Portia MacIntosh - How Not to be a Bride

‘Mia,’ she replies. ‘Can I come in? Don’t worry, I know it’s a mess.’

I physically bite my tongue to stop myself saying something in response to that.

‘Sure, come in,’ I reply. ‘Tea?’

‘Yes, please,’ Belle replies.

I leave my little sister in the living room while I go and make her a drink. As the kettle boils I riffle through one of the bags of clothes sitting on the kitchen floor, grabbing myself a bra and a sundress (this must be the bag with the summer clothes in), hurrying them on in the kitchen so my sister doesn’t get to make any remarks about my not being dressed.

‘So, I bumped into Leo last night,’ she calls from the living room.

‘You bumped into Leo last night?’ I repeat back to her. ‘Were you on fire?’

‘Har-har,’ she calls back, as I carry her tea through and place it down on the pile of boxes we’re using as a coffee table. ‘My God, look at you, you’ve lost so much weight.’

‘I haven’t really,’ I reply. ‘It’s mostly just that I’ve toned up the bits I’d let get a bit wobbly.’

‘Don’t let Gran see, she’ll go berserk,’ my sister warns.

Despite being younger than me, my sister dresses beyond her years – beyond my years too. When we were younger Belle was always one of the popular kids because she was thin, sporty and pretty. I, on the other hand, was a bit chubby and a bit weird. Belle is teetering on the edge of curvy and she looks great; she’s just a few too many steps ahead of herself, in full-blown mumsy mode with her style, and if she’d just take a little of my advice, she could look amazing.

‘Anyway…’ She gets back to the task at hand, passing me a stack of wedding magazines. ‘Leo mentioned that you hadn’t really started planning the wedding and asked if I had any old magazines I could bring you to get you started.’

So my sister just so happened to bump into my fiancé at work, who asked if she happened to have any old wedding magazines lying around from more than four years ago, and she did, so she’s just brought them over for me. I mean, if I were the cynical type, I’d think Leo messaged my sister and asked her to give me some wedding magazines in an effort to get me to start planning it, because I’m yet to start, but I’ve just been so busy with so many other things. Let’s say I buy into the idea that Belle just ran into Leo at the fire station, it still doesn’t explain why these magazines are in perfect condition and the dates show they’re the latest editions.

‘And,’ she starts, even more excitedly, ‘there’s a wedding fair in town next week.’

‘Thank you,’ I say brightly. ‘But let’s get Mike and Rosie’s wedding out of the way before we start planning another one.’

‘Get it out of the way?’ my sister shrieks. ‘Mia, you’re so unromantic. It still baffles me that you write romance for a living. It baffles me even more that you’re getting married when you clearly have no interest in weddings.’

‘I don’t have “no interest” in weddings,’ I clap back. ‘I’m getting married, aren’t I?’

‘Where?’ she asks.

‘I don’t know yet.’

‘When?’ she continues.

‘Next summer – I don’t know yet.’

‘Who will be your bridesmaids?’ she persists.

Ah, now I understand what’s happening here. My sister is just trying to secure her role as chief bridesmaid.

‘Well, I thought about asking the cousins – Meg, Hannah and little Angel…’ I start, teasing my sister a little by not immediately asking her.

‘Well, let me stop you there,’ my sister says, shuffling to the edge of her seat. ‘Auntie June has already vetoed that idea.’

‘Erm, Meg is 17 and Hannah is not only 19 years old, but she’s got a three-year-old kid of her own, so I’m pretty sure they don’t need Auntie June’s permission.’

‘Look, don’t shoot the messenger, but that’s what Auntie June said and they respect their mum’s wishes.’

‘Dare I ask why?’ I start, pretty sure the answer will only make me angry.

‘She’s worried you’ll dress them… like you.’

‘You can tell me what she actually said,’ I insist.

‘Like tarts.’

Nice. Good old Auntie June.

‘Well, OK, so obviously I’m going to ask you,’ I continue, on a more positive note.

Belle winces.

‘Surely you’re not worried I’ll dress you like a tart?’ I ask in disbelief.

‘I just feel that, after everything that happened when you were a bridesmaid for me…’ she starts. ‘You were just such a bad bridesmaid. And I don’t want you thinking I’ll be trying to settle the score or any business like that.’

‘Belle, that never crossed my mind.’

It’s crossing my mind now .

‘Oh. Well, I just don’t think it would be appropriate,’ she says firmly. ‘I just don’t see why I should help you with your wedding when you did such an awful job with mine. I mean, I’d do a great job, for sure—’

‘Fine,’ I cut her off. I’m not going to beg.

‘Well, who else can you ask?’ she persists, suddenly so clearly desperate for the honour, but not until I plead with her.

‘Belle, I’ve told you, I’m too busy to start planning it right now,’ I snap. ‘I should be working right now, in fact.’

‘OK, fine,’ she replies. ‘I’ll get going then.’

‘I’ll see you at Mike and Rosie’s wedding next weekend,’ I tell her as I walk her to the door.

Once my sister is gone, I sit back down on the sofa and eyeball the pile of wedding magazines, with all the smug, happy, white-wearing brides on the cover, who probably know exactly what they want from their big day, and they’ve probably known since they were, like, eight years old. I’m not like most girls. I haven’t been planning my big day since I was a kid. While most girls were draping net curtains over their heads and playing with dolls I was outside playing football with my friends or inside watching wrestling on TV. Even now, as an adult, I have no idea what I want my wedding to be like, and now I have the added problem of not having anyone willing to be my bridesmaids, because I don’t have any female friends. I’ve always just got on better with boys. I like video games, violent movies, listening to music full of profanity – all hobbies that make my sister, and girls like my sister, look down their noses at me.

I’m just going to concentrate on finishing this book, get Mike and Rosie’s wedding out of the way and then I’ll see about planning my own. You never know, attending a wedding might be just the inspiration I need to get me going.

Chapter Seven

After a long and heavily religious church service (which I definitely don’t want), and a trip to a hotel outside town on an open-top bus (which was not nice in October), we finally arrived at the reception. We’re pretty much done with dinner now and I already have a long list of things I absolutely don’t want for my wedding.

Rosie looks beautiful, as always – she’s just got this kind of easy beauty about her, whereas I have to spend hours putting make-up on to look alive – but two things I absolutely don’t want for my big day include having my hair piled up on top of my head like a Mr Whippy, held in place with a tiara, and wearing a big, white dress, with loads of ruffles and shit hanging off it and bits connecting to other bits in places that will limit my movement. Yes, Rosie looks great, so long as she stands still. The second she starts moving she looks so terribly uncomfortable, I feel sorry for her. Apparently she’s got some kind of contraption under her dress that she can use to help her use the loo without assistance, but unless it’s a hoist, I’m not sure it’s going to help her all that much.