by Nigel Smith
Pop music played from somewhere, and all the songs were about love, marriage or something ruder. The room was stuffed to the ceiling with super-girly decorations. There was a large table decorated with wedding ribbons and confetti and covered with finger food. There were shiny freshly-baked cupcakes, delicate sandwiches and chocolate-smothered treats. Nat thought the food actually looked quite delicious. She had forgotten to eat breakfast and her tummy rumbled.
Nat was offered a refill of her orange juice glass. She noticed that everyone else was holding glasses of champagne and that there were already quite a few empty bottles lying about.
You lot have started early, thought Nat, listening to the screeching as someone told a rather saucy ‘wedding night’ gag. Nat braced herself for a horrible day.
The room was crowded and everyone was busy gossiping and shrieking, but Nat saw a large empty cushion on the floor that looked comfy and away from most of the noise. She plopped herself down on it.
PAAARP.
It made a horrible, flabby trumpet sound. A trouser-trumpet sound, to be precise. All the women laughed and clapped and hooted.
“You sat on the fart cushion of truth!” squealed Indigo Sparkle.
Oh ha ha, very funny, thought Nat. Very mature, I must say.
“Tell us a secret, or do us a dare,” chanted the girls.
“Have we started already?” said Nat, miserably. “No one said we’d started already.”
“Truth or dare, truth or dare!”
Nat didn’t want to risk taking a dare, not with the rotten bridesmaids here. They might dare her to dance in her pants on the roof or something. So she decided to tell them a secret.
She told them one of her MANY embarrassing Dad stories. She had loads to choose from. Nat was actually quite good at telling embarrassing Dad stories, because he’d been embarrassing her for a very long time.
She told them about the time Dad had demanded to come into the changing rooms with her at a big clothing store. He had had a massive row with the shop assistant because he’d said Nat was ‘too little’ to be left on her own.
“All the women ran out screaming,” said Nat. “I was ELEVEN.”
The bridal shower girls all fell about laughing.
“How embarrassing,” said bridesmaid Annie Chicken
“He’s terrible,” said bridesmaid Tilly Saddle.
“Your dad is the worst,” said Chief Bridesmaid Daisy Wetwipe. “He’s so awful. He’s the pits.”
“Hang on,” said Tiffannee, her smile fading, “that’s a bit much. This is my family you’re talking about. He was only trying to look after Nat.”
There was a bit of an uncomfortable silence and Nat felt an unexpected stab of fondness for her silly cousin.
“Only kidding,” said Daisy, a bit sulkily.
Soon the bridal shower was in full swing again, and Nat was almost enjoying herself now. She even felt a teensy bit guilty for trying to wriggle out of being a bridesmaid.
And she’d made a terrible deal with the devil – i.e. Darius – to do it. Somewhere Nat knew awful things were going to happen to her.
She imagined Darius, with horns, wreathed in red smoke, waving his litter stick at her and cackling:
YOU ARE THE WORST BRIDESMAID IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD, EVER!
“Shuddup!” said Nat out loud, getting lost in her vision, “I’m NOT a rubbish bridesmaid,” just as the pop music stopped.
There was silence. Nat felt her cheeks glowing red.
“She’s not,” said Tiffannee loudly, staring reproachfully at the nearest bridesmaid to Nat, who happened to be Chief Bridesmaid Daisy, “and stop saying she is.”
“I didn’t say anything!” said Daisy. She dropped her voice and hissed at Nat, “You’re at it again, trying to get rid of us. I’m on to you, missy, I really am.”
Oops, thought Nat as the music and chattering started up again. It’s ’cos I’m hungry, I’m not thinking straight…
She decided a cupcake and a ham sandwich might cheer her up. She was amazed none of the food had been touched; it looked so delicious. Hmmm, I suppose they’re all too busy glugging fizz, thought Nat, filling a plate with tasty treats.
But as she took her first bite, the girls at the bridal shower leapt up shouting:
“She’s the first, she’s the first! Piggy piggy piggy! Oinky oink oinky!”
The rest of them rushed over to the table and starting wolfing the food.
Someone grabbed Nat and put a little piggy nose on her, kept in place by a bit of elastic that snapped on to the back of her head.
“Hey,” said Nat, “that’s not very nice. And OUCH, that stings.”
“Sorry,” laughed Daisy, “but it’s just another silly game. You can take the piggy snout off in an hour.”
Tiffannee came over and hugged Nat. “I was starving,” she said with a wink, “thanks for taking one for the team.”
Nat just wanted to go home, but Darius had told her to play along until Dad broke the news to Tiffannee and so she pretended to laugh with everyone else. She even forced herself to make little oink-oink noises.
“She’s such a good sport,” she overheard Tiffannee saying to ex-First Assistant Bridesmaid Annie Chicken.
“Yes, that’s what I said,” said Annie through gritted teeth. “She’s a real treasure.”
