The Perfect Fit

by Mary Jayne Baker

  ‘Congrats, guys,’ I said, giving them both a hug. ‘Lovely ceremony. Very pink.’

  ‘And from me,’ Marcus said, shaking Billy’s hand and planting a kiss on Yolanda’s cheek. ‘You look great, love.’

  ‘Ta,’ Billy said.

  ‘I actually meant your missus. But yeah, you too. It’s a very secure man who can pull off a suit like that.’

  Billy glanced down at his pink tails, which came with a matching dicky bow and top hat. ‘I don’t half feel a tit.’

  Gerry patted Sue’s bum. ‘Start married life as you mean to go on, lad, that’s my advice. I’d get into the habit of doing as you’re told now.’

  Sue nodded. ‘Saves time later.’

  ‘This is a bit posh,’ Marcus said, glancing round the red velvet drawing room. ‘Didn’t know they did wedding receptions here.’

  ‘They don’t usually,’ Billy said. ‘Your telly man sorted it as his present.’

  ‘Harper?’ I said. ‘That was nice of him.’

  ‘Aye, knows the owners. Personally I’d have been happy with the pub.’

  ‘Well I wouldn’t.’ Yolanda rolled her eyes at me. ‘Honestly, these boys. I’ve a good mind not to let him have his present.’

  I smiled. ‘Oh, go on. You worked so hard on it.’

  Billy frowned. ‘Present?’

  ‘Have you got them, Rebecca?’ Yolanda asked.

  I handed over the packet of photos.

  ‘What is it?’ Billy said. ‘Why’re you all smirking at me?’

  ‘Here you are, darling,’ Yolanda said, giving him the packet. ‘A little keepsake for our special day.’

  Billy took one out to examine it, and his eyes went wide. ‘Jesus Christ, lass!’

  ‘That’s what I said,’ Gerry said.

  ‘What’s that you’re waving about? A riding crop?’

  Yolanda grinned. ‘Certainly is.’

  ‘The woman’ll be the death of me,’ Billy muttered. He held one of the photos up to examine it more closely. ‘Er, did you hang onto the stockings, by any chance?’

  ‘You’ll find out later.’

  Chapter 35

  It was warmish, despite being late October, and some of the party had spilled out onto the lawn. When we’d done our congratulating, Marcus and I grabbed a champagne each and made our way out in search of friends.

  We soon spotted Lana and Stew, talking to Harper and Maisie near a sort of folly. As usual, Gav was there, getting it all on film. You stopped noticing him after a bit.

  ‘I think we need to change the dames’ second song number,’ Harper was saying when we joined them. ‘It’s not nearly as strong as the first.’

  I smiled. ‘Are you lot talking panto again? You’re obsessed.’

  ‘Says you,’ Lana said. ‘You’re the worst of all of us. Apart from Deano, obviously.’

  ‘Harper’s right,’ Marcus said. ‘I’m Too Sexy is a weaker number than Sisters. Not enough melody.’

  ‘You’re getting a bit into this,’ I said to Harper. ‘What about your proper panto?’

  He shrugged. ‘I like ours better. They don’t let me have any creative input with Aladdin.’

  ‘Another creative input like that Welsh accent and I can see Deano lamping you one,’ Stew said, laughing.

  Maisie gave her husband a loyal squeeze. ‘I liked your Welsh.’

  He planted a kiss on her cheek. ‘Thanks, Mais. It’s sweet when you lie to me.’

  ‘So what about the number then?’ Marcus said. ‘Maybe we could do a community song instead, get the audience involved. Agadoo or something.’

  Stew’s eyes widened. ‘Oh God, no. If you’re going to inflict Agadoo on me, you can find yourself a new audience.’

  ‘We’ve already got Funky Gibbon. We can’t have two community songs,’ I said. ‘Know what I think?’

  Marcus took a sip of champagne. ‘I do actually, you dirty mare.’

  I elbowed him. ‘That’s my joke.’

  ‘Don’t see your name on it. So what do you think?’

  ‘I reckon we should write something. We could make it local, like an in-joke for the village.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘I’m not sure yet,’ I admitted.

  ‘Have we really got time to –’ Stew began, but he was interrupted by Lana grabbing his arm.

  ‘Oh God,’ she hissed.

  ‘What?’

  She nodded to a man making his way towards us. ‘Jamie Collingwood.’

  ‘Ugh,’ Stew said, grimacing. ‘Who invited him?’

  ‘Yo-yo, probably. Suppose she couldn’t not when the rest of the Collingwoods were asked.’

