Camille stood beside her and together in the mirror they looked like the yin and yang bridesmaids, or maybe Superbridesmaid and her not quite evil twin. ‘I know,’ Camille said with a self-approving glance. ‘Say what you like about the stuck up old bag, she’s got great taste,’ she said with a giggle. ‘Shhhhhhhhhh.’ I looked hastily over my shoulder. ‘She’ll be back any moment with the dress!’ I pulled my mother-in-law-to-be’s oversized white towelling bathrobe around me even more tightly and breathed in deeply and then out deeply trying to remain calm and poised – a calm and poised bride-to-be. ‘What is this colour anyway?’ Dora said, ignoring me. ‘Is it puce?’ I remained calm and looked at her, a picture of serenity. ‘No. It is not puce. It’s Winter Cranberry,’ I said with deliberate calmness, tapping my foot and looking at the clock. ‘Where has she gone with that dress? It’s almost twelve; we’re supposed to be at the church by one.’ I closed my eyes and imagined Fergus in his hotel room, tying his cravat or trying to.
