The Bridesmaid Pact

‘I think she looks like a marshmallow,’ said Caz, who didn’t have a romantic bone in her body.

‘How can you say that?’ I cried. ‘This is just like a fairytale wedding.’

‘I don’t believe in fairytales,’ growled Caz. ‘There aren’t any happy endings in real life.’

We all threw our ice cream wrappers at her, and settled down in blissful silence to watch as Charles Windsor took Diana Spencer to be his lawful wedded wife.

‘To have and to hold, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, till death do us part,’ we chanted in unison.

‘That’s so cute,’ said Doris. ‘I want to marry a prince when I grow up.’

‘Me too,’ said Beth earnestly, fiddling with her plaits. ‘I believe in happy endings. I’m going to grow up, get married and have lots of children, so there.’

Caz snorted, so we sat on her. By now we were getting bored of the video, so Doris fast forwarded to the kiss, which we watched over and over again, ecstatically imagining what it would feel like to have a boy kiss you on the lips like that. I thought it must feel very rubbery.

‘We should make a promise,’ Doris said suddenly. She was like that. Full of odd ideas that seemed to come from nowhere.

‘What, like some kind of pact?’ said Beth.

‘What’s a pact?’ I said.

‘Like a really, really important promise,’ said Beth. ‘That’s what you mean, isn’t it, Dorrie?’

‘Sure do,’ said Dorrie. ‘We should promise to be friends forever and make a pact that we will be bridesmaids at each other’s weddings.’

‘I’m never going to get married,’ declared Caz firmly.

‘You can still be a bridesmaid though,’ said Doris. She was impossible to resist, so even Caz was persuaded to stand in a circle with us. We all raised our hands together and held them up so they touched.

‘We solemnly declare,’ intoned Doris, ‘that we four will be friends forever.’

We looked at each other and giggled before reciting after her, ‘And we promise that when we get married we will only have our three friends as bridesmaids. And we promise that we will be bridesmaids for our friends.’

‘From this day forth, forever and ever, shall this vow be binding,’ said Doris. And then she made us cut a lock off our hair, and bind them together. She put the locks of hair, two dark, one light brown, and one fair together with a signed written copy of the words we’d solemnly declared in her special jewellery box.

‘There,’ she said, with satisfaction. ‘Now we’ve taken an oath and we can never ever break it.’

Part One To Have and to Hold (#ulink_168a90b1-f338-5235-9f01-a18a15d3d54e)

Caz

December 1995

‘Have you heard the news?’ Dorrie came bursting into the champagne bar at Kettner’s, where Sarah and I were tucking into a bottle of champagne to celebrate her engagement. I was glad to see Dorrie. The tension between Sarah and me these days was nigh on unbearable. I thought she was making a terrible mistake, but when I said as much she accused me of jealousy. I couldn’t fault her on that, I was jealous that Steve had chosen her not me, but I still thought she’d regret marrying him.

As it was Christmas, the bar was heaving with partying office workers, and it took Dorrie a while to reach our table. Sarah was on an early shift and had got here first, while the photo shoot I’d been working on had descended into a pre Christmas bash, so I had escaped before I got too plastered and decided Charlie was the thing I needed in my life right now. I had enough complications as it was, I didn’t need to bring him into the equation.

‘Ooh, champagne, lovely,’ said Dorrie, squeezing herself into a spot in the corner. ‘Lucky I’m skinny isn’t it?’ She took off her faux fur black coat, to reveal a polka dot black and white vintage dress, which she’d matched with bright red boots. With her Rachel from Friends haircut and her fabulous figure, it was no wonder that nearly every man in the room turned to look at her. But as usual Dorrie was oblivious to her effect on people. She really had no idea how much people adored her, which was part of her ongoing charm. She soon had Sarah and me in stitches, and any latent resentment festering between us was temporarily forgotten.

‘No Beth yet?’ Dorrie asked.

I shrugged my shoulders. ‘I did ask her but she’s been so low since Andy the bastard dumped her, I’m not sure she’ll make it.’

‘Oh, that’s a shame,’ said Dorrie. ‘We should make it our next project to get Beth a man.’

‘What do you mean, our next project?’ said Sarah suspiciously – Dorrie had a habit of involving us in her schemes to make the whole world happy – flicking back her short fair hair. She always said she wore her hair short because it made work easier, but I rather suspected she’d gone for a Meg Ryan look because Steve fancied the pants off her in When Harry Met Sally. Which was just one of many reasons I thought Sarah was making a big mistake.

‘Doh,’ said Dorrie. ‘The Bridesmaid Pact, remember? You’re the first one to get married, so we all have to be your bridesmaids.’

‘Don’t I get any say in the matter?’ laughed Sarah.

‘Nope,’ said Dorrie.

‘You said you had some news?’ I said.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Dorrie. ‘Haven’t you heard? It’s all over the papers. Charles and Di are getting divorced. Can you believe it? It’s so sad.’

‘Er, yes,’ I said. ‘There’s the small matter of his infidelity, her infidelity and all that three people in a marriage stuff. I’m surprised after that Panorama interview the Queen didn’t march Di off to the Tower. All that doe-eyed blinking. They’re as bad as each other.’

‘Yeah well, you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?’ Sarah muttered bitchily.

‘Meaning?’ I said.

‘Meaning I feel sorry for Di,’ said Sarah. She smiled at me sweetly, but there were daggers in her eyes.

I was about to retort that some men just couldn’t keep it in their trousers, when Beth pitched up. She looked wan and too thin, as she was wont to do. Her black hair was greasy, and she wore a frumpy grey coat that looked as if it belonged to her mother. My heart sank. She was in such a bad way. I longed to give her a makeover, but I’d tried that once before, and she’d pushed me away.

‘Hi,’ she said, shyly. Even after all this time, Beth was still timid with us. I longed for her to come out of her shell a bit more. It was unlike me to care about someone the way I did about Beth, but something about her vulnerability touched me. Maybe it was my way of feeling superior. People mostly felt sorry for me. It was nice to feel sorry for someone else for a change.

‘Congrats, Sarah. When’s the big day?’ Beth had taken off her coat to reveal a dull blouse with big lapels and a ghastly bow, and a dark skirt, which hung limply from her skinny frame. Damn, it was difficult to sit there and not suggest ways of improving the way she looked, but I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. A haircut would be a good start. She’d look good in a bob, I thought, though probably not the longish one I sported, which I’d modelled on Uma Thurman’s in Pulp Fiction. She needed to cut those lanky locks into a shortish bob that framed her pretty oval face.

‘Thanks, Beth,’ said Sarah. ‘We haven’t fixed a date yet, but we’re probably going for September ’97.’

‘Why not next year?’ I said. ‘What’s the delay? Surely you want to get on with it, just in case he changes his mind.’

‘Caz!’ Beth looked at me shocked. ‘That was a bit mean.’

‘Sorry,’ I mumbled, ‘bit uncalled for.’

Sarah didn’t say anything, and glossed over my bitchy comment with, ‘I just want everything to be perfect.’

‘Did you see the news?’ said Beth.

‘About Charles and Di?’ said Dorrie. ‘I know. Isn’t it awful?’

‘Oh come on,’ I laughed. ‘Dorrie, how can you take it so seriously? Two people we don’t know and are never likely to meet are getting divorced. People do it all the time.’

‘I know,’ said Dorrie, ‘but it was such a fairytale. And now it’s gone wrong.’