The Bride – A Short Story

It was a cool, damp day in September, the week before my wedding, and I couldn’t stop thinking about The Graduate. Francis had taken me to the see it at the cinema. He didn’t make much of it, but it had been on my mind ever since. As Julianna laced up the back of my dress, I wondered what it would be like to wear it out in public, on a bus, fleeing my wedding. How people would look at me, and what they would think.

It wasn’t as though I had some other lover waiting in the side lines, ready to sweep me away. Greg certainly wasn’t cut out for the task. I just wasn’t sure if I wanted to be married at all. Nothing felt real to me – the planning, the wine and cake-tastings, the dress-fittings – it all felt artificial, like I was acting a part in a play.

‘What do you think?’ Julianna said, turning me towards the full-length mirror. I didn’t recognise my reflection, dressed head-to-toe in white. White was never my colour – I was much too pale. I tried to smile. My mother clasped her hands together at her chest.

‘You look perfect!’ she said. ‘Francis will love you in that dress.’

‘How does it feel? Too loose?’ Julianna asked.

I could feel my ribs trying to pierce through the fabric. I would have laughed had I felt capable. ‘A bit tight,’ I said.

‘Tight?’ she exclaimed. ‘We don’t want it hanging at the front now, do we, dearie?’ she said. ‘There isn’t much of you to fill it.’

‘You’re so lucky,’ my sister said distractedly, as she fussed over the baby. ‘If I’d have known what these things did to your body, I might have given it a second thought.’

‘You can’t say that!’ my mother tutted.

‘I’m kidding,’ she said.

Of course, she wasn’t joking at all. She had made so many little jokes about how the baby had ruined her body and her marriage and her life in general, I knew she meant every word.

That was another thing that I kept thinking about. Anytime Francis, or anybody else, mentioned us having children, my palms would get all clammy and I would desperately try to change the subject, or else make up an excuse to leave the room. And I was sick of seeing my sister’s baby. It wasn’t as though I disliked the baby, or any children for that matter. It was only that her presence was a constant reminder of what was expected of me, by my mother, and Francis, and everybody else. I saw how my sister resented her baby, and it made me wonder if our mother had ever resented us like that; and if so, how could I possibly expect to feel any differently towards my own children?

‘Shall we try it with the veil?’ Julianna asked.

‘I guess,’ I said.

‘Can you try to sound a bit more enthusiastic?’ my mother said. I recognised the flicker of frustration in her eyes from when I was a child.  

‘Yes, let’s try the veil,’ I said, diverting my eyes back to the strange figure in the mirror.

Francis and I met at a New Year’s Eve party. According to our mothers, we had actually known each other when we were very small, but neither of us could remember. I had just broken off my engagement to my childhood sweetheart, Greg Puckett, a few days before Christmas. My mother was very upset with me about this, as we were supposed to be going to Greg’s parents’ house on Christmas Day, so she hadn’t bought any food in for Christmas dinner.

I wasn’t supposed to be at the Freemans’ party that year. Greg and I had planned on staying with his cousin for New Year’s Eve, but that, along with all the rest of our plans, had gone out the window the moment I heard about him and Emily Waterhouse.

The Freemans had been my parents’ best friends for as long as I could remember. I had been to more parties at their house than I could count. In all the years, I had never known the faces there to change, so I was really quite surprised to meet somebody new.

Francis was also there with his parents. My sister was staying with her in-laws, and there was nobody else at the party around my age, except for Francis – everybody were either parent-age or children – yet even so, I hadn’t paid him much attention at all, until he approached me.

‘You don’t seem to be enjoying this party very much,’ he said.

‘What makes you say that?’ I asked.

‘I’ve been watching you. It’s really quite obvious.’

‘I’m not feeling all that festive this year.’
He didn’t say anything else, just smiled. I figured he was drunk.

‘Excuse me, I’m going to get another drink,’ I said, brushing past him.

We didn’t talk again during the rest of the party, and I didn’t think of him once in the days afterwards.

But a few weeks after the party, my mother shouted up to my bedroom that there was a man on the phone, wanting to speak with me. I presumed it was another of Greg’s friends, trying to persuade me to take him back. I’d had a few telephone calls like that.

‘If Greg put you up to this, then you can bugger off,’ I said. There was a long silence. ‘Greg? Greg who?’ he said.

‘You’re not calling about Greg?’ I asked, embarrassed by my presumption.

‘I don’t know any Greg. This is Francis Bellamy.’
I said nothing. I didn’t recognise the name at all.
‘We met at New Year,’ he explained. ‘This might seem a little out of the blue, but I was just wondering if you would like to come to Paris with me next weekend. I’m going there for a conference, and I’m allowed to bring a guest.’

I paused, bewildered. ‘Can I get back to you?’ I asked. 
‘Of course. I’ll need an answer soon, though,’ he said.

I took his number and told him I’d speak to him soon.

Once we had hung up, I asked my parents who on earth Francis Bellamy was, and if he was a psychopath.

‘You don’t remember Francis?’ my mother exclaimed. ‘You used to play together when you were little. His family just moved back to the neighbourhood last month.’
‘I don’t remember,’ I said. ‘Apparently we met at the Freemans’ party the other week. He wants me to go to Paris with him.’ My mother’s face lit up. ‘Paris! You’ve always wanted to go to Paris,’ she said. ‘That would be wonderful, Isabel. And with such a handsome young man!’
My father gave a grumble of mild-agreement, then returned to his newspaper, and with that, it was decided that I was going.

I wonder now if it was actually just the city that I fell in love with that weekend, rather than Francis. Everything felt so hazy and dream-like, that I fear I may have lost my senses in the midst of it all. By the end of the trip, Francis was my boyfriend, and we were making all sorts of plans for our future together. My mother was thrilled.

Not before long, I was engaged to be married once again. My mother suggested that we book the same church, and go to the same dress-maker as before; and to me, that seemed like a perfectly rational way of getting back at Greg for what he did to me, so I agreed. It was only as I stood, staring at myself in the mirror, wearing the same dress I would have worn to marry Greg Puckett, that I really started to question exactly why I was marrying Francis.

‘There you are.’ Julianna carefully positioned the veil on my head. ‘Now you really look the part,’ she said. The baby started to cry. My sister hushed and cooed at her, but the crying didn’t stop – it only got louder and more aggressive. Julianna and my mother tried to ignore it. They fussed over me, tousling the dress and veil, suggesting this way and that way I could wear my hair, and what necklace would look go nicely, but all I could hear was the incessant wailing.

‘I need some air,’ I said. I snatched the veil from my head, and shoved it into Julianna’s hands. I ran out of the shop door, and onto the busy high-street. Judgemental eyes darted at me from all angles. I could hear Julianna shouting after me, but I didn’t care.

I ran, and I kept running, until I reached a bus stop.