‘Kelly, how can you call going to Selfridges showing off? Get a grip on yourself.’
Kell’s never been the jealous type before. If anything, I was the one who didn’t like to share when we were growing up – attention, affection or the last slice of cake – being an only child and used to having my own way. Kell has three older sisters who literally knocked the selfishness out of her. So I don’t know why she’s acting like I’m her exclusive property now. She practically cocks her leg to wee on me whenever Cressida’s around.
‘Have you got anything in mind?’ Abby asks as we make our way through Selfridges’ wide glass doors.
Something for under a tenner, I want to say. But I don’t, of course, because she doesn’t know I can’t afford their dresses. ‘I thought we could get some summery ideas that suit everyone.’
‘We all have such different figures,’ Kelly says, pointedly looking at Cressida’s big chest. ‘I can wear anything.’
‘You have a lovely figure,’ Cressida says, reaching for a flowy coral Grecian-style dress.
Kelly ignores the compliment.
‘I wouldn’t mind something shorter,’ says Abby. ‘My legs aren’t bad.’
‘They’re gorgeous.’ Uncle Barbara’s agreement makes Abby grin. Somehow it doesn’t sound creepy for him to say this about a twenty-year-old’s legs. ‘Might’s well make the most of them. And maybe something loose-fitting to be kind to tummies.’ He pats his.
‘We’ll have a butchers,’ Kell says. ‘How boracic are you really, Ems? Could you spend a Godiva? A pony?’ She smiles. ‘A monkey? Those are upstairs.’
‘What’s a monkey?’ Cressida asks.
‘It’s slang,’ I say, ‘and it’s rude to leave others out of the conversation, Kelly. We’re only looking for ideas, right? Don’t worry about the prices now.’
We fan out across the sales floor, gathering armloads of frocks as we go.
‘She’s picking some minging dresses,’ Kelly says to me at one point when Cressida is out of earshot.
‘They’re not minging, she’s got good taste.’
‘Better than me?’
‘I’m not having this conversation. Go try your dresses on with the others.’
Kelly’s got to get over this pettiness soon because I do like Cressida a lot. And that’s why Kelly can’t stand her.
‘Ta-dah!’ Kelly swoops out of the fitting room after the fifth or sixth wardrobe change, this time wearing a flowery pastel chiffon dress. ‘This is the one.’
Abby emerges in a pale green tutu-inspired dress. ‘Cressida?’ Abby calls. ‘Hurry up.’
‘This one doesn’t fit very well.’
‘Never mind, you can get another size, let’s just see.’
She emerges holding her hand over her cleavage. The dress only has tiny spaghetti straps. It’s a flowy candy-striped chiffon with a handkerchief hemline and it’s gorgeous. Or it would be if the top was about two sizes bigger. ‘I think more coverage might be better,’ she says.
‘But the style is nice,’ Abby concedes. ‘And it shows off your legs.’
‘Oh, Kelly, yours is fabulous,’ Cressida says. ‘What do you think, Emma?’
‘I agree. I like yours and Kelly’s.’
‘But which one do you like better?’ Kell asks.
‘I like them both,’ I tell her pointedly. ‘Let me find them in your sizes so everyone can try them on together.’ Then I remember something. ‘Not that we’re buying them, but it’s good to get an idea.’
By the time I find the dresses on the sprawling sales floor I’ve nearly convinced myself that they’ll be a bargain.
Then I look at the price tags. Of course they’re not.
‘I like Cressida’s better,’ Uncle Barbara says when they’ve gone back inside to change.
I agree with him. ‘Would you like to try one on in your size?’
He looks sad. ‘I can’t really, can I? It’s a ladies fitting room.’
‘I’m sorry, Uncle Barbara.’
‘Don’t be, my love, I’m just happy to be here with you.’
Kell’s sense of humour has completely failed by the time we’re finished in Selfridges, but I feel like we should at least have a drink together to celebrate the fact that we’ve found a dress idea that everyone likes.
‘There aren’t any good pubs round here,’ Kell says when I suggest the drink.
‘I have a better idea than a pub and we don’t even need to leave the shop!’ says Cressida. ‘The champagne bar is right through here.’
