Gypsy Wedding (18 page)

‘Tough. Doesn’t she like the competition?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe she doesn’t like the fact she’s not getting the gig to make all the bridesmaids’ dresses. That would have been worth a bit of cash to her.’

‘So you should think about getting paid for your work like she does.’

‘You don’t listen, do you?’ said Vicky. ‘It’s all right for you; you’ll finish here, go off to a salon somewhere and get a job. But me …’ She stopped, unable to continue, awash with self-pity.

‘Oh come on, hon,’ said Kelly, reaching across the table and taking Vicky’s hand. ‘There has to be a way round this for you. Really there does. Getting married can’t be an end to everything.’

But Vicky knew differently. She was going to be like a pop-singer with a one-hit wonder. As far as the world of fashion was concerned, her bridesmaids’ dresses were going to be her debut and her swan song, all rolled into one.

Back in the classroom, her eyes dried and her head held high, Vicky sat down in her customary place. The other girls drifted in and, as usual, made a show of locking away their bags and purses before sitting as far away from her as they could. Although Vicky was used to it now, it still hurt and as she was already feeling raw, today it was doubly unpleasant. What had she ever done to deserve this sort of attitude? She’d never said anything mean or spiteful, she’d never lashed out at any of them, despite some nasty provocation, she hadn’t lied or cheated to get them in trouble – although she’d been tempted. She’d had quite enough shit come her way over the past weeks to justify some tit-for-tat.

Leah said something behind her hand and several of the other girls snickered, looking at Vicky as they did so. She felt the tears well up again. What was the matter with her? She was the girl who hardly ever cried, the girl who knew all about hard knocks, the girl who could find the good in even the worst of situations but now … now she seemed to be a basket case.

Well, she wasn’t going to give these bitches the satisfaction of seeing they’d got to her. Picking up her handbag she swung it onto her shoulder and walked out of the room, praying her tears didn’t roll down her cheeks before she escaped. She ran into Mrs Mead at the door.

‘Just need the loo, miss,’ she said. She knew, from the way her tutor’s eyes widened, that Mrs Mead had spotted that she was about to cry but thankfully she didn’t say anything.

‘Of course, dear,’ was all she said, offering her a smile of sympathy. ‘Come back when you’re ready,’ she added in a low voice. ‘No hurry.’

Vicky fled, praying she didn’t run into anyone else before she found sanctuary.

Once in the Ladies she ran into an empty cubicle and slammed the door. Even now she’d found somewhere private she didn’t dare let her sobs overwhelm her. If she howled someone was bound to come in and get all nosy. Instead she stifled them with a wodge of tissues from her bag as she sat on the loo, leaning against the cistern.

Miserably she blew her nose and dabbed her face.

Maybe she was tired, working so hard at college and grafting at home on those dresses. She knew she shouldn’t be like this, after all she was marrying a wonderful man. Any other traveller girl in her place would be over the moon. Her dad had told her not to worry about the cost of anything and whatever she wanted for her big day she was to have. How many kids of her age could have whatever they wanted and not have parents bitching about the cost? As she thought about all the good things in her life she stopped crying and slowly brought herself under control. She blew her nose more vigorously and pulled herself together. She was being a spoilt little cow, worrying about something that really didn’t matter. No one was going to die, she told herself sternly, if she didn’t have a future in dressmaking. There were probably thousands, millions, of girls who would give their back teeth not to have to spend their lives grafting, juggling jobs and childcare, and she was lucky not to ever have to worry about anything like that. She was going to have the life of Riley, being a kept woman.

And as for those stupid girls in her textiles class – she’d show them. She’d prove that they couldn’t get her down. She decided that if they were going to be horrid to her she’d be the very opposite to them. Instead of taking their cruelty to heart, she’d just smile sweetly back. Vicky reckoned it would be very difficult to maintain a hate campaign if she was relentlessly nice.

