by Lindy Dale
I smiled into the phone. “Ask him what happened, Mum. I think you might be surprised. Apparently Dad was being a bit of a lad.”
“Millie! Your father is a well-respected businessman. He has a reputation.”
“Go on, ask him what happened.”
I heard the muffled sounds of talking as Mum put her hand over the receiver. After a minute, she was back on the line.
“It seems I must have been mistaken. And your father is laughing about it. Laughing.”
“I told you.”
“Well, it makes no difference. I still blame Sam. If it hadn’t been for his shenanigans none of this would have happened. I mean, your father’s sixty. It’s disgusting.”
Apparently, it didn’t matter how long in the tooth you were when it came to mateship.
“And what’s this about stitches in Sam’s arm?” Mum continued. I could hear she was becoming stressed.
“It’s nothing Mum, just a cut.”
“Hmm. It had better not ruin the wedding photos.”
“It won’t. It’ll be under his shirt where nobody can see. Nothing will ruin the wedding photos.”
Chapter 19
Saturday morning. One hundred and seventy five hours until the wedding. The day of my final dress fitting. I woke early and lay for a minute staring at the ceiling and then out the window, thinking of the nice things that were going to happen that day. First, Mum, Adele and I were going to collect the shoes and then we were off to see the finished cake. Angus had the table centrepieces organised, so we had to view them too, along with the wedding favours for the guests. God knows, what Angus and Patricia had contrived there. I didn’t care anymore as long as they both shut up and let me be.
By nine-thirty am, I was in the car with Adele and Paige on the way to the city. We found a park easily enough; Perth people don’t tend to shop before eleven on the weekends, so it was an easy walk the two blocks to collect my satin pumps and the jewellery I’d chosen for the day to complement the necklace Adele was lending me. Then it was on to Mode For Brides.
“Will my tiara be as pretty as your earrings, Millie?” Paige asked, as we pushed open the large glass doors and went inside.
“Prettier, I think.”
Paige preened. To be prettier than the bride was a coup, even at seven.
“Can you take a photo of me on your phone, so I can send it to Jennifer?”
“Sure.”
We sat down on the white chaise lounge. A tray of champagne magically appeared and everyone took one. Everyone but me and Paige.
“Not having a celebratory drink?” Adele asked.
“It’s a bit early for me.” I took the proffered flute of orange juice instead.
Paige was first to model her dress. Her version of the adult bridesmaid dress, still in black, fitted perfectly and she swung around in circles making the full skirt rise and the petticoats show. She looked like a mini Audrey Hepburn.
“Can I put the tiara on now?” she asked.
The skinny attendant turned to a chair, where a glossy white box sat waiting. Returning to Paige, she lifted the lid revealing the princess tiara.
Paige began to shake. Her large blue eyes welled up with excited tears. “Oh… oh… it’s, like, so freakin’ awesome,” she whispered, reverently lifting it from the satin lined box as if she’d just been handed the keys to Justin Bieber’s house. She walked over to where Adele sat on the couch. “Can you put it on, Mummy. Pleeeease?”
With a tender smile, Adele placed the tiara on Paige’s head. “We’ll need to pin it on the day,” she said, “but you look beautiful.”
Paige ran to the mirror. She twirled and preened. “This is the best day of my entire life. If only I could get to meet One Direction, my life would be complete.”
“One Direction?” Adele whispered to me.
“They’re the latest thing.”
“What happened to Justin Bieber?”
“I think he grew up.”
From over at the full length mirror, where Paige was now standing complete with heels so that the seamstress could check the length of her gown, she called out. “I can hear you, you know. I may be only seven but I have extremely good hearing.”
“And on that note, I think it’s time for you to put on your gown, Miss McIntyre,” the shop assistant said.
I left my wallet and phone on the seat next to Mum and followed the girl to the changing room. From behind she looked even skinnier than on my previous visit, like a ruler with legs.
“Did you bring the underwear you intend to wear next week?” she asked.
