The Bridesmaid Pact by Julia Williams

rushing, they all moved in an unhurried but focused manner, and I found myself outside the roomin moments. It was all over in a few brutal seconds. I was shocked at the speed of it. Auntie Nora returned with her cups of coffee to find me leaning against a wall crying as I had never cried before. My mother had died hating me. Now I really was alone in the world.
Caz
    Summer 1997
    It seemed appropriate that for weeks the news had been full of Diana and Dodi’s affair on the Med. The fairytale had ended, the image of fairytale princesses was getting daily more tarnished and since my spectacular error of judgement in Las Vegas, I’d sworn off men. Charlie had been remarkably forgiving about the whole thing and we’d somehow managed to stay friends. I knew for me the promise of a happy-ever-after wasn’t coming anytime soon.
    And then, there he was, in a bar in Soho. I hadn’t seen Steve on his own for months. He was, after all, just about to get married to my best friend. But once again, there was that connection, and unlike last time, he didn’t attempt to brush away my advances.
    I knew even as I sat down next to him that I was doing the wrong thing. But a combination of anger at him for not choosing me – let him see what he was missing! – and a sort of self-hatred which has always been my fatal flaw, led me not to care. Besides. He was here with me. Not with her. I knew it was wrong to want him as much as I did. But I had wanted him from the first time we met. And he didn’t want me. They never did. I was the one they chosefor a quick shag, Sarah was the one they chose for the long term. And this time, he’d really made it clear he was playing the long game. This time, I’d lost him for good.
    Except. Here he was, nearly married, in a bar with me. Playing footsie under the table, looking at me with lascivious eyes, accidentally touching my hand when there was no need.
    I could lie and say I was so drunk I didn’t know what I was doing. I could pretend that it ‘just happened’ like they always say in the problem pages. But it wouldn’t be true. These things don’t ‘just happen’. You have to lose control of the bit of you that’s screaming that this is so so wrong, you have to let go of your moral compass and go on a journey into a morass of grubby decisions that you’ll later regret. You have to choose all that. It doesn’t just happen .
    Even at the moment I let him into my flat, I could have ended it then, after the coffee, before we’d gone too far. But I was drunk on power and lust and the feeling I’d won for once. Besides, I wanted to know what he was like, this golden boy, whom I’d adored for so long.
    And once we’d kissed and cuddled and got down and dirty, there was a point, a moment when I could have said no, this is wrong, we mustn’t go any further, but I didn’t. I was carried on a wave of passion into a world where there were no commitments, and I didn’t betray the people I loved, and the man I was with loved me for myself, not for the undoubted quick bit of fun I undoubtedly was.
    It was only in the morning, when I woke up, and saw him already dressed, already distancing himself from me, that I felt ashamed. I didn’t know how I was ever going to face her again. I didn’t know how I was ever going to face myself. I felt wrong and dirty and so very, very bad. A sudden visionof my mother, in her worst vengeful mode, swam before my eyes. ‘You’re a dirty little hoor,’ she hissed in my ear. ‘I always knew you’d turn out no good.’ I turned my face to the wall and wept.

Part Two
For Better, for Worse
Sarah
    Summer 1997
    ‘Where is she?’ I stood in my bridal finery in the changing room of Wedding Belles bridal shop, while Jeanette, the snooty manager who made me feel about five years old, tacked and adjusted my dress for its final fitting. Beth and Dorrie were ready to try on their bridesmaids’ dresses but there was no sign of Caz. She was over an hour late and there