They were in the home of the woman who made nearly all the gypsy wedding outfits in the country; she was known throughout the land as the go-to person for a knockout dress. Claire had been in the changing room with her sister Trace assisting her, struggling into the vast wedding gown that had been a work in progress for months. Now she came out, and her mother was instantly in floods of tears as she stared at her eldest daughter in a dress that was like something out of a fairy tale.

Claire looked like an angel. The dress was a huge beautiful powder puff of a gown, sparkling with five thousand crystals and studded with artificial pearls. It looked wonderful and Claire felt like a queen wearing it. No matter that she could barely stand in it, let alone walk. The finished gown that they’d all slaved over for so long was a triumph. It weighed around five stone and Claire thought she’d have to take it off soon because the corset on the bodice was killing her, and her hips felt bruised and would soon start to bleed. But fuck it, who cared? The dress was fabulous.

‘Mum? What do you think?’ she asked, beaming with pride.

‘You look lovely,’ said Eva. ‘Breathtaking.’

Even Tracey looked pleased, and Trace was a real misery, unlike sunny Claire. The glass was always half-empty to dark-haired and painfully plain Trace, never half-full. It was as if the fates had bestowed all the good looks and warm nature they had to spare on Claire, and forgotten sixteen-year-old Trace’s share.

‘So everything’s nearly ready then,’ said Claire, squeezing her sister’s hand.

Trace was to be Claire’s bridesmaid, one of seven, and Claire had chosen stunning turquoise gowns for her attendants to wear on the big day, and dainty feathered bouquets for them to carry. The wedding was going to be the Romany ‘do’ of the year. The church was booked, the wedding breakfast sorted, the flowers selected, the photographer set straight about which family groups to do on the day; they wanted a huge wedding album, the very best. There would be one of the relatives’ carriages all spruced up and pulled by two dazzling white ponies to get Claire and her dad Pally to the church, and there would be a monster truck kitted out like a disco to get Josh and his best man there on time.

She knew Josh hated the fuss and would have been happier with a simple register office do, but all the graft was done now.

‘I can’t believe it,’ said Claire, eyeing herself in the full-length mirror. Soon, she and Josh would be man and wife. She couldn’t wait.

Her big day was coming at last.