Mother Of The Bride
UPLIFTING SHORT STORY WRITTEN BY REBECCA HOLMES
Stepping reluctantly into the boutique, Jan found herself in the midst of a full- on identity crisis…
Despite her best intentions, Jan couldn’t help looking longingly in the window of the outdoor wear shop, just across the way from the upmarket women’s clothes store that was her destination.
She could do with a new fleece. The zip no longer worked on her trusty companion of many years and the material was thinner than in its heyday. Some new hiking boots were in order, too. Her current ones fitted like a glove, but the soles had worn down and must be lacking traction by now.
Speaking of footwear, her normal preferences would probably go down at a wedding as well as the first Mrs Rochester. What was customary for the mother of the bride? Silver stilettos, which she could hardly stand up in, never mind totter around on all day?
Normal preferences or not, her job was not to let the side down. If she looked at it coolly and calmly, keeping her mind on the goal, she could do this.
If something was worth doing, it was worth doing well. After all Rachel’s hard work to get to where she was now, she deserved the kind of wedding she had always wanted – even if her vision differed from Jan’s.
Jan often had a nagging feeling that she hadn’t been the best mother, even if not necessarily the worst. This was her chance to make up for it. With only two weeks to go before the big day, she had better get her skates on.
Walking into the shop wasn’t as bad as she had feared. Past experiences had left her with memories of cloyingly oppressive atmospheres and disdainful staff. By contrast, this place greeted her with the reassuring scent of new linen. It was busy but not crowded, and clothes were arranged so that they were easily accessible, with suggested combinations grouped together.
With any luck, this shouldn’t take long, and she would be out in next to no time to treat herself to a browse in the bookshop down the road, followed by a well-earned coffee.
It wasn’t so straightforward.
She rarely wore formal dresses, so had no idea what suited her. Come to that, what was a “mother of the bride” actually supposed to look like?
It didn’t help that she seemed to be the only lone woman here. Some were with husbands, a selection of bored-looking men hovering at a discreet distance, clearly wishing they were anywhere else but here. It had been no surprise when Malcolm had struggled to conceal his relief when she had turned down his admittedly lukewarm offer to come along.
Others were with friends or daughters, reminding Jan with a pang of half-term shopping trips with her girls in the past and the fact that all three lived too far away now. She’d always encouraged them to live their own lives and move on, but sometimes she wished they had been able to stay a bit closer.
Had her parents felt the same when she’d cut the strings and moved away? At the time, she had been too busy to think about it.
Jan wasn’t sure whether to be apprehensive or relieved when an efficient-looking woman with neatly cut fair hair caught her eye and came over.
“Are you looking for anything in particular?” the assistant asked.
“Sort of. I don’t normally wear this kind of thing, to be honest.”
She cringed inwardly. What a stupid thing to say.
If the woman had her down as an idiot, she hid it like a true professional.
“A special occasion? Significant birthday, wedding, holiday?”
“Mother of the bride.”
Instead of the expected pound signs lighting up in the woman’s eyes, she looked almost wistful for a moment.
“Oh, congratulations. The years pass so quickly, don’t they? It hardly seems five minutes since my children were playing in the sandpit and splashing about in the paddling pool whenever we had warm enough weather. Let’s see what we can do.”
Her hand hovered over a selection of lace-effect bodycon instruments of torture and long jackets in pastel shades, before moving to another rail and pulling out a range of dresses.
“Pink’s not really you, is it? Neither is green. Lilac? This purple would suit you. Or red. Nothing too plain. And a neutral cropped jacket, I think. Try these on to start with and see what you think. Let me know if you need anything and I’ll see what else might work.”
As a child, Jan had gone through a phase of dressing up in her mother’s old clothes, trailing the hems of flowery, lacy dresses behind her. She would clomp about in her hopelessly impractical shoes, giggle at her hats and pretend to be people in stories. Always other people, fantasy characters. Never “her”.
Her daughters probably didn’t have half as much fun with her own, more down-to-earth clothes, she reflected ruefully. They had all adored her mother’s old wedding dress, which was hanging right now in Rachel’s wardrobe, duly altered and waiting for its resurrection on the big day, all the more triumphant for skipping a generation.
Now it was another “never her” moment as a series of strangers with her eyes stared back at her from the mirror. She sighed. Why were clothes so complicated?
“Any luck?”
Jan had just wriggled into her fourth dress and was looking at the lost soul
in the mirror.
The dress was a good fit, the colour suited her and the jacket finished it off nicely. It would have been ideal, if not for the fact that she didn’t like it. But the real question was: would Rachel?
Maybe she could get someone to take a photo on her phone to send to her and both her sisters. They had already said they wanted frequent updates on her morning, even down to her post-shopping coffee.
