from the candles burning in the boutique. I picked one up and squinted at the label. Meringue-scented. Candles were getting sillier.
‘This is Hilda,’ said the receptionist, as a middle-aged lady with blonde hair pulled into a neat doughnut appeared in front of us. ‘She’ll show you to your changing room.’
Hilda ushered us into a large, well-lit room with one cubicle in it. Cream walls, cream carpets, cream sofa. More meringue candles. An array of bridal magazines fanned on a coffee table.
I flung myself on the end of the sofa and picked up a magazine as Mia opened her laptop.
‘OK, so I’m thinking along these lines,’ she said. ‘Grace Kelly, but with a contemporary twist. Big skirt but structured body.’ She swivelled the screen at Patricia and Hilda.
‘Oh yes,’ said Hilda, smiling approvingly at Mia, ‘a classic.’
I looked back to my magazine. On the front was a model in a strapless dress holding a bunch of white roses. ‘White hot!’ said the cover line beside her. Underneath that, another line read: ‘Cake crazy! The most fashionable flavours this summer.’ How could a cake flavour be fashionable?
‘What his mother REALLY thinks of you,’ screamed another headline.
Our kitchen table had become increasingly weighed down with these magazines in the past two weeks, Mia’s neon Post-it notes sticking up from the pages. Fourteen days. That was all it had taken for her to transform from semi-normal person into a bridebot, incapable of having a conversation unless it was about the thickness of an invitation card.
She stepped into the cubicle but didn’t bother to pull the cream curtain closed as she stripped. For someone so uptight, Mia had a curiously relaxed attitude towards her own nudity. I’d rather have eaten spiders than stand in front of my family in a bra and thong. It made me wonder whether I had to dig out one of Mia’s lacy thongs from the back of my pants drawer for my date. Surely my underwear didn’t matter much for a trot round an art gallery?
While Hilda helped Mia into something that looked more like a marquee than a dress, Patricia’s attention shifted.
‘Florence, darling, how was your session with Gwendolyn? Was it helpful?’
I held my breath, debating how much to share. ‘It was fine,’ I replied carefully.
‘Shit, the love coach!’ said Ruby, dropping her phone in her lap. ‘Sorry, Flo, I forgot to ask.’
‘What did she say?’ my stepmother went on.
‘You guys ever heard of patient confidentiality?’
‘Oh, come on, darling, it’s only us. And Hilda. And we won’t tell anybody, will we?’
Hilda, unsure what she was agreeing to, shook her head at Patricia.
‘She made me write a list,’ I said resignedly.
‘What kind of list?’ asked Mia from the cubicle.
I leant my head against the back of the sofa, eyes closed. ‘A list of whatever I’m looking for in a man. Must be tall and have all his own hair, that sort of thing.’
‘What was on your list?’ asked Patricia.
‘I’ve read about this online,’ piped up Hilda. ‘It’s like a sort of… wish list?’
‘For God’s sake,’ I muttered, opening my eyes. ‘Yes, it’s like a wish list. You write a list of traits; mine included likes reading, is adventurous, has an interesting job and, er, is into cats. And then you put it out to the universe and supposedly the universe will deliver him.’
‘Sounds mad,’ said Mia.
‘Agreed,’ said Ruby. ‘Where did you find this woman again, Mum?’
‘In Posh! magazine. She’s very well respected,’ said Patricia. ‘When’s your next session, Florence? I think you need to take it more seriously. What have cats got to do with anything?’
I placed my palms on my knees for strength. ‘In a couple of weeks, unfortunately. You said I only had to go to one session and then I find out you’ve booked a package of them. I’d rather enter a convent than go back to that room.’
‘You might have to enter a convent at this rate.’
‘Actually, I’ve got a date tomorrow.’ I hadn’t meant to let it slip out but I wanted to silence her.
Needless to say, she was the first to reply, ‘Darling! How exciting.’
‘With who?’ said Mia.
‘So it’s worked?’ added Ruby.
I shook my head. ‘It’s nothing to do with the list. He came into the shop and we chatted, not for very long, but then he asked me for a coffee. So I’m meeting him tomorrow.’
‘What time tomorrow? Can I do your make-up?’ said Mia.
‘Afternoon. And yes, but can you not make me look mad? Nothing too over-the-top. You know I don’t wear much make-up.’
‘Oh, Flo, stop fussing. A bit of eyeshadow never killed anyone.’
‘Who is he though, darling?’ persisted Patricia. ‘Do you know anything about him? Is he safe?’
‘I can’t tell you anything else,’ I said, shrugging. ‘Only that he’s called Rory and he likes books.’
‘Rory, what an excellent name!’
‘Just remember we’re dressing you for it,’ said Mia sternly, before looking at herself in the mirror. The dress was sleeveless with a skirt that billowed to the floor and was covered in little crystals. ‘Fuck no, not this one. I look like I’m going to my prom.’
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