Lindsey Kelk - I Heart New York

The aisle looks really, really long.

And my tiara feels so tight.

Can you put weight on around your head? Have I got muffin top on my scalp? And my shoes really hurt. No matter how beautiful or how expensive they might be, the balls of my feet feel as if theyve been up and down a cheese grater and then dipped in TCP.

I saw Mark standing at the end of the aisle, looking relaxed and happy. Well, I suppose he doesnt have to walk down it in four-inch Christian Louboutins and a fishtail floor-length gown. You cant even see the bloody shoes, Angela, I chide myself. Not even the tip of the toe.

And now my hands feel sweaty. Do I have sweat patches? I tried to sneak a peak under my arms without dislodging anything important from my bouquet.

Angela? Are you all right? Louisa frowned at me, a picture of perfection, calm as anything, immaculate make-up and not teetering a touch. And her heels are higher than mine.

Uh-huh, I replied, as eloquent as ever. Thank God its her wedding and not mine. And please God, while Im at it, could you not let Mark focus on what a shoddy bridesmaid Im turning out to be, just in case it puts him off setting our date. Seriously though, sweat patches would show horribly, the dress is a light coffee colour, specially selected to make me look sick as a dog.

I stumbled down the aisle behind Louisa, with a small smile for my mum and dad, looking appropriately happy whilst acknowledging the solemnity of the occasion. I really hope thats how I look, anyway. There is a good chance I look as if I am wondering whether or not Ive left my hair straighteners on. Shit! What if I have left my hair straighteners on?

Im always struck by how short wedding ceremonies are. The months of engagement, hours of planning, a whole weekend for the hen do even, and the lifelong deal was done inside twenty minutes and a couple of hymns. Even the photos took longer than the actual service.

I cant believe Im married! Louisa breathed. Wed got to the not-at-all cheesy bride and head bridesmaid smiling by a fountain section. Oh dear. The poses came naturally, wed been practising them with each other since we were old enough to hang pillowcases off the back of our heads, after all. Angela, can you believe it?

Of course I can, I said, squeezing her closely to me, ignoring the photographers direction. You and Tim have been practically married since you were fourteen.

We switched positions and paused to smile.

Click, flash.

Its just unreal, you know? She flicked a soft blonde curl over her shoulder and patted a stray light brown hair back into my chignon. Its really absolutely happened.

Click, flash.

Well, get ready, I said through a pearly smile. Itll be me and Mark next and youll be the one in the bridesmaid dress.

Have you talked any more about setting a date? Louisa asked, fussing with the puddle train behind her. Was I supposed to be doing that?

Not really, I shook my head. I mean, we talked about it all the time when you two finally set a date, but since Mark got promoted weve hardly had time to blink. You know how it is.

Louisa waved the photographer away for a moment. Mmm. I just mean, do you think youll definitely get married? To Mark, I mean?

Click, flashnot a good one.

I had to hold my hands to my eyes to get a proper look at Louisa. The August sun lit her from behind, obscuring her face and highlighting a halo of wispy blonde curls.

Of course, I said. Were engaged arent we?

She sighed and shook her head. Yeah, I just worry about you sweetness. With the wedding and stuff I feel like we havent really talked about you and Mark in ages.

Theres nothing new to tell you. You probably see him more than I do. At least you get your tennis time every single week.

I tried to get you to take up doubles, she muttered, messing with her hem again. I just want you to be as happy as I am right now. Oh, thats so patronizing, sorry. You know what I mean babe, just, be happy.

I am happy, I reassured her, taking her hand and closing in on the dress for a scaffolded hug. I am really happy.

Just after the speeches had finished but a little bit before the dancing began, I finally managed to escape to the loo.

The reception was being held in a converted barn, that only had two ladies cubicles, neither of which were big enough to turn around in, so I had escaped up to our room. I looked around at my scattered belongings. I carried my life in my massive, battered handbaglaptop, iPod, phone, a couple of knackered old books. Bits of make-up and scraps of clothes were strewn all over the room, contrasting with Marks carefully organized suitcase. A place for everything and everything in its place, even in a hotel.

I was happy, I thought to myself, flopping down on the bed and idly flicking the pages of one of my books with my toes. I had a fun job that was flexible, I had Louisa, the best friend in the world, and Id lost twenty pounds for this wedding, which had put me comfortably in the size twelve bridesmaid dress. I could even convince myself (if no one else) that a ten might have been a better fit. I wasnt horrible to look at, long, light brown hair, greeny-blue eyes and since I dropped the extra weight, Id discovered a pair of fairly impressive cheekbones. And I had Mark. Who wouldnt love a good-looking, up-and-coming banker boyfriend? He should think himself lucky, I tried to convince myself. Yes, hes got all his own hair, no hereditary diseases, a city banker salary, car and a mortgage, but Id been attending horribly humiliating weight loss classes for the last six months (it wasnt the weigh-ins that broke you, they were fine, it was the team leader who moonlighted as a dog trainer), I could cook and I cleaned the bathroom every Sunday without being asked. So no, sainthood didnt beckon, but I wasnt an awful girlfriend and wed been together for ever, since we were sixteen. Ten years. But Louisas words bothered me a little bit. Was I happy? Maybe more content than bouncing-off-the-sofa-like-Tom-Cruise-ecstatic, but thats still happy isnt it?

I looked at my engagement ring. Classic solitaire. Not huge or flashy trashy, but not magnifying glass necessitating tiny. Mark had bought it with his first paycheque and presented it to me on a holiday to Seville, post-pony and trap ride and pre-lovely sex back at our hotel room. It had seemed horribly romantic at the time, but now it just seemed a horribly long time ago. Shouldnt he be pushing me for a date? Just a little?

Dont be silly, I said out loud to my confused reflection. Louisa was probably just getting in front of herself, she was married now after all, I just hadnt expected her smug-married neuroses to kick in before shed even got out of the church. There was nothing wrong with me and Mark. Ten years of nothing wrong, why would I worry? I tried to slip my beautiful, beautiful heels back on but my left foot seemed to have gained ten of my twenty lost pounds. After five fruitless minutes of searching the suite for my standby flats, I accepted that my shoe bag hadnt made it out of the car. Which meant I would have to brave the drunken uncles, the dancing children high on wedding cake (I had seen balloons toothey were armed) and go to the car park.

Tiptoeing barefoot, Louboutins in hand, I searched for the car. Over in a dark corner, hidden beneath beautiful weeping willows was Marks Range Rover. When he had bought it six months before, Louisa had taken it as a direct sign that he was ready for kids. I saw it as a direct sign that he was not ever going to let me drive it on my own. So far, Id been the one proven right. Scrambling around in my handbag for the spare keys, I noticed that the reading light was on in the back. I smiled to myself, knowing Mark would be so happy that I had come out and saved his battery. Pressing the button to turn off the alarm, instead of the reassuring double pip, I was greeted by a loud siren and flashing indicators. Which was when I realized someone was inside the car.