“Possibly this one?” Jan ventured, pulling back the curtain.
If it did the job and that meant the whole ordeal of trying on clothes was over, surely it would be worth it.
The woman looked her up and down, doubtingly.
“It’s very nice, and definitely suitable for the occasion,” she said.
“But it’s not really you, is it? I can tell by the way you’re standing.”
These last words were spoken by what appeared to be a pixie with pink streaks in her blonde hair, wearing pale denim jeans and a long, asymmetric tangerine T-shirt with a metallic palm tree on the front.
“This is my daughter,” the assistant explained. “She’s helping me out over the summer so she can earn some money to supplement her student loan.”
The older woman’s long-suffering yet fond tone spoke volumes, while the younger all but rolled her eyes.
“Brilliant. What are you studying?”
“Chemistry.”
Jan could imagine the pixie gleefully concocting explosions.
“Back to the job in hand. Zoe’s right. You have to be comfortable in your skin. What did you wear for your own wedding? I’m assuming you weren’t the traditional bride type?”
Jan felt a warm glow as she remembered. To her mother’s disappointment, she and Malc had opted for a small registry office ceremony, simply because neither of them liked the idea of a big “do”.
“I had a lovely long Laura Ashley dress and a big floppy hat trimmed with a purple ribbon, sort of channelling my inner Julie Christie as she was in Far From the Madding Crowd.” The dressing-up days of her childhood hadn’t been completely wasted. “We had a buffet in the upstairs room of our local pub afterwards, where people danced to Fleetwood Mac and Joni Mitchell. It rained, but no one minded. A blizzard could have blown and I probably wouldn’t have noticed, apart from having to hang on to that hat.
“I wore it at the slightest excuse for years afterwards, until it fell apart. I still have the ribbon.”
To her surprise, the pixie clasped her hands and sighed happily.
“That sounds awesome. I can see you in that sort of outfit, and I love your choice of music.” She turned to her mother. “Mum, what about those dresses from Beth you promised to try out in the shop? One of those might work. Beth’s a friend of mine, doing Textile Design. She’s a wizard with a sewing machine,” she added to Jan.
“Her clothes aren’t expensive – yet – but I bet she’ll be famous one day, the next Vivienne Westwood.”
The older woman nodded.
“There are some in the back room. I’ll have a look.”
“Is your daughter’s wedding going to be like yours?” Zoe asked as they waited.
Jan chuckled at the idea.
“Not a chance. Rachel has always been more prim and proper than I ever was, more like my mother, in fact. So you can imagine how she’d picture her wedding day. She’s going for the works, a church service and everything, and even wearing her grandmother’s wedding dress.
“Mum would be so pleased if she knew. She loved big weddings. Mine must have been a disappointment, going against all her dreams of what she wanted for her daughter, but she still mucked in on the day. She dressed up to the nines for the occasion, in her own style of clothes. I thought it old-fashioned and staid at the time.”
When Zoe smiled, her whole face lit up, Jan noticed.
“She was just being who she was –
the same as you were, and your daughter is doing now. That’s what really matters.”
Jan returned her smile.
“It is, isn’t it? It means a lot to her, and I wouldn’t change the way she is for the world.”
When the dresses arrived, Jan enjoyed trying on clothes for the first time in years. She could almost have been twenty-something again, albeit with greying hair, wrinkles and a few extra pounds.
Zoe’s friend was indeed a talented designer, with a flair for dresses skilfully tailored for a flattering yet relaxed-looking fit and colours that suited her complexion.
Between them, they found something that wouldn’t let Rachel down, yet worked for Jan.
As promised, even the price wasn’t too bad.
“That will soon change, I’m sure,” she told Zoe. “Your friend is going to be a huge success.”
Still, sending a snap of her final choice to her daughters, she couldn’t help feeling apprehensive.
With the main job done, she spent a relaxing hour going round the other shops followed by her much-anticipated coffee and scone.
As soon as she sat down, she checked her phone for messages. There was a smiley face emoji from Rachel.
Wow, Mum! You look great. I was worried you’d try to be “proper” to please everyone else, but you look like you. Promise me you’ll always be you, no matter what.
Ditto. The second message was from Clara, with a heart emoji.
I couldn’t put it better myself, and a smiling sun was Beatrice’s response.
Jan wiped away a surreptitious tear before composing her reply.
Only if you promise me the same.
All of you.
After all, wasn’t that what really counted?
It was time to head for home after a busy morning. Not only had she found her wedding outfit, and non-painful shoes to go with it, but she’d treated herself to a couple of books, that
coveted fleece and some new walking boots, ready for the good long hike in the hills that she and Malc had planned for the weekend.
If nothing else, the walk would help him get in trim before buying a smart new suit. But that was something to sort out next week!
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