What Becomes of the Broken Hearted?

by Claire Allan

  I glanced at her, hoping to see some hint that she didn’t really hate it as much as it sounded like she did. There was no such hint.

  “Well, we have sold that design before but I know it’s not to everyone’s taste,” said Kitty.

  “Quite,” my mother said and I had to fight the urge to remind her it was far from a snooty voice she was reared and that Kitty was actually on our side.

  “So how about we sit down and see what is your taste?” Kitty looked at me.

  I was grateful she did, but decided it would be best not to tell her that the purple gown was absolutely and totally my taste, at least not in front of my mother.

  With deep, rich fabric and the forgiving boning not being an option acceptable to the woman who had given me life, and keen to steer her away from the flouncy numbers she so loved, I answered as best I could. “I’d love something relatively simple – but flattering. Actually, flattering is what really matters. My hips are not my friends.” I tried to smile but was suddenly conscious of my Size 14 jeans and the extra padding on my rear end.

  “You have a lovely figure,” Kitty said gently.

  I disregarded that attempt at flattery. “I don’t really fancy loads of bling. No crystals or sequins. And I’m not overly worried about white.” I made the final comment with a wink.

  Kitty laughed. “Let me pull out a few dresses and you can try something on.”

  I wasn’t entirely sure what I should do. I saw the dressing room to the left and a lovely podium with tasteful mirrors positioned around it in the middle of the room. Was I to follow and hold the dresses for her? Was I to start stripping off there and then? Was I to sit where I was? I started, I have to say, to feel a bit panicky and had to fight the urge to just get up and run out.

  This was not what I wanted – a wedding because we felt we had to. A dress to make my mother and his mother happy.

  Kitty turned to me, a gown in ivory draped over her arm, and she tilted her head just slightly. Suddenly I felt as if every single emotion running through my head was now written in huge bold writing across my face.

  “How about we just get a little glass of water, or cup of tea, or a wee sip of Prosecco first? Sure we’re in no rush,” Kitty said, looking directly at me.

  “Tea,” I muttered.

  “Prosecco!” my mother clapped and squealed in a slightly less than snooty voice while Sue clapped along. “Yes, some fizzy stuff!”

  Kitty put the dress back on the rack and I noticed her run her hand along the soft silkthen take a deep breathas if to try and steady herself – or as if she needed a cup of tea or a glass of alcoholic beverage herself. “I’ll just get Cara to organise it for us. Can you excuse me for a minute?”

  “Take your time,” I nodded and she smiled softly.

  “I just need a moment. Cara will be with you just now.”

  Chapter five

  Kitty

  My hands were shaking as if I was going through a killer dose of DTs. I had to steady myself against the worktop, close my eyes and count to ten while I breathed in and out as slowly as I could.

  I had, probably completely stupidly, thought it would be okay. I thought I would have been able to come into work and put it out of my mind for a little bit.

  Which was a bit stupid of me, wasn’t it? How I’d ever thought standing surrounded by beautiful dresses, pictures of smiling brides and promises of happy-ever-afters was going to provide a welcome distraction was beyond me.

  It hadn’t helped that Rose had arrived looking very solemn and insisted on asking Cara how I was before meeting my eye. I had reacted perhaps a little too angrily, sticking my face in front of hers and telling her very loudly that I was fine.

  “Your dad is worried about you,” she said, still in a whisper.

  “I. Am. Fine,” I repeated again, “And we have a job to do and customers to serve and dresses to get ready for pick-up, so can we please stop acting as if we are at a wake and just get on with things? It’s unsettling me, Rose, to have you looking so serious. You never look serious. Even when you were burgled you laughed and said you would enjoy buying new stuff with the insurance money. I need you to be smiley, Rose, now, if that’s okay?”

  She’d nodded and plastered on a wide smile which made her look slightly demented. “You’re the boss. I’ll do whatever you say.”

  “Well, how about making sure the two dresses which are due out today are steamed and ready to go?”

