sent up a silent prayer that madam hadn’t split the delicate seams of the satin.
Annie opened the door and glided out onto the shop floor. “Okay, you can open them now.” Fully aware that Carl was peeping anyway, she smiled tremulously at him. “Well, what do you think?”
Carl clasped his hands steeple-like in front of his mouth as his eyes swept from her head to her toes but gave nothing away as she slowly twirled around.
Annie shifted awkwardly; her hands dropped back down to her sides. “Come on then, what do you think—do you like it?” She was surprised at how much it mattered to her that he approve.
Carl blinked rapidly.
“Don’t cry.”
He fanned his hand in front of his face in an effort to compose himself. “I can’t help it. Oh, it’s, Annie, it’s—oh, you just look so—”
“What? What do I look? Spit it out!” Annie nearly shrieked, desperate for the verdict.
“Beautiful, exquisite, perfect—oh, I’d need a thesaurus to put all the adjectives to describe how you look into words—”
“It does rather become Madam, I must agree, although perhaps it is a little tight across the hips?” Haughty Amanda homed in to give the bodice a little tug where the fabric had wrinkled ever so slightly thanks to the snug fit. Annie was having none of it as she shied away from the older woman’s hands.
“It’s fine, truly. It fits me just fine.” Or it will once I drop the choccie biscuits at morning teatime, she self-affirmed.
“Oh, I thought of some more: stunning, gorgeous, ethereal—” Carl continued to wax lyrical, “but—”
Annie lapped up all the adjectives until she froze. “But what?”
“It’s just that—”
“It is not too tight like I told Haught—I mean Amanda here. It is NOT TOO TIGHT.”
Carl held a hand up, well versed in his day-to-day dealings with models at calming a woman’s potential histrionics. “No, no, sweets, of course it’s not. It fits you like a glove. That’s not it at all.”
Annie placed a hand on her hip and looked at him searchingly. “Well, what is it then?”
“I don’t know how to say this—”
Carl was not usually one to be lost for words or to beat around the bush. Her skin went goosy as she wondered what it was he struggled to tell her.
“Would you just say it please—whatever it is, I can take it, I promise.” Annie lied.
“You’re sure?”
“Of course I am sure. Good friends can be completely honest with each other.” She lied again.
“I’m glad because you know how much I love you but I can’t let you spend this kind of money on a dress, let alone go to the altar in good conscience, if I don’t say my piece.”
Haughty Amanda and Annie’s breath was bated.
“Annie, my sweet, the dress is perfection—you are perfection—but the man you are planning on marrying is not right for you. I’ve gone along with things and humoured you where Tony is concerned but seeing you now in that dress, well, I am sorry, sweetie, it’s a keeper—the fiancé is not.” He swiped his brow, oblivious of the hurt that flashed across Annie’s face as he added in a jokey tone, “There, I said it. That wasn’t so bad, Carl, now was it.” He registered the shock on her face as he looked at her and took a step towards her. Annie held her hands up as though to ward him off. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I know I should have said something before but I got swept up in this—the trying on of the dress thing. I can’t help it, though; I just love a bride.” He attempted a feeble smile. “Besides, it can’t be that much of a shock—you know how I feel about Tony.”
That was true. He had never hidden his feelings about him from her nor had Tony made any secret of his dislike for Carl either for that matter. The feeling was mutual; there was no love lost between either of them. Still, she shook her head. “But I don’t get it. You were asking me when we were going to set the date not long ago and telling me you had a suit that needed an airing and well, everything. I was going to get you to be my best man.” She sniffed.
“Really, me? Your best man?” Carl looked like he would like to retract his earlier statement.
“Yes really.”
He shifted on the balls of his feet and shoved the image of himself looking suave next to the blushing bride aside. “Oh, sweetie, I would dearly love to be your
best man but not if I feel you are making a mistake. Besides which, you and I both know Tony would walk before he’d stand near me at the altar.” He ran his fingers through his fringe. “Despite these enlightened times we now live in, liberal minded Tony is not and you know what else? Now that I am being honest, I suppose I never thought that the two of you would ever get round to making it formal. I thought you’d be one of those couples who’d stay engaged until one day you’d both wake up and well—break up. Seeing you here now in that gorgeous creation,” he gestured at the dress, “well, it’s brought it home to me that you are serious and I needed to tell you how I feel.”