Daisy sidled up to Nat. “And you know what happens to treasure, don’t you?”
“It’s – er – treasured?”
“No, it’s buried.”
Nice, thought Nat, really nice.
She smiled at the bridesmaids as a wicked thought struck her. With a bit of luck Oswald Bagley will eat the lot of you.
A little later and the food was all gone but the fizz bottles kept popping. The conversation had gone from a 12A rating (parental guidance required) to a 15 (not suitable for children, and may include VERY EMBARRASSING GIRL STUFF).
Nat felt a bit like she was watching a slow-motion car crash. She wanted to tear her eyes away, but somehow couldn’t.
Women are just plain WEIRD, she thought. I am NOT growing up, and I’m certainly not getting married. Even if boys weren’t revolting, which they are.
She was in the middle of this lovely conversation with herself when she heard the words:
“Let’s play slumber party!”
“Yay!” shouted the other girls.
“Woo,” muttered Nat.
“This one’s a bit naughty,” said Daisy giggling.
Ew, thought Nat.
“Have you all brought your jim-jams?” asked Chief Bridesmaid Daisy Wetwipe.
The girls all giggled and nodded.
“No,” said Nat, loudly. “No one told me about this.”
“She just doesn’t wanna do it,” said Annie Chicken with a smirk.
“Boo,” said Tilly Saddle.
“Spoilsport,” said Daisy.
“No, I do want to do it,” fibbed Nat, feeling very uncomfortable. “I do, honest.”
“She doesn’t have to if she doesn’t want to,” said Tiffannee kindly.
“No, I’ll have a go,” said Nat.
“Fortunately, I have a spare pair of PJs,” said Daisy.
Everyone cheered.
“Yay,” said Nat, feebly.
The Chief Bridesmaid handed Nat a tiny pair of pyjamas with cute little teddy bears on.
“They’re my kid sister’s,” said Daisy. “They might be a bit short, but you’re skinny enough to wear them.”
Gee thanks, thought Nat, sourly.
“Listen, ladies,” announced Daisy, “here are the rules. I turn the lights out, and we all have to get changed into our ’jamas IN THE PITCH BLACK.”
Everyone went: “Oooooh.”
“The first one to do it shouts, ‘Wedding night!’ and the lights go on. Loser is the least dressed.”
Right, well I’m not losing this, thought Nat, who had quite a competitive streak. I’m not going to be the least dressed – how awful would that be?
&nbs
p; Tilly drew the curtains and the girls stood up, nightwear at their feet.
“Ready… steady… wait for it, Indigo… GO!”
The lights went out and the room was plunged into darkness. Nat grabbed her teddy bear jim-jams in one hand and scrabbled out of her jeans in double quick time. Within seconds she had her top off and had squeezed herself into the tiny kid’s pyjamas.
Nat was a whizz at getting dressed in the dark; Dad had blown the fuses in the house so many times she was used to it. As she did up the final buttons she reckoned she was ahead of the game. Yes! She was finished.
“Wedding night!” she shouted, sure of victory.
The lights went on.
She was the only person wearing pyjamas.
Tiny, fluffy, teddy-bear pyjamas.
For a second there was silence, and then the horror of the trick came crashing down on her. Then there was a screech of laughter from the horrible bridesmaids.
Nat knew she was going red and she felt like crying, but she wasn’t going to let them see her upset.
“You’re the most rotten bridesmaids ever,” she said, “you’re always talking about friendship and sticking together but you’re selfish and mean.”
She turned to the bride, who wasn’t laughing.
“And that goes for you too, Tiffannee,” she said, “you used to be really nice. I don’t know what happened.”
She turned and headed for the door, with as much dignity as possible.
Sadly, it wasn’t very much dignity; she had both legs rammed down one trouser leg.
She bunny-hopped out.
Nat sat on the top of the stairs, waiting for the day to end and Dad to come and collect her. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been sitting there but soon Tiffannee came to join her.
The bride-to-be put a gentle hand on her back.
“I’m really sorry about that,” said Tiffannee quietly. “I am, honestly.”
Nat muttered something under her breath. Mostly they were words that Darius had taught her, or that she’d heard Mum saying to Dad when he’d been especially annoying.
“I think they went a little too far,” continued Tiffannee, “and I wish I’d stopped them. But you’ve been such a good sport the bridesmaids convinced me you wouldn’t mind.”
More muttering.
“Forgive me?” said Tiffannee.
Nat shrugged. There had been a couple of times today that she’d seen the old Tiffannee or Rosie – and here she was again. “S’pose.”
“Thanks Nat. Do you really think I’ve changed?”
“A bit, yeah.”
“It’s this wedding,” sighed Tiffannee, “I just get carried away sometimes. I so much want it to be—”
“Perfect, I know, yeah,” said Nat. She really wished she wasn’t starting to like Tiffannee.
Tiffannee smiled. “I think you must be the bestest bridesmaid ever.”
