Page 35 of Benidorm Again

‘This is all you have?’ I’m too upset to yell. The lady is keeping the shop open for me especially, and I feel rude and desperate, so I’m going to have to choose three dresses from this scrawny selection. They don’t even all come in my size, so my choice is further limited.

My heart is sinking as I rifle through the racks.

‘I’ve got this pink satin fishtail in your size. This high-collared, frilly gold lamé, pleated knee-length,’ she says. ‘Or this billowy, lemon satin puff?’

‘No satin, if at all possible, please.’ They are three of the most horrific dresses I’ve ever laid eyes on. I’m only just keeping it all together.

‘What about this sheer, peach blush, chiffon floaty one?’

At last. Something half-decent. It is after four-thirty, and I have less than two hours to buy the dresses, get back to the hotel,get my hair and make-up done and make my way to the theatre. I usually need three to four hours at least.

‘Or I have it in champagne mist?’

‘YES!’ I grab the dress off her and charge into the changing room. I yank off my hoodie and joggers. The dress fits very snugly. I rip back the curtain and walk over to the full-length mirror. The material shimmers and swishes as I move, which is a good sign.

I stand, taking it all in. It has an empire-line bodice, elbow-length sleeves in beaded chiffon and a Pride and Prejudice vibe about it. It would do for the romanticMi Amore Mi Amoreduet section.

‘Do you want the veil and wedding gloves to go with it?’ she asks.

What is she not getting about this horrendous scenario?

‘I’ll just take the dress. Do you have anything more formal in a dark colour, floor length?’

She screws her forehead into a frown.

‘Anything at all.’ Tears are prickling the backs of my eyes.

Suddenly, her face changes. ‘Yes! We had a delivery last week that I have yet to open. Winter Brides. There’s bound to be something for you in that.’ She races off down some stairs, and I hear lots of banging while I continue to search for the showstopper outfit. The dress I’ll wearfor the finale and the curtain calls. It needs to scream ‘Top of my game!’ like my ruby sequined, whale-boned, take-your-breath-away dress.

I hear her thumping up the stairs.

‘I’ve got a peacock blue in full skirt and feathers and an emerald-green strapless sequined ball gown.’

She holds them both up.

‘Are they my size?’

She nods. ‘Almost.’

Good God.I’ll look like a nineteen-eighties pantomime Dame. I haven’t even got the heart to try them on. ‘I’ll take them,’ I say, whipping out my credit card. The amount almost reduces me to tears. Who would have thought three ugly dresses would cost so much? I hope the hotel will compensate me. I have barely anything left on my credit card as it is. And I still need something nice to wear to Las Vegas. At this rate, I’ll be turning up in these peacock feathers.

‘Thank you so much. I really appreciate it,’ I gush, rushing out ofthe shop.

It’s like a nightmare. I’ve arrived at the theatre to find everyone has the hump with me because literally everyone is ignoring me. I race through the glazed stone arches of the colonnade, through the old Georgian folly behind the stage and round the medieval well. Dolly is waiting for me in my dressing room.

‘You’re late!’ she barks.

‘I know. I know,’ I say, racing in with all of the outfits and my suitcase full of make-up and hair things.

‘You haven’t even done your hair and make-up! Too busy enjoying the high life, were you? Wish we could all stay in a fancy hotel and have room service and spa treatments.’ Dolly takes the outfits from me and unzips the coverings. ‘What the fuck are these awful things? You can’t go on stage like this! This underskirt is like the Millennium Dome, for Pete’s sake!’

‘That’s what I’m trying to explain. The hotel made a cock up, and now the original dresses are locked away at the dry cleaners until tomorrow.’

She stops to eye mesuspiciously.

‘I’ve been racing around trying to find replacements. These were the best of a bad bunch. It’s them or my jogging pants.’ I fly over to the mirror and plonk myself down. My face looks worn out and haggard. That’s the last time I daytime drink before a performance.

I get to work, furiously brushing foundation over my face and slapping on blusher and eye make-up while Dolly hangs the gowns up.

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