I indicated the plastic shopping bag at my side.
“Good. I’ll leave you to pop those on while I go and get the dress. You’re going to love the dress.”
Too nervous to reply, I nodded and watched as she pulled the curtain across. I hoped I did love it. It was too late to change my mind.
I opened up the bag and took the lingerie out. The white knickers and corset set were very wedding-ish and not something I’d wear every day of the week but as I wrapped the top around me and began to hook the thirty hooks, I pondered that I didn’t have to worry about that. I wasn’t going to be getting married every day of the week, now was I? A once in a lifetime event called for once in a lifetime undies. I did up the last hook, slid the fastenings to the back, adjusted my boobs and turned to admire myself in the mirror.
Well.
There was an awful lot of lace and see-through in that corset. Way more than I remembered. But it was pretty and sort of sexy. I hoped Sam would appreciate the effort I’d gone to because I wouldn’t be trussing myself up like this when we got back to Lombok. Then I took a second glance. I tilted my head this way and that. The bra cups had a lot of push-up happening. So much so, that my boobs were spilling out. I gave the corset a yank and inspected myself again. I tucked here and there and turned to the side. Surely, I hadn’t bought the wrong size? I fiddled around the base of the corset, looking for the tag. Nup. 10B. That was me. And it had fitted well before, so what was the deal? It wasn’t like the corset itself was overly tight but the bra cups were way too small.
The sound of the curtain being slid along the rail diverted my attention and I hastily pulled to corset back into place.
“Ready?” The seamstress asked.
“Yes.” This was it. I was about to put on my finished wedding dress for the first time.
“Right. I’m just going to spread this clean sheet out on the floor and then I’ll put the dress on it. All you have to do is step into the middle and stand with your arms out to the side. Then, I’ll call the bridesmaids in so I can show them how to do the lacing and buttons up the spine. The gown won’t sit correctly if it’s laced wrong.” She bustled around for a moment, spreading the sheet on the floor, unzipping the garment bag and positioning the dress. Then she turned back to me. “Right. Let’s get this beauty on.”
Taking her hand, I held my breath and stepped into the centre of my gown. With the help of the young assistant, I felt the gown slide up over my hips and stop at the bodice. I put my hands over it to hold it in place. I gazed in the mirror. Even undone, the gown was stunning and I could feel my face beginning to tense with the emotion of it. I breathed slowly. I held in the tears of absolute joy. This dress was everything I’d ever dreamt of.
After a minute, Alex and Sasha came in and stood discreetly to the side. Next to them, Angus was readying a pocket video camera to film the moment.
“What’s that for?” I asked, suddenly very conscious that I was standing in front of this person wearing transparent underwear.
Angus flapped a hand. “I’m going to record how the dress is laced. That way if we forget on the day, we have a fall back.”
It was one of his more sensible ridiculous ideas.
The girls reached out to finger the beading on the bodice.
“Oooooh Millie,” Sasha sighed. “It’s gorgeous.”
“It’s just…. amazing,” Alex added with a sniff. I hoped
she wasn’t going to cry. She had to know that would set me off.
The seamstress got their attention. “So ladies… we button here, here and here. Then we pull the lacing like so. And button again. The seamstress deftly demonstrated how to fasten the gown then undid it again and so that they could have a turn. “Got it?”
Sasha straightened with the importance of her role. “Piece of cake. I’ve been a bridesmaid eight times. I can do lacing with my eyes shut.”
“Now, when we get to the waist and above, we adjust like this.” Grunting, the woman gave the lacing around my ribs and chest a yank and I almost lost my footing. It felt like she was using my bottom as a lever for her foot. Next to me, I could hear a whirring as Angus zoomed in on her fingers or my waist or something.
“Um, do you have to pull quite so hard? I’m losing my breath.”
“I’m sorry, Miss McIntyre. The bodice needs to be tied firmly or it won’t stay up. The dress should be a perfect fit but the lacing doesn’t seem to want to pull tight enough so that we can cover it with the button flap.”
