Page 112 of The Wedding Dress Repair Shop
I noticed a young woman who appeared to be following us around and I presumed she was on the same quest, though for a more personal reason. I thought that vintage dress might have tempted her, but no, we found her cruising the rails in the next shop, although I spotted the only wedding dress in the place first, hanging on a rail between two peach taffeta bridesmaids’ frocks.
Since it was a huge white net meringue, it looked as if it was doing its best to elbow the other two aside.
When I lifted it out, there were actually three hangers tied together: the dress, a long slip that was slinky to the hips and then a mass of ruffled net, and a bag containing a veil.
I untied the string and handed the other two bags to Thom, then, pushing back the thin clear plastic covering the dress, got Simon to hold it aloft, so I could examine it.
It was an off-the-peg one and made entirely of polyester, but the general effect was good, in a ballgown style. The satin top had wide straps, and was fitted to the hips, after which it flared out in layers of gathered tulle and net.
The topmost layer had been hitched up at one side and pinned by a large, limp, white fabric rose. The back closed with a concealed zip and the skirt was a little longer at the back, giving a slight train effect.
‘Plastic boning in the bodice … and the hook and eye at the top of the zip has been broken,’ I muttered, having got Simon to turn it around. ‘I think it’s been washed, but they should have taken that rose off first, because it looks really sad now.’
‘The whole thing looks a bit limp to me, like a dead jellyfish,’ Simon observed, only his head and feet showing behind it.
‘That’s because it needs the petticoat Thom’s holding to puff the skirt out and give it enough volume,’ I explained.
‘I don’t think it’s Simon’s style,’ said Thom gravely.
‘No, but it will do perfectly for what I want. I can tart up the rose and add an embroidered belt, perhaps,’ I mused. ‘Let’s get the veil out and have a look at that, too.’
It was a short one and quite pretty, with white fabric flowers between layers of tulle.
‘There’s nothing subtle about the ensemble, but it would make a bold statement standing in the entrance foyer of the museum, or glimpsed through the window,’ I said.
‘It would certainly be hard to miss,’ said Thom. ‘Do you want to check out a couple more shops before you decide?’
‘No, this is the one,’ I said positively. ‘I’ll buy it.’
‘Come and look at this,’ called Pearl, who had lost interest in wedding dresses and was riffling through the vintage rail instead, so I left Thom and Simon draped in bridal wear and went to see what she’d found.
‘I think this would really suit you,’ she said, and when I saw what she was holding up, I knew she was right. The fitted, sleeveless dress even looked my size!
There was a matching bolero jacket with three-quarter sleeves, both in a textured, heavy tusser silk in the particular shade of old gold that really does things for my pale skin, red hair and green eyes.
‘Try it on,’ she urged, and when I came out of the changing cubicle wearing it, Thom said I looked beautiful.
Simon wolf-whistled, so that everyone in the shop turned round to look, before saying loudly, ‘Nice legs!’
‘It’s perfection! You could wear it for the museum opening,’ suggested Pearl.
‘I don’t know – it might be a bit over the top – but I can’t resist buying it anyway,’ I said. ‘Simon, show her the wedding dress, while I change back.’
When I came out again, Pearl said, ‘A big puffy meringue dress wouldn’t bemychoice, but I can see it’s perfect for what you want.’
‘Excuse me,’ said a voice behind us, and I turned to see the young woman with short, spiky, candyfloss-pink hair and matching fingernails, who I’d noticed in the other shops, looking curiously at us.
‘I couldn’t help overhearing what you’ve been saying: am I right in thinking you don’t want the wedding dress to wear yourself? It’s just for a display in amuseum?’
I gave an inner sigh and hoped she wasn’t going to say the dress was exactly what she was looking for and ask me to give it up to her.
‘That’s right, The Wedding House: A Little Museum of Bridal Misfortune in Great Mumming,’ I told her. ‘We open in October.’
‘Bridal misfortune?’
‘Yes, all the dresses on display belonged to brides who had unfortunate bridal experiences of one kind or another. I need a modern dress to go on display in the entrance foyer, where the light might damage older fabrics.’
I thought I’d put that quite tactfully, if she thought this was the dress of her dreams. ‘Are you looking for a wedding dress for yourself?’
