Page 43 of Midnight in Paris

‘Bridge?’ he said, his voice wavering a little.

She nodded. Just once.

18

AUTUMN 2013

Mum was crying.

Sophie went over and removed the glass of champagne from her hand, setting it on a nearby table. ‘Mum!’ she said. ‘It’s OK.’

Mum shook her head. ‘Ignore me,’ she said. ‘You just look…’

Sophie looked down at herself, unrecognisable in a cloud of lace and taffeta. ‘Like a swan?’ she suggested, making her mum hiccup out a laugh through her tears.

‘You’re just all grown-up, is all,’ she said.

‘Well, yeah,’ Sophie said. ‘But at the end of the day, it’s only a dress.’

Sam put an arm around the back of their mum. ‘Plus, she looks a bit like candyfloss,’ she said. ‘I don’t think it’s the right one, unless you want any kids there trying to take a bite out of your train.’

Then they were all laughing, watched by the rather serious assistant who was standing patiently with a cream satin gown over her arm.

‘Sorry,’ Sophie said, looking at her. ‘Another one.’

‘Yes.’ The assistant was all pasted-on smile. ‘I think this one could be fabulous on you.’

‘I’m sorry,’ her mum said as they walked out, deposit paid, into the market day furore. ‘I should be paying for it really. Me and Dad.’

Sophie shook her head. She’d been embarrassed to hand over her debit card – topped up generously by Tom’s father for the purpose – over to the shop assistant in front of Mum. Knew how it might make her feel. ‘Mum, Tom’s parents have pots of money,’ she said. ‘His dad’s a lawyer. They don’t mind. Insisted, in fact.’

Mum nodded. ‘Yes, I know,’ she said, opening her mouth afterwards as if to say more, but closing it again.

Sophie reached out and squeezed her mother’s hand. She knew it was humiliating for her mum and dad to feel they couldn’t pay for their eldest’s wedding. But she’d never been a stickler for tradition – who could be, in this day and age – and it seemed sensible to accept the offer from Tom’s parents. Always well off, Tom’s dad had recently floated his company on the stock exchange and received, as a thank you, ‘money for absolutely nothing’ as he’d put it himself.

She didn’t begrudge Tom’s family their wealth. But it did sometimes irk her when they were so blasé about restaurants and new cars and handing over credit cards for this and that. Because it just wasn’t her experience. Throughout her childhood they’d had to be careful. Money hadn’t been too tight, but it had always been an issue. She imagined what it would be like to break free from those bounds, to be fairly confident you could spend a great deal of money spontaneously without it having much effect.

And she hated how it seemed to make her parents feel. She hadn’t brought up the conversation they’d had three months ago when the engagement had been announced. She’d wanted to say something, to gently dissuade them from their reservations, explained they weren’t going to rush. But then Tom had told herhis dad had found ‘just the venue’ and there was a cancellation, and suddenly she was speeding towards a wedding date that she’d hoped to kick to the kerb just for a little while.

But it would be OK, she told herself. She knew Tom well enough. Loved him completely. They were both settled in their new jobs, their flat. Not much would change if they got married. And she couldn’t exactly back out now in any case. She’d just hoped that she’d have time to persuade her parents of all Tom’s good points before the big day. Now it looked as if there might not be time.

‘You do like Tom, don’t you?’ she said now, aloud.

‘What kind of paranoid question isthat?’ Sam snorted, her still teenage brain clearly shocked at the simple openness of it. ‘Of course they do, and even if they don’t, who cares?’ She looked at their mum. ‘Sorry, Mum,’ she added as an afterthought.

‘Sam! It’s important,’ Sophie admonished.

‘Well of course we do,’ her mum said, grabbing her hand and squeezing it as they walked. ‘He’s a lovely boy.’

‘But?’ Sophie prompted.

Her mum shook her head. But nothing.

Later, she snuggled against Tom on the sofa as they watchedBritain’s Got Talent, laughing, cringing and exclaiming over the contestants in what had become a bit of a Saturday night ritual for them, and thought about the dress, its expensive satin length, the fact that the deposit alone would have more or less paid for a whole year’s rent when she was at university. The assistant had been right: she’d looked good in it. Even Sophie could admit that. But she wasn’t quite sure if she’d looked like herself. She shuffled against Tom and he adjusted his arm. ‘Everything OK?’ he asked.

‘Yeah, just thinking.’

‘Careful, might be dangerous.’

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