Gypsy Wedding (17 page)

‘Obviously not,’ said Vicky, ‘considering I’d chucked it.’ But she was stung by Shania’s words.

‘You ought to go for something like this.’ Shania dropped the discarded design and opened the bridal magazine. ‘Here.’ She thrust the open page under her sister’s nose. It was a picture of a classic ‘meringue’ wedding dress. Very pretty, yes, but deeply unoriginal. There was nothing wrong with it and yet there was nothing right with it either. But Vicky knew that if she didn’t come up with an idea of her own soon she’d end up wearing something almost exactly like it.

Maybe, she conceded to herself, she’d put off thinking about her own dress for just a little too long, because if she didn’t get a design nailed before Saturday she’d be stuck with one of the dressmaker’s ideas and Vicky could imagine what that would be like.

The next day, at college, while she was supposed to be working on a project using carded wool, she was doodling in her sketchbook.

‘This isn’t like you,’ said Mrs Mead.

Vicky jumped guiltily and tried to slide her pad out of sight. ‘Sorry, miss.’ She began to apply herself to her work.

‘What’s this?’ Mrs Mead had pulled the pad round so she could look at the sketch. ‘You going to a ball or something?’

‘No.’

‘But this is lovely. Is this just an idea for a dress?’

‘Sort of.’

‘You’re not planning on making it up?’

‘Not really.’

‘That’s a shame, it’d look lovely on you.’

‘Thank you.’

After Mrs Mead had gone to check on the work of some other students Vicky drew the pad back towards her. Was the dress really any good? Did she trust her teacher to give her the absolute truth? What if she explained to Mrs Mead what the dress was really for, might she be able to make some suggestions?

After class she hung back, ignoring the snide comment from Leah about being teacher’s pet. She approached Mrs Mead’s desk.

‘Have you a problem, Vicky? Are the girls still giving you a hard time?’

‘Yes, no … it’s not about the others,’ Vicky said.

‘Okay. So what’s up?’

‘It’s about that dress I was sketching.’

Mrs Mead nodded.

‘The dress is for me.’

‘And?’

I was wondering if you could help me a bit with it.’

Mrs Mead smiled broadly, flattered to have the trust of this girl. ‘I’ll help in any way I can.’

‘It’s just … it’s my wedding dress.’

‘
Wedding
?’ blurted out Mrs Mead in shock before she could stop herself.

‘Us travellers get wed young. Mine’s next summer.’

‘But you’re only a child!’

‘I’m seventeen, and I’ll be almost eighteen by then,’ said Vicky defensively.

‘I know but …’ Mrs Mead sighed and shook her head. ‘… it’s none of my business.’

‘It’s all right, miss. I know our ways seem strange. My mate Kelly doesn’t get it either but we’re happy as we are.’

‘Are you?’

‘Of course.’

Mrs Mead didn’t look convinced but she let the matter drop. ‘So all those bridesmaids’ dresses you’ve been making are for your own wedding, not a friend’s.’

Vicky nodded.

‘And they are quite remarkable. Really very accomplished.’ She paused. ‘Look, Vicky, I am
not
going to nag you but I really,
really
want you to consider your future.’

‘I know what you’re on about, but it’s not going to happen.’

‘What?’

‘Me – having a career. After I’m wed I keep house, I have kids and I don’t work.’

‘That’s criminal. Not that you shouldn’t want to be a good wife, but it’s criminal that you’re going to waste your ability. Surely your parents would be proud of you if you made something of yourself.’

Vicky shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. And I don’t think I’d be happy going out on a limb like that. I once had a dream of having my own shop. I saw
My Fair Lady
a couple of years ago and I thought Eliza Doolittle had a great idea, wanting her own shop and all. But if people knew it was a shop run by a pikey I just know no one would come to it.’

‘You don’t know that.’

‘Come off it, miss. You saw how the girls were when they found out.’

‘But when people see the sort of designs you do, the quality of the work …’

‘I’d still be a pikey, though, wouldn’t I?’

