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It had taken two months to find the dress. Two months and four dress fittings and it slid on like a glove, clinging in all the right places like it was a second skin. As Mia smoothed out the creases, she caught her mother dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.

“Mum.”

“I know, I know,”

her mother said, still dabbing. “It’s just that… you look so pretty.”

Mia, who had her reservations about this, nodded. It was all very well looking pretty, but what about feeling pretty? Or feeling anything, for that matter. Not that she was about to mention anything to her mum. What was she supposed to say, anyway? ‘Oh, by the way, mum, I’ve started feeling like there’s a rock in my chest and I’m a bit worried that maybe I’ve got heart cancer or maybe my heart fell out altogether and I don’t know what to do.’

Her mother would just worry about the caterers.

“We’re so proud of you, you know,”

her mother said, abandoning her tissue to come and finish zipping Mia up. She turned her, so that they were both facing the mirror. “Mind you, I shouldn’t be surprised. You were always so dependable. Even when you were small, you never wrinkled a paper. Every time you had to bring home a letter from school, it was always pristine.”

Mia could remember sliding everything into neat folders that pleased her. She liked it when things were put away and in place.

“And then those grades, good enough to get into Oxford, they said,”

her mother went on.

Not that Mia had gone to Oxford. She wasn’t entirely sure why. Probably because she was a middle-class girl from a middle-class family and people like her didn’t go to Oxford. But that wasn’t important. What was important was that she could have gone. Instead, she’d gone to a very nice university and graduated with a first class degree, and no one had expected anything less of her.

“A perfect daughter, a perfect degree, and now this,”

her mother said, sniffing a little again. “A perfect wedding.”

To Mikey, who was, after all, the perfect man. Blonde hair, firm jaw, good with children, on the fast track to a well-paid career in business, and funny and kind to boot. It was, Mia thought, almost sickening how perfect he was. Then she felt bad because Mikey was lovely.

There must be something wrong with her. That was the only thing she could think of. She looked herself up and down in the full-length mirror. Her long, blonde hair was loose around her tanned shoulders, descending in careful, artful waves. Her big blue eyes were expertly made up. Her skin was smooth, her teeth were straight without ever having been near an orthodontist. She was pretty and bright and fun to be around.

Which made all of this so much worse.

It had started a few weeks ago. She’d been in town, looking at bikinis for her upcoming honeymoon, when she’d seen a woman come out of a changing room, laughing. She’d been buxom, with love handles spilling out over the edges of her bikini bottoms, her eyes full of fun, her laugh deep and real, and Mia had stared so long and so hard that the woman had raised a questioning eyebrow at her.

Mia had made some excuse and run away, feeling hot and a bit sick at the thought of being caught staring. And then, on the way home, she’d stopped at the newsagent to pick up a bridal magazine that she’d ordered, and she’d done something so awful, so unlike her, that even now she could see herself coloring in the mirror at the very thought of it.

When the newsagent had turned his back to get her magazine from under the counter, she’d watched in horror as her hand darted out and grabbed a Snickers bar from the display. Quick as a flash, the chocolate had disappeared into her coat pocket and then the newsagent had turned back and it was done and couldn’t be undone.

And the rock had set up shop in her chest and she hadn’t taken a full breath since.

“That’s everything then,”

her mother said, looking her up and down. “Perfect. Just perfect.”

Which, to be fair, the outside definitely was. Plucked and preened and doted on. It was more the inside that Mia was worried about.

It was nerves. Cold feet. That was all. She told herself night after night that she’d feel better as soon as this was done, as soon as she and Mikey were married and off on their honeymoon. It was the stress of the wedding and loads of people must feel the same.

After all, who wouldn’t want to be married to Mikey? He was, as her mother often reminded her, a catch.

“You’d better go, mum. You don’t want to get to the church all sweaty.”

Her lips felt numb. It was hard to form words.

Her mother took her hand and squeezed it. “You’ll be nervous,”

she said. “And that’s alright, it’s perfectly normal. But you and Mikey will have the rest of your lives together. That’s what’s important. Get this stressful wedding out of the way and then, well, then you’ll get everything you’ve ever worked for. You deserve this, Mia. You truly do.”