  ‘Who is he?’ I asked.

  ‘Roger’s great-nephew. He’s that obnoxious prick you never want to invite to your wedding but you have to invite to your wedding. Every couple’s got one.’

  ‘Looks like he might be a pissed obnoxious prick too,’ Marcus said, squinting at the squat, meaty figure weaving unsteadily over the lawn.

  ‘I was at school with him,’ Lana said. ‘He hasn’t changed a bit. And trust me, that’s not a compliment. He hasn’t even managed to move out of his mum’s spare bedroom.’

  ‘All right, Lana?’ Jamie said when he reached us, his speech heavily slurred. ‘Thought it was you I spotted hiding over here.’

  ‘Jamie.’ Lana’s tone was distinctly chilly.

  ‘How’s the pie restaurant going? Managed not to eat all your stock?’ He nudged Maisie, who was next to him, in a matey sort of way. ‘She was a right little fatty at school. You could’ve boiled a couple of puddings in her gym knickers.’

  Maisie didn’t seem to know what to say to that. ‘Well, er, she certainly looks great now,’ she said, sending Lana an apologetic grimace.

  Jamie blinked at her through the booze haze, his eyes fixing on her cleavage. ‘Here, you’re Maisie Moorhouse, aren’t you?’

  ‘Maisie Brady, honey.’ She cast an affectionate glance at Harper. ‘Mrs.’

  ‘Hey, I bought every mag you were ever in, you know. Still got them. I keep them in the shed where my mum won’t find them.’

  ‘Oh? Well, always nice to meet a fan.’ Maisie waggled her eyebrows at Lana in a desperate plea for rescue.

  ‘Um, I’m just going to the little girls’ room,’ Lana said. ‘Mais, can you show me where it is?’

  ‘Nothing little about those girls,’ Jamie muttered when they’d gone, making a chest-weighing gesture to the three lads. ‘Funny how they flock together when they go to the bog, isn’t it? Lasses, I mean. Like… birds or something.’ He blinked like he’d had a sudden epiphany. ‘Hey! Is that why they call them birds? Always wondered.’

  ‘Ok, so the kids’ big dance number,’ I said to the boys, deciding ignoring Jamie till he got bored and went away was probably the best option. ‘I was thinking, it’ll be easier for them if we pin the tails of their costumes up so there’s no chance of –’

  ‘That was your missus, wasn’t it?’ Jamie said, interrupting me to talk to Harper.

  ‘I’m sorry?’ Harper said.

  ‘You’re Harper Brady off TV. That Maisie Moorhouse is your missus.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Harper said, eyeing the staggering Jamie with an unimpressed lip-curl.

  I tried again. ‘Because Rita told me little Evie Barraclough tripped over hers the other day and nearly broke her glasses. I know it won’t look as good, but it would be safer –’

  ‘Christ, you lucky bastard,’ Jamie said to Harper. ‘Can’t believe you can have them legs wrapped round your neck whenever you want.’

  ‘– if we pinned the tails –’

  ‘I bet she’s well dirty. I mean, they call them glamour models, but they’re just prozzies really.’ He laughed drunkenly. ‘Well, you’d know about that, you’ve shagged a few. Seen it in
the papers. S’pose that’s the best thing about marrying one: you get all the experience without having to pay for it.’

  I gave up. No one was listening to me. All eyes were fixed on Jamie, with expressions of mingled shock and disgust.

  Except for Harper. He smiled brightly.

  ‘Sorry, I don’t think I caught your name?’ he said.

  ‘Jamie. Jamie Collingwood.’

  ‘Pleasure to meet you,’ Harper said, shaking Jamie’s hand.

  ‘You too, mate. Big fan.’

  ‘Right, I’m glad we got that out the way. I’d hate to do this to someone I hadn’t been formally introduced to.’

  The next bit was kind of a blur. There was a general impression of flying fist, followed by a high-pitched scream, and the next minute Jamie was holding his nose, groaning, as the tears streamed down his face.

  Harper grabbed him by the collar. ‘And next time you talk about my wife with anything but the most awesome respect, I’ll break it for you. Now fuck off.’

  ‘You’re mental, you are,’ Jamie whispered, backing away. ‘I’m going to the tabloids with this. You wait.’

  Harper shrugged. ‘Go ahead, I’ve done worse. With my record it probably won’t even make page five.’

  When Jamie had gone to lick his wounds and see if the editor of The Sun was listed in the Yellow Pages, Harper turned to Gavin.

