I was about to marry my childhood sweetheart, Paula Rother. I loved her, and she loved me, but it hadn’t been straightforward. After school, she went to Manchester University, while I went to work at a local accountant as a lowly paid-junior clerk. She said we were inseparable, but during the two years she was away, she met Graham.
I was heartbroken and knew I was beaten. He was incredibly bright, handsome, popular, and had wealthy parents. Apparently, everything he did was successful, and predictably, he left university with a 2.1 in law and a certain future.
On the other hand, I was unskilled, of a slight build, quite shy, and an orphan with an uncertain future. The only marked difference was that Graham was an arrogant, ruthless bastard, while I was not. Despite his charm and obvious assets, it hurts to think of Paula with him.
After university, they came back to our hometown and lived together with her parents, with the intention of marrying. Her mother was made up. Now her beautiful daughter had met a man worthy of her affection. I always knew she viewed me as unsuitable. Six months later, they had both secured good jobs in the city at the same prestigious law firm and announced they were to wed.
They organized a lavish engagement party, and he bought her a beautiful, sparkling diamond ring. I was incredibly jealous, yet I had a suspicion that Paula was not happy. On the surface, they seemed like an idyllic couple, loving and caring, but underneath, I could see cracks forming in the relationship. I knew her well and sensed all was not right.
I took my chance and homed in. She saw me secretly and told me about her mother’s ambitious wedding plans, how she hated the idea of a church wedding, and that her mother intended to see her married in her old wedding dress, but I didn’t care, as when we were together, it was as if we had never split.
She complained about Graham a lot. He apparently (surprise) was rude, arrogant, selfish, scruffy, and impolite. none of which I was, and she missed it, yet I couldn’t seem to persuade her to change her mind.
I was still thrilled, and then one night, when Graham stayed in London on business, she slept with me in my tiny flat. It was like old times, and she was intensely happy. On the spur of the moment, I bent down on one knee and used an old Coke can ring pull as a ring.
I laid my heart on the line, confessed my true feelings, and told her and Graham of my fears. She was stunned into silence and remained speechless for what seemed like minutes. Eventually, she spoke, and what she said sent shivers down my spine.
‘Yes,’ she said.
I couldn’t believe her at first, but she confessed to having doubts about Graham and how I was her first love. She told me of the pressure her mother put her under, and she felt railroaded into the relationship.
This was a fabulous development, but not everyone was pleased. When Paula broke the news to her mother, she was furious. I was back on the scene, and she was incredibly disappointed that I’d so-called ruined her daughters’ lives. She tried to dissuade me, as expected and put Paula off.
She called me effeminate, a hopeless man, a born loser unable to father children, but I didn’t care; Paula was going to be mine. Graham, as you can imagine, was equally pissed off. I even thought he might hit me, but after a few weeks of hurling abuse and a threatening letter, he moved out of Paula’s and seemed to disappear off the scene, or so I thought.
It was a simple matter of simply changing his name to mine on the invites. Paula’s mother was still furious, of course. And now I had a problem of the service and the dress. Paula’s mom wanted her princess to have a fairytale wedding with all the trimmings, but as I knew, Paula didn’t.
She wasn’t the type; she was a tomboy and rarely wore a skirt, let alone a dress, and she just didn’t appreciate the pomp and ceremony of a church wedding. The mere thought of wearing her mother’s beautiful wedding dress filled her with horror. I couldn’t see the fuss, and one day I walked into her room and saw her mother’s famed dress hanging on a tailor’s mannequin. To my surprise, I took a deep breath.
My legs were weak, and I felt giddy. It was breathtaking, but try as I might, I couldn’t imagine Paula wearing it.
Alone I studied it closer. The dress was snow white, and the ornate bodice had little pearls, beads, and sequins sewn all over it. It had shoestring straps but looked as if it could be worn off the shoulder and had zips at the back.
It was amazing and must have cost a small fortune. In the corner of her room hung a hopped underskirt, a train, and an underskirt consisting of at least seven layers of tulle.
I imagined how they would really puff the dress right out for a true fairytale Cinderella-style gown, and I chuckled; it was so unlike Paula. I fingered the pretty dress fondly but knew with some disappointment that it would be unlikely to be worn again.
It really wasn’t Paula’s style. I’d never seen her in anything particularly feminine. I daydreamed for a moment and was rudely awoken by the bedroom door flying open.
Her mother, still angry with me, walked in and scowled. Paula was by her side, equally cross.
‘We have to arrange a fitting. My friend Joyce will help.’ Mrs. Rother cried, her voice at fever pitch.
‘I’m not wearing your stupid dress,’ Paula says sharply. ‘I’ve told you before.’
I wince as Mrs. Rother looks fit to explode, so I try to help. ‘It’s lovely,’ I say merrily. ‘Paula, you’ll look very pretty.’
Paula glared at me angrily.
‘If you love her bloody dress so much, you wear it,’ Paula screamed.
That was it. Those few words set her mother thinking, and in a desperate bid to stop the wedding, she suggested to Paula that we swap roles. Most normal brides would perish, but not Paula, who loved the idea. I’m not sure if it was a way of irritating her mother, but I couldn’t believe my ears.
‘You’re kidding me,’ I gasp. But she wasn’t.
‘Nonsense, it’s a great idea. The dress will suit you so well. The bodice will accentuate your shapely figure, and the delicate sleeves will make you look so young and slender,’ Mrs. Rother smirks, and I shuffle awkwardly.
‘I can see you now,’ she continues mockingly, ‘with your long glossy hair tied back, your face beautifully made-up, a colorful floral bouquet in your tiny manicured hands, and your idyllic bridesmaids holding your pretty train as you step majestically down the aisle in heels.’
She sighed and patted her dress lovingly. ‘This dress brings so many happy memories back of my wonderful day with your father, Paula. I’m so glad you suggested it. I would have preferred you to be wearing it, but alternatively, I couldn’t think of a better person. You’ll make me so happy.’ She smiles and screws her eyes like a witch.
‘I can’t wear your dress,’ I cry. ‘I’d be a laughing stock.’
‘That’s a shame then,’ Mrs. Rother says menacingly. ‘I had my heart on my dress being worn again. If it’s not Paula, it will have to be you; otherwise, the wedding is off. You won’t get our blessing; Paula’s father wouldn’t give you away, and you can pay for it yourself.’
Put that way, I didn’t have a great deal of choice. I wanted to marry Paula so much, but with no money to pay for the wedding myself and desperately wanting her mother’s approval, I saw no other alternative. Paula was adamant she wasn’t going to back down, and the more she thought about me wearing the exquisite wedding dress (and how it upset her mother), the more excited she became.
‘Deal,’ I said reluctantly, in the misguided belief that at the last minute, they’d both change their minds.
‘Excellent,’ Mrs. Rother grinned like a suitcase, unzipping on three sides. ‘I have to say, despite your obvious inadequateness when the chips are down, you always do the right thing. It hasn’t done you much good, of course, but I’m proud of you anyway. Now then strip and lead the way.’
‘Not so fast,’ I folded my arms in a manly gesture of steely resolution, but I had a nasty feeling that it just made me look as if I had an upset stomach.
READ THE STORY — I Was The Bride
