Free Best of Friends by Cathy Kelly Page B

her.
    “Remember those lovely bridesmaid’s dresses in the wedding shop off Patrick Street? We could go and have a look at them again,” she coaxed.
    “But I thought we couldn’t afford to buy the ones I liked.” Debra was suspicious, thinking of the compromise that had been reached when the cost of the reception had begun to spiral beyond the agreed sum. Something had to give and Debra felt that it wasn’t any great risk to herself to have the bridesmaids wearing outfits from the dressmaker. Who would be looking at them? She was the star of the day. Her own expensive gown was worth the money but spending too much on bridesmaids was wilful waste. “The dressmaker’s doing a good job, really. It’s just Sandra who’s got a problem.”
    “Well, maybe we could let Sandra get a dress from the wedding shop. All three bridesmaids are going to be wearing different colours anyhow—” began Lizzie.
    “I don’t know,” said Debra, struck again by the unfairness of her future sister-in-law’s behaviour. “I hate weddings, honestly. It’s all a total pain. I’ve a good mind to tell Barry it’s off.”
    Lizzie sighed. Debra was so highly strung that she sometimes failed to see others’ points of view. Unlike her mother, who saw everyone’s point of view. They may have looked alike—the same big eyes and round, open faces—but in character they were very different. Lizzie used to wish that Debra wasn’t so uncompromising but, in retrospect, she’d changed her mind. Being gentle and yielding got you nowhere in life.
     
    Wednesday was manic in the surgery. First in the door on the dot of nine were Mrs. Donaldson, a large, prune-faced pillar of the community, and her daughter, Anita, a shy, heavily pregnant woman in her late twenties, who would have been enjoying a perfectly normal pregnancy had it not been for her interfering mother. Mrs. Donaldson, with five pregnancies behind her and a superiority complex, insisted on always seeing Dr. Morgan because she thought male doctors knew nothing about female plumbing, but obviously felt that she herself was the expert on all things gynaecological.
    She herself was “delicate,” she’d told a disbelieving Lizzie early on in Anita’s pregnancy. “My side of the family were all small-boned and pregnancy was such a strain,” sighed Mrs. Donaldson, folding big strong arms over a considerable bosom emphasised by a silky blouse with an inappropriate pussy-cat bow. “Dr. Morgan won’t see that poor Anita’s the same. Poor lamb needs more ante-natal care and more visits. I can see it so why can’t her stupid obstetrician?”
    Through all of this, Anita smiled sweetly at everyone and fol-lowed her mother meekly into the surgery for each unnecessary visit.
    Clare Morgan, normally the soul of discretion regarding her patients, confessed that she loathed the sight of Mrs. Donaldson.
    “Anita’s perfectly fine and I’m convinced her mother’s constant agitating is creating more stress for her than the pregnancy,” she said.
    Today Mrs. Donaldson was on high alert because next door’s cat had been seen lurking in the vicinity of Anita’s clothesline.
    “Toxoplasmosis,” said Mrs. Donaldson darkly to Lizzie. “All cats should be put down.”
    Lizzie’s eyes instantly swivelled to the windowsill, where Clare Morgan’s ginger cat, Tiger, liked to sit and mew miserably to be let in, even though he knew he wasn’t allowed into the surgery. Luckily, there was no rotund marmalade shape there. Mrs. Donaldson was quite capable of running out and hitting him with her handbag.
    “The doctor is very busy this morning but I’m sure she’ll fit you in,” Lizzie said, knowing that there was no point in saying anything else. Mrs. Donaldson did not grasp the concept of people saying no to her.
    By half-past twelve, after a hectic morning where the surgery had been packed with sneezing and wheezing patients, including one white-faced man who’d had to keep rushing into the