Jane Linfoot - The Little Wedding Shop by the Sea

My main excuse is that on the day I fell in love with the dress, I really did believe it was about to be my turn. I’d waited so many years for Brett to propose. And that week, although he hadn’t exactly got down on one knee, for the first time ever, he had said we should be thinking about getting married. When I came across the perfect dress only hours later, it felt as though it was meant to be. As if all my planets were suddenly colliding in a spectacular piece of auspiciousness, or coincidence or whatever it’s called.

And although it cost a mind boggling amount, it was a sample dress, so it was amazing value for money. And because I sold my cakes though the shop Sera gave me a special deal. Obviously back then, I didn’t live here, because I was still living with Brett.

I scrunch up my face, silently praying that Jess isn’t about to whisk my wild impulse purchase out of the storage room. Wild as in wildly expensive, wild as in wildly misjudged, wild as in wildly over optimistic. Wild as in wildly wide of the mark in every way possible, given what came after. And a very well-kept secret, that only Jess, Sera and I know about.

‘What about my dress?’ I suddenly wish I’d sloshed more gin in my drink. It’s hard to compare the giddy rush of the day I bought it with the troughs that came after.

Jess and Sera understood at the time that it was very early days for me and my wedding plans. It wasn’t as if I’d even had time to share the news with anyone. We hadn’t even got as far as the engagement ring. Luckily we’re known for our discretion at Brides by the Sea. To give Jess credit, the day I bought the dress she said it would stay between the three of us. And Jess and Sera have both kept their word on that one. My best friends, Cate and Immie, don’t even know about it. And Jess kept the dress safe, hanging in the dress store, all this time. Fully insured too.

‘Your dress is one of the most beautiful dresses Sera has ever made.’ Jess purses her lips, and out of the corner of my eye I take in Sera’s echoing nod.

‘It is a totally beautiful dress,’ I agree. If you saw it, I promise you’d completely understand. Silk cut on the bias, simple yet with the most exquisite lace detail, it flowed over my curves as if I was barely there. ‘But I can’t even bear to look at it.’ It’s a relief to get that confession out. I sometimes wonder how one dress could have had so many tears cried over it.

‘I know that dress is very emotionally charged.’ Jess knocks back another slug of gin as she makes that understatement. ‘But when Sera hits the spotlight, you’ll see a good return on your investment.’

Sera sends me a nod of solidarity over the top of the mint sprig I stuffed in her G&T.

I take it Jess is referring to the financial kind of investment. Ever the good businesswoman, she usually sees things in terms of the bottom line, and she grins and rolls her eyes when I wince at the word. I sometimes wonder how someone who does such beautiful things with flowers can be so financially minded, but Jess has been around the block. She insists that going to hell and back with her ex-husband was what toughened her up. Believe me, she must have been playing hard ball to extract a building like this out of her divorce settlement. Freehold, mortgage free. Just don’t tell anyone I told you that.

‘Wait until Josie’s had her celebrity wedding and then sell. You’ll make a killing,’ she goes on.

‘B-b-b-but …’ The word ‘sell’ sends a chill through my chest. ‘I’m not sure I’m ready.’ I’m not sure I can even bear to sell it at all. I mean I’m hardly going to get another one am I?

‘You’ll have at least a couple of months to get used to the idea.’ She pats my hand gently. ‘What else can you do? That dress is spoiled for you, you’ll never use it.’

I have no idea how she can sound so matter of fact about something that wraps my stomach into knots.

I pull a face at Sera, who’s gnawing at her thumb nail. ‘I don’t want to turn into the woman in the attic wearing my abandoned wedding dress.’ I let out a half laugh. After the way Brett let me down, that’s the only way I’ll ever get to wear a wedding dress now. I won’t be getting involved with a guy again any time soon, that’s for sure. ‘I know you’re right, Jess, it just hurts.’

Jess tilts her head. ‘Think of it as your nest egg. It’s always good to have one.’

I gawp at her middle aged thinking. ‘I’m thirty two, I’m way too young to think about stuff like that.’ My squeal of protest fades as I remember exactly where the dress came from. Bought with the money my mum gave me just before she died. ‘A nest egg’ was exactly how she put it too. I swallow back the lump in my throat. My mum would have loved to see me marry in that dress. In any dress for that matter. I squeeze my arms around my chest as I take a reality check. No family. No Brett. I’m completely on my own. If it wasn’t for Jess and her attic I’d be homeless and jobless. I support myself entirely by baking cakes and helping in the shop. I can’t afford to shy away from this.

Jess drains her glass. ‘Our scars make us who we are. Wear them proudly, and move forward.’ Her smile acknowledges that she’s said that same line to me more times than I can count in the last six months, then she narrows one eye. ‘Moving forward being the important thing now.’ She waggles her glass at me. ‘As soon as you’ve got me a refill that is.’

As I rush off for another pint of gin, deep inside I know she’s right.

‘Bolly, Brioche stop pulling!’

The wind whooshes away my wail as I stagger after two lurching honey-coloured bottoms and wagging tails. Dog walking is never like this on the IAMS adverts.

‘Brioche, Bolly, heel pleeeeeeease!’

I’m doing my best to be in control, but channelling my inner dog-charming goddess is impossible this early in the morning. The extra early start is because Cate, Immie and I have a big shopping day ahead of us. They don’t come much bigger than shopping for bridesmaids’ dresses, especially when we’re shopping for eight. And if you think eight bridesmaids sounds excessive, you should see the rest of Cate’s plans. Her wedding is shaping up to be the Cornish country wedding of the decade.

As an in control dog walker, I score an epic fail every time. You’d hardly think I’d been doing this most Saturdays for six months, which is how long it is since I decided to dedicate my scarily empty Friday evenings to a babysitting sleepover, so my bestie, Cate, and her soon-to-be husband, Liam, can have a weekly night out together. With four kids, two lively labradoodles and full-time jobs, they find it hard to spend any quality time together. Although sometimes when I’m tucked up on their sofa with little George, and the three older kids, it’s more as if they’re the ones looking after me.

As a cake maker I like to match people with their perfect cake. Cate’s cake is a delicious Moroccan orange sponge, with a covering of perfectly piped buttercream, and crystallised orange trimmings. Cool, yet sophisticated. Sometimes I still think of Cate as she was when we were six, when we were at Dancing Jillie’s tap class in the village hall. Cate was the one who could do all the steps, not a blonde curl out of place, tapping away like she could give Ginger Rogers a run for her money, while I was the one getting my legs in the arm-holes of my lycra all-in-one, and losing my shoes. But Cate’s luck ran out at twenty five when her husband ran off with a woman from the reprographics department. Left with three kids under four, she grappled her way through the next few years. Now she’s finally found the guy she deserves, and had another baby, I couldn’t be happier for her.