Free The Winter Wedding by Abby Clements Page B

think that’s why I met Sarah now. When I was ready to meet her.’
    Right then, she arrived.
    Sarah seemed to float into the pub. She wore a strapless dress wound out of turquoise sari fabric, and leather sandals, despite the drizzly weather. Her long, wavy hair was loose, and she had
faint freckles on her shoulders.
    Josh kissed her hello and introduced us. There was a twinkle of mischief in her wide blue eyes.
    ‘Hi,’ I said, holding out my hand to greet Sarah. She laughed and instead came in close to kiss me on the cheek. Her hair was soft and smelled of honey.
    ‘Great to finally meet you,’ she said brightly. ‘Josh has told me so much about you.’
    ‘He has?’
    ‘Oh yes, loads. Good stuff, obviously.’
    I smiled.
    ‘Said you’ve got a sideline in wedding planning at the moment?’
    ‘Kind of. Only informally. I’m planning my sister’s wedding at the moment. Their wedding planner bailed on them, so I’ve stepped in.’
    ‘Your sister’s wedding – how sweet,’ Sarah said.
    ‘And you work at an art gallery, is that right?’
    ‘Oh I did,’ Sarah said, waving her hand, and laughing. ‘That didn’t last long.’ She lowered her voice to a whisper, ‘“
Too many
opinions
”’, they told me. Can you believe it? In the art world of all places? I was brought up to think that having a mind was a good thing.’
    Josh smiled. ‘Sarah doesn’t back down easily.’
    Over the course of the evening, that was definitely the impression I got.
    Later that week, Lila and I were sitting cross-legged on the rug on the floor of her and Ollie’s living room, threading paper chains. They were made from silver paper
doilies, so had the appearance of being lacy – delicate and fragile. Or perhaps, on reflection, a bit like a bridal spider web.
    ‘These are going to look gorgeous,’ Lila said cheerfully.
    ‘It’s all coming together,’ I said. And they weren’t just words to reassure Lila and calm her pre-wedding jitters. Things really were looking good. The RSVPs had flooded
in quickly, and most were yeses.
    ‘Any word from Ben, yet?’ I asked.
    ‘Yes, but no firm answer. He left a rambling voicemail. Said he’s busy over the summer – work commitments.’ She said the words sarcastically. ‘I mean, I know
we’re not that close, but I really thought . . . I never imagined that our brother might not be there to see me get married.’
    ‘He has to be there,’ I said. ‘I’ll make sure he is.’
    The following Saturday, we met Mum at the wedding-dress shop, in a courtyard just behind Columbia Road. It didn’t look like much from the outside, but the dressmaker,
Jane, who I’d met while researching costumes for the TV company, was creative and practical – perfect for getting my sister the wedding dress she needed, in record time.
    Mum hugged us both hello, and then we walked up the narrow spiral staircase together. Jane greeted us at the door, her hair piled on her head and tied with a length of gingham fabric. She had on
jeans and a fifties shirt knotted at the waist, and for a moment I sensed Lila stiffen, perhaps doubting whether this was the right person to be designing her dress. But the moment we stepped into
the room, Tardis-like in its dimensions, the atmosphere changed. White satin and silk covered the walls, dresses sparkling with diamante and silken embroidery hung on their hangers. Structured
bodices, with full, romantic skirts, empire line dresses straight out of
Pride and Prejudice
, and then more unusual designs, one-shouldered and asymmetrical, one with a bright-coloured
petticoat and sash.
    ‘Wow,’ Lila said, her gaze drifting around the room, taking it all in. A wide smile came to her face. ‘This place is a wedding wonderland.’
    Jane smiled modestly.
    ‘She’s a miracle worker,’ I said, familiar with all the work Jane had done for the costume department on tight deadlines. ‘And she’s going to do a fantastic job on
your dress, I promise