Court Out

Chapter Twenty Five





Saturday morning brings glorious sunshine. I’m woken by a call from reception informing me that it’s ten thirty AM and I was supposed to be with the bridal party for breakfast at eight. Shit. I mutter my apologies and she informs me that some food will be with me shortly.

It takes me a few moments to remember what happened last night and I realise, that in all likelihood, Serena knows that I’m on to her and still wants to be with Rivers. Seeing as it’s her wedding day, I’m not entirely sure which one is worse.

I reach for my alarm clock and see that the alarm is not switched on. That’s odd, I could have sworn that I did that as soon as I brought my stuff to the room yesterday evening. There’s a knock at the door so I scramble out of bed and open the door. A member of staff brings in a tray. She places it on the table at the end of the bed.

“There you go, special order from the bride! She wants to see you in her suite when you’re done and between you and me she’s not particularly impressed that you’re so late!”

She turns and leaves and I pounce on the tray with energy not normally seen after so little sleep. I’m famished having missed dinner last night. I pull off the silver dome covering the plate and gaze in horror at the plate underneath. Instead of the anticipated full English, or Eggs Benedict, there is half a grapefruit. That’s it. No toast, no cereal, half a measly grapefruit. Sod this.

Ten minutes later, I’ve depleted the contents of the mini-bar and thrown in a bloody Mary for good measure. I feel quite ill now; I’m not sure that a can of Pringles, two Toblerones and peanut M&M’s are a balanced breakfast, but they sure have hit the spot. Riding my sugar high, still in my pajamas I head towards Serena’s suite and into what feels like a day of impending doom.

Her room looks like a tornado has been through it. The floor is covered with carrier bags, discarded clothes and various beauty tools. Serena’s mum appears to be having something close to a nervous breakdown in the corner and the other bridesmaids are sat having the final touches to their hair done. I can’t see Serena.

“Morning ladies!” I call, “Sorry I’m late!”

“Hi Lauren!” they chorus.

I’m hustled over into a nearby chair and a visibly annoyed waiting beautician starts to get to work on my makeup. I attempt to give her some direction as to how I fancy looking for the day, but it’s clear she is paying absolutely no attention to me. I can feel her applying layers of eye shadow to my lids in copious amounts although I have no idea what colour she’s picked. I send up a mental prayer that it’s something quite nude that won’t make me look like I’ve escaped from a brothel.

Out of the corner of one heavily made-up eye I spot Serena join the group from her bathroom. Her hair and makeup look immaculate, but there is a slight greenish tinge to her face that her foundation has failed to cover.

I can feel that someone has started to comb my hair and made a start on teasing it in to the requisite up-do. I keep my eyes shut, anxious not to provoke any interaction with Serena. I think that my plan has worked as I can hear her talking to Marsha behind me about her ‘inappropriate’ choice of coral nail polish.

“I mean come on Marsha! What on earth made you think that such a tacky colour would be allowed?”

“Sorry! Look, I have some nail varnish remover in my bag, I can take it off?” Marsha sounds surprisingly apologetic given that she’s been addressed as though she’s a seven year old.

“Don’t you dare do that in here!” Serena hisses. “If you make the room smell of acetone then it’ll give me a headache. Do it downstairs or something.”

Marsha leaves without complaint and my chair is spun around. I open my eyes and find myself looking at an unfamiliar female. She’s in her late thirties with quite possibly the best case of clinical negligence against her plastic surgeon that I’ve ever seen. I don’t know what work she’s had done, but clearly whatever solution they’ve injected into her face was designed to make her skin a scary shiny surface and due to a poor attempt at a lift, one eye seems to be slightly higher than the other. She hasn’t helped the situation by applying teal eye shadow liberally around both of her eyes and a truly heinous shade of fuchsia lipstick has been smothered over her poorly-lined lips. As I open my mouth to introduce myself, so does she. In my defence, I realise what has happened before I start talking to my own reflection. I stare in abject horror at the monstrosity that is my face. I pivot round to see the state of the other bridesmaids, but they’re not in my line of sight.

Oh My God. My hair. I was so focused on what had been plastered onto my face (Bright orange paint by the looks of it) that I’d neglected to spot the veritable birds nest that is my barnet. It has been teased all right, sprayed into a huge beehive with a large quantity of industrial strength lacquer. If I was looking to win a competition searching for the worst the eighties had to offer then I’d be laughing. As it is, I’m trying not to cry.

Serena has noticed me however and I wait for the expected explosion that will undoubtedly be bestowed on the stylists who have clearly sabotaged her vision for the day. To my amazement, she is smiling at me. She’s slipped into her gown and looks beyond radiant in her now perfect-fitting dress.

“Wow, Lauren, don’t you just look perfect?” she purrs.

What? Have I missed something?

“Erm, I suppose so? Do you not think it could do with being toned down a touch?” I try.