It might be different if she could just talk to someone. But who? She could hardly tell her two best friends, who were both bridesmaids and jealous as all get out. It wasn’t like she could tell her mother. And Mikey… Well, up until a few weeks ago, she’d thought that she could tell Mikey anything. Then she’d seen a half-naked woman laughing and stolen a chocolate bar and her world had started to crumble from the inside out.

“I know, mum,”

she said, lips still numb.

“You’ll be mum yourself, soon enough,”

her mother said. “What was it we said? Another year of working and then you two will start a family?”

A year, that was the plan. A year together, getting used to being married, getting used to living under the same roof, and then they’d start trying. And knowing her, she’d be pregnant within a week. And then she’d give birth to a perfect little baby, and then they’d wait two years and do it again, and they’d have a boy and a girl, the boy first, and…

“Mia?”

her mother said sharply.

“Yes?”

Her breath was coming too fast. She made a concerted effort to slow it down. “Yes?”

Her mother squeezed her hand again. “You’re just a bit nervous, that’s all. It’s normal.”

If it was so normal, then why hadn’t she felt this way before? Why hadn’t she hyperventilated while waiting to go on stage for her piano solos, or when she graduated, or when any one of a hundred other occasions had presented themselves?

“I’m fine,”

she said now, feeling anything but.

Her mum was about to question this, but then her mobile buzzed and she checked it and let go of Mia’s hand. “That’s your dad. He’s on the way with the car. I’d better be going. I’ll be there at the front of the church. I’ll be the one with the hankie. You won’t be able to miss me.”

“It’ll be fine, mum,”

Mia said, more to herself than to her mother.

“So beautiful,”

her mother said. She went to the door, took one last look. “So perfect.”

And then she was gone and Mia could collapse down onto the bed.

Now that she was alone, her breath was coming faster again. With this stupid rock on her chest, she couldn’t get any oxygen at all.

And the thought of it all, of everything, of her entire life marching out in front of her with Mikey and babies and houses in the country and holidays and Christmas with her parents and Boxing day with his parents and dogs and parent-teacher nights and…

She slammed her eyes shut and saw the changing room woman. Saw her laugh, her front tooth crooked, saw her lightness, her joy, the life oozing from every pore. And never in her entire life had she been more jealous of anyone.

Her. Mia Tate. Top of her class, pretty and smart and everything in between. She was the object of jealousy, sure, but not actually jealous. Never jealous. She was too nice for that.

Her breath caught in her throat now, and she gasped, coughing, trying to get more oxygen into her lungs.

She couldn’t die now, not like this. Her father would be here any second. Which somehow made things worse.

Her chest heaved, trying desperately to get the air that she needed. Her eyes flashed open, she was starting to panic. Her breath was still caught, she still couldn’t breathe in. She looked around, desperate to find something, anything to help.

Then she saw them.

And her chest rose, oxygen flooding into her lungs.

Her hands were sweating, so wet that she almost dropped the keys when she tried to pick them up. She squeezed them tight in her hand so that they almost pierced her skin, and didn’t even think.

Her father would be here any minute.

She tore the room door open, bounded down the stairs, keys in hand and not even a change of underwear to be seen.

Downstairs, she flung open the front door, slamming it behind her, and raced in her high heels over the gravel to her little Mini Cooper. Her hands shook as she unlocked it. She crammed herself in, pulling handfuls of wedding dress in after her, stuffing material down the sides of the seat, between her legs, anywhere she could until she could close the car door.

Her whole body was shaking now, shaking and sweaty as she put the key in the ignition and turned it.

Any second, her dad was going to be here. Any second, a limo was going to pull into the driveway.

She slammed the car into reverse, screeched around until she was facing the entrance to the drive, then slammed the car into first and hit the accelerator. She slammed into second as she pulled out of the driveway, third as she careened down the street, and fourth as she turned the corner, catching a glimpse of a black limo festooned in white ribbons as she accelerated away.

She navigated the streets that she’d grown up in deftly, driving the speed limit, and finally, finally, spotting the ramp to the motorway. Pulling onto it, she joined the traffic, put the car firmly into fifth, and for the first time since she’d gone bikini shopping, she took a deep, full breath.