Free Revenge of the Wedding Planner by Sharon Owens

any of the gowns with foundation, okay? They’re very expensive .’
    Hoping that would entice her to cooperate.
    ‘I’m not paying for a new frock,’ said Janine’s father at once, seemingly back in the loop. ‘I can’t pay for as much as a new safety pin. I’ll be in hock to the credit union for three years, as it is.’
    ‘You won’t have to pay,’ I told him gently. ‘It’ll be a gift from Dream Weddings.’ Julie had whacked on herusual fat profit margin so I thought I could get away with donating a dress. The really nice ones don’t cost that much, off the peg.
    ‘There’s no time to change anything,’ Janine whimpered and her eyes filled up again. ‘The pumpkin coach is coming in an hour. And I don’t want that now either,’ she added hopelessly. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking of. It’s all such a tacky mess.’
    ‘Bloody hell!’ cried Mrs Smith, flinging the bottle of tablets at the wall and wringing her hands. ‘Our life savings wasted! Are you trying to put the lot of us in the funny farm, my girl? You’ve been nothing but trouble since the day you were born!’
    ‘I never asked to be born,’ said Janine at once, her face flushing alarmingly.
    ‘Charming,’ Mrs Smith sighed, looking pointedly at her watch and then at me. ‘Makes you so proud, doesn’t it?’ she added bitterly. ‘To see the way your kids turn out.’
    Janine’s angelic blue eyes suddenly became glowing spirals of rage. ‘You fuckin’ shut your mouth or I’ll shut it for you!’ she roared into her poor sedated mother’s shocked fizzog, and I knew then that whatever life might throw at Janine Smith in the future, she’d be more than able to cope.
    ‘Now, now, ladies! There’s no need for a family ding-dong! There’s loads of time to fix this,’ I assured Janine and her mother, both. ‘Look, Janine, you do as I say and have a nice relaxing shower. I’ll cancel the pumpkin coach and you can travel to the church in one of the other cars.’
    ‘I don’t want the outsize corsages,’ Janine said defiantly. ‘They’ll be a laughing stock and all.’
    ‘Okay,’ I said. Almost fainting with relief because I’dforgotten all about the corsages and they were still in the lighthouse, in a box under Julie’s desk.
    ‘Christ!’ said Mrs Smith.
    ‘I have some spare buttonholes in the car,’ I told them brightly. ‘Cute little white ones, you’ll love them.’
    ‘Will there be a refund on the coach?’ Mr Smith asked and I had to shake my head.
    ‘Sorry, I’m afraid it’s too late for that,’ I told him gently.
    He sighed heavily, staggered back to the sitting room and sank into one of the armchairs, clutching the bottle of vodka to his chest.
    ‘I’m tired,’ wailed Janine. ‘I’m too tired to get married now. Mum, tell all the guests to go home!’
    ‘Come on, Janine, sweetheart, we can do this. Your mother will fetch you some tea and toast and I’ll get my stuff from the boot. You’ll look amazing. And after the ceremony you can have a quick nap in the car on the way to the hotel, in your new husband’s arms. It’s a half-hour drive. Yes? Right. You’re a size eight, aren’t you?’
    ‘Yes, Mrs Grimsdale.’
    ‘Call me Mags, please. Quick, quick, into the shower with you! Sweetheart!’
    ‘Okay, Mags.’ And the door closed again.
    ‘God bless you,’ said Janine’s mother and she shuffled downstairs to get the tea ready, glad that someone else was taking charge of her indecisive daughter.
    When Janine re-emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later she looked like a different person. Tiny and pale with a long wave of chestnut-brown hair, she was prettier than I’d ever seen her. I quickly blow-dried her hair into a single loose ringlet and pinned a spray of white silkroses behind her right ear. Then I covered her tear-stained face with the palest foundation I could find in the Dream Weddings’ make-up case, added some soft pink blusher and natural brown mascara. No