The Ballroom Class by Lucy Dillon Read Free Book Online Page B

men.’
    Bridget laughed, and nudged her daughter – carefully, since Lauren’s driving was still a bit unpredictable – and they drove in companionable silence for a few minutes, passing the big new supermarket, the posh white villa that Bridget usually told her she’d like to buy if they won the Lottery, and even the 24-hour Donut Diner where Lauren sometimes pulled in to treat them.
    ‘Sorry,’ said Bridget, as they turned into Chestnut Grove. ‘Sorry for being such an old bag. I don’t like it when we fall out.’
    ‘That’s OK, Mum,’ said Lauren. ‘I just feel a bit torn. I don’t want to upset Irene, but I don’t want to upset you, either. And I’m sorry about the dresses. I wasn’t leaving you out. We can go this weekend if you want? I’ve got plenty I need to see.’
    ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Bridget. ‘There’s no need. Irene knows more about things like that than me. I just  . . .’ Her voice trailed off.
    Lauren parked outside their house. Her dad’s Rover was in the drive, and lights were on in the kitchen. She could see him pottering about, making a pot of tea, his red jumper making a splash of colour in the little square of light. She’d bought him that jumper a few Christmases back. Lauren was willing to bet he’d never had it on till she came home, and was only wearing it now to please her. ‘You just what?’
    Bridget sighed and looked wryly across the car. ‘It’s silly, I know, but I just  . . . I just want to be there when you pull back the changing-room curtain, and there you are – my little girl in a bridal gown. I need to get used to seeing you standing there, all grown up and beautiful, or else I’ll cry buckets on the big day and set you off, and set your father off, and then where will you be? You’ll have to get Irene to find some mother-of-the-bride-proof mascara.’
    Lauren heard a wobble in Bridget’s voice and tears sprang into her own eyes. ‘I know,’ she said, taking her hand off the wheel to squeeze her mother’s. Bridget immediately clasped it in her own, so Lauren felt the diamond and gold band squeeze against her solitaire. If she had a marriage as solid as her parents’, she and Chris would be OK. Forty years, next April, despite her mother’s terrible driving, her dad’s gardening obsession, and the foot height difference. ‘I’ve got a list of shops I need to go to – will you come with me, on Saturday?’
    ‘I’d love to, Laurie.’
    Bridget blinked back the tears threatening to spill. She wasn’t a crier, normally, but this wedding was worse than the menopause for hormonal mood swings. Lauren was grown up, with her wedding file and her mortgage leaflets, but not so grown up that she didn’t sometimes remind her of the cheery little girl she used to be, so eager to make her mum happy. She seemed very young to be getting married.
    A year older than you were , she reminded herself. But things were very different for her and Frank. Very different.
    Maybe it was just the shock of realising how much time had passed without her really noticing, until Lauren was now the age she still felt she was herself, inside, anyway. Maybe that was why it was so hard to say no, as the costs stacked up, and the mad wishlists got ever madder.
    ‘Mum?’ said Lauren, concerned. ‘Are you OK?’
    ‘Fine. I’m fine,’ she said, smiling away the mingled emotions rising up her throat. ‘Just hoping your dad hasn’t started to make the tea on his own.’
    Lauren smiled. ‘It’ll be the first time in years if he has.’
    ‘Right.’ Bridget ran a quick hand through her dark cropped hair, putting the wedding out of her head, and trying to remember if she had everything in to make her emergency tuna bake thing. ‘Better go and stop him before something gets burned, eh?’
    As Lauren watched her mother bustle up the path, calling out to her dad as she unlocked the door, she resigned herself to trying on every wedding dress in a twenty-mile radius – for