  ‘I want that edited out.’

  ‘You sure, Mr Brady? Early feedback did say viewers wanted more conflict.’

  ‘Not that bit. Take it out.’

  ‘You won’t be able to cover it up, will you?’ Marcus said, the first one of us to recover the power of speech. ‘That knobhead’ll be on the phone to some hack down in London before you make it home.’

  ‘Don’t care if he is,’ Harper said, rubbing his knuckles. ‘They can put it on the front page if they want. I just don’t want Mais hearing what he said about her.’

  ‘Harper, come here,’ Stewart said.

  Harper hung back, looking wary. ‘You’re going to bollock me, aren’t you?’

  ‘Just come here.’

  ‘I didn’t break his nose, Stew. It was a stage punch, that’s all. Teach him a lesson.’

  ‘I’m not going to bollock you.’ Stew grabbed his cousin for a hug. ‘Proud of you, mate.’

  Harper blinked. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah. I mean, don’t make a habit of it, for God’s sake. But if he’d said that stuff about Lana, I would’ve done just the same.’ Stew let him go. ‘Come on, let’s go find the girls. If he’s already got to a journalist there could be press on the way. We should get you and Maisie out of here.’

  ‘Jesus,’ I muttered to Marcus when we were left alone. ‘That was a bit exciting.’

  ‘He’s got hidden depths, that man, hasn’t he?’

  I shrugged. ‘He loves his wife. They are pretty sweet, in their odd little celebrity way. Even if one of them does hate me.’

  ‘She doesn’t hate you. I told you, she’s jealous. And I think she’s coming round.’

  I glanced up at him. ‘You ever hit someone defending a girl’s honour?’

  He laughed. ‘No, but someone hit me once. Well, stabbed me with a fork actually.’

  ‘Bloody hell!’

  ‘Yeah, over a girl called Charlotte. Here.’ He unfastened his dinner jacket and pulled up his shirt to show me.

  ‘Don’t see anything,’ I said, squinting at the flat abs of his stomach.

  ‘Under the tattoo.’

  I looked more closely at the flaming sun just above his hip. There were four little bumps under the ink that could’ve come from a fork.

  ‘Must’ve been deep to leave a scar like that.’

  He shrugged. ‘You should see the other guy.’

  ‘Who was the other guy?’

  ‘Deano. I said Charlotte was a badly put-together heap of junk so he stuck a fork in me.’ He smiled at the look on my face. ‘Charlotte was a Meccano truck. He was seven, I was twelve.’

  I shook my head as he tucked his shirt back in. ‘There must be a name for whatever his thing is.’

  ‘There is. Deano.’ He nudged me. ‘Hey. We’re all alone and I just flashed you. Aren’t you worried people’ll talk?’

  ‘Still sulking about that?’

  ‘Not sulking. I miss having you over though.’

  ‘You see me in the pub.’

  ‘Yeah, but it was nice having you to myself.’

  I looked at him. From anyone else, that would have constituted serious flirting. But Marc just grinned in his oblivious way.

  ‘What?’ he said.

  ‘Haven’t you got other girls you could ask round?’ I asked, genuinely interested. Marc never talked about his love life. ‘Single ones who might want to sleep over and have sexy fun with you?’

  ‘Yeah. They don’t half look disappointed when I get the juggling balls out.’

  ‘Seriously. Don’t you go on dates?’

  ‘Sometimes. I’ve got one tomorrow actually.’

  I tried to ignore the pang of jealousy I had the hypocrisy to feel. ‘Oh. Right. That girl Livvy?’

  ‘Yep. Third date so I might even get lucky if I play my cards right. And I’m a magician so that’s one thing I’m good at.’

  ‘She seemed nice.’

  ‘She is. It’s going really well.’ He gave my arm a squeeze. ‘Hey, maybe we could make up a foursome with you and Cole sometime, what do you think?’

  ‘Yeah. Maybe. Come on, let’s go find the others.’

  Chapter 36

  ‘It’s not right, you know,’ Deano muttered darkly as he watched me help Roger into his costume.

  ‘We promised Roger he could be the cow,’ I said. ‘Not his fault Cinderella doesn’t have a cow, is it? Here, Rodge, lift your arms.’

  ‘Know what else Cinderella doesn’t have? A sodding Tyrannosaurus.’

  ‘The kids asked for a T-Rex. We have to listen to our audience, Deano.’

  ‘Tell you what, why don’t we just do Jurassic Park: The Musical instead?’ He shook his head. ‘A T-Rex pulling the pumpkin coach. I can see the press write-ups now.’