“I wish you hadn’t.”
“Oh, come on, darling, surely you don’t see yourself spending the rest of your days with Macho Man?”
“Of course I do, otherwise I wouldn’t have gotten engaged to him.” Her bottom lip trembled. “And he is not macho—he is just a man’s man, that’s all.”
Carl’s expression grew petulant. “Well, I owe it to Roz not to let you make a monumental mistake.” This was stated with a sanctimonious flourish that said he had made his point.
Roz’s name was the red rag to the bull. “Don’t you bring her into this! It’s not as though she made sterling life choices, is it? And nobody made you my guardian either, thank you very much.” Annie’s face heated up, along with her temper, as her voice rose and the seams of the dress strained. “Besides, look at the state of your relationship—you’re hardly in a position to be advising me on marriage!”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Annie regretted them. Hurt flickered over Carl’s face. “Oh! I’m sorry, Carl. That wasn’t called for.”
Carl, however, was a world-class sulker and as his bottom lip jutted out, it seemed they’d reached a silent impasse.
Haughty Amanda’s head stopped swinging back and forth as though she watched a particularly feisty game of tennis and her attention settled on Annie.
“Ahem, might I offer Madam some help getting out of the dress?” She was petrified this lull in bickering was the calm before the storm. A catfight while Madam was wearing a one-off, Julianne Tigre design she did not need, thank you very much!
“No thank you, I’ll manage.” Annie nearly tripped over the hem as she turned. Amanda gasped but Annie ignored her and flounced back into the dressing room. She locked the door and huffed over the fact that while she had apologised, she certainly wasn’t going to grovel. Carl could just get over himself. She gave the cherubs a two-fingered salute before she unzipped.
When she came back out dressed in her civvies, Carl had gone.
Chapter Six
To: Kassia Bikakis
From: Annie Rivers
Subject: Why I am never drinking again and this time I mean it.
Hi Kas:
Okay, so I will start at the beginning. I made an appointment (it is a very posh place) to try the dress on at Modern Bride for last Thursday night and Carl and I arranged to meet up first for an early Thai dinner. I wanted him to come with me because I know that I can always count on him to be honest, except this time I got a bit more honesty than I bargained for, though I don’t know why it came as such a shock. Remember that time I got my hair cut to shoulder length and he marched me back down to the salon and told the stylist to give me my money back because no woman should have to pay for the privilege of looking like a red-headed sheep who had encountered a stoned shearer? Sometimes it amazes me that we are still friends but then I know I can always count on him to never let me head out the door with my skirt tucked into my knickers or any other such fashion faux pas. Anyway, we had a nice meal—have you ever tried Pad Thai? It is yummy and according to Carl doesn’t have the bloating properties of an Indian curry. Do you even have Thai restaurants in Crete? After we had eaten, we headed to Modern Bride, which was only a couple of doors down from the restaurant for my big moment.
Oh, Kas, it was perfect. Every gorgeous ivory inch of it was exactly what I dreamed my wedding dress would be. It was made for me, and Carl agreed, although the woman who owns the shop, Amanda (I have nicknamed her Haughty Amanda), kept insisting it was a bit tight around my middle—it wasn’t. Anyway, back to Carl: what he doesn’t agree with, he told me in no uncertain terms, is my choice of fiancé. He doesn’t think we are right for each other and apparently has always assumed that eventually our relationship would run its course. He’s been humouring me over the whole idea of getting married but the sight of me in an actual wedding dress made it clear to him that the time had come to say his piece where Tony is concerned. He didn’t hold back and to cut a long story short, we had a fight.
Annie yawned and flexed her fingers as she tried to ignore the niggling kernel of guilt that she had yet to even tell Tony about the dress’s existence. She’d made the excuse that she was working late the night she’d tried it on, not wanting to tell him what she was really up to. That was down to timing, though, she assured herself, because he hadn’t been in the best of moods the night before thanks to a non-paying client. Interrupting his rant to inform him she was going for a wedding dress fitting the following evening and not just any old wedding dress either—oh no, this was a one-off Julianne Tigre no less—well, it hadn’t seemed like the best of timing. Haughty Amanda hadn’t mentioned the cost over the phone; she’d been too busy gushing at the simplistic beauty of the design—which reading between the lines meant the gown was hideously expensive but well, she’d cross that bridge with Tony when she came to it. They could always pilfer a bit from the savings account because the way house prices had gone lately, buying their own home was a bit of a pipe dream anyway.