“Are you saying my dress is too small?”
The woman went quiet. The remaining lacing fell from her hands. “No. It just needs a little tweak here and there. Nothing to worry about.”
A little tweak? That sounded like a big problem to me.
“But how could that be? You measured me with it on. I stood here four weeks ago with pins poking into me for over an hour. How could it be wrong?”
The seamstress swallowed. “Maybe you’ve put on weight?”
Around the room I heard the collective gasp, the loudest one coming from me. Behind me, Sasha looked as if she might burst into tears at the thought. Alex put a hand to my shoulder to soothe me. Angus dropped the camera. This couldn’t be happening.
“I haven’t put on weight!” I screeched. “Alex and I have spent so much time in the gym it’s a wonder I’m not anorexic. Plus, I’ve been watching what I eat. And I weighed myself this morning. I’m still the same. There must be some mistake.” Mustering my best glower, I glared at the seamstress in the mirror.
Then it dawned on me. The corset had felt very small around the boobs. God, had I shrunk other parts of my body and put weight on my chest? I’d heard about people who took up exercise and the fat on their bodies shifted from one part to another. Oh my God. Not me. Please not me. I burst into tears.
“No, No!” the Angus yelped, diving at me with a tissue. “Don’t cry! If you cry the tears will stain the fabric.”
“I think that’s the least of my worries right about now,” I sobbed, taking the tissue holding it up to my eyes. “I’m getting married in seven days. This dress HAS to fit. And you have to make it fit.” I waggled my angry emotional finger at the seamstress. I knew I sounded like a diva but I didn’t care.
“Well, of course we’ll make it fit,” the seamstress replied. “There’s room in the seams. I’ll do a little pinch here and there and it’ll be as good as new. Just let me get the tape and re-measure your bust.”
It would want to be as good as new. It would want to be better than good as new.
*****
With the dress debacle over and a promise that it would be ready by Thursday, I left the bridal shop feeling somewhat relieved. Things like this happened all the time, I supposed though most brides lost weight, not redistributed it. There was nothing to worry about. That was why you had fittings. It would be sorted. Still, a niggling fear nibbled at the back of my head. What if it wasn’t?
I decided to ring Sam for a little bit of TLC and reassurance.
“Hey Babe. What’s up?” His voice was cheery on the other end of the line and instantly, I felt better.
“Not much. I had a bit of a horror dress fitting and I needed to hear your voice. Tell me you love me.” I could feel the tears threatening to start again. Of all the things that could go wrong, why did it have to be the dress?
“I love you. What happened?”
“It didn’t fit.”
“But that’s good isn’t it? Aren’t chicks always trying to lose weight for their weddings? Not that you need to, of course,” he added quickly. “You’re perfect as you are.”
God, and he had to pick this moment to be nice. I snivelled a bit more.
“The dress didn’t fit because I put on weight. On my boobs. I could hardly get them into the corset, let alone do up the dress.”
On the other end of the phone I heard the sound of a lewd laugh.
“Sam! This is serious.”
“I know it is but I can’t see any problem with your tits being bigger. Sounds like a win-win to me.” And he laughed some more. “Hang on a sec’.”
I heard him speaking to someone else.
“The boys reckon that you’ll look hot with big tits.”
“Did you just tell them what I told you?”
“Um, yeah and they can’t see why you’re upset either. Big boobs are good.”
“But what about my dress?”
“If you’re that worried about it, why don’t you hop on the treadmill every night after dinner. You could drop a good two kilos in a few days if you put your mind to it. Problem solved. Look I gotta go, the game’s starting in ten minutes. I’ll see you tonight, yeah?”
Was he for real? I sniffed into the phone. I guess it was too much to expect that Sam would have any sympathy for my expanding chest. He probably thought all his Christmases had come at once.
“What game?” I asked, my ears pricking up to what he’d said.
“Hornets v. Panthers. Grand Final rematch.”
