Court Out - By Elle Wynne Page 0,107

made you think that such a tacky colour would be allowed?”

“Sorry! Look, I have some nail varnish remover in my bag, I can take it off?” Marsha sounds surprisingly apologetic given that she’s been addressed as though she’s a seven year old.

“Don’t you dare do that in here!” Serena hisses. “If you make the room smell of acetone then it’ll give me a headache. Do it downstairs or something.”

Marsha leaves without complaint and my chair is spun around. I open my eyes and find myself looking at an unfamiliar female. She’s in her late thirties with quite possibly the best case of clinical negligence against her plastic surgeon that I’ve ever seen. I don’t know what work she’s had done, but clearly whatever solution they’ve injected into her face was designed to make her skin a scary shiny surface and due to a poor attempt at a lift, one eye seems to be slightly higher than the other. She hasn’t helped the situation by applying teal eye shadow liberally around both of her eyes and a truly heinous shade of fuchsia lipstick has been smothered over her poorly-lined lips. As I open my mouth to introduce myself, so does she. In my defence, I realise what has happened before I start talking to my own reflection. I stare in abject horror at the monstrosity that is my face. I pivot round to see the state of the other bridesmaids, but they’re not in my line of sight.

Oh My God. My hair. I was so focused on what had been plastered onto my face (Bright orange paint by the looks of it) that I’d neglected to spot the veritable birds nest that is my barnet. It has been teased all right, sprayed into a huge beehive with a large quantity of industrial strength lacquer. If I was looking to win a competition searching for the worst the eighties had to offer then I’d be laughing. As it is, I’m trying not to cry.

Serena has noticed me however and I wait for the expected explosion that will undoubtedly be bestowed on the stylists who have clearly sabotaged her vision for the day. To my amazement, she is smiling at me. She’s slipped into her gown and looks beyond radiant in her now perfect-fitting dress.

“Wow, Lauren, don’t you just look perfect?” she purrs.

What? Have I missed something?

“Erm, I suppose so? Do you not think it could do with being toned down a touch?” I try.

“No! It really suits you, plus I was told that because of the flashes on the cameras, everyone has to wear more than normal.”

To be fair, I’ve heard this before, but it doesn’t explain why she looks like a goddess in subtle shades of gold and bronze.

“Right!” she exclaims, seeming in a better mood than I’ve seen her in ages. “Let’s get you dressed!”

“What about the others?” I enquire, still desperate to see the state of them to console myself about looking like Coco the Clown. Again, I scan the room, but no sign.

“Oh they’re already done! They’ve gone down to double check everything in the room. As you’re running so late they’re trying to do everything you should have too.”

Serena hands me a full length garment bag that has been hanging on the back of the wardrobe door. I unzip it and look at her in confusion.

“Serena? This isn’t my dress?” I query, any sense of guilt at my lateness forgotten.

“Yes, yes it is,” she answers.

Yes, the dress is lilac, and yes it is floor-length with one shoulder, but that’s where any similarity with the original beautiful creation ends. The new dress is made of some sort of cheap Lurex which when held up to the light is completely see-through. Attached to the hem, neckline and waist are dozens of appliqué flowers in varying shades of purple. It looks as though, although I seriously hope I’m hallucinating at this point, that there is a thigh-high split up the front too.

“Serena, this is not the dress I ordered when I was with you!” I howl, not caring that everyone in the room is now staring at me.

“Oh I know that!” she laughs, “Sorry, didn’t I mention it? We had a change. I decided that the venue demanded something a little more, well, ‘flashy.’ Don’t worry, it’ll look perfect on. Go on, hurry up. The ceremony starts in fifteen minutes!”

I rush to the en-suite and try not to have a panic-attack. I know I have bigger things to worry about