The Bridesmaid Pact

‘No! No! That’s ridiculous,’ I said. ‘I mean, I like Joe. He’s always been really good to me. But he’s Steve’s brother. I couldn’t even begin to think about it. It wouldn’t be right.’

‘Hmm,’ said Dorrie, clearly not believing me, and of course, being right not to. I’d always been fond of Joe, and he was a great help, the kids absolutely loved him. There were times, it’s true, when I’d idly wondered how it would have been if I’d married Joe and not Steve. I was pretty sure Joe wouldn’t have cheated on me. I shook my head. This was ridiculous. Joe was my brother-in-law. And I was in love with Steve.

‘Right, what do you want me to help you with today?’ I changed the subject. Another reason for our weekly meets was to help Doris plan the wedding. Her mum was away with the fairies more often than not these days, and not much help. I rather suspected her of being depressed, but Dorrie had never talked about it, and it wasn’t my business. For some reason, though she was open about everything else, Dorrie kept a tight lid on what was happening in her family. When her dad was still alive she barely mentioned the problems he was having, and yet it must have been incredibly tough.

‘I’ve just found these great little bags for party favours on Freecycle,’ said Doris. She and Darren could probably have afforded to make a big splash, but Dorrie reckoned they needed the money for more important things, namely Woody and any siblings he might have. So she’d set her heart on having a stylish wedding at as little cost as possible. Well, if you can call a Disney theme stylish, I suppose. The way she was going, she was making Posh and Becks’ wedding look positively restrained.

‘Do you mean these?’ I fell about laughing as I picked up a box full of little net pink and blue bags with a drawstring on them. They had stars and the letter D embroidered on them.

‘What’s wrong with them?’ said Doris. ‘I think they’re cute.’

‘Nothing,’ I said. She really meant it, bless her. ‘Did you decide on the shoes in the end?’

Last week Doris had put in two bids on eBay for satin court shoes. One pair was in baby blue, which would match the Cinderella-style blue wedding dress which she’d got second hand from a fancy-dress shop, the other was a more traditional cream to match the other Cinderella dress which she’d got on eBay. She hadn’t decided yet which colour to go for on the day. I preferred the cream, but I knew Doris was determined to get the blue.

‘Come upstairs and I’ll show you,’ Doris said, ‘but we’ll have to be quiet as Woody’s still having his nap.’

She led me into her spare room, which had a big notice on saying: DAZ KEEP OUT! Important wedding stuff not to be seen before the big day. The room was jammed from floor to ceiling with wedding paraphernalia.

‘My god, how much stuff have you got?’ I gasped.

‘Ever since I put that ad on Freecycle, people keep sending me things,’ said Dorrie. ‘Now where did I put them?’ She rooted around in a corner of the room. There was so much junk in there, I couldn’t believe she could ever find anything.

‘Ah, here they are!’ She waved a pair of shoes triumphantly under my nose.

‘So you went with the blue ones, then?’ I said. ‘I knew you would.’

‘Sorry, I know you liked the cream,’ Dorrie said, ‘but I just couldn’t resist them. Just look at these fabulous bows. Aren’t they pretty?’

‘They’re very you,’ I said diplomatically. If anyone could carry those shoes off, it would be Doris.

‘I might still get the cream anyway,’ said Doris. ‘I’m torn between that lovely white dress with the pink roses, and the blue dress.’

‘White would be more traditional,’ I said.

‘I know,’ said Dorrie. ‘I’m greedy, I guess. I love them both.’ She looked round the room. ‘I really must sort some of this stuff out, it’s getting a bit bonkers in here. I just don’t have the energy.’

‘Well you do have a very young baby,’ I pointed out.

‘Tell me about it,’ said Dorrie, rubbing her eyes. ‘Woody’s molars kept me up most of the night. I just feel so tired all the time though. Is that normal?’

‘With a small person in your life?’ I laughed. ‘Absolutely. Is there anything you want me to do?’ I peered at her closely. Dorrie did look tired, as if she’d lost her sparkle somehow. The combination of motherhood and wedding stress must be getting to her.

Doris looked at the room again, and then said, ‘Naah. I don’t even know where to begin. Let’s go and have a cup of tea instead. I’ve made muffins.’

