A Family Holiday: A heartwarming summer romance for fans of Katie Fforde

‘You’re late, Charlie!’

Charlie glanced at her watch. ‘Three minutes!’

‘They don’t like it when you’re late,’ said Fleur, turning her back on Charlie and leading the way under the scalloped canopy and inside.

‘They don’t like me, whatever time I’m here,’ mumbled Charlie as the door triggered a disturbingly elongated buzzing noise to announce their arrival.

An overly made-up young woman appeared instantly. ‘Good Morning, Miss Van Benton, final fitting for the last of the bridesmaids,’ she said, her eyes flicking to the clock.

‘Yes, I’m sorry we’re late,’ said Fleur, with an involuntary nod towards Charlie. ‘Three minutes!’ mouthed Charlie. It seemed a funny little shop to Charlie; three wedding dresses were displayed on one wall, next to a giant arched mirror. Cream high-backed chairs, a matching chaise longue and low glass tables were strewn with designer brochures but still failed to make the place look welcoming.

‘I understand,’ said the shop assistant briskly. ‘Shall we get along?’

Charlie followed them out of the sparse room, through a narrow corridor and into a fitting room decorated like a French palace. Charlie went to place her Ladurée bag on the chaise longue, this time in a shade of deep purple, but the glare of the shop assistant made her think better of it, so at the last second relegated it to a place on the floor. The shop assistant, who Charlie remembered was called Amber, proceeded to undo probably the longest zip in the world. Charlie followed it all the way to the top of the specialist dress carrier. Instantly the insipid flesh-coloured dress poured out like something out of a horror film. It was a colour that Fleur had spent the last two months insisting was ‘peaches and cream’. Charlie swallowed hard, trying to dispel the terror she knew was written all over her face and quickly checked that Fleur wasn’t watching her. It was worse than she’d remembered.

Fleur was clapping her hands together excitedly. ‘Isn’t it simply divine?’ she said, stepping closer to it and slowly reaching out a tentative hand to touch it. Charlie couldn’t be less impressed if she tried but this was Fleur’s special day and she wanted it to be perfect for her. But this dress was pushing their long friendship to the limits.

‘It’s…’ Charlie frantically searched her tired brain for the right word and settled on the closest she could find, ‘special,’ she said.

‘Oh, you’re right. It is. Isn’t it?’ this time Fleur turned to Amber, who had now unleashed the full awfulness of the dress. Amber nodded earnestly and Charlie rolled her eyes and wondered how much you had to be paid to be that convincing to deluded strangers.

‘Do you need help getting dressed?’ offered Amber.

‘No thanks, I’ve managed all right for twenty-odd years, I think I’ll be okay,’ Charlie was aware of the dagger glances Fleur was hurling in her direction, so she quickly added, ‘but that was really kind of you to offer. Thank you.’

Amber studied Charlie’s trainers. ‘I’ll bring you some suitable heels to try on with it. That way you get the full effect,’ said Amber. ‘What size?’

‘Eight and half,’ said Charlie, but quickly altered it as a result of the look of revulsion on Amber’s face, ‘Eight is fine. Thanks.’ Amber gave a practised neutral smile and left the room.

Charlie was very pleased with herself as she had remembered to wear her best matching underwear in a soft cream. This was a big improvement on her slightly grey sports bra and her red Mickey Mouse pants that she had worn to the first fitting without having properly thought it through.

‘Before I forget, here’s your hair piece for the wedding,’ Fleur said, handing her a cord-strung bag.

‘Right. Why do I need that again?’ asked Charlie, running a hand through her mass of dark hair.

‘We’re all having seriously big up–dos, so you’ll need it. Trust me,’ said Fleur with a giggle. Charlie peered into the bag and eyed what looked like something that had been run over many times.

‘Great,’ said Charlie, using up the last of her fake enthusiasm.

Fleur hopped about excitedly while Charlie turned herself into the sugar puke fairy. Charlie stared forlornly at herself in the giant mirror. It was difficult to tell where the dress ended and where Charlie started. The only bit that obviously wasn’t Charlie was the obscene number of layers in the skirt. If it got too much on the day she could always smuggle all four of the children out underneath it, she thought.

‘What are you thinking?’ asked Fleur.

How fabulous you will look compared to me in this, I look like a negative of Barbie, but what she actually said was, ‘How lovely we’ll all look.’

