Do You Remember the First Time?

dreamed it.
    I’d had a restless night. That was something of an understatement. I don’t know how I’d got through it. Between my dad’s snoring and my mother’s peculiar noises, and the endless, endless circling in my head, it had been very hard to get anything straight at all. But here I was, reflecting in the mirror, twirling in the early autumn sun. The dress was so lovely; a kind of regency high-chested thing, which made me look like one of the naughtier sisters of a Jane Austen novel.
    ‘Doesn’t she look grand?’ said my mother, smiling happily.
    I gave them a twirl. My dad smiled back at her. Then he looked a bit choked.
    ‘You’re lovely, pet,’ he said to me. ‘Doesn’t seem so long ago since she was just a baby, does it, Joyce?’
    My mum shook her head. ‘Time goes so fast.’
    ‘Next thing you know, it’ll be her getting married.’
    ‘Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that quite yet,’ I said.
    I sat beside Tash as we got our hair and makeup done by one of those slightly snotty girls who are better-looking than you, and I think do makeup so they can compare your face with theirs in the mirror and feel good about it. She was shaking, I swear to God. I felt like one of the handmaidens of Lady Jane Grey.
    ‘Did you see Clelland?’ I murmured faintly, as the makeup lady desperately tried to put a blush into Tashy’s deathly pale cheeks.
    ‘Yes,’ said Tash, glancing dispiritedly at the bouquet. The florist had told us to keep the stems immersed in water to keep its spirits up. I briefly toyed with the idea of immersing Tashy in water.
    ‘How was he?’
    She looked at me. ‘Weird.’
    ‘Weird how?’
    ‘Hard to say.’
    ‘So are you two sisters?’ asked the makeup woman in as uninterested a manner as possible.
    ‘No,’ I said. ‘Just friends.’
    Tashy sniffed loudly.
    ‘So, are you looking forward to getting married?’
    ‘Now that is a long story,’ said Tash.
    We clung to each other as we limped down the stairs, trembling. Tashy’s daffy mum was at the bottom, having a sneaky fag. Next to her was Heather.
    ‘Oh, I see she finally got into that dress,’ she said snidely. ‘I’m Heather,’ she said to me. ‘Natasha’s sister. Who are you anyway?’
    Mind you, Heather used to pretend we didn’t exist when I did know her.
    ‘I’m Tashy’s boss’s daughter,’ I said quickly, before remembering that Marshall was gay. All six Blythe eyebrows shot up, then down again, in case they were being impolite or telling Marshall’s daughter something she didn’t know.
    ‘Do you know when Dad’s getting here?’ said Tashy.
    ‘Christ, you are nervous,’ said Heather, with a slightly bitter laugh. ‘It must really be the best day of your life.’
    I’d always liked Tashy’s dad; he was such a gentle soul. He didn’t look at all himself, coming up the hotel path, wearing a stiff morning coat and looking ruffled.
    ‘Hey, Mr Late,’ said Tashy’s mum, who insisted on being nicer to him now they’d broken up than she ever was at the time.
    ‘Yes, yes,’ he said. ‘Where’s my angel … ahem, I mean, my littlest angel?’
    Heather stood aside sulkily, and Tashy went up to him. She hugged him for just a bit too long, and he patted her on the back and made ‘there, there’ noises. The way he cuddled her made me wonder if he knew a bit more than he let on. He stood back and looked at Tash, who was highlighted in the morning sun streaming through the door, and looked gorgeous.
    ‘Thanks, Daddy,’ she said.
    He looked sad for a moment, shook his head a little, then caught sight of me.
    ‘Good God!’ he said in alarm. ‘Tash, this girl looks exactly like—’
    Our confusion was offset by my delight that someone else knew who I was – who, I guess, loved me. I wanted to run up and hug him.
    ‘No, no,’ Tashy jumped in. ‘I know, she looks a bit like that girl Flora who I used to know, but she’s Marshall’s daughter.’
    Mr Blythe stared at me. ‘Extraordinary.’
    I couldn’t help it, I winked at him. He blinked rapidly a couple of times and turned back to Tash.
    ‘We want to be getting to the church, love,’ he said. ‘Don’t want to keep Max waiting too long. You know what a stickler he is for timing and all that.’
    She nodded mutely.
    We must have looked an ungainly sight, stumbling out to the beautiful vintage Bentley; Tashy practically being held up by her father, her other hand gripping mine, followed by the ugly sister. The driver, who