Half an hour. How had Dad thought he would be able to get in and out of the home in time to make that? Classic scatterbrain. They’d have missed this appointment if I hadn’t agreed to go, or she would have ended up going alone. This was like my good deed for the year, maybe even the decade. That remained to be seen.

We were greeted at the door to Pronuptuous by a woman with a mess of gray curls bound up in a colorful headscarf, some completely indecipherable age between sixty and a hundred.

“Come on in, girls, come on in,” she ushered us in, in delighted tones. I had been expecting someone younger, snooty and disdainful, because my only experience of wedding dress shops was from TV and films. Everything else was fairly spot on, though. She led us into a huge dressing room with so many reflective surfaces I felt like I was in a hall of mirrors. Why would anyone want to see every inch of themselves at once? Some things are better left unseen if you ask me. The old lady pushed a glass of something bubbly into my hand and I obliged, taking a sip. There was a plate of chocolate truffles wrapped in gold paper too. Oh well, it would be rude not to partake.

“OK now, dear, tell me what is it you’re looking for? A-line, flared, trumpet, ball gown, tea length, princess, mermaid, sheath, sweep train, court train, panel train, watteau train, chapel train, cathedral train, no train at all—” The woman took a breath.

“Uh . . .” Beth blinked several times.

“Cathedral veil, chapel veil, waltz veil, mantilla, double-tier veil, square neckline, scoop, V-neck, sweetheart, Grecian, bateau, sheer, off the shoulder, Queen Anne, halter, strapless, basque waist, dropped waist—”

“Stop.” Beth held a hand up. “Words have lost all meaning now.”

The woman chuckled. “One of those,” she said, without judgment.

“One of what?” Beth asked.

“The ones who don’t know what they want. There’s two ends of the spectrum, dear. The brides who know exactly what they want down to the number of sequins on the bodice, and the ones who have no clue. Worry not, Barbara knows what you want before you do.”

I stuffed one of the chocolates in my gob and shrugged at Beth. I guessed this was Barbara.

“OK, let me see you.” Barbara made the universal gesture for “give me a twirl” and Beth turned slowly and uncertainly on the spot.

“Well, you have a cracking figure, dear, but no tits whatsoever.”

Beth’s eyes widened in disbelief and I burst out laughing, dribbling chocolate mush on my chin.

“It’s nothing to laugh about,” Barbara said, shaking her head at me. “It is what it is. We must be honest with ourselves.” She turned again to Beth. “Do you want the chicken fillets then or are you happy enough as you are?”

“As I am,” Beth said, bewildered, “I suppose.”