Page 142 of The Wedding Dress Repair Shop
I slipped the strap of a small gold bag I’d borrowed from Pearl over my shoulder, feeling half naked without my big tapestry one, with everything but the kitchen sink in it, put on the gold satin shoes and then I was good to go.
Through the front window I saw Ella and Kay already letting themselves into the museum and I went to join them.
*
By the time the invited guests began to arrive, theUpcycled Bridepeople had already filmed some of the exhibits, as well as Kay and Ella behind the reception desk, with Derek standing by, all wearing shiny enamel ‘Staff’ badges.
My badge said ‘Curator’, which made me feel a bit like Head Girl, although actually I never even made prefect, havingdrifted silently through school, trying to pretend I was invisible.
The film crew moved to position themselves outside, ready to film me with Honey, who was looking stunning in her Yves Saint Laurent trouser suit, on the museum steps welcoming our guests in.
I glimpsed them slowly panning out … and then it was all over and they jumped into their van to dash back to London for the final cutting and pasting, or slicing and splicing, or whatever they did with film these days.
Honey greeted her guests as they arrived, introducing some of them to me – including her ex-fiancé, Nick Riddick, and his long-term partner, the erstwhile best man, Charlie Neston. I knew Nick was several years older than Honey, but he lookedancientand also had the air of a bad-tempered and dyspeptic camel, so I thought she’d had a lucky escape there.
Charlie, on the other hand, was small, portly and cheerful, with a fringe of faded gold curls around a bald pate. He was wearing the kind of vermilion canvas trousers favoured by older sailing types and immediately headed for Baz, who was rocking the same look, although in his case teamed with a piratical earring and bandanna. I was pretty sure that when it came to boats, however, he wouldn’t know his prow from his stern.
Nick gravitated towards Lyn, a fellow literary agent, who had George, looking distinguished and ambassadorial, in tow.
Amy Weston’s mother arrived late, when most of the guests had already been handed a glass of champagne and the noise level in the foyer was quickly climbing.
I’d noticed in the newspaper photos that Sonia Weston strikingly resembled her daughter. Tall, leggy and with long, blond hair, she wore a very short skirt, a waist-length jacketand very high heels. It was only when Honey introduced us that I noticed that her slenderness verged on the scraggy, her flowing locks owed much to hair extensions and the carefully applied makeup couldn’t conceal the rays of lines around her big blue eyes and her mouth.
It’s not a crime to want to look younger than you are, but I thought a daughter might find a Peter Pan mother a bit of a trial!
I knew I should feel deeply sympathetic towards her, as a mother searching for the truth about her lost child, so it was irrational to take an instant dislike to her … Or maybe it was just the way she’d clocked Thom, who was looking very handsome in a well-cut dark suit, then made a beeline for him.
I bet she was the twentieth person that morning to tell him he looked just like that actor Ivo Gryffyn!
Over Sonia’s blond head, he caught my eye and winked, and I felt a sudden rush of happiness: he’d already told me I looked beautiful when he’d arrived.
Simon was wearing a suit too, although his was obviously old and comfortably baggy round the pockets and knees. Pearl had on that lovely misty-blue linen outfit she’d bought from Spindrift.
I checked my watch and found it was almost time to open the doors to the public – and I could see a surprisingly large number of people gathered outside.
Honey clapped her hands for silence and invited the Rev. Jo-Jo, who had been sitting on the corner of the reception desk, glass in hand, to say a few words.
She put her glass down and got up. Then, bowing her head, she said, ‘God bless this museum. May it flourish and add to the prosperity of our little community. Amen.’
We all echoed the Amen, though perhaps Pearl and the other shopkeepers did so a little louder than the rest …
Derek and Baz began to collect up all the glasses, while Ella and I pinned back the big engraved glass doors: the museum was officially open!
*
I circulated, answering any questions until Honey, who had been upstairs being interviewed for theViews NorthwardTV programme, came down to do her book signing at a table that had been placed next to the wedding dress by the window. A queue of people clutching copies ofBloody Young Menhad already formed.
On her way over, she asked me to take Sonia Weston up to the Bloody Brides room, where a local journalist wanted an interview and a photo of her standing by her daughter’s wedding dress.
Sonia was all for it; she’d clearly been sulking because she’d failed to get herself included in theViews Northwardinterview.
She whipped out a mirror, so she could check her makeup and add another slather of red lipstick, a shade that really didn’t suit her born-again-blond fairness.
The journalist was waiting upstairs. Luckily, there was no one else in the room, so I could temporarily loop the rope barrier across it. I was relieved he didn’t want any input from me, but thought I’d better hang around until after he’d finished.
Sonia went through the story of her daughter’s disappearance and then, when asked where she thought Amy was now, she said, a catch in her voice, ‘I – have to hope she’s still alive. Perhaps the police will now feel it’s time to re-examine the evidence and interview her former fiancé again.’
She smiled sorrowfully and I was just wondering what the ex-fiancé would make of that, if he saw the article, when a thin,dark, intense-looking man stepped over the rope, followed by a very statuesque auburn-haired woman, who seemed to be trying to restrain him.
