At the break of day on the Saturday ('the day' at last), a horde of dressmakers, beauticians and hairdressers (followed by photographers) descended on us. A few hours later we were all looking fabulous; we were ready.
Everything seemed to go so smoothly. The wedding was quite a big one, about a 150 guests, yet I don't think we had a major hitch.
I had a moment's panic when we got to the reception. There were dozens of relatives who knew James quite well. Would someone penetrate my disguise? You're a distant cousin, are you? Who are your parents? And where was James? Oh, oh.
I asked Owen to rescue me if I was bailed up by some overly inquisitive relative, and he did a good job at that.
It became a game - those in the know trying to deceive those not in the know. It was actually fun. It got so that I really didn't care much anymore if I was 'exposed'.
However, I reckon Nan won the prize for explaining James's apparent absence. I heard her telling people that James had been monopolised by his Grandfather for most of the day (credible, because everyone regarded me as being the favourite of my maternal grandfather) but that after the meal I began to feel a little off-colour and so she had taken me to another room where I could lie down. "Nothing serious; I'm keeping an eye on him."
The day was ending. I was exhausted. My father - 'Mr Indefatigable' - was quietly inviting the immediate families to a barbecue at our place the next day so we 'could recover'???
Owen asked me in a whisper, "Will Sandra be there?"
I owed him, so I smiled and whispered back, "If she has managed to wake up, yes."
YOU ARE READING
Sandra
Short StoryI had no idea that I was a girl, until an unfortunate incident occurred - unfortunate for my sister, that is, but not for me, definitely not for me . . . and my sister's forgiven me.
