Never The Bride

Chapter One - Abbie Carter

 'FOR THE LOVE OF God, Georgie, please pick up the phone,' I begged, as I stood in front of the long mirror in the dressing room of the quite frankly offensively named Bridezilla Wedding Boutique in Shrewsbury. I just wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole.

'Ok, what's wrong with this one?' she laughed, as her freckled face appeared on my screen.

'Sssshhhh, keep it down,' I warned, sticking my head out of the changing room curtain to see if anyone else was here with me, or if I could speak freely.

'Abbie, this is bridesmaid dress number nine. The fact that you've hated each and every single one of its predecessors means your reputation precedes you. You're the nightmare bridesmaid, the one who always hates the dress. Everyone already knows you're going to hate this one as well.'

'A nightmare bridesmaid?' I huffed, then blinked at her, not sure if she was being serious. Was I a nightmare? It was true, I hated each and every one of those eight dresses, all shoved up in my attic, never to see the light of day again. But as far as my many, many duties as one of the most frequent bridesmaids in Shropshire, I thought I was exemplary. Which was quite a feat given the messes I normally got myself into. I'd even had a bridal magazine want to do a feature on me, I was that proficient at it. Of course, I'd declined. How was I supposed to attract a man if I was the talk of the county, the one that never got to wear the coveted white dress?

'Ok, maybe I've exaggerated a little,' she giggled. 'But you do have a face like a smacked arse each time you walk up the aisle in one of those monstrosities. How bad this time, on a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being the dress you could see yourself getting married in, it's that perfect, and 10 being "not even for my closed casket funeral" awful?'

'I'd have to go with an eleven,' I sighed, glancing down at my vivid fuchsia froufrou dress, with layers and layers of lime green underskirt and a neon yellow sash that tied in the most enormous bow at the back. To round off the seriously crappy look, as if it wasn't blinding enough, I'd been given a bright purple clutch bag. The shoes were the only great thing about the ensemble. A pair of multi-coloured, high-heeled suede sandals that were seriously cute and summery. 'I wouldn't even want someone to have to try and dress my stiff body in this hideous creation. Seeing my naked corpse would be torture enough for the undertaker, let alone in this ... this ... I have no words, Georgie, that's how bad it is. It's a first. Abbie Carter is speechless. I look like some kind of 80's throwback, which wouldn't be so bad if I'd been around in the 80's, but I wasn't even a twinkle in anyone's eye!'

'Come on, it seriously can't be that bad,' she suggested as she craned her neck, like that was going to help her see the colour-vomit tableau any better.

'I look like I just threw up a family-sized bag of Skittles all over myself. Trust me, even you'd look bad in it, and you look good in anything.' My best friend was a stunning redhead, with deep burnished copper locks that came straight out of a shampoo or hairspray commercial, gorgeous piercing light blue eyes, and a face and figure to die for. She should be a famous catwalk model, not a dog groomer, up to her elbows in soap suds, trimmed hair, and overexcited pooches who either tried to hump her or left her little brown surprise gifts that she often ended up stepping in by accident. 'And what do you mean, "a face like a smacked arse?" This is my face. I always look like this, thank you very much!'

'You're beautiful, Abbie, but lately your mouth has been in a permanent resting trout pout.'

'You cheeky–'

'No,' she interrupted, holding up her palm to the screen. 'As best friend, my chief duty is not to lie, unless it involves raiding your freezer for ice cream and snacks, or your cookie jar for those delicious home-baked ones you know I love, then denying all knowledge. You have the most radiant smile, Abbie, and it's been too long since I last saw it. But that discussion can wait for our next one-to-one, and trust me when I say I won't be pulling any punches, as enough is enough. Now, let's see this puke-inducing creation.'