This isn’t the kind of shop where anything is hurried, but we’re the only customers in here on this grey, wet afternoon, so I nod. ‘Go for it. You can hardly buy a wedding dress without trying it on, can you?’
The assistant directs Laurie towards the changing room at the back of the shop while she cautiously removes the dress from the dummy, and I wander away to look around. Italian suits fill one mahogany wardrobe, sombre colours and sharp, old-school cuts. They shout Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin. I turn from them and look through the hat collection, trying on a Fedora for size in the mirror.
‘You should probably head outside now,’ the assistant smiles, slowing to straighten a gleaming pair of patent brogues. ‘It’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her dress before the big day.’
I’m reminded of Laurie’s birthday years ago when the Ferris wheel attendant made the assumption that we were together. ‘I’m not the groom,’ I say. ‘We’re just friends.’
‘Ah.’ Her expression clears, although her eyes linger on me. She’s pretty, in a bold kind of way. ‘She’s lucky to have a male friend willing to go dress shopping with her. Most men would run a mile.’
I shrug. ‘It’s not just any dress, though, is it?’
‘I guess not. That one is lovely, from the twenties I think.’
‘Cool.’ I get the feeling she’d like to chat, but I’m well out of my depth with wedding dresses.
‘You should take the hat. It looks good on you.’
I laugh and touch the brim of the Fedora. ‘You reckon?’
She nods. ‘It says “man about town”.’
‘You’re selling it well.’ I grin.
‘Sorry.’ She smiles. ‘Pushy sales women annoy me. I’ll stop.’
‘You weren’t pushy,’ I say. ‘I think I’ll take the hat.’
‘Good choice.’ She moves to refold shirts, then looks up at me, hesitant. ‘Look, I honestly don’t do this kind of thing usually, but would you … I mean, do you fancy meeting for a drink sometime?’
I could say yes. She’s definitely attractive, and I’m single. ‘That’s an offer only a madman would say no to … or one who’s moving out of town tomorrow.’ I smile ruefully.
She smiles too, and I hope that she’s not offended. ‘Pity,’ she says, moving away.
‘You’re leaving?’
Laurie’s voice is quiet behind me, and I turn slowly towards her, taking the Fedora off. She’s standing in front of me in the wedding dress, wide-eyed and beautiful. More beautiful than I’ve ever seen her, or anyone else. The dress has come to life around her, turning her into a barefoot wood-nymph bride. But her eyes are glistening, and I’m not sure if it’s happiness or sadness.
‘You don’t look that bad, Lu.’ I try for humour, because no one should cry in their wedding dress.
‘You said you’re moving away.’
I am. I’m leaving for Edinburgh on the overnight train tomorrow.
I glance over my shoulder to make sure the assistant is out of earshot, the Fedora in my hands in front of me like a prop. ‘Let’s talk later, Lu, it’s not that big a deal, honestly. For now, you have to get this dress. You look like the fucking fairy queen,’ I say.
She’s watching me with those big, vulnerable eyes of hers. ‘Are you lying to me, Jack?’
I shake my head. ‘No. If all brides looked like you, there’d be no single men left in the world.’ I know that wasn’t what she was asking.
She shakes her head and turns away from me to look at the dress in the full-length mirror. I’m glad of the chance to compose myself, and perhaps she’s doing the same thing. I watch as she turns to consider it from all angles.
‘It’s your dress, Laurie. It looks as if it’s been waiting for you to find it.’
She nods, because she knows it too. As she steps back inside the changing room, I resolve that I won’t ruin this day for her. I want her to have only happy memories of the day she found that dress.
Laurie
We’re in a coffee shop a few doors down. I can’t believe I’ve stumbled upon my dream dress by accident; Jack’s right, it’s as if it was waiting patiently for me. When I was standing there looking at myself I knew that Oscar would love it, and that I would love him loving it. It’s the most special dress I’ve ever seen, slim fitting with tiny capped sleeves and a scooped neckline. I imagine it’s the kind of dress Elizabeth Bennet would have worn when she married Mr Darcy.
There’s a tag included in the box, scraps of information about its previous owners. I know it was made from parachute silk and French lace in the 1920s, and worn first by a girl called Edith, who married an American businessman. In the sixties, someone named Carole wore it for her barefoot wedding, and they held their reception in the park because they couldn’t afford a venue. There must have been others too, but now it’s mine, for a while at least. I’ve already decided that I’ll return it to the shop after our honeymoon, adding our name and wedding date to the tag. It’s a dress with a history, and though I’m its latest custodian, it’s journey doesn’t stop here.
‘What’s going on, Jack?’ I don’t beat around the bush when he sits down opposite me with two mugs of coffee. I realize that I’ve been caught up in the wedding plans, and in being a good friend to Sarah, and somewhere along the line I’ve relegated Jack to the subs bench.
He stirs sugar into his cup slowly. ‘I wanted to tell you myself.’
‘So it’s true? You are leaving?’
He hands me a slim paper tube of sugar, and then a second one just in case. ‘I’ve got a new job,’ he says.
I nod. ‘Where?’
‘Edinburgh.’
Scotland. He’s moving away, to a different country. ‘Wow,’ is all I can think to say.
‘It’s a promotion. Too good a chance to pass up,’ he says. ‘My own evening talk show.’ He sounds excited.
I realize it’s the first time I’ve heard him sound positive in a long time, so I’m furious when my eyes well with tears.
‘It’s good news, Jack, it really is. I’m thrilled for you.’ I know that my face doesn’t look thrilled. I expect I look as if I’m being tortured, as if someone is drilling holes in my kneecaps beneath the table. ‘I don’t want you to go.’ The words blurt from me.
He reaches across the table and covers my hands with his own, warm and real and soon to move miles away.
‘You’re one of the best friends I’ve ever had,’ he says. ‘Don’t cry or I will.’
Around us, the cafe is bustling with office workers grabbing takeaway lunches and mothers bouncing babies, and we sit amongst them, letting each other go. He asks me to let Sarah know because he can’t do it, and he tells me that he needs to do this, to start again somewhere where the past isn’t all around him.
‘I have something for you,’ he says, letting go of my hands to reach inside his coat, pushing a brown paper parcel towards me. It’s soft, and I pick open the taped edges and fold the crumpled paper back to look inside. It’s a hat, folded in half. A heather-purple tweed baker boy cap. I smooth out the paper with my fingertips, reading the familiar Chester’s stamp embossed inside it, remembering when I tried it on.