Runaway Bride

When Alana flees her own wedding, a stranger at the airport helps her make some big decisions, in this story by Helen Whitaker

It’s definitely a mistake to have worn the dress to the airport. Alana knows that the second she walks past the terminal’s Wetherspoons – rammed at 5.30am – and is greeted by a chorus of “Lost your groom, love?” by a bunch of drunk stags in matching T-shirts. But once she’d squirmed herself into the ultra-fitted dress at home – one last try to see if it would evoke the feelings she knew she was supposed to be feeling today – she couldn’t get it off again. The more she’d twisted to reach the tiny buttons that ran down its delicate back, the more she’d sweated and the material had stuck, imprisoning her. So now here she is, at Stansted Airport, in an ice-white strapless mermaid gown.

Having bolted from the wedding ceremony that’s scheduled to happen in eight hours’ time, she’s relinquished the right to any help with a tricky dress fastening and to the person who does – did – those little kindnesses that become part and parcel of a long-term relationship. No one says in their Tinder profile: “Looking for help with unreachable zips, necklaces with tiny clasps and two-person Ikea builds,” but that’s what you’re signing up for when your swipe-right becomes a relationship.

Waking up one of the bridesmaids wasn’t an option – she couldn’t draw attention to her pre-dawn flit when Jack’s sister was one of the five-strong party – and neither was ripping herself out of the dress. It cost three grand! Not that she’d be wearing it again. It’s not as though it’s one of those dresses that could pass for “occasion wear” for another event (what event? Alana never goes to “events”).