Ex-Friend — Are you serious? You want to come to a wedding where the reception costs £80 a head and not bring a gift, just because you bought yourself a dress? But you’ll keep that dress! You can wear it out to posh restaurants, the theatre… — I don’t wear turquoise, Jenny. I’ve told you three times already. — Well then, — the bride snapped. — You stick to the dress code and act like a proper friend, or… I don’t know. The glass on the coffee table vibrated ever so slightly from the relentless notifications in the group chat. Sonia tried not to look, but the red badge — 148 messages in an hour—was unsettling. The WhatsApp group was called “Jenny’s Turquoise Dream.” The avatar was Jenny in her veil. Sonia finally gave in and unlocked her phone. “Girls, I’ve found the best salon! — Jenny wrote. — Manicures must be in the exact ‘Sea Breeze’ shade, polish number 312. No nudes, no clear varnish. Only this colour. Pedicures too! I’ve picked the makeup: shimmering turquoise eye liner and shadow. Book your make-up for Friday morning, manicures Thursday night. I’ll send the address. Everyone pays for themselves, I’ve arranged a discount, so it’s just £70 for the package.” Sonia slowly put her phone back down. £70 for make-up and nails, both of which she’d scrub off in two days. Plus £120 for the satin, seaweed-coloured bridesmaid dress Jenny had picked for all seven bridesmaids. A dress Sonia would never wear again, because turquoise made her look like a drowned ghoul. All for a grand total of £190—just to look the part at someone else’s big day. After paying off two loans and her recent pay cut, Sonia had exactly £150 left to last the month. And she still needed to pay for transport, a present, and shoes for the dress… — Jenny, — Sonia called her friend ten minutes later. — We need to talk. About Saturday. And the manicures. — Sonia, don’t start, — Jenny replied sharply. — I’ve sorted everything. The photographer says your turquoise will look heavenly alongside my white dress. — Jenny, all of this comes to £190. I don’t have that sort of money. Or rather, it’s everything I have left. I never get coloured manicures, you know that. I always just get the basic tidy-up. And the dress… I look awful in it. Let me wear my own navy blue one? It’s elegant and expensive, and I’ve only worn it once. — Navy? Are you serious, Sonia? My tablecloths and napkins are turquoise. Are you trying to ruin everything? — I just want to be a guest, Jenny. Your friend, not part of the décor. If you insist on all this kit, then let’s agree: I’ll buy it all, do my makeup, but that’s my gift to you. I really can’t budget for a card of money as well, it’s all going on your requirements. — Are you serious? You want to show up at a wedding where the dinner is £80 a head and not bring a gift, just because you bought a dress? You get to keep it! You can wear it to a restaurant—I’m sure you’ll find the occasion… — I don’t wear turquoise, Jenny. I’ve said so three times. — Well, it’s like this, — the bride cut in. — Either you follow the dress code and act like a proper friend, or… I don’t know. Maybe you just shouldn’t come, if you’re going to be so petty about my most important day. — Maybe I shouldn’t, — Sonia answered quietly. — I’m sorry. She ended the call and immediately left the group chat. Her chest ached a little, but she also felt a strange sense of freedom. She kept her £190. And her peace of mind. *** A week later, on the day of the wedding, Sonia sat at home with a book. She avoided social media to keep from poking at her wound. But that evening, her phone rang. Kat called — another friend who’d agreed to all of Jenny’s terms. — Sonia, hey, — Kat’s voice trembled. Sonia tensed: — Hey Kat. What’s up? How’s the wedding? — Total disaster — Kat sniffed. — I left early, I’m in a cab now. Nightmare… — Tell me everything, — Sonia instructed. — It started in the morning. We arrived for make-up, and Jenny threw a fit right in the salon. Lisa crashed her bike the day before, her arm’s in plaster. Just normal, white plaster. Jenny sees her and explodes: “Why were you cycling? You knew about my wedding! You’re going to ruin all my photos with that cast!” — Seriously? — Sonia couldn’t believe it. — What did Lisa do? — She just stood there crying. And Jenny called the photographer: “Don’t photograph the girl with the cast. Or crop her out.” Lisa spent half the evening in the loo. But that’s not all. The groom’s great-gran turned up. She’s 85, can barely walk. She wore her best dress — grey, with lace. You could tell