‘You should have seen Tilly in hers. She looked totally stunning. I’m not standing too close to her!’ squealed Fleur.

Tilly was another of Fleur’s bridesmaids and her best friend from the very posh private school they had both attended. Tilly had an olive complexion and neat straight caramel hair so stood a fighting chance in the dress, unlike Charlie with her pale skin and mop of unruly black curls – she looked beyond anaemic in the dress.

Amber announced her presence and came back in. She handed Charlie some sling-back pinpoint high heels for her to balance on and proceeded to stalk around her like a wolf surveying its prey. ‘Have you lost weight?’ she asked with a disbelieving look.

‘Might have done. Don’t know. I don’t weigh myself regularly.’ Come to think of it, Charlie had noticed that she’d had to do up the belt on her jeans another notch. Amber fussed around the waist and shoulders and tutted to herself. She grabbed a handful of dress at the back and nearly pulled Charlie off the silly little pin heels.

‘Steady on!’ said Charlie, resisting the urge to clout Amber.

‘Sorry. But look at this, it’s all excess,’ she indicated the mass of material in her fist.

‘You really should have let us know if you were dieting. This will have to be altered.’ Charlie started to protest, but Fleur was already wincing with embarrassment so she stopped and shrugged instead. At a guess the stress of everything must have impacted her weight.

‘Can you do it in time for the wedding?’ asked Fleur in a small voice and Charlie instantly felt for her. This wedding mattered so much to her. Charlie couldn’t imagine getting that caught up in something. It wasn’t healthy, but she sympathised with Fleur all the same. Amber was sucking in air though her teeth like a car mechanic shortly before they tell you that your car is terminally ill.

‘We’ll do our best, but it is a very busy time of year.’

‘We need to know a definite yes or no,’ said Charlie firmly.

‘I should think so,’ offered Amber, but seeing the glint in Charlie’s eye she added, ‘Yes. Of course Miss Van Benton, we won’t let you down.’

Fleur started to breathe properly again. Amber fussed some more and used the thinly veiled excuse of marking where alterations were needed, to stick pins in Charlie. When she’d finished she gave Charlie a last once-over. ‘I take it you’ll be getting rid of those t-shirt tan lines with a spray tan? Otherwise it will detract from the dress.’

It was all Charlie could do not to batter her with the Ladurée macarons, but they simply weren’t heavy enough to do a proper job.

‘I bought macarons,’ said Charlie, placing the bag on the table and suddenly commanding the full attention of every child. The children oohed and aahed as they opened the large box and studied the intensely coloured contents. Ted grabbed a pistachio green macaroon, stuffed it in whole and slid off the sofa. He gave Charlie a nudge and she followed him out of the room and downstairs into the kitchen.

Ted slumped against the wall and casually crossed his legs. He glanced at Charlie through his fringe. I must take these children to a hairdresser, she thought.

‘Thought you should know that Elle was crying again,’ said Ted, his voice flat.

‘Right, what did you do?’

He shrugged. ‘Just hugged her and fed her ice-cream.’

‘Good call,’ said Charlie with a smile.

‘And Granddad Roger rang and someone called Jonathan too, but he mumbled a lot.’

‘Right, thanks,’ said Charlie, as a thought struck her. Perhaps Roger could be the guardian? He was family and, unlike Ruth, he liked Charlie. Perhaps Roger was the answer to their problems and she started to think about how she could broach this with him, the solicitors and Social Services.

A bundle of screams came flying down the stairs with Wriggly in the lead. He appeared to be wearing a pink tutu and he was carrying something black and hairy in his mouth. Charlie’s first thought was that it was a rat, but she quickly dismissed it as she’d never seen a longhaired rat and Wriggly simply wasn’t that brave. That stupid, perhaps, but certainly not that brave. As he came past Charlie’s feet she grabbed him and he went into wriggle overdrive.

‘Charlie we couldn’t stop him, honest,’ said Eleanor breathlessly.

‘What is it?’ said Charlie, trying to part Wriggly from the mass of black. ‘It’s my hair piece for the wedding!’ she said, as realisation dawned and she gave one more tug to free most of it from Wriggly’s jaw. He started frantically trying to spit out the stray pieces that had been left behind. Charlie put the dog down and surveyed the hairpiece. It was now a ball of knotted hair.

‘Oh God, I’ll look like a budget Amy Winehouse impersonator!’

‘Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!’ chanted Millie happily.

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