Miss Wrong and Mr Right(2)

‘When would you feel ready?’ shrilled Mum. ‘Tomorrow? Next week? It would have been nice to know when we were booking the bloody wedding!’

‘I’ll pay you back, all the money,’ I said.

‘With what?’ asked Mum. ‘Money from the DSS? You’ve got no job. You failed all your exams because you were so in love with Jamie. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?’

‘Of course I know what I’ve done!’ I shouted. ‘You think I did it just to spite you?’

‘I wouldn’t put anything past you right now!’ roared Mum. ‘I can’t look at you.’

‘You need to calm down, Annie,’ said Dad putting a hand on my mother’s shoulder.

‘Don’t you dare tell me to calm down,’ said Mum shaking him off.

‘She vas always highly strung as a child,’ said Gran watching my mother impassively. ‘Some mornings I’d sprinkle a little of my Valium in her Ready Brek, just for some peace and quiet…’

Mum pulled away from Dad and marched off back towards the farmhouse.

‘I’m sorry I never got to hear your speech, Dad,’ I said.

He took one look at the charred dress, shook his head, and followed. Tears began to stream silently down my face. Gran pulled a lace hanky from her handbag and handed it to me.

‘Do you vant a moment, Natalie?’ she asked. I took the hanky, pressed it to my face and nodded.

‘Sharon, let’s go back,’ she said.

Sharon smiled and squeezed my hand. They followed after Mum and Dad, who were halfway across the field to the farmhouse in the distance. I grabbed a stick and poked at the now blackened lump in the oil drum. The tip of the stick caught, and as I pulled it away a string of melted material came too.



After running out of St Bathsheba’s church, I had found myself on a deserted country lane. The local bus had stopped, probably because they didn’t often see a bride in her wedding dress and veil, waving madly from the pavement. I didn’t have any money, so had to exchange my bouquet for a ticket (the driver was off to see a sick aunt when his shift ended, and needed some flowers to take to the hospital). As brides, we’re told it’s so important to have something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue… but what about a bit of cash – if we don’t go through with it?





When I walked into the kitchen, Mum was making a very angry cup of tea, furiously spooning leaves into the pot. Dad had changed out of his suit and was at the table with Sharon and Gran. They were sitting in silence, looking up at the three elaborate tiers of my wedding cake, which had been placed in the middle.

‘The lady from the pub just brought it over,’ said Sharon apologetically. I stared for a moment at the flawless royal icing, topped with a crown of delicate yellow sugar roses. Mum came up to me and held out a long knife.

‘You want me to cut it? Now?’ I asked.

‘Yes, it’ll have to be frozen. We won’t get through it all,’ said Mum.

‘Annie, she doesn’t have to do it right now,’ said Dad.

‘Well, when, Martin? She was happy to let her Gran chuck her wedding dress on the bonfire! When is an appropriate time to…?’ Mum was cut off by a knock at the back door. Through the frosted glass was a peach-coloured blur.

‘Micky! We forgot about Micky!’ cried Mum, running to the door and opening it. My fourteen-year-old sister Micky was standing outside in her bridesmaid dress. She had a pair of white shoes in her hand, having taken them off to wade through the mud up the driveway.

‘Micky, where did you go?’ asked Mum. She put down some newspaper by the door and Micky hopped onto it.

‘And she tells me I vas a bad mother,’ muttered Gran lighting another cigarette.

‘I had a wander through the graveyards, and then got a lift with the man who digs the graves. He had spades in his boot!’ said Micky excitedly.

‘You see Annie, Micky is just fourteen, and already she’s seeking out interesting men,’ said Gran.

‘Oh will you shut up!’ said Mum. She went to the sink, filled a bowl with warm water and set it down by the door. We watched Micky as she washed her feet.

‘What’s going on Nat?’ asked Micky looking up at me. ‘I thought you and Jamie were in love?’

There was a silence. I jumped as the phone rang. Dad went and answered then came back.

‘It’s for you, Natalie. It’s Jamie.’

I shook my head.

‘He’s at the end of the drive, on his mobile phone. He says he won’t leave until you talk to him,’ explained Dad.

‘That poor lad, you at least owe him the decency of an explanation,’ said Mum.