  ‘Wasn’t it you who said the Egglethwaite pantomime should be unique, young man?’ came the muffled voice of our rather pompous T-Rex.

  ‘There’s unique and there’s plain weird. And this is me talking.’ Deano turned to me. ‘And do we have to have the line-dancing Pikachus?’

  I shrugged. ‘The kids wanted Pokémon. Just be grateful we vetoed Baby Jesus and the pooing donkey. That could’ve gone a bit Life of Brian.’

  ‘You know this is going to be the most surreal panto ever?’

  ‘I’m hoping it’ll be remembered as quirky,’ I said. ‘Come on, Roger, let’s get you to your pumpkin.’

  I grabbed one of Roger’s little dino arms and led him to the painted chipboard coach Yo-yo had brought, lovingly painted by her Ladies Who Lunch. Harper and Marcus were examining it.

  Marcus waved to the dinosaur. ‘Hi, Rodge. Looking good.’

  ‘Hello Marcus,’ Roger said. ‘And Mr Brady. I’m told you punched my nephew in the face recently.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Harper said, grimacing. ‘Sorry. Lost it a bit when he insulted my wife. We don’t have a problem, do we?’

  ‘I don’t doubt he deserved it. It’s been the popular opinion within the family that what young Jamie has needed for a very long time is a punch in the face.’

  ‘Roger!’ I said.

  The T-Rex shrugged. ‘No need to sound so shocked, my dear. You should hear what his mother has to say on the subject.’ He turned to examine the coach. ‘Oh, now this is rather impressive. The ladies have done well.’

  The coach did look good. It was two-dimensional, with a little window and a handle for me to carry it. Swirling tendrils of pumpkin stalk
– well, twilling – curled around it, with a simple leather harness to attach it to our dinosaur.

  ‘Ok, Rodge, let’s give it a whirl,’ I said, guiding him into it. ‘Show us your dino trot.’

  I moved behind the coach and picked it up, then primmed my lips in my best Victorian-lady-in-the-park expression, which drew a laugh from Marcus.

  ‘Home, James, and don’t spare the T-Rexes,’ I said, batting the harness imperiously. Roger gamely trotted off, leading me out onto the stage.

  Gerry and Dad were there, practising their steps for the new number we’d written to replace I’m Too Sexy while Lana looked on. I put down my pumpkin and joined them.

  I couldn’t help a snicker at their new costumes. They were in a pair of matching 1920s-style Bathing Beauty swimsuits, each with a lace parasol. The rubber ducky hats were a nice touch too.

  ‘New song’s sounding good, Becks,’ Lana said. ‘You and Marc have done a great job on the lyrics.’

  ‘You don’t think Kit’ll be offended, do you?’

  ‘Are you kidding? He’ll love it.’

  ‘Go on then, Dad,’ I said. ‘From the top.’

  Sue started playing Billy Joel’s Uptown Girl and Dad and Gerry launched into their new song, Hot Tub Girls. Marc and I had only written it the week before so they hadn’t had long to practise, but they’d certainly risen to the challenge, improvising a pretty hilarious sexy-unsexy dance routine.

  When they’d finished, Roger laughed. ‘Oh, very good. That’s bound to go down well.’

  ‘Er, cheers, Barney,’ Dad said, squinting at him.

  ‘That you in there, Rodge?’ Gerry said.

  ‘Yes. Hello, Gerry.’ He nodded to the other two. ‘Danny. Lana.’

  ‘Ha!’ Gerry slapped him on the back. ‘Beats being a cow’s arse, eh, lad?’

  ‘You’re very chipper today,’ I said.

  ‘Why shouldn’t I be? Life’s good.’ Gerry sent a little finger-wiggle wave to Sue on piano, who blushed and waved back.

  ‘This is all your bloody fault,’ Lana muttered to me. ‘You and your basques. Now look what you’ve done.’

  We were interrupted by Deano, who was anxious to get things started.

  It was the first time we’d done a full run-through with the entire cast and crew, and luckily for Deano’s ever-twitching mad eye, it was pretty problem-free. Lana remembered most of her lines without prompts. Harper’s drunken dancing went down well with the kiddies in the juvenile chorus, who were allowed to sit in the audience when they weren’t needed on stage. The line-dancing Pikachus, with tails pinned up for safety, managed to perform all their steps without incident. Even the new song, the least-rehearsed part of the performance, went well, with the kids cracking up at Gerry’s constantly deflating boobies.