  “As you wish,” she said in a fake sing-song voice as she curtseyed before me and scurried off.

  I turned to see Cara looking straight at me with the same sorrowful expression Rose had had.

  “What?” I barked at her.

  She shrugged her shoulders. “Nothing. But, Kitty, you should know. You’re kind of scaring me.”

  “I’m just trying to do my job.”

  “I know that,” she said slowly and carefully, “but you’re also being a little bit of a scary bitch and I love you very, very much so I don’t think you should be here.”

  “He’ll expect me to be here. If he wants me this is the first place he would look on a Friday. He knows Fridays are busy. And, added to all that, I told you I need to be busy.”

  “Okay,” she said, backing off. “So I’ll help. Just tell me what to do.”

  “I have some ordering to do. Can you mind the front desk? Call me if any of my appointments come in and I’ll get on with this.”

  “Okay,” she said. “If you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure,” I said.

  I’d watched her clatter down the iron stairs in her impossibly high heels. She looked very glam – not at all haunted and scraggy like I did. Glancing in the mirror, I tried to flatten my hair a little and slicked on some lip gloss, and then I absolutely promised myself I would do some work. I had a few orders to chase and a couple of new orders to place. I had to book a stall at a bridal fair and arrange to see a rep about a new collection. It should have been a busy day. It should have been the kind of day I absolutely loved and it should have been the case that, before I knew it, it would be six o’clock and I’d be locking up and smiling at the thought of sharing a pizza and a bottle of wine with Mark.

  It hadn’t been like that though. It had been crap. I’d sat down and flicked on the computer screen in front of me. I’d opened the right files, so the thought was there, but instead of doing the work I was meant to do I’d sat staring into space and occasionally at my phone and then checking my email in case he’d opted for that approach instead.

  He hadn’t.

  When Erin Brannigan arrived it had at least forced me away from torturing myself in front of the screen.

  She seemed nice. A little more serious perhaps than some of the brides who walked through our doors, but nice. Some brides would be so excited to be buying their big dress for their Big Day that I’d almost want to sedate them. Erin didn’t have that joyous exuberance about her. There was something about her which screamed that she didn’t really want to be there. I’d noticed it as soon as I saw her and part of me wanted to give her a hug.

  It was a shame her mother didn’t seem interested in the purple dress (our Purple Quality Street as Rose called it). Erin’s eyes had lit up just that little bit more when she saw it, but I could see – as was so frequently the case – the mother of the bride was very much in the driving seat when it came to the wedding preparations. Still, I would do what I always did and say nothing and try and make the bride as comfortable as possible and find a dress which suited her and made her look fabulous but which her mother would also approve of.

  There was just that moment though – when I touched the dresses, when I felt all the love and hope and trust that went with them – that I thought I’d start to cry or throw up. Neither of those reactions would be conducive to selling a wedding dress so it was then I excused myself on the pretext of making tea or pouring a glass of fizz and I found myself taking as many deep breaths as I could without hyperventilating.

  I was
aware of Cara walking into the room behind me and, summoning up the strength to speak, I implored her not to ask me if I was okay. “Please, just pretend this is a normal day and everything is fine and I’m just here taking a breather,” I muttered.

  “Okay. Well, ignoring the fact that if this was an ordinary day I wouldn’t be here and would be at my own work, is there anything I can do?”

  “Can you bring tea and Prosecco down to the dressing room? Rose will help.”

  “Will you be down soon?” I could tell that she really was asking if I was okay without actually asking if I was okay in case I went all scary-psycho-friend on her.

  “Soon,” I said, “I just need a bit of time. Two minutes. Honest.”

  She gave a half-smile and left me to wander through the workroom where I could sit and try to gather my thoughts before returning to the dressing room and putting on my best ‘I love weddings’ smile.