‘Well…’ I start to say. Champagne? ‘I’m not really drinking till the wedding.’
‘My treat. Please, I insist. Won’t you let me buy everyone a little glass?’
‘You can buy me a big one,’ Kelly says. ‘As long as you’re offering.’
Cressida smiles. ‘I’m offering.’
The waiter pushes two small tables together for us. ‘So this is how the other ’alf lives,’ Uncle Barbara says, staring around the room with its dove-grey upholstery and mirrored chandeliers. ‘Do you come here a lot?’
‘Not often, but it’s nice after a bit of shopping. Emma, are you thinking of having bubbly at your wedding?’
‘She’s not made of money, you know,’ Kell snaps.
‘I do know. She’s told me.’ She points to the menu as the waiter takes the order. ‘But you don’t have to spend a lot. Look, this prosecco is twenty-nine quid. If we were downstairs in Harry Gordon’s, the cheapest bottle would be about fifty. We’ve saved twenty quid just by being here instead. And these are restaurant prices. In a shop you could find drinkable prosecco for under twenty pounds a bottle.’
‘She does know what she’s talking about,’ Abby offers.
‘Yes, it’s always important to economise on the champagne,’ Kelly says.
I glare at her. ‘Kelly, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were taking the piss.’
‘Well, I mean, come on! She’s congratulating herself for saving money on champagne, Emma. Champagne. Tell her how we’ve had to look down the back of settee cushions to find twenty pence for the gas meter.’
‘You’re exaggerating, Kell. It was never that bad.’
‘Speak for yourself.’
‘I am speaking for myself and I’m saying lighten up, please.’
I can’t meet her eyes, though, because it was that bad after Dad couldn’t work. I don’t actually remember raiding the settee, but I do remember Mum’s creativity at teatime. It kept us from going hungry, but it put me off tinned beans for life.
My parents couldn’t really blame me for not taking up the chance to go on with my education then, what with the situation at home. They howled about it for weeks, but how else were we supposed to live when most of Dad’s disability allowance went for rent and Mum’s carer’s allowance didn’t come close to making up for the cleaning jobs she had to give up to look after him when he had a relapse?
We made an ironclad deal, Mum, Dad and I. I could work for two years, but then I had to go back to studying. Which I’ve done. I wasn’t about to break their hearts twice.
When the waiter brings the bottle and glasses to our table, nobody questions my excuse to have water instead. I don’t know what I’m going to do on our wedding day. I guess I’ll have to spit out my toasts so I don’t get the foetus drunk.
Kelly raises her glass. ‘To Emma and Daniel and their wedding.’
It could be my imagination, but she seems to clink her glass against Cressida’s harder than necessary.
‘Don’t forget about Emma’s graduating after the wedding,’ Abby adds. ‘That’s a bigger deal than marrying my brother anyway. One only has to say “I do” on the wedding day, but getting through uni takes years of effort.’ She contemplates her champagne glass. ‘I can’t wait till I finish and get out into the real world to work instead of having to rely on Mummy and Father for everything. That’s awfully depressing.’
Abby’s at uni at UCL. Her parents wanted her to go to Oxford like Dani
el did, but she doesn’t usually seem to do what her parents want.
‘Sounds a nightmare,’ Kelly says, but she’s not hostile to Abby like she is to Cressida. ‘Don’t be too keen to leave your cushy position, work isn’t all that great.’ When Kell tells her she’s in the century-old McCarthy family business, Abby says, ‘Oh, my friend’s father’s in seafood too. He owns the Caviar Chateau, maybe you know him?’
Kell and I exchange glances the split second before we crease ourselves. ‘Abby, you are priceless!’ I say. Her question is totally innocent and completely devoid of pretension.
‘I don’t think our paths have crossed, no,’ says Kell. ‘But I’ll keep my eye out for him at Billingsgate.’
‘It’s lovely that you’re keeping your family’s business going,’ Cressida says. ‘I rahly admire you for choosing that as your career.’
Kell spins her finger. ‘Woop dee doo. It’s my destiny to be elbow-deep in fish every day. It’s just a job. A career is for people who can already afford to do what they want. We’re in the first camp, right Em?’
But I’m thinking about what Mum said about me having more than she had.