it was special. Jenny jumped on her as soon as she arrived: “Granny, what are you doing? We said no grey — it’s too bleak!” The poor woman stumbled out that she had nothing else. So Jenny banned her from the photo area. The mother-in-law almost fainted. Right in front of everyone she said, “She’s 85, travelled across half the country, and you treat her like this for a dress?” They argued for 20 minutes. The groom was beetroot red, wanted the ground to swallow him. Sonia listened, appalled at what Jenny had become — the same girl she once ate ice cream with on a park bench. — It got worse, — Kat continued. — Marina got a cold sore on her lip, nerves I guess. Jenny walked up and announced, “You could have covered that. Or stayed home. It’ll show up in the close-ups.” Oksana copped it for her nails. Oksana did the turquoise, but one nail broke so she redid them red at home. Jenny saw the red when Oksana handed her a glass, lost it, almost poured it over her head. Yelled that Oksana just wanted to stand out and ruin her photos. — Has she lost her mind? — gasped Sonia. — Definitely. She spent the night with a face like thunder. Kept straightening our dresses, yanking our shoulders, hissing at us to stand up straight. And the grand finale… You know the bouquet toss? — Yeah? — She wanted the “perfect shot”, so threw it so hard it hit the DJ’s desk. All the equipment, loads of cables—her heavy bouquet smashed the lot. Music cuts out, DJ’s in shock. Jenny spins on us, the bridesmaids waiting for the bouquet, and screams: “Why didn’t you catch it?! You just stood there like statues! You’ve ruined my special moment! Useless cheapskates!” — Cheapskates? — Sonia repeated. — Yep, that’s what she said. She said all we care about is stuffing our faces, not getting a decent photo. Sonia, I sat there in that dress, ribs crushed, staring at my turquoise nails thinking, “Why am I even here?” £70 for make-up, £120 for the dress, £100 in a card… £290 for being called a cheapskate and a statue. Sonia ended the call, put her phone on the coffee table and went to the mirror. She was in her normal at-home T-shirt. Skin — clear, nails — just neat and plain, hair — up in a ponytail. On the hallway shelf, an envelope with her saved-up money. Tomorrow, she’d make a big payment on her laptop loan. She hadn’t lost a thing, had she? Two days later, Jenny posted a “carousel” of ten perfect wedding photos on Instagram. Bridesmaids in turquoise, bride in dazzling white. Stunning, even luxurious. With the caption: “My flawless day. Thank you to everyone who made it a fairytale. It’s a shame some ‘friends’ were too petty to appreciate the scale. Let God judge them, I forgive!” Sonia read it and snorted. Forgives, does she. She clicked on Jenny’s profile, tapped the three dots in the corner, and hit “Block”. She genuinely didn’t want to know how Jenny’s life turned out. Let her live as she wishes. *** A month later, Kat came over for tea. They sat in the kitchen drinking Earl Grey. — Heard the latest? — Kat livened up. — Our “Queen” has outdone herself… You won’t believe it! Sonia shrugged. — Not following her anymore. What happened? — The wedding photographer’s suing Jenny. She won’t pay the balance. She claims that in 40% of the photos, the bridesmaids’ turquoise is “the wrong shade” because of his lighting. Can you believe it? He worked twelve hours, and she’s complaining about his “spectrum”. She paid just 30%, and withheld the rest! — Typical, — Sonia snorted. — And her husband? Adam? Kat burst out laughing. — Adam filed for divorce last week. They didn’t even get to their honeymoon. Apparently, two days after the wedding, Jenny kicked off at his mum. Demanded she pay for the reception “because her mother ruined the wedding video just by being there”. Adam tried to calm her, she called him “a spineless wimp who won’t defend his family’s honour.” So he packed a bag and walked out. Said he wasn’t living with such a smug cow. Sonia looked out the window. — You know, Kat, — she said. — I was really torn up about it. Thought I was a terrible friend for not scraping together that £190 and fitting into her vision. But hearing all this now — I realise I did the right thing! Kat nodded. — I sold my dress, — Kat admitted. — Got £30 for it. Bought the biggest cake I could find and ate the lot myself. Best cake I ever had. The friends laughed together, and then agreed to go to the cinema that weekend, just for fun. Nothing to worry about — their friendship was fine. As for the ex-friend, she could clean up her own mess.