‘No, it's a lovely rich brown, and so shiny. Highlights would spoil it.'

‘Oh.' Elsa sat in silence for a while as Bron continued to comb and chop.

‘Right,' said Bron, 'now for the make-up. You can shut your eyes quite legitimately now.'

‘So did you train to do make-up as well as hairdressing?' Elsa asked, to make conversation as much as anything.

‘Not really. I worked as a hairdresser for a television company for about five minutes before I went freelance. One day the make-up artist didn't turn up so I did it. I'd seen it done lots of times and sort of picked it up. It makes you more employable if you can do both.'

‘So you're freelance, are you? I thought you worked in a salon.'

‘I do, nowadays. I'd like to go freelance again, but it's a money thing.' And a boyfriend thing, thought Bron, but she didn't share this with Elsa, who was technically now a client. 'Right, have a look,' she said a little while later.

'Oh my God! A fringe!'

‘I know I should have asked, but you might have said no.'

‘I hardly recognise myself! My eyes look huge! Is it the make-up?’

Bron shook her head. 'I haven't put much on, just a touch here and there.’

Elsa stared at the stranger who stared back. She looked younger and yet more sophisticated at the same time.

‘Wow!' said Sarah, looking up from her clipboard to inspect the new bridesmaid. 'That looks amazing. Look at your cheekbones.'

‘You do look lovely,' said Ashlyn. 'Just as well you're a brunette or I'd be jealous.'

‘It's amazing what the right haircut will do,' said Bron. 'Now, the headdress. Did you make these?'

‘A friend of mine did. I can make them but quite honestly I had so much to do with the dresses, I asked her to do them for me.'

‘How do you fix it? Oh, I see, little combs. I hope it'll stay on. Your hair is so shiny, I might need some clips.' She stood back. 'Oh! It looks adorable.’

Elsa hadn't been referred to as adorable since she was three, but she had to admit that she did look better. Her usual beauty routine of toothbrushing and moisturiser didn't involve looking in the mirror. Seeing her features emphasised with make-up was a shock. Her eyes really were quite large, with thick lashes; her skin glowed and her lips looked fuller. 'Wow, I look amazing – and only a little bit like a deer caught in the headlights. Thank you so much.’

Bron laughed. 'If you want to be a dear, put the dress on! It's getting late. I can see Sarah looking at her watch.’

Elsa hadn't been to many weddings and none as a main part. She had been thoroughly briefed by Sarah, Ashlyn and Ashlyn's mother, and they had all given her quite different instructions. Now she sat in the back of one of the wedding cars, a vintage taxi, with the two little bridesmaids and one of their mothers. As she was wearing the big dress, she was sitting on the bench seat next to the smallest bridesmaid, while the other two sat opposite.

‘I love your dress,' said the mother, who Elsa thought was called Pam. 'Did you make it?'

‘Yes, I did all the dresses.’

Pam sighed. 'It's heaven.’

Elsa smiled, not sure if she should take the credit for her creation or be modest about her appearance. The dress was a picture. It was a slightly simplified version of the bride's, in the palest pistachio with very occasional cerise detailing.

The bodice was boned, a process which took hours of very precise cutting and seaming. It had been a real stroke of luck at the time that Fulvia, the errant bridesmaid, had shared Elsa's dimensions, because she was never available for fittings. Elsa had made a model of her own body, aided by a giggling friend and a bottle of wine, when she was a student, so she could fit the dress perfectly. On top of the boned bodice was embroidery enhanced by crystals. It would have been perfectly suitable as a wedding dress, she had thought, wondering at the extravagance and generosity of the bride's family.

‘It must have cost a fortune,' said Pam.

Elsa took a breath. 'It did, and not a small one, but it also took hours and hours of hand-stitching – almost as much as the bride's. Poppy and Amanda's dresses didn't take so long.' She smiled at the little girls who were now admiring their ballerina-length dresses with broad sashes. They had simple wreaths of fresh flowers on their heads, which (fortunately) had not been Elsa's responsibility. A lovely girl called Sukie wearing dungarees and a broad grin had delivered them at a ridiculous hour before she had dashed off to the church.

‘Looks like we're off at last,' said Pam. 'There's Ashlyn getting in the car with her father. He'll be able to keep her calm, I hope. Did you dress Vanessa, too?'

‘Mm. That was quite difficult.' It was a silk suit of the most heavenly fabric that Mrs Lennox-Featherstone had bought in Singapore and had been hell on earth to sew.

‘So they paid you thousands, as a family?’

Elsa took a breath. It was a lot of money, but if you counted up the hours of time and labour, and the fact that the money was spread over two years, it didn't make her a rich woman. 'Yup.'

‘So you don't mind being a bridesmaid then? At least you're getting to wear one of your creations.'

‘Mm,' said Elsa. 'I'm actually happier in my black trousers.'

‘Great hair, by the way.’

Elsa blushed.

Elsa had a long time to admire the back of Ashlyn's dress, which had been super-complicated to make. All those folds and gathers, beading and ribbons, had at first seemed a bit over the top to Elsa. But Ashlyn had insisted, and combined with a bit of tactful toning down on Elsa's part, the effect was gorgeous.

The whole wedding was gorgeous, she had to admit. Sarah had done wonders. There was even a local choir so that the hymns had harmonies, and the fact that most people didn't know them didn't show.

Yet she was still anxious. She didn't feel right wearing a client's dress, even if she had tried it on a couple of times.

But was it, she wondered, trying to distract herself from the minefield of the reception and the photographs that lay ahead, like staying in your own spare room? Magazines suggested that if you had a spare room you should sleep in it yourself to make sure it was comfortable. Maybe wearing one of her own creations would reveal any little flaws that might only come to light with wear. Call it research, she told herself, and shivered.

At last the ceremony was over. Widor's Toccata boomed out from the organ and eventually it was time for the bridesmaids to process out after the bride. Just concentrate on the little sweeties, Elsa silently ordered the congregation, don't look at me.

But fate wasn't listening. It was only Elsa who processed, the little ones had been caught up by their loving parents, abandoning Elsa to a walk of, if not shame, definitely embarrassment. She stiffened her back and tried to look natural. Why had she never realised how difficult these darn dresses were to walk in?

There had been no video in the church but now the still photographs were to be taken. Elsa wasn't sure what she should do. Would they really want her in the photos? Mrs Lennox-Featherstone had said she did, but surely you wouldn't want a virtual stranger appearing next to beloved little nieces and old family friends? Having her photograph taken was something else she hated, ever since she'd been caught with her mouth open, looking completely gormless, as a child. Her parents' gentle teasing about this photograph hadn't helped.

‘Er – chief bridesmaid – what's your name? I've got Fulvia down here, but somehow I don't think that's right.' Hugo the photographer smiled his lazy but scarily efficient smile in her direction.

‘I'm not really a bridesmaid,' began Elsa, 'I'm only-’