  I couldn’t bring myself to look at my phone, which was mocking me at this stage, or my emails. So I just stood and looked out the window at a group of tourists (probably American – the baseball caps and ‘fanny packs’ gave it away) meandering along the city walls. The sun was shining and their faces were beaming. I wondered, as I always did, what brought them to Derry – what their story was? Were any of them harbouring a horrible heartbreak? I sighed and turned away and took a deep breath. I needed to get a hold of my emotions and settle myself.I closed my eyes and took a series of deep breaths.

  When I opened my eyes again I found Rose standing perilously close to me, her head tilted to one side.

  “Sweet living Jesus!” I screeched, stepping back to try and gain some sense of personal space.

  “Sorry,” she sing-songed. “I just wanted to see if you were okay. You were standing very still and to be honest I just wanted to make sure you were still alive.”

  “Dead people don’t tend to be standing up, Rose.”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “It happens.”

  She said it with such authority that I didn’t dare question her but made a secret vow to Google it later.

  Breathing in again – but with my eyes open so as to avoid any confusion – I forced a smile on my face.

  “Rose, you are very good to me,” I said and gave her a hug while resisting the urge to collapse in a heap and allow her to hold me up. I had to do this on my own. I had to get through this all on my own. “Right, we have customers and I’m a professional. I can do this.”

  “Of course you can, pet. You do know that, don’t you? You can get through anything.”

  “Yes,” I nodded. “But sometimes I really, really don’t want to. I just want it to be back the way it was. I can’t believe it isn’t the way it was.”

  “Things have a way of working out, pet,” she said, smoothing my hair. “Just give it time.”

  I sniffed and nodded again.

  “Cara has the tea sorted,” she said. “I was just coming through for a couple of wineglasses for the fizz. Will we bring them down together?”

  I nodded again and followed her like an obedient child, fully aware that everything in life felt a little bit easier when I had my step-mum with me.

  Anne and Sue were sitting misty-eyed and a little tipsy when Erin emerged from the changing cubicle looking uncomfortable and overdressed in swathes of tulle. This had been very much not the dress she wanted nor the dress I would have chosen for her, but her mother had been quite insistent.

  “Just one meringue, love,” she had said, all hint of her earlier airs and graces gone. “Just one big dress for me? Just to see? You never know, you might like it!”

  “Might like it . . .” Sue had echoed, staring into the bottom of her wineglass.

  The pair had only had two small glasses each but, from their demeanour, I was beginning to think they might have started their very own pre-wedding celebrations before turning up at the shop. This was not uncommon – but, in fairness, usually the bride-to-be was as tipsy as her bridal party and not wearing a face like she’d sucked a lemon, while drowning in tulle.

  “You look bewdiful, darling,” Anne slurred. “Like a princess.”

  “A princess,” Sue echoed and the pair looked at each other and dissolved into tears.

  I looked at Erin and she shrugged her shoulders.

  “Oh Erin! What a day we will have,” Anne slurred.

  “Paddy will just love you,” said Sue.

  “Paddy loves me already,” Erin said softly. “And much as I can see you love this dress and as much as I love you both, this is not the dress I will be wearing when we get married.”

  “But,” her mother intoned, “it’s lovely!”

  And it was lovely – a full skirt, a boned corset, a lot of sparkle – it was the perfect dress for a certain kind of person. Some girls simply came alive when they put it on, but Erin looked completely uncomfortable and not one inch the radiant bride.

  When I watched a bride trying on dresses I always knew, instinctively, when we got the right one. Something would change in her demeanour. She would stand a little taller, thrust her chest out a little further, and smile a little wider. Something in her would change. It sounded a little clichéd and a lot cheesy – but she would become a bride right before my eyes.

  Looking at Erin again, blowing her hair from her face and standing with her hands on her hips, she didn’t look like a bride at all. She looked kind of scary.

  “Tell her,” Anne said to me. “Tell her she looks lovely.”

  “She looks lovely,” I said with a smile. “But maybe we want her to look more than lovely. We want her to look the best she ever has done and I think I might have just the dress for her. This one is indeed very nice – but it’s a big seller. Don’t you want something that really stands out?”