Exiting the loo she took a look at herself in the mirror. Crap. Her eyes were all pink and piggy from crying and her face was blotchy. Running cold water into a basin she splashed her face to reduce the puffiness and calm her cheeks. Then she got her make-up out of her handbag and re-touched her mascara and eye shadow. Satisfied that she didn’t look like a complete dog she left the loos and made her way back to the classroom.

‘Hiya, Vick,’ called a familiar voice.

Fuck – Jordan. Not only was he the last person she wanted to see right now, he was the last person she wanted to see at any time around college. And this time the corridors around her were all empty and she didn’t have the safety net of having Kelly with her. Double fuck.

‘Hi, Jordan,’ she replied, keeping walking. ‘Can’t stop. Late for my lesson.’ She heard footsteps running behind her and then a hand on her shoulder.

‘Are you avoiding me?’ Jordan asked.

She could hardly talk to him with her back turned. She swivelled round to face him, hoping her repair work on her face stood up to close scrutiny. ‘Not really, just busy, you know. Besides, we’re not likely to see each other in class – you doing computer studies an’ all, and me doing textiles.’

‘You’ve been crying,’ said Jordan.

Vicky shook her head. ‘Don’t be silly. What on earth gave you that idea?’

Jordan reached forward and traced a tear track down Vicky’s cheek. It was like there were sparks in his fingertips; her whole cheek tingled. She leapt backwards, overwhelmed by confusion and remembering the last time he’d touched her, down by the river. What was it with her that she reacted like that whenever he got too close? Was it because he was a gorgio, someone she could never have, or was it her guilty conscience? Not that it mattered either way, it was wrong.

Jordan smiled knowingly. Had he experienced that pulse of intense feeling too? But all he said was, ‘You didn’t quite do a good-enough job covering up the traces.’

Vicky knew she was blushing frantically and the last thing she needed right now was for Jordan to be all sympathetic and kind. She decided to play down how upset she’d been only a short while previously. Besides, it would make her look pathetic that the other girls had got to her. ‘Yeah, well, it was nothing. I was just being stupid.’

‘Oh yeah. Like Chloe hasn’t set most of the girls at college against you. It’s about that, isn’t it?’

‘What would you know?’

‘I’ve got eyes, Vicky. I see how you get treated in the canteen. That’s why I always made a point of inviting you to sit with me.’

‘Thanks a bunch but I don’t need charity. I can look after myself.’

‘Really? It doesn’t look like it from where I stand.’

‘And what would you know?’

‘Come off it, Vick, just because it hasn’t happened to me personally doesn’t mean I can’t sympathise.’

‘Yeah? Well, you and your family have got laws against racism on your side but no one gives a stuff about travellers. Or pikeys. Or gyppos.’ She spat the last words out. ‘If I called you a nigger I’d get run in. Call me a pikey and no one turns a hair.’ And for the third time that day Vicky felt tears of self-pity stream down her face. Mortified, angry and confused she fled once again to the sanctuary and privacy of the Ladies.

Jordan was waiting for her when she came out.

‘What are you doing?’ she said grumpily. ‘You should be in your lesson.’

‘That can wait. I wanted to make sure you’re all right.’

‘Won’t your tutor mind?’

‘I’ll think of some excuse. He’ll be cool. But what about you? There seem to be two of us bunking off right now.’

‘I got excused. Mrs Mead didn’t want me making her classroom damp.’ She gave Jordan a watery smile.

‘I didn’t mean to upset you again,’ he said. ‘But I am on your side, honest. I don’t care about what Chloe says.’

‘Well, you should. She’s your girlfriend, isn’t she?’

‘Just because we’re seeing each other doesn’t mean I agree with everything she thinks and says. In fact, she and I had a row over you.’

‘You shouldn’t’ve. I’m not worth it. I’m trailer trash, remember.’

‘Stop putting yourself down,’ said Jordan crossly. ‘You are so not.’

‘Then you’re the only one in this crappy college that thinks like that.’

‘And Kelly? And your textiles teacher?’

‘Maybe not them. But that’s still only three of you. There’s hundreds of others here.’

‘And hundreds who don’t know you, don’t care and certainly don’t listen to Chloe.’