“You’re not playing, are you? You promised me you’d sit this one out so you didn’t get hurt.”
From where I stood, the sound of cheering could be heard. The teams must have run onto the field.
“’Course not. I’m on the sidelines, like I promised. Moral support only. Look, I gotta go. ”
I hung up the phone. Expecting comfort from Sam was like expecting a fat kid to share his lollies.
Chapter 20
Feet thundering along the corridors, my eyes scanned the rows and rows of seats in the Accident and Emergency ward. God, this place was depressing. People groaning and vomiting, blood and guts, broken bones. A few chairs were empty, but at this time on a Saturday afternoon there seemed to be more sporting injuries than anything else.
Seeing the sign for reception, I raced to the glass-fronted cubicle. Where was Sam? Please let him be alright. Please let him be alright.
“Um, hi. I’m uh… where do I find the Emergency admissions?”
Without meeting my eyes the nurse-slash-receptionist gave me a stony glare. It looked like it had been a long shift.
“Take a number.” She pointed to the computerised number thingy next to me. What? Was there more than one person here to see Sam? Why did I need to take a number?
“But I ….”
“Take a number,” she repeated.
“But I’m not sick. I’m looking for my boyfriend, I mean, fiancé. Sam Brockton. He was brought here by ambulance. He was knocked out playing rugby.” Or at least that was the version I got as I arrived at the ground to see the ambulance leaving.
I could feel my lip beginning to wobble and I knew I was going to cry if I didn’t get out of this depressing waiting room and find Sam. Now. I had to see him, to reassure my pounding heart that he hadn’t had his head ripped off or something.
“Well, why didn’t you say so?”
God, it was like having a conversation with Kirby.
“I did. Well, I tried to. Can you tell me where to find him?”
At last the nurse looked at me. Beneath her impartial mask, I could see the hint of disbelief. “You’re his fiancé?”
I waggled the rock at her to prove it.
She punched a few buttons on the computer. “Mr. Brockton’s being admitted at the moment. If you sit over there, I’ll get the doctor to come out when they finish the examination.”
My shoulders relaxed. “Thank you.”
>
Two hours later, I’d checked my emails on my phone, played Scrabble against myself and googled celebrity wedding dresses, some of which were truly hideous. I’d taken all the beads off my Pandora and rearranged them in categories. I’d answered enquiring texts with ‘I don’t know’ and ‘you know as much as me.’ I’d skimmed OK magazine ~ that Miranda Kerr was getting more gorgeous by the day ~ and eaten three Cadbury Bubbly bars. I don’t know why I ate them. I don’t even like peppermint chocolate.
Now, the butterflies were back in my stomach and I was moving from worry in my head to anger. Why hadn’t the doctor been to see me yet? I was sure I had some sort of rights as Sam’s almost next of kin. Was Sam okay? If his leg was broken and he had to sit at the altar in a wheelchair, I’d bloody well kill him. Really, I would. It’d be just like him to ruin our day with a wheelchair.
God, what if he was permanently damaged or something? My mind was racing through possible scenarios and solutions so fast, I didn’t hear the doctor speaking to me. It was only the tap of his finger on my shoulder that brought me back.
“Shit.”
I swallowed, my eyes travelling up the expanse of blue-trousered leg, past a stethoscope dangling from a neck and into a friendly looking, youngish face. The doctor looked about as old as my cousin Peter, who’d recently finished Year 10. I hoped he knew what he was doing.
“Millie?”
“Yes. Sorry I swore just then, you gave me a fright.”
“That’s fine. I’m Doctor Braithwaite. Derek.” He held out his hand.
I shook it. “Is Sam okay?”
“He’s fine. He was unconscious for a minute or so but by the time the ambulance guys got to him he was lucid. He wanted to keep playing.”
Typical.
“Anyway, he has a rather badly broken nose. I was concerned about the eye socket too but from the x-rays everything seems to be fine. I’ve stitched up his face and he should be right to go home in an hour or so. We want to monitor him for a bit longer.”