‘That is so unfair.’

‘Trust me, when you come from travelling stock one of the very first lessons you ever learn in life is that nothing is fair.’

‘You sound very cynical for someone so young,’ Mrs Mead said sadly. ‘I can’t imagine what it’s like for you – but I do sympathise. So,’ she said, her tone becoming brisk as she changed the subject, ‘how would you like me to help with this dress of yours?’

‘I want something special, obviously, but traveller girls always go for the Disney princess look. I want something different.’

Mrs Mead nodded. ‘Okay. So rather than copy a cartoon princess, why not copy a real one.’

‘What – like Eugenie or Beatrice?’ Vicky didn’t think either girl had enough style to be some sort of role model.

‘No, not them. An historical princess. How about looking at pictures of people like Queen Victoria when she was young, or Queen Elizabeth the First? And given that your bridesmaids’ dresses are in such a classic style and dark green, if you did your dress in ivory it would look amazing. I’ve got some pictures, would you like to see if those give you any ideas?’

And as Mrs Mead brought up the images on her laptop an idea for a dress, a dress that Vicky found was really exciting her, began to form in her mind.

When Mary-Rose, Vicky and Shania got to the dressmaker’s shop on Saturday, Vicky was astounded at the range of fabrics, trimmings and patterns that were kept on the premises. To someone interested in textiles, the shop was a total Aladdin’s cave. Wide-eyed, Vicky wandered around the bolts of fabrics, chiffons, tulles, satins, silks and polyesters that all came in rainbow colours, fingering the various textures and qualities, admiring the sequins, crystals and embroidery that ornamented many of them. If there was a heaven on earth, she felt she’d just found it. Shania, meanwhile, was leafing through the pattern books and the albums of photographs of other dresses that had been ordered by previous traveller brides.

‘Oh my God,’ she exclaimed, ‘butterflies. I love them. I want butterflies.’

‘We’ll do your dress another time,’ said Mary-Rose. ‘Let’s just concentrate on Vicky’s right now.’

Shania looked thunderously sulky but she had the sense not to argue and continued to flip through the pictures.

From the back of the workshop swept a woman with improbably red hair and over-plucked eyebrows, which gave her a permanently astonished expression.

‘Welcome. I’m Paulette,’ she said in a heavy Brummie accent, ‘and which one of you beautiful ladies is the bride to be?’

Mary-Rose giggled. ‘It’s my eldest, Vicky. Not me, naturally.’

Puh-lease
, thought Vicky as she came forward to shake Paulette’s hand.

‘So, what theme are you having for your wedding? Tropical paradise? Sleeping Beauty? Cinderella?’

Vicky shook her head. ‘I’ve been making the bridesmaids’ dresses …’

Paulette’s eyebrows went even higher. ‘You?’

Vicky shrugged rather diffidently. ‘I’m doing textiles at college.’

Paulette still looked unconvinced. ‘Can you show me what you’ve done so far?’ Her tone of voice seemed to convey, in that one short sentence, her personal belief that everything would have to be unpicked and reworked.

Vicky went over to where she’d dumped her stuff and hauled over a massive carrier bag. ‘This is one of them,’ she said, pulling out the dark green satin bodice and skirt. ‘I haven’t done the underskirts yet. Maybe you have something we could use to give the effect of how it’ll look when I have.’

Paulette pulled over a dressmaker’s dummy. ‘Put it on that so I can see it properly.’ She still sounded underwhelmed. While Vicky was busy arranging the bodice on the hessian-covered body form, Paulette went to another part of the workshop and pulled a net underskirt off a hanger.

‘This’ll give us an idea, although I imagine you’ll want something much bigger. This petticoat isn’t really right but it’ll do for now.’

Once that was in place the two manoeuvred the main part of the dress over it and attached it to the bodice.

