CARLOTTA'S WEDDING: SHORT FICTION BY PAULA PUDDEPHATT
It was my cousin, Carlotta's, wedding. She was barely twenty-one, the only daughter of my mother's younger sister. That is, my aunt, Rose.
Mum and Rose had always been competitive, when it came to their respective daughters. But Mum didn't cite any achievements of her eldest daughter: myself. She focused, naturally, upon my sister, Amanda. The prettier daughter, not "you know, that as a mother...I wouldn't have said so myself, of course..." The "you know, had such a good job, at that insurance company" daughter. The "and, of course, now she's married to a lovely man, with four girls of her own" daughter.
Carlotta had dressed in virginal white, as had my sister, when she and David had got married. Frankly, neither had much claim to the whole "white wedding" business, but never mind. It was usually more about locating a convenient rug, under which all things remotely disagreeable could be duly swept.
The reception was held at Rose's. And, for my part, I was knocking back champagne, as if it were supermarket own brand wine. Alcohol, to my mind, was alcohol. And, right then, alcohol was essential to my survival.
My mother and Rose were engaged in the boasting contest to end all boasting contests. Seriously, if they made bragging about one's daughters into an Olympic event, those two would be competing for gold.
I had tuned out, maybe ten minutes ago. Ten? Fifteen? Difficult to judge.
"Where have Amanda and David got to, anyway? And the girls?" asked Mum, when I started to listen again, and it occurred to me that her words were directed towards myself.
I opened my mouth to reply.
"Oh, there they are! Mandy - over here, darling!"
And they really were the perfect family. Family album perfect. Instagram aesthetically perfect. Twelve-year-old Katherina; Arabella, aged ten; and eight-year-old identical twins, Victoria and Sylvie. All blonde and glowing, blue-eyed and shimmering, exactly like our Mandy, and like David. A lot like Carlotta, too.
Carlotta, who was about to start a life with new husband Tom, or so she thought. But perhaps not. Not if what he'd told me last night was true. And he had reassured me, again and again. The ridiculously extravagant wedding ceremony meant nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Tom had been mine, long before Carlotta had shoehorned her way into our lives.
For once, the outcome would be in my favour. I checked my watch. Checked in my handbag, for the plane tickets.
It was my turn. My happy ending, for a change.
I tried, once again, to catch Tom's eye, across the crowded room.