“No! It really suits you, plus I was told that because of the flashes on the cameras, everyone has to wear more than normal.”

To be fair, I’ve heard this before, but it doesn’t explain why she looks like a goddess in subtle shades of gold and bronze.

“Right!” she exclaims, seeming in a better mood than I’ve seen her in ages. “Let’s get you dressed!”

“What about the others?” I enquire, still desperate to see the state of them to console myself about looking like Coco the Clown. Again, I scan the room, but no sign.

“Oh they’re already done! They’ve gone down to double check everything in the room. As you’re running so late they’re trying to do everything you should have too.”

Serena hands me a full length garment bag that has been hanging on the back of the wardrobe door. I unzip it and look at her in confusion.

“Serena? This isn’t my dress?” I query, any sense of guilt at my lateness forgotten.

“Yes, yes it is,” she answers.

Yes, the dress is lilac, and yes it is floor-length with one shoulder, but that’s where any similarity with the original beautiful creation ends. The new dress is made of some sort of cheap Lurex which when held up to the light is completely see-through. Attached to the hem, neckline and waist are dozens of appliqué flowers in varying shades of purple. It looks as though, although I seriously hope I’m hallucinating at this point, that there is a thigh-high split up the front too.

“Serena, this is not the dress I ordered when I was with you!” I howl, not caring that everyone in the room is now staring at me.

“Oh I know that!” she laughs, “Sorry, didn’t I mention it? We had a change. I decided that the venue demanded something a little more, well, ‘flashy.’ Don’t worry, it’ll look perfect on. Go on, hurry up. The ceremony starts in fifteen minutes!”

I rush to the en-suite and try not to have a panic-attack. I know I have bigger things to worry about than how I’m going to look today, but every girl has their price.

I bite the bullet and strip down to my underwear. The new dress doesn’t have a zip so I’m forced to drag it on over my head, doing untold damage to my already offensive hairdo. The material is stretchy, but even with the generous give of the cheap fabric it has to be at least two sizes too small. I’m past caring now. I know I look like a purple sausage roll, but I’m too pissed off to even bother worrying about it. I storm out in to the bedroom and to my surprise find it deserted.

Luckily, my shoes have remained the same and not morphed into something to match my ensemble so I slip them on and make my way downstairs.

The entrance hall has been transformed by the addition of hundreds of cream roses and it’s clear that some serious money has been spent to dress the house. I check the clock on the wall, twenty five past eleven. The ceremony is due to start at half-past; Serena wanted an early start to ‘Get the ceremony out of the way’ so she could spend the rest of the day in full-on party mode. I can see a flash of white tulle at the end of the corridor so hastily make my way to where I assume the bridal party are.

From the muted sounds the other side of the door, I assume that the guests are seated inside and are awaiting the start of the nuptials. As I round the corner I stop, dead in my tracks. There’s Serena, adjusting her father’s bow tie. There’s Marsha adjusting the small train on Dianne’s long, lilac, silk gown. An exquisitely tailored, designer-made, simple, elegant gown. Marsha is in an identical piece and they both look beautiful with understated hair and makeup. Serena turns round to face me and gives a nasty laugh.

“Oh, there you are! You’d better take your seat. I think Sebastian is sat in the second row on the right hand side.”

I pause, confused. “What? Serena, what’s going on?”

“Oh Lauren, you didn’t really think that you could be my bridesmaid, did you? I mean from the sounds of it you’re headed straight for prison when they convict you of trying to bribe a juror! You can’t really expect me to have you stood next to me in the wedding pictures, I mean, how could I explain that to the children when they grow up?”

I’m struggling to find any words to form a cogent sentence. Marsha and Debbie look beyond mortified but Serena’s dad is looking like he completely agrees with the apple of his eye.

“Why, why didn’t you tell me this before?” I manage. “Why dress me up like a really bad Dolly Parton tribute act?”

She laughs again, a cold, mean noise.

“Well, Ewan insisted that you had to be invited and of course, he relies a lot on Sebastian, so you had to be here,” she muses. “And as for the outfit, well, between you and me, I thought it was high time you had a make over.”

I can feel myself begin to shake in anger. My options are simple. I can smack her right in her smug little face, thus putting me at risk of further criminal charges, tell her I know about her and Rivers, endangering the investigation that might exonerate me, or I can smile and walk past her to join Sebastian inside. Whilst every fiber of my being is itching for the first two options, it’s sadly a no-brainer.

I turn to face her, hands clenched together in a desperate bid to stop them making a break for freedom and trying to throttle the bitch. I take a deep breath and in the most calm and serene voice I can muster, manage to speak to her at an acceptable volume.

“Serena, believe me when I say that everything coming to you is completely deserved.”

Her father smiles at me in satisfaction and Serena for an instant looks confused but after a millisecond, her expression switches almost instantly back to the patronising smile she was wearing before. I smile back, flip them both the finger and walk past them to open the main door into the ceremony room.