‘There,’ said Vicky, pushing a lock of hair off her face and standing back to admire her dress. It was the first time she’d seen it at its best with the net underskirt giving it some of the volume and shape she’d wanted. As she looked at it she reckoned that it would need about double the fabric and maybe a crinoline. She’d have to think about that when it was time to make them. She pushed the issue of the size of the petticoats to the back of her mind as it wasn’t a matter that needed dealing with then and there and watched Paulette as she wandered round the green dress, examining it from all angles.

‘Quite nice,’ conceded Paulette finally, fingering the gold braid trim and the intricate embroidery. ‘So what have you got in mind for yours? Only, as a general rule, we do things the other way round here. We get the bride’s dress sorted and then the bridesmaids’ dresses are designed to fit with that.’

‘I know but I think my idea will work.’

Paulette looked sceptical.

Vicky produced her sketchbook and flipped open a page. ‘You see, other girls want to be a fairy-tale princess, but I want to be a real one. And as I’m called Vicky – well, Victoria – I thought I’d base my idea on a dress she wore before she became queen, when she was Princess Victoria. But then I found this.’ She unclipped a postcard-sized reproduction of an oil painting. ‘This is one of Queen Victoria’s daughters in her own wedding dress, and I love it. So I’ve sketched an idea for a dress based on it.’ She flipped to another page in her sketchbook and held out her drawing to Paulette.

‘Oh, yeah.’ But despite the lack of enthusiasm in Paulette’s voice Vicky noticed she was peering closely at her sketch.

‘And if we made it in ivory silk with dark green trim and gold embroidery I think it would look really stunning.

‘Maybe.’ But there was a hint of a thaw in Paulette’s voice.

‘Let me see,’ said Mary-Rose. She turned the pad so she could look. ‘Oh, Vicky. I take it all back, that’s a lovely dress.’

‘And I’d want a plain, diamanté tiara and a really simple veil.’

‘With a dress like this you don’t want anything too fussy,’ agreed Paulette. She turned away from the sketch and went over to the ranks and ranks of fabric. At the end of one row she pulled out a huge roll of ivory damask. ‘I think something like this would work,’ she said.

Vicky could tell from the tone of her voice that Paulette had been won over. And what with her mother on side as well, Vicky knew that her design had been accepted. She just wished that this dress and the bridesmaids’ frocks weren’t going to be the sum total of her creative output. Despite the words of encouragement from Mrs Mead earlier that week, Vicky couldn’t see how she could possibly make a commercial success of her skills like Paulette obviously had. She didn’t think she had the strength to fight the two battles that would be required: the battle needed to flout travellers’ attitudes towards working women and the battle against the public attitude towards travellers. One might be possible but both? No chance.

On the Monday Vicky sought Kelly out as soon as she got to college.

‘I thought you’d like to see this.’ She got out her mobile and showed Kelly a picture she’d taken of the dress, complete with its underskirt.

Despite the fact that Kelly already knew what the dress looked like she was blown away to see the dress brought into its proper shape by the addition of petticoats. ‘Oh my God, Vicky. That is just the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. You are so talented. You really should take it up professionally.’ Vicky was about to tell Kelly that the petticoats were a fraction of the proper size when they were joined by Mrs Mead, who took the phone from Kelly so she could have a good look too.

‘That’s what I keep telling her. Yes, stunning. Just as good as anything a proper bridal house could come up with.’

‘Thank you,’ mumbled Vicky, embarrassed by such praise.

‘I’ll see you in class in a minute, Vicky,’ said Mrs Mead, moving away. ‘You can tell me all about your design for your own dress and how you got on, then.’

Kelly glanced at her watch. ‘We’ve time for a quick coffee in the canteen if you want one.’

Vicky nodded. ‘Yeah, we’ve got fifteen minutes.’

‘So,’ said Kelly, as they stood in the queue waiting to get served. ‘What’s the low-down?’

‘The dressmaker was quite nice about my design.’

‘
Quite
nice – is that the best she could do? It’s stunning and you know it.’

The girls grabbed their coffees and took them over to a table.

‘Yeah, well,’ said Vicky as they sat down opposite each other, ‘I don’t think she liked the fact that I wasn’t using one of hers.’