Cressida turns to me. ‘Now that you’ve finished school you can find something that uses your degree. Something fulfilling and fun.’
Kelly scoffs. ‘Work isn’t meant to be fun. It’s meant to let you live. If it was something you loved doing anyway, they wouldn’t have to pay you, would they? It’d be a hobby or volunteering.’
‘I love what I do,’ Cressida says.
‘Yeah, well, not everyone can arse around in a museum all day.’
I wouldn’t call Cressida’s job at The National Portrait Gallery arsing around. If anything, she’s working her arse off.
But instead of rising to Kelly’s bait she says, ‘No, that’s true, but you may as well enjoy what you have to do for a living. It sounds like that’s what Emma wants too.’
‘You don’t know what Emma wants, Cressida. You can give an opinion when you’ve been her best friend for twenty years.’
Her foul mood washes over the table. Even if the champagne bottle wasn’t empty I doubt anyone would want to continue this conversation.
Just when I think Cressida is about to suggest we leave – and I don’t blame her – she says, ‘I’ve got a surprise for you all. Please don’t make any plans for this Saturday because I’ve booked the day for us all at the Berkeley Spa. It’s my treat, and Emma, Daniel has already invited your mum for me. She’s been dying to tell you! And we rang your work and arranged the day off with your boss. Kelly and Barbara, I hope you’ll be able to take the day off too.’
I can see that Kelly is struggling with her answer. If she wants to say no, first she’ll have to get her inner freebie-lover to stop screaming yes in her head.
‘I’d love to, thank you,’ Uncle Barbara says. ‘Well, I never. Me, going to a spa. What’s Colin going to say about that?’
‘He’ll say you’re a lucky bugger,’ I tell him. ‘Cressida, this is too much!’
But she holds up her hand. ‘I love going there anyway and it’ll be so fun to go with you!’ She catches Kelly’s scowl. ‘With all of you!’
Chapter 11
I can’t stop whispering as we all creep after the white-coated woman wearing Crocs. I’ve never been inside a spa before. The silence reminds me of the time I went to church with Kelly, only it smells better and doesn’t echo so much.
Uncle Barbara keeps jabbing me in the ribs with his elbow and pointing as if I’m not taking all this in – the walls covered in white shingled boards and the reception desk made of pale river pebbles. Tall candles flicker, though it’s bright in the reception area. The only real colour comes from the little green jars strategically placed on shelves, and a few lavender and herbs planted in pots. White pots, of course. Mum hasn’t said a word since we met the others in the hotel lobby and she can’t stop fiddling with her hair.
I feel like the Muppets visiting Buckingham Palace.
‘You can get changed through here,’ the woman wearing Crocs whispers. ‘There are robes and slippers. Your first treatments start in one hour, so you may like to relax at our rooftop pool beforehand.’
Uncle Barbara looks nervous when the Croc woman leads him off alone to the men’s side to change.
‘See you upstairs,’ I tell him. ‘Put your swimming trunks on under your robe.’
Philippa, Abby and Cressida head straight to the lockers like they own the place. Of course they do. They’re here every week. Meanwhile, Mum is standing so close to me she’s practically wearing my shoes, and Kell keeps squirting complimentary moisturiser on her hand to sniff it. To borrow Daniel’s pet word, this is not our milieu.
‘We couldn’t be luckier with the weather!’ Philippa says. Her voice ricochets off the lockers. ‘You’ll adore the pool. God, I need some sun.’
With that she peels off her top and unsnaps her bra as Mum and I whip round to give her some privacy. ‘I’m just… I’ll only be a minute,’ says Mum, hurrying off to find somewhere private to change.
Abby wriggles out of her jeans and pops off her underpants before digging around in her bag to find her swimming costume.
‘The toilets are through here?’ I ask, shouldering my bag to make my escape before I see any more of my in-laws than I already have.
‘Your mum’s found them,’ Abby says. ‘Just through there.’
‘Wait for me –,’ says Kell as she follows me.
Of course, we three have a lot to say under the toilet stalls.
‘Well, I didn’t expect that!’ Mum whispers from one side.
‘Rich people have no shame,’ Kell adds from the other.
‘I guess they’re just comfortable around us,’ says I, who wouldn’t willingly get naked in front of my own mother.