Amazingly, despite her ability to always produce cake at the drop of a hat, Doris never seems to put on any weight. I envied her that.

‘You still off the sugar?’ Dorrie asked as she poured the water out of the kettle.

‘As part of my calorie-controlled diet,’ I said solemnly. ‘Of course muffins don’t count—’

Doris gave a sudden scream as she dropped the kettle. ‘Oh my god, I am such a damned klutz sometimes,’ she said, rushing to the cold tap and shoving her hand underneath it.

‘Is it a bad burn?’ I rushed over to have a look at it. Once a nurse, always a nurse, even if I haven’t been near a patient since Sam was born.

‘No, it’s fine.’ Doris showed me a slight pinkish tinge on her arm. ‘Luckily most of it went on the floor.’

‘Well, no harm done,’ I said. ‘It’s usually Beth who’s the clumsy one.’

‘I must be catching it off her,’ said Doris. ‘I’m all fingers and thumbs today.’

As she said this I noticed her hand was shaking, and she looked a little tearful.

‘Dorrie, are you OK?’ I said.

‘Yes, fine,’ said Dorrie. ‘I’m just overtired is all. Now come on, let’s tuck into those muffins and then you can help me decide about place settings.’

‘So long as you don’t give us all paper plates with Cinderella on them,’ I said. Doris looked a little shamefaced. ‘You haven’t?’

‘Well, they were half price in Wilkinson’s,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t resist. But that’s not the only option, we could have Beauty and the Beast ones instead.’

‘You are totally off your trolley,’ I said laughing, looking at my friend with affection. But I couldn’t help wondering if underneath her laughter, she was hiding something from me.

Chapter Seven (#ulink_12155544-d24e-5d15-a120-61bdcdd83757)

Doris

I heard Darren’s key in the door with relief. It was the Friday after I’d seen Sarah, and I’d had a really hard day with Woody, who’d started throwing up in the night and pretty much carried on the whole day. In between clearing up vomit, I’d spent most of the day with him clinging to my shoulder like a limpet. Woody wasn’t normally clingy and it was horrible seeing his smiley face so miserable and wan. It was the first time since he’d been born that he’d been ill, and I didn’t know what to do. If Mum were only a bit more with it, I could have got her advice, but when I expressed concern that Woody wasn’t getting enough fluids, she just said vaguely, ‘Oh, all babies get sick. But they bounce back. He’ll be better tomorrow, you’ll see.’

By mid-afternoon when it was apparent that Woody wasn’t able to tolerate any food or drink at all, I rang Sarah, who calmly prescribed small sips of water, and Dioralyte, but suggested taking him to the doctor if it got any worse. I knew she was right, but ever since Dad got ill I’d had a pathological hatred of the medical profession. I wouldn’t take him unless I absolutely had to. Luckily, Woody, clearly exhausted by his day’s activities, took that moment to decide to crash out. At least if he was sleeping he wasn’t being sick, so we cuddled up on the sofa together and I watched crap TV and waited for Darren to get in. I was shattered. I couldn’t believe that one little person could create so much work and worry. I couldn’t bear the thought of anything hurting him, and I hated seeing him so ill.

‘Hi,’ said Darren as he came through the door, as ever having performed his daily ritual of hand washing (to get rid of all those nasty germs from travelling by tube, you understand). ‘How is he?’ I’d been keeping Darren posted as to Woody’s condition, and he’d managed to sneak away from work early. Like me, Darren had melted the minute that Woody had come into his life, and we were both like a pair of pathetically anxious clucking hens around him.

‘He seems OK at the moment,’ I said. ‘He’s been asleep for ages though and he feels a bit hot.’

‘When did you last give him Calpol?’ said Darren.

‘Just before he went to sleep,’ I said. ‘I’m not sure how effective it’s been, he’s thrown up nearly every dose I’ve given him today.’

Woody stirred in my arms, and gave a slight moan, before wriggling awake. He looked blearily up at his dad.

‘Here, let me take him,’ said Darren, picking up our son and holding him close.

‘I think you’ll want this,’ I said, proffering a muslin.

Too late, Woody had chucked up all over Darren’s back.

‘Oh shit, shit,’ said Darren. ‘He’s contaminated me.’