Rent a Bridesmaid Read online

  ‘Well, thanks, but . . . I’ve got someone round at my house just now, actually,’ said Matty.

  ‘It’s Marty, isn’t it?’ I said flatly.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Matty. ‘Look, tell you what, you come round too. Then you can meet Marty – I just know you’ll like her lots. Then we can all hang out together.’

  ‘Oh, I’ve just remembered, Dad and I have got to go shopping,’ I said. ‘Sorry. Bye.’

  I put the phone down and sat very still, staring at the carpet.

  ‘We’re going shopping, are we?’ said Dad quietly.

  I shrugged. ‘Not really. It was just an excuse. Matty’s got that Marty round at her house.’

  ‘You really might like her,’ said Dad, who had obviously been listening.

  ‘As if!’ I said.

  ‘OK. Well, we really might like a shopping trip. Come on, kiddo. Let’s go!’

  ‘Shopping like going to Sainsbury’s?’ I said.

  ‘As if!’ said Dad, imitating me. ‘Shopping like going to the Flowerfields Shopping Centre and finding you some new bits and bobs. Hairslides and felt pens and story books. And I’d better look for a new shirt and tie if I’m going to a really posh wedding. I spilled tiramisu all down my front at Simon and Matthew’s do. Now that was what I really call a good wedding!’

  ‘Because you hooked up with Miss Hope!’ I said daringly.

  ‘Tilly! I hate that expression! And it’s all nonsense anyway. Miss Hope is your teacher. Of course I’m going to be sociable with her. She’s a very nice lady, but that’s all. Now, don’t be silly.’ Dad was so brisk that I believed him.

  He was still a bit huffy with me when we set off for Flowerfields, but we both had a strawberry milkshake and a cheeseburger and fries, and cheered up.

  ‘Now let’s shop until we drop,’ said Dad.

  I chose two small rosebud hairslides from Claire’s, a new set of felt tips from Smiggle and a Puffin Classic called A Little Princess from Waterstones. Dad chose a pale blue shirt with a flowery tie from Pink.

  We watched the DVD of Inside Out in the afternoon and had baked potatoes for our tea.

  ‘It’s been a great day, Dad,’ I said when he came to kiss me goodnight.

  ‘I’m glad you enjoyed it, poppet,’ he said. ‘Don’t read too late, will you?’

  ‘Just ten minutes,’ I said, but A Little Princess proved surprisingly easy to read. It was so gripping I raced through chapter after chapter. I loved reading about Sara’s beautiful pink party dress – and was horrified when Miss Minchin said she had to change into an old black dress because she’d just got news that her father had died.

  I stopped reading then and tried to go to sleep. It was really late now but I couldn’t help worrying about my own dad. What would I do if he died suddenly? It was such a terrible thought that I had to put the light on to stop myself imagining all the different ways Dad might die.

  I was in such a state that I even imagined he might be dead already, felled by a sudden heart attack in his armchair downstairs. I sat up, listening hard. I couldn’t hear the buzz of the television. Perhaps Dad had got up to switch it off, tripped over something – oh no, had I left my pack of felt tips on the floor? – and was now sprawled lifeless on the carpet?

  I had to go and check. I got out of bed, my legs so trembly I nearly keeled over. I slipped quietly along the landing, hugging myself, so scared I didn’t even dare call out.

  Then I heard Dad’s voice and went limp with relief. He wasn’t talking to me. Was he talking to himself then? Then I heard him laugh softly. He was on the telephone!

  I crept down the stairs, listening.

  ‘That’s so sweet of you, Sarah,’ he said.

  Sarah?

  Who on earth was this Sarah? And then I remembered the posh ballpoint pen Miss Hope had lent me because I’d forgotten to bring any pens on my first day at this new school. The silver part had been engraved in tiny swirly writing.

  Sarah Mary Hope.

  Chapter Sixteen

  MANDY BYGRAVES WASN’T quite as nice as the Flowers or Simon and Matthew. She lived in such an immaculate house that Dad and I had to leave our shoes at the door when we went round to visit her.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind. It’s just that I have a thing about muddy carpets,’ she said, as if Dad and I had been wading through a boggy field instead of walking in sandals along a dry pavement.

  Mandy left her own pinky-beige high heels standing to attention at one side of the door. Her fiancé, Ian, had his own little mat for his brown brogues, though they were as highly polished as a conker. He padded around the house in gleaming white deck shoes, while Mandy wore amazing pink high-heeled mules with fluffy swansdown at the front. I might not have liked Mandy very much, but I loved her slippers. I wondered if she’d let me try them on. I kept gazing at them longingly but she didn’t take the hint. Perhaps she was scared I had verrucas.

  She led us into her living room. It was spectacularly clean and neat, with a cream sofa with two fat purple cushions, and a matching pair of cream chairs. There was a large porcelain leopard on either side of the electric fire, while china Siamese cats marched two by two along the mantelpiece. There were no real cats, large or small, probably because they’d scratch the furniture or shed hair on the sofas.

  Mandy seemed worried by my hair too, actually lifting it up and twirling locks around her fingers, frowning.

  ‘Your dad will have to drive you round to my place early so that your hair can be styled properly to match all the others,’ she said.

  She wasn’t too keen on my pink shoes either. I’d taken them to show her in their special shoe bag.

  ‘I’m ordering satin shoes for the other girls. I think we’d better order an extra pair for you, Tilly. These are rather cheap and cheerful, if you don’t mind my saying,’ she said, holding them at arm’s length.

  I did mind her saying.

  She didn’t even like my beautiful raspberry-pink silk bridesmaid’s dress very much, even though it was the whole reason she’d got in touch with me! She got it out of its special cellophane bag and examined it minutely.

  ‘Yes, it’s a lovely design, of course. Mrs Michaels is going to make five more, exactly this style and shade, and two for my matrons, slimmer fitting of course, and lower cut. But this dress isn’t quite up to scratch any more. Those decorative rosebuds have gone out of shape. They look more like little pink cabbages now. I think all the decorative twiddles need to be replaced. And have you had it dry-cleaned?’

  ‘Yes, and it cost a fortune too,’ said Dad.

  ‘Mmm, well, I don’t think you went to an expert in silk even so. It’s gone a bit limp, hasn’t it?’ said Mandy, rubbing a fold doubtfully.

  ‘I don’t think so. Tilly’s looked after it very carefully,’ said Dad. ‘Look, perhaps it might be more sensible for Tilly to bow out now. You’re having your dresses made for the other little girls. You don’t really need Tilly too. You don’t mind too much, do you, Tilly?’

  I shrugged awkwardly, not really sure. I badly wanted to be a bridesmaid again, especially at a big wedding, but I didn’t fancy Mandy forever picking holes in my appearance on the big day.

  ‘Oh, but I must have Tilly! I’ve only got five little girls for bridesmaids. I must have a sixth for symmetry. Besides, she’s the little celebrity rent-a-bridesmaid. She’s the talking point. Ian’s got a friend who works for one of the London television news programmes. He’s bigging it up to one of the producers and they’ve more or less promised to send a camera crew to do a little feature on the day. Just think, Tilly, you’ll be on television! At my wedding!’

  I blinked. Television!

  ‘I think Tilly can do without her fifteen minutes of fame,’ Dad started, but then he saw my face. ‘So you want to after all, Tilly?’

  I nodded emphatically.

  ‘All right then,’ he said.

  ‘I should think so,’ said Mandy, a little affronted. ‘But, as I say, we need to freshen up the original dre