‘Are you changing in there?’ Kelly asks.
‘I’m about to,’ I say. There might be changing cubicles but I’m not about to go out there to look.
‘Emma, I think my swimming costume is to…’
‘Too what, Mum?’
‘Common. It’s only from the market. I should have got a new one from M&S.’
‘How can a swimming costume be common?! You’re being silly. It’s a nice suit and you look good in it.’ As I pull my own on, I remember my worries the first time I went to Philippa’s for the party. ‘Really, Mum, don’t worry,’ I say more kindly. ‘We’re here to relax and enjoy ourselves.’
‘Oh, I’ll never do that,’ she says, ‘but you two have fun. I’ll be happy knowing you’re enjoying yourselves.’
She can be a real martyr sometimes.
Upstairs, Kelly rushes to one of the windows at the edge of the rooftop terrace. ‘Look at this!’ She nearly bashes her face on the glass that keeps uninvited breezes from bothering the spa-goers.
We are so sophisticated.
‘Isn’t it the most marvellous place?’ Philippa says, pulling one of the deck chairs forward from under the arched portico that runs all the way around the pool, so that the sun hits the end of it. ‘The chairs will fit perfectly between the pillars,’ she continues, pulling forward six more chairs. ‘So there’s room for us all in the sun.’
‘Mummy’s always rearranging things up here. The staff don’t like it,’ Abby says.
‘The staff have to like it, darling, because we’re paying them. Elaine, do please sit here next to me. You too, Barbara. I’m dying to get to know you both.’
Mum looks like she’s going to her execution, but Uncle Barbara bounds to the chair Philippa is offering.
Mum’s trying not to stare at Philippa as she takes off her robe. She’s checking to see how uncommon her swimming costume is.
I should have known. It’s plain, black and well-fitting. Nothing flashy or obviously designer about it. Which means it’s definitely designer.
Abby’s got on a gorgeous zigzaggy two-piece that makes her look like a girl from Ipanema Beach.
I’ve got on a two-piece too, but I
get the feeling I’m more Brighton Beach than Ipanema. Suddenly I’m self-conscious about my tummy. I’ve always had a little one, but knowing there’s a baby in there makes it seem more sticky-outy than usual.
With Mum and Uncle Barbara holding court beside Philippa under the neighbouring arch, I’m left to referee between Kelly and Cressida.
Abby takes herself off to a chair under the arch beside us. Out of the firing line.
‘This is just like the pool near us, eh?’ Uncle Barbara calls to me with a smirk as he settles down. He’s not at all self-conscious and I love him for that. No matter that he’s so hairy he could be Darwin’s missing link – which is very striking when he’s wearing a dress – or that his tummy surges gently over the top of his swimming trunks. He can’t stop smiling at everyone.
Philippa’s face lights up. ‘Yah, we’ll have to come with you one day! I adore a good swim.’
I can just see Philippa’s reaction to the breezeblock entrance and the hospital-like corridor that leads to our pool’s changing rooms. Not that you want to change in there, though. The outside rooms are marginally better, even with their soaking floors and occasionally cast-off swimming costumes balled up on the floor. Instead of cushioned deck chairs with freshly-laundered Egyptian cotton, everyone sits on the concrete-tiled pool deck on their own soggy bath towels. And there’s no plinkety plonk of soothing music wafting from hidden speakers, or if there is it’s drowned out by all the children screeching at the top of their lungs. It’s like a lowbrow Ibiza pool party but with more wee in the water.
‘This is bliss,’ Cressida says with her eyes closed.
Kell silently mimics her.
‘It is bliss,’ I say, shooting a dark look at Kelly. ‘Thank you again for doing this for us. I can’t imagine a better day!’
I should have known that saying that in front of Kell would be like waving a red rag in front of a bull.
‘It’s very relaxing,’ she says in a way that makes relaxing sound like the worst thing she can think of. ‘But when we do our hen party we’ll have fun.’
‘I am having fun,’ I say.
‘It’s relaxing,’ says Kell again. ‘But we’ll have actual fun when we go out. I’m thinking of an epic pub crawl. With costumes.’
The Big Little Wedding in Carlton Square Page 14
