Sitting in her usual seat on the top deck of the bus, Jane put her earpiece in and turned on her pocket radio. By pure coincidence Jimi Hendrix was singing ‘Voodoo Child’. She sighed, remembering the hideous squat they had been to that afternoon and the young kids living rough and taking drugs. She felt pretty certain that Julie Ann and Eddie Phillips had visited or lived there at some time. However, she was uncertain about Terry O’Duncie. For all that she loathed about his existence, he didn’t appear to be a violent person; although he dressed like a pimp, he seemed to be playing at being a tough guy. She felt depressed and turning off the radio thought to herself, What do I know? It saddened her to think how young the girls had been at the squat; even some of the boys looked to be in their teens. She shuddered to think that they could end up like Julie Ann and Eddie, addicted to drugs, turning to prostitution and stealing to pay for their habit. They had nothing to look forward to but a wretched future, so different from her own; she had been raised within a caring family who were always there to love and protect her. Jane forced herself to think of something else. Her mind turned to her sister’s wedding, but this annoyed her as she wasn’t looking forward to it, didn’t relish being a bridesmaid and feared the whole day would be a hideous experience. She turned her radio back on and ironically David Cassidy was singing his hit single ‘How Can I Be Sure’.
Alone in her bedroom on Sunday morning Jane found it difficult to even look at herself in the mirror. The salmon-pink taffeta floor-length bridesmaid dress, now with the waistband and large bow in place, had been difficult to hook up as it was so tight. The corset was even tighter and it was hard to take a deep breath, and she was scared that if she did her bust would pop out as the neckline was so low, and the puffball sleeves kept slipping down her shoulder. The ensemble was topped with a coronet of fresh white tea roses, which was too large and slipped forward every time she moved. The dyed satin Cuban-heeled shoes matched the dress and all three bridesmaids were to carry a little posy of white roses and wear elbow-length white gloves.
‘Dear God, I look ridiculous,’ she muttered.
The entire family was gathered in the living area along with the other two bridesmaids, who were Pam’s closest friends, although Jane had only ever met them at the church rehearsal.
Her mother shouted for Jane to get a move on as the car had arrived and the car for Pam and her dad was also due any minute. Jane gritted her teeth as she slowly left the bedroom and walked into the room where the other two bridesmaids in identical outfits were shrieking and giggling with excitement.
Her mother was fussing, rushing here and there in a worried state, wondering where she’d put the box of white roses and freesias for the groom, best man and ushers to pin to their morning-suit buttonholes. Her father was sitting nonchalantly reading the paper, his top hat between his knees.
He glanced at Jane. ‘Where’s the bride?’ he asked, folding the paper, then looked up at her.
‘Good God, your dress is a bit low at the front, isn’t it?’
Before Jane could answer Pam came out from her parents’ bedroom, where she’d been for the last four hours fixing her hair and make-up. Her floor-length white lace gown, which had cost a fortune, was bunched up in her arms and she suddenly wailed as the long white train caught in the base of the door. It was panic as Mrs Tennison shouted for her husband to find the buttonhole flowers while she helped Pam. Mr Tennison remembered they were in the hall and, annoyed with all the frantic fuss, took charge of the situation, clapping his hands as he instructed everyone to keep calm and get ready to leave.
‘Bridesmaids go now, first car. Mother, you take the flowers and get them to the groom and the boys, Pam and I will follow at exactly eleven forty,’ he said, checking his watch.
‘Pam, don’t bunch up your dress, it’ll crease.’ Mrs Tennison shook out the veil to straighten it and then rushed back into the bedroom to fetch her hat.
Pam was in a panic. ‘Where’s my bouquet?’
‘In the hall, sweetheart… let the bridesmaids go to their car now… Where the hell is your mother?’ Mr Tennison sighed.
Jane had by now collected her posy of roses and held them tightly to her chest as she opened the front door and stood to one side as her mother scurried out with her hat on, stopped suddenly, turned and went back to the hall to get the box of buttonholes.
Pam looked at her father. ‘Please don’t get into a bad mood with Mummy – she’s just excited like we all are. Can you get my bouquet, please?’
‘For God’s sake, Pam darling, you’ve got ten minutes before we need to leave. Jane, you keep an eye on your mother and help her hand out the buttonholes at the church – the chaps should all be there by now.’
