A Life in Frocks by Kelly Doust

Author:Kelly Doust
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Allen & Unwin
Published: 2016-07-14T04:00:00+00:00

Our wedding was lovely, really it was. Once James got over the shock of realising I might not be coming at all.

We read our vows among closest friends and family—just over twenty of them in all—in a chocolate box English setting. Afterwards, we wandered down a picturesque, winding lane together, hemmed in by hedges on one side and ancient stone cottages on the other, friends trailing behind us as the photographer snapped away unobtrusively a few steps ahead. Unable to say anything, we couldn’t stop giggling, bubbling over with nervous energy which gently dissipated into pure happiness.

I swept my frock off the ground as a rally of AC Cobras (James’s favourite car) drove by slowly, the drivers and their wives grinning and waving at us, and shouting congratulations; we considered ourselves properly blessed. Then off to a stately home, owned by friends of my in-laws, where we were served champagne and appetisers in the gardens. The grounds were so opulent and well-tended, the owners opened them at certain times of the year to the public; it was to be kept private that day, just for us. And we had more pictures taken over the next half hour, because we couldn’t bear to be away from everyone any longer, and felt silly posing. (Wedding photographers really do encourage you to stand in some awkward positions—we’d cautioned ours against it but he had a will of his own the day of the wedding, and so we decided it was easier to go along with him rather than argue and ruin the moment … At least we managed to avoid any garter-belt revealing, though he certainly tried, and I wasn’t wearing one, anyway.)

After the stressful, mad dash to the service and a few champagnes to soothe my jangling nerves, I finally settled happily into the role of bride, less-than-perfect appearance and exhaustion forgotten. The rest of the afternoon and evening passed in a dream, as we were ferried back to the farm to meet almost eighty guests in the barn’s adjoining marquee, all of whom had been invited for cocktails, dancing and the wedding feast. The string quartet became a trio, after the fellow with the violin got lost on the other side of the county, but I doubt anyone noticed. It was James’s turn to be nervous, and he disappeared into the house to rewrite his speech, leaving me to greet the guests in a state of high excitement.

The photos reveal a bit of emptiness around the top area of my frock (I lost 3 kilos the week of the wedding from stress and forgetting to eat and it all seemed to come from here) but, at the time, I didn’t notice. In every photo I look washed out; the little make-up I had worn quickly disappeared, without a thought in my head to re-apply it, and bits of my hair escaped from the elegant style. My eyes are puffy and dark; lines are clearly visible. I look several years older than my twenty-seven years.

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