Court Out - By Elle Wynne Page 0,92
noticed anything?” This is it, this is the ideal moments to confess my completely irrational, unfounded conspiracy theory to him. The theory that is completely unsupported by any real evidence. I mean, just because she’s spending money like it’s going out of fashion doesn’t mean that she had something to do with my arrest. Does it?
“Lauren?” Sebastian is staring at me with a look of concern, “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” I say slowly. “I noticed she was spending more than normal, but nothing else. She hasn’t mentioned anything to me.”
If I do get firm proof, then Sebastian is the first I’ll talk to, but until then I wont mention it; I’ll look absolutely crazy unless I can back it up.
I meet Serena the following week to go to her final wedding dress fitting. I’ve thought about my arrest for pretty much all of my waking hours and know I have to stop trying to blame Serena. It can’t be her fault. She’s a friend, a real friend and deep down, I know she could never do something like that to me. I’ve been trying to be super healthy too, throwing the packets of sweets loading the cupboards away and replacing them with pineapple chunks and forgoing wine for fresh grapes. I must admit I feel a lot better now that I’m somewhat closer into fitting into my jeans.
I know that if Serena asks me to try my bridesmaids dress on today I’ll have a problem, but there’s a month to go before I have to wear it in public so I should be ok by then.
I walk into Dream Brides and spot Serena with her mother at the back of the shop. She seems to be arguing with the sales assistant about something.
“No. When I called you, I told you explicitly that I wanted the exact sash that was used in the film.”
Her voice is low and cold. The sales assistant looks flustered and unhappy.
“But Miss Taylor, I told you when you called that it is owned by a lady in California who has no desire to sell it. If you’d just look at the samples I have then perhaps-”
She’s cut short by Serena who has rudely raised her hand and put it in front of the lady’s face.
“Enough. If I’d realised how incompetent you were, I’d have purchased my dress elsewhere. However, it seems I’m stuck with you. Help me change.”
I cough loudly to alert the group to my presence. Serena turns sharply. The expression on her face is one of impatience and frustration. It clears slightly on recognising me, but it’s obvious that she is far from happy.
“Oh, hi Lauren. Take a seat, I’ll be out in a moment to show you the dress, providing of course the imbeciles that work here haven’t ruined it.”
I shoot an apologetic look at the sales lady who looks beyond mortified at this slur on her business. She hurries away into a back room and Serena sighs loudly.
“God, you’d think they’d be a bit more prepared. I have bought the most expensive dress they sell so I was expecting better service that this.”
Serena’s mum attempts to placate her daughter. “Don’t worry darling, she’s just gone to fetch it. I’m sure you’ll look perfect.”
“I’d better,” she snaps. “If it doesn’t fit then mark my words, heads will roll.”
The assistant reappears in the nick of time.
“If you’d like to come this way, your dress is ready.”
Serena tuts. “About time too” she snaps, but does follow the lady into a fitting room.
I’m vividly reminded of the show we watched weeks ago about crazy, demanding, American brides to be. It seems Serena is channeling all of them at once.
I take a seat on a comfy sofa positioned opposite the huge cream curtain marking the entrance to the fitting room. Serena’s mum seems to be on edge; she’s positioned right on the end of her seat and is twiddling her hair between her fingers incessantly. I decide against trying to make small talk and instead flick mindlessly through a nearby bridal magazine. I turn the pages without really looking at the articles or pictures and wait for the inevitable to happen. I’m not disappointed.
The hum of classical music is broken by an ear-shattering high-pitched howl of rage. Serena’s mum and I jump to our feet in perfect synchronicity. We look at each other with matching expressions of foreboding then head to the curtain.
As I enter the deceptively large changing area the first thing that strikes me is the vision