Michele Gorman - The Big Little Wedding in Carlton Square - A gorgeously heartwarming romance and one of the top summer holiday reads for women

We get three pints of prawns, which we demolish in about a minute. As I watch Daniel go to the bar to get his round in for us all, I get a little misty watching everyone’s smiling faces. That’s my fiancé, the most popular toff in East London.

The window of the chic Sloane Square shop only has two dresses in it, and I can’t see myself wearing either of them. Philippa and Abby are already inside, though, waving me in, so I can’t just leave. Steeling myself, I crash into the glass door as I push to open it. What the hell?

The only shops around me that keep their front doors locked are the pawnbrokers. What shoplifter in her right mind would go round nicking wedding dresses? Just try stuffing one of those down the front of your jeans.

‘Sorry,’ I say to the forty-something woman who unlocks the door. Her smile is radiant, but it doesn’t reach her perfectly made-up eyes. Everything about her says elegance, from her pale grey shift dress and high heels to her sleek blonde chignon and the simple gold necklace and earrings she’s wearing.

‘Won’t you make yourself comfortable?’ she whispers.

‘Okay, thanks,’ I whisper back. The deep-pile carpet muffles my steps, but we all hear my charm bracelet tinkling.

Philippa and Abby rise from the cream velvet sofa for kisses. ‘Darling! We’re having champagne.’ My future mother-in-law’s booming voice shatters the peace in the shop. ‘Do have some.’ She glances at the woman, who hurries over with a crystal glass. ‘Isn’t this going to be marvellous fun?’

I catch Abby rolling her eyes at her mum. She’s only twenty and probably has better things to do than come wedding dress shopping. She knocks back the champagne and holds out her glass for more.

‘We’ve just been chatting about designs,’ Philippa continues. ‘Yah, do you have something special in mind, darling?’

‘I figured I could just try some on and see what looks good.’ I never know what I’m looking for when I shop. I just go along the rails and pick out whatever catches my eye.

Only there aren’t any rails in here. It looks like a miniature Versailles, all gold and mirrors and dangly crystal chandeliers.

There aren’t any other customers, either.

‘Right, absolutely,’ Philippa says. ‘But if you tell Sarah what kind of thing you have in mind, she can bring some dresses out for you. Or she could bring them all out. Sarah, could you bring out all the dresses you have in Emma’s size?’

Sarah looks flummoxed by this notion. ‘We do have quite a few dresses. Do you have a preference for lace, silk or chiffon? Pearls, beading or plain? White, off-white, cream or we have some other neutral colours?’

I’m in so far over my head I think the lifeguard has just blown his whistle. What I need is Mrs Delaney from next to the dealership to translate all this for me. She might not know anything about the champagne they’re knocking back, but she’s been a tailor her whole life. She knows her silk from her rayon. ‘I’ve always liked lace,’ I say.

Sarah seizes on this snippet and holds on for dear life. ‘I’ll choose some dresses,’ she says, going through a mirrored door at the back of the shop.

‘Abby was telling me about the wedding her friend’s sister just had,’ Philippa says as we wait for Sarah to come back. ‘It sounds absolutely dreadful. Paper plates. One can’t imagine!’

‘Mummy, they were being ironic. Everybody’s doing peasant weddings now. It’s all hay bales and paper streamers. I think it’s a hoot.’

‘Hoot or not, darling, isn’t the point,’ says Philippa. ‘If one can’t afford a proper wedding, then have a small one, by all means. But don’t skimp. Paper plates aren’t ironic, they’re tacky. To think how their parents must have felt. And a falafel cart at a wedding? They may as well have just ordered Domino’s and been done with it. I’d be absolutely mortified.’

It obviously doesn’t cross her mind that a proper wedding might be a stretch for us too. I can feel my cheeks burning.

‘It’s such a shame your mother couldn’t come today,’ Philippa says to me as she finishes her champagne. She’s oblivious to my cheeks.

‘She’s gutted, but she says she’s looking forward to meeting you soon.’

That’s a total lie. She has no idea I’m here. I practically wore dark sunglasses and a trench coat to the Tube so no one would see me. I’m cheating on my mum with my future mother-in-law and not even Kelly knows about it. I couldn’t bring Mum with me, though, could I? She’s nervous enough about meeting Philippa. I couldn’t make her do it on Philippa’s home ground.

This way I can make both Philippa and my mum happy. Mum and I’ll go with Kell later this week to look at more dresses. Nobody needs to know about today.

Sarah returns wheeling a golden rail hung with a dozen or so frocks and leads me through a mirrored door.

This just got real.

She hangs three dresses on what look like solid gold hooks. ‘Erm …’

We’re staring at each other.

‘Thanks very much,’ I say.

When she smiles I realise she means to stay in here while I get changed.

‘Do you have your bra with you?’ she asks.

‘Right here,’ I say, pointing to my chest.

‘Oh, that might not work with the dress, but never mind, I can get you one to try.’

She opens the door just as I’m hopping out of my jeans. Philippa waves when she catches my eye.

‘Mummy, don’t be awkward,’ I hear Abby scold as I yank the door shut.

Sarah gets me into the first dress and buttons about a thousand tiny pearls up my back. Now I know why she didn’t leave me alone to do it.

Everyone gasps when I step from the changing room and Sarah leads me to a platform with a wraparound mirror.

I can hardly believe it’s me. The white sleeveless lace top of the dress hugs my torso perfectly, plunging to a narrow waist and then flaring over my hips. Suddenly I wish I had brought Mum. I can go through the motions again with her, but I’ll never again have this exact feeling of seeing myself in a wedding dress for the first time.

I shove the unwelcome thought aside and slowly twirl on the platform.

‘It does swamp you a bit,’ Abby says. ‘Because you’re short. A less poufy skirt might be better. Can we have some more champagne, please, Sarah?’

I was thinking the same thing. About the dress, I mean. Sarah’s never going to trust me with a drink in one of her dresses.

She shows me some simpler designs till we find one that I have to admit I sort of love. It’s got a lace overlay all the way from the neckline to the hemline, but it’s not poufy. The cap sleeves and straighter cut even makes me look a bit tall.

‘Yah, that’s it,’ Philippa says. ‘You may have found your dress. A column dress isn’t easy to wear, but it looks beautiful on you.’

‘It rahly does,’ Abby says.

It really, really does, I think. I’d wondered if so much white might wash out my pale skin, or be too much contrast against dark hair, but it looks fantastic.

‘You’ll need something for your head, of course,’ Philippa says. ‘Is there a family veil that you’ll wear?’

‘No, no family veil.’

‘Oh good, because actually I had another idea. A fresh floral crown! Wouldn’t that be darling? The florist could do it in the most beautiful summer blooms and make simpler ones for all the guests. Imagine the photos. Isn’t this going to be the most beautiful wedding?’

I doubt she’s thinking of simply weaving daisy chains like Kell and I used to do with the dandelions that grew on the verge in summertime.

When Sarah tells us that for a fee we can expedite the eight-week lead time to order the dress, Philippa starts yah-yahing like it’s a done deal.