Stephen’s face lit up.
‘I’ll wait, Ginge,’ he said.
She grabbed her handbag from the table inside and half ran to the small, discreet loo the wedding venue manager had told the female members of the bridal party about to save the bride schlepping up to the bridal suite every time she needed a moment to herself.
In the stall, Ginger sighed and thought again, this was the best day ever. Better than the day she’d got into college to study journalism, better than the day she’d got her first job, better than all that. Today, she’d found someone special and that mattered more than anything.
She hauled up her voluminous skirts but stilled when she heard some people come in.
She must pretend not to be taking tights off because that might be an ‘about to have sex’ sign, she thought, registering what they were talking about.
Just idle mutterings, women’s room stuff.
‘You don’t need more blusher.’
‘The base is good, though, isn’t it? Glowy.’
The voices belonged to Liza and Charlene, and Ginger relaxed as the conversation meandered on. It was now well after ten and the wedding party was going strong.
Ginger would never admit it to Liza, but she was not a big fan of Charlene’s. She’d entirely taken over the organising of the hen do, which they’d all attended the previous weekend. As chief bridesmaid, Ginger had set up dinner in an elegant restaurant in Dublin because Liza said she wanted ‘something classy’. Despite this, Charlene had quietly booked a club for afters and a neon pink stretch limo to take them all there.
Liza had loved it, which was the most important thing – but Ginger had felt out of place the entire evening. She’d felt she’d failed her friend. Liza must have wanted a wild night and not a sedate dinner. And what a wild night it had been, with all sorts of mad dancing, plus members of the bridal party attempting to pole dance and doing shots.
Charlene had called her a boring old cow for not joining in.
Determinedly, Ginger pushed it all out of her mind. Tonight was going to be her night.
She heard perfume spraying and she began wriggling again with her tights which were as hard to get off as they had been to get into. She was nearly there, and once she was, she’d come out of the stall to ask Liza all about Stephen.
She leaned against the stall again and sighed with happiness.
For the first time in years, she felt as if she liked her body. He liked it, loved it. She would stick on some more perfume too . . .
‘Oh and really, what is Ginger like? Talk about desperation,’ Charlene said.
Ginger smothered a gasp. The bitch. Charlene must fancy Stephen herself.
Well, turns out he wasn’t interested in twiglets but liked curvy babes instead, she thought with a satisfied grin.
She waited for Liza to stand up for her.
‘I know,’ sighed Liza.
Not a warm-hearted ‘I know’. More of a resigned tone. The way you spoke of a relative who went off the rails at parties and let the side down.
Ginger breathed out shakily.
‘I love Ginger, but she’s her own worst enemy. Won’t exercise, won’t diet. I’ve spent years trying to help her, Charlene. Years. You and I both know it takes effort to stay thin, but she won’t and then she whines that she can’t get a guy.’
Whines? In the stall, Ginger was shocked. Did she whine about not having a man to share her life?
‘Sometimes I think of doing a friendship edit and getting Ginger out of my life because she totally wrecks my head,’ Liza went on. ‘I hate seeing her so huge, hate watching her eat all sorts of crap and then be surprised when she gets fat. That bridesmaid’s dress is a size eighteen, you know. Eighteen! If a girl in the salon was that size, she’d die! Or diet.’
‘Totally,’ agreed Charlene.
‘She’s the friend I’ve known the longest but I’ve totally moved on. You do, right?’
‘Totally.’
‘But ugh.’ Liza’s distaste was audible. ‘I really didn’t think she was going to slobber over poor Stephen like that. He has a lovely girlfriend, you know: fabulous skin, amazing clothes, runs half-marathons. But she’s away for a work trip and I don’t know how Ginger latched onto him.’
‘Have you seen the way she’s pushing her boobs up at him. It’s embarrassing to watch,’ Charlene said.
‘Have I seen it?’ Liza groaned. ‘Everybody can see it.’
Disbelieving, Ginger listened as her best and oldest friend spoke.
‘I know she’s desperate for a date, but really.’
‘What I don’t understand,’ said Charlene, enjoying sticking the knife in now that it was clear Liza was amenable to it, ‘is why she’s your chief bridesmaid?’
Ginger felt as if the whole world had slowed.
‘Ma said I had to. I’ve known her since I was four. Ma said Ginger was my oldest friend. But let’s face it, it was fine when we were four, not anymore. Not now it’s so obvious she doesn’t fit into my life. She’s hardly a friend like you, hon,’ said Liza, and Ginger knew, from years of standing beside her best friend in bathrooms and watching Liza apply make-up in mirrors, that Liza was now putting on lipstick.
She always stretched her lips to get it into the furthest corners of her mouth and she was speaking in what Ginger thought of as her lipstick voice.
She’d heard that voice countless times: in school bathrooms when Liza had been upset and Ginger had been the one to comfort her; after their big exams when Liza had done badly and Ginger, who could have gone and whooped it up with her pals from higher level English, had stayed and taken care of Liza who’d done so badly.
‘Honestly, Ma, I said. I’ve taken her under my wing my whole life! But Ma said I had to, what with Ginger having no mother.’
‘But . . .’ Charlene’s voice was almost a whisper as she said it and, alone in the stall, Ginger felt herself tense because she knew just what word Charlene was going to use, ‘. . . she’s fat. The photos! You don’t need a fat bridesmaid! Liza, you’re too gorgeous to need a fugly.’
A fugly – a fat and ugly friend, Ginger knew.
Liza laughed, happy at being called gorgeous, not saying that looks weren’t important – all the things she said to Ginger when Ginger stared at herself in mirrors and hated what she saw.
Clearly, that was what she said to Ginger – not what she felt.
Charlene was on a roll now.
‘At the fittings for the dresses, did you see the way she kept trying to hide in the dressing room?’