Vicky shrugged, unconvinced. ‘You’re not very loyal to her, are you?’

‘Chloe? Sometimes she just doesn’t deserve it. There’s a lot of great things about Chloe, things I really like, but I can’t take how she picks on you. I’m hoping to convince her to leave off but … well, we’ll see.’

The bell rang. ‘I’ve got to go,’ said Vicky. ‘I’ve missed a whole period. But thanks, Jordan, thanks for caring.’

Jordan took her hand as they heard the sound of classroom doors banging open and the noise of students on the move. Swiftly he leaned in and gave her a brief kiss on the lips. ‘Be brave,’ he said as he let her hand go and moved away.

As students swirled around Vicky she stood there like a rock in a river as she watched Jordan disappear down a corridor, then she put her hand to her mouth as if that could take away the burning and tingling she felt.

The first term at college ended and Christmas was upon Vicky before she knew it.

‘Your last one as a single girl,’ Mary-Rose reminded her daughter over breakfast on the first day of the holiday. ‘Best you pay attention to how to cook the turkey this year. You’ll be doing it for your man next Christmas.’

As if Vicky needed reminding.
Only six months to go now
, she thought. Only six months and three dresses still to make plus more fittings for her own. And the cake to order, the reception to organise, the limo to arrange … She sighed. So much to do. She glanced across the table at her sister and wished she was brimming with excitement at the prospect like Shania. Shania’s one and only topic of conversation was her wedding, planned for late August, just two months after Vicky’s own. In fact, given that her wedding was further away, it was far further forward in terms of planning than her big sister’s.

‘And me,’ said Shania with a smirk.

‘Och, you’re better in the kitchen than Vicky, to be sure,’ said Mary-Rose. ‘You won’t be needing any help in that department.’

Shania preened with pride at her mother’s words. ‘My Mikey won’t starve and that’s for sure,’ she said smugly. ‘You’d have been better off not bothering with college and learning some proper skills.’

‘Oh shut up,’ said Vicky.

‘Stop that,’ said Mary-Rose, casting an anxious glance at Johnnie, who was watching breakfast TV.

‘But really, why do you bother?’ Shania picked at the argument like a child with a scab.

‘In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been making bridesmaids’ dresses till they’re coming out my ears.’

‘If it’s such a chore I don’t see why you didn’t get Paulette to make yours like she’s making mine.’

‘It’s not a chore, I like doing it and the machines at college make it a whole lot easier.’

‘Suit yourself.’ Shania paused and flicked over some pages of a glossy magazine. ‘And have you thought about a cake? You can’t have a fairy-tale castle because that’s what I’m having and as your wedding is first I’m not having people say I copied you.’

‘No, I don’t want a fairy-tale castle,’ said Vicky.

‘So what
do
you want?’

‘I don’t know.’ Couldn’t Shania talk about anything other than bloody weddings? ‘It’s ages yet. I don’t have to get that sorted till just before. It’s not like a dress, it won’t keep for ever, so it can’t be made until the last minute.’

‘Just saying.’

‘Well don’t.’

And before her mother could have a go at her for rowing with her sister, Vicky flounced out.

She ran across the frosty grass to Liam’s place but it was empty. He must have gone to his workshop so she wandered over there. She could hear the sound of sawing as she approached. Through the open door she could see Liam working, sawdust falling at his feet as he cut the wood with rhythmic, even strokes. The scent of pine filled the air with resiny sweetness.

‘Hiya, babe,’ she called softly from the door.

He turned and a smile beamed from him. ‘Hello, darling.’

‘What you making?’

‘Just a door for a house someone I know is renovating.’

‘A traveller?’

‘No, someone in the building trade. He puts work my way now and again.’

‘That’s nice.’

‘Unusual, more like. You know how gorgios think of us.’

Didn’t she just. Not that she’d told anyone on the site about the difficulties she’d faced at college. If word got round, either her dad would insist that she gave up or worse, some of her relations might rock in to college and cause trouble. That was the last thing she wanted. Better everyone thought that it was all plain sailing for her.