or disappointments but concentrate on remaining calm as I dress. I think about putting on my stockings without laddering them. I focus on straightening my hair-clips and I think about whether my mascara is waterproof. Waterproof enough.
The room begins to settle. I’m told that guests have arrived at the venue where the service is taking place; I’m assured Scott is already waiting for me. The people who have fussed and fawned over me all morning vanish; suddenly I’m alone with Lisa, Jess and Colleen.
‘You look beautiful,’ smiles Lisa. As she fiddles with my veil for the hundredth, unnecessary time.
Jess nods, her eyes brimming with tears. She leans close to me and for a moment I think she’s going to whisper something urgent and profound; maybe something like, ‘You don’t have to do this.’ But she doesn’t, she just drops the lightest kiss on my cheek and says, ‘Yeah, you look really gorgeous.’
I gather my veil and my thoughts, buckle up the most dainty, most beautiful strappy, diamanté sandals and step outside where I find a waiting horse-drawn carriage. All six horses are white; their coats are sleek and worthy of an appearance in any fairytale. The carriage is entirely covered with colourful peonies, gerberas and fat, loose roses, as I specified. The road is strewn with petals, as I’d dreamed. Crowds of Scott’s fans line the streets, as I could never have imagined. Most are screaming their good wishes, some girls are sobbing or their mouths are twisted in disappointment and fury. I don’t know whether to wave at them or ignore them. Lisa and Jess are sat opposite me but they don’t look at me; they stare at the flowers and the crowds but neither makes any comments. I suppose I’d always thought Mum and Dad would escort me to my wedding ceremony but Colleen didn’t think they’d look as good as Jess and Lisa in the photos; besides, I’m not even sure they are still coming to my wedding now and I daren’t ask.
After a few short minutes, we pass the media scrum and leave the press and disappointed fans behind security barriers. The horses’ hoofs stop click-clacking as we draw to a halt.
‘This is it then.’ I beam at my friends. They nod and force smiles that bunch up their cheeks but they can’t push the smiles as high as their eyes. This is it. Or at least, this is as near it as I’m ever going to get.
Lisa helps me out of the carriage; she still looks unusually white and drawn, the professional makeover doesn’t seem to have done its job. I turn to Jess. I always imagined my friends giggling and beaming and making jokes about the wedding night. I guess that’s a tricky one now, under the circumstances.
Jess stares resolutely at the floor and blurts at the gravel, ‘You are so obviously still in love with Adam.’
‘He didn’t want me. Nothing’s changed there.’
‘Yes, it has.’ Now she does meet my eye but I can’t see happiness or confidence, just concern and sincerity. ‘He’s grown up such a lot. He has the band and he’s bought a –’
‘I know he’s changed and grown up in many ways but he still doesn’t want me. That hasn’t changed.’
‘I think he does want you.’
‘No, he doesn’t. I asked him.’
‘Oh.’ Jess and Lisa look crushed by this news. The hems of their dresses flutter so prettily in the light breeze. We look gorgeous. I wish it was a more gorgeous moment.
I spell it out. ‘I don’t have a choice.’
‘There’s always a choice,’ insists Jess. I love Jess in this moment because she is taking an enormous risk. She’s being brave and honest. I’m breaking her heart by making what she considers to be the wrong decision. I feel duty bound to cheer her up.
‘Scott’s not a bad man. He’s just complex,’ I assure them.
‘Gay?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Oh, Fern.’
‘Don’t, Jess.’ I hold up my hand. I can’t hear any more from her. I can’t give up Scott. And it’s not the clothes, shoes and lifestyle that are pulling me. He’s my only option. ‘You’ve been great, Jess. You’ve done everything you could. You brought Adam here. You tried to make me jealous. You’ve pointed out how he’s grown and his new successes. You’ve been the best friend. But –’
The ‘but’ is swallowed by a click of the camera as the reportage photographer captures the moment.
‘I love the moment the bride soars into the service,’ he calls with a grin. ‘It’s a moment of