She decided not to mull on the fact that they hadn’t actually talked about the wedding since they had gotten slaughtered last New Year’s eve. They’d both been far too seedy in the light of day to think about guest lists, venues, and on it went, so they hadn’t pursued the conversation. Most terrifying of all, though, was the thought that were she to confess what she was really up to, Tony would insist she invite his mother along for the big try on instead of Carl and there was no way that was happening. Cripes, her Julianne Tigre dream dress would remain just that—a dream—and she’d wind up a ginger version of Pammy Anderson in her Tommy Lee days, kitted out in white thigh high boots, leather mini skirt, and boob tube with matching veil!
She blinked and willed the nightmare vision of Ngaire’s mother of the groom, or whatever her official title would be, ensemble away and carried on typing.
We didn’t talk all day Friday and I had a horrible day at work, thinking about what he had said, even though it is not true. Seeing as I had already apologised for the nasty remark I had made to Carl about him and David breaking up, I figured it was his turn to apologise to me. He caved at ten a.m. on Saturday morning and we agreed that where my fiancé is concerned, we will agree to disagree. We also decided that as we were both at a loose end Saturday night—him because he is single and me because Tony was going over to his brother’s to watch the rugby—that we would go out for dinner to that Thai restaurant again. Like I said, the food was really good but unfortunately it wasn’t just the food that was good; it was also the wine and by the time we left the restaurant, we both had our dancing shoes on. I tell you what, Kas, we cut some mean moves at one club to “Summer Nights”—you know, that song from Grease? I was Olivia, of course, and Carl was John. We even got a standing ovation for our efforts! Cringe—why, oh why, do I do it? I blame Carl—he is a horrific influence on me.
Anyway, come Sunday morning, I had a sore head the likes of which I am sure Olivia Newton-John is far too wholesome to have ever suffered from and I was in trouble with Tony. I’d arranged as part of my campaign to find a shared interest for us to go kayaking together on Sunday at a nearby lake but as I was suffering from severe shrinkage of the brain, I was hoping to postpone our outing and just head to Burger King instead. There was no way Tony was going to let me off the hook, though, not even for a Whopper burger. Mostly because I’d made such a fuss about
going in the first place. Oh Kas, it was awful. I was green—lime green—and Tony kept barking at me to paddle when all I wanted to do was throw up over the side of the stupid excuse for a boat, curl up and have a little snooze. Honestly, when we got back to shore, I had sore arms, a churning tummy, pounding head, wet bum, and one pissed-off other-half. So much for my little theory that doing an activity together would make us feel closer as a couple. Next week, he can bloody well bugger off to Speedway like he normally does with his brothers and leave me in peace.
Don’t worry, though; we made it up on Monday night. That’s the only bonus of falling out, I reckon—the make-up sex, which, by the way, was pretty average. Therein lies phase two of my little plan to find things that Tony and I can do together. A shared hobby obviously isn’t for us, so I am going to vamp things up in the bedroom department with a visit to a certain saucy shop (sex shop) on my lunch break tomorrow. Variety is the spice of life, so they say! Do you have shops like that in Crete and more to the point, have you ever been in one? I haven’t but oh well, there is a first time for everything.
Speaking of lunch breaks, they are the only bright spot in my workday week at the moment. Attila is still awful. Not much else to say on the subject, really.
Anyway, I am beginning to ramble, which means I need some sleep. I am sorry this email has been all me, me, me but you know you and your gorgeous family are always in my thoughts. Has Alexandros’s little friend—the one in the birthday pic you said was on holiday from Ireland—gone home yet? Gosh, he is a fast worker, that one; shame he isn’t quite so fast when it comes to actual work. Give the boys a kiss from their Kiwi aunty and tell Spiros I hope his writer’s block has passed but if not I looked it up and read that change of scene is a good way to cure it—tell him to go for a long walk or try writing in a different room. Bye for now.
Being Shirley Page 6