  Anne looked at Erin and then at Sue, who was in danger of falling asleep, and then at me. “I suppose.”

  “So how about we get Erin out of this dress and into something everyone is happy with?”

  Anne smiled and Erin smiled and I even felt myself smile and just for a second everything that was going so horribly wrong in my life at that moment slipped from consciousness.

  “I have a few ideas in mind,” I said, helping Erin back into the cubicle and helping to unzip the dress.

  “I’m sorry my mother is a little loud,” she whispered.

  I shook my head as if to tell her not to worry herself about it one bit. We saw a lot worse in The Dressing Room. All manner of people walked in through our doors.

  “Don’t worry. She’s fine. She’s just excited.”

  “She’s just a pain in the arse,” Erin shrugged with a smile. “But she means well.”

  “Well,” I said, “let’s just get rid of her dream dress here and find the dress of your dreams.”

  “Can I let you in on a wee secret?” she said, tilting her head towards mine. “I never wanted to get married in the first place.”

  Chapter six

  Erin

  The last time Iwore a big flouncy wedding dress it was scratchy and horrible and made my skin turn blotchy. When I say wedding dress, I mean First Communion dress. My mother had told me I was getting married and, being a child and an eejit, I kind of believed her. As I hauled my frock on – convinced I was destinedto meet my groom in the chapel – I feltits starchy,lacy high-necked horribleness scratching at my skin. I started to feel a little faint. And panicky. As if I might actually wet my brand-new special-occasion knickers.

  My mother smiled and hauled a brush through my hair – which had developed the look of a ginger Afro about it thanks to a nit infestation and a bad cut – before slidingsome silk flowers on a comb on the crown of my big, orange head andarranging a veil around my face.

  “Oh Erin, you look like a wee dream,” she said, misty-eyed.

  I looked back at her and felt a tear slide down my cheek and splash onto my brand-new shiny patent-leather shoes.

  “I don’t want to get married, Mammy!” I sobbed. “I want to stay here with yo
u and Daddy.”

  She looked at me and smiled, a funny, lopsided kind of smile which made me feel as if I was being very silly. “Oh Erin. You don’t really have to get married. I was only teasing.” She pulled me into a big hug and kissed my frizzy hair.

  I breathed in her Chanel No.5 and felt myself relax. My brand-new special-occasion knickers would be safe today.

  “Do I not have to get married ever ever,Mammy?” I asked, flashing a gapped-tooth smile in her direction.

  “No, darling. You never have to get married ever. But we do have to get to the chapel and get this First Communion over and done with. So shall we go, my princess?”

  Of course there had been another time – another dress. But it wasn’t a wedding dress as such. It was a dress I wore to a wedding – my wedding, or my nearly wedding or whatever you might want to call it but that didn’t count either. And I’d left that one terrified of marriage too and vowing that I’d never, ever do it again. But that, of course, was before I’d met Paddy. That was another lifetime ago entirely. Almost as distant in my mind as that day in the flouncy First Communion frock.

  Kitty walked back into the cubicle with two dresses over her arm. Mercifully neither had an inch of tulle near them. “These might be more your thing,” she said softly before hanging them up against the wall so I could see them in all their glory.

  Sheer, slinky, figure-hugging. If I had been wearing brand-new special-occasional knickers there would have been a very good chance that I would have had a similar panic-induced pee in them.

  “I can’t wear something like that,” I implored, feeling my pale skin blotch and scratch at the very thought.

  “Of course you can,” Kitty said brightly.

  She had that air of confidence about her. She hadn’t even paled, all that much, when I told her I didn’t want to get married in the first place. Of course I didn’t furnish her with the full sorry details of my marriage reluctance or the big old fat cancer-shaped reason for my change of heart. She hadn’t even patronised me and said “Everyone gets nervous” or told me not to worry. She had just nodded and asked me if I wanted to continue with my search for the perfect dress.