Nat sat up and gave Tiffannee a half smile. “Can I go home now, please?” she said.
“Yes you can,” said Tiffannee firmly. “You wait there. I’m calling a cab and I’m coming with you. As far as I’m concerned, this bridal shower is over.”
Tiffannee and Nat didn’t say much on the way home, but Tiffannee kept giving Nat’s hand a little squeeze, which made Nat feel even worse. After all, she was still aiming to get out of being her bridesmaid. When the cab arrived at Nat’s, Tiff gave her a peck on the cheek.
“Sorry again,” she said, and then was gone.
Nat trudged indoors.
“Weddings are horrid and rubbish and I never want to go to ANY of them,” she yelled, going into the kitchen.
Fiona was sitting there, calmly drinking tea.
“I hope you don’t mean that,” she said, “not about my wedding anyway.”
“Ha ha, of course not!” said Nat, super-quickly.
“Your Dad was just about to tell me what he’s arranged for us,” said Fiona, pulling out her little police notebook. “You’ve had a week.”
“Has it been a week?” said Dad. “Doesn’t time fly when you’re having wedding fun?”
Fiona looked at all the lovely bridal magazines that were lying about, and all the info about cars and flowers and decorations and she said: “I’m ever so impressed, you’re obviously going to a heap of trouble.”
Dad swept up all of Tiffannee’s wedding stuff and squeaked, “No peeking!” in a slightly strained voice. “Something old, something new, something borrowed and definitely no peeking, that’s the rhyme!”
Fiona shrugged. “So, where exactly are we getting married? It doesn’t really matter as long as there’s enough room for Merlin’s cauldron.”
Nat shivered. She knew Dad hadn’t found anywhere.
“Not QUITE finalised that yet, lemme get back to you,” he said.
Fiona licked her pencil. “And we all need to eat after the ceremony. Where are we having lunch?”
“Narrowing it down,” fibbed Dad.
Fiona chewed her pencil. “And the party that night? The big Bagley bash. Where are we having that?”
“That’s a massive surprise,” said Dad.
There was a build-up of tension in the kitchen, but then…
“Did someone mention chips for tea?” called a familiar, hungry voice from the doorway. Bad News Nan barged in holding a big bag of chips above her head. Behind her, Nat could see Darius jumping up trying to get at them. Just like the dog.
“I was coming up the road and I saw little Darius. I thought I’d give him a hand,” said Bad News Nan.
“She’s eating them all out of the packet,” said Darius. Nat saw the big tear in the chip wrapper.
“I had one tiny one, that’s all,” said Bad News Nan, “and then I got a bit of batter under the top plate of my teeth.” She fished in her coat pocket, brought out her false teeth and handed them to Nat, who took the glistening gift with horror.
“Run them under the hot tap for a minute, will you, Nat?” said Bad News Nan.
By the time Nat had recovered enough to want to eat, the others were tucking into their chippy tea. Bad News Nan was talking about a funeral she’d been to recently.
After food, funerals were Bad News Nan’s favourite topic of conversation.
“It was her wedding what killed Doreen Flipper,” droned Bad News Nan.
“How did a wedding do that?” asked Fiona nervously.
“Doreen never liked her daughter Eileen’s intended,” said Bad News Nan, taking her teeth off Nat and attacking a bit of battered fish with gusto.
“Her heart gave out in the end, with all the strain. ’Course, it took another forty years for it to give out properly, but it got her in the end. Beautiful funeral, her son-in-law put on a lovely spread. I think she was wrong about him, but there was no telling her. Too late now.”
“We’re talking about HAPPY weddings today,” said Fiona.
“Weddings always make somebody miserable, you mark my words,” said Bad News Nan, happily.
“Yeah. Mainly me,” muttered Nat.
“Well it’s making me a bit miserable too, truth be told,” said Fiona, and she looked so sad that Nat felt a rush of sympathy for her. “We’re supposed to be getting married in two weeks and the only thing we’re sure of is the cake. Oswald’s mum’s making it.”
“Old Grammy Bagley?” said Bad News Nan. “You’re letting her make your cake? Well, you’re mad marrying Oswald, but if you let that woman near your cake you should be locked up in the funny farm.”
“Why?” said Fiona, turning pale.
“Bowel-Basher Bagley we used to call her, down at bingo,” said Bad News Nan with relish. She did the cakes for Arthur Teapot’s ninety-fifth birthday. He never made ninety-six, that’s all I’m saying.”
Fiona looked upset. “I think I’m having pre-wedding nerves,” she said.
“Listen to your nerves, they’re trying to tell you something,” said Dad, hoping she might call off the wedding.
“Don’t listen to them,” said Nat
, hoping she wouldn’t.
“Maybe you should put the wedding off for a bit,” said Dad. “To next year even. Or the decade after. Long engagements are very fashionable. Ooh and then you could have it on a beach somewhere far far away abroad.”
“What about Merlin and the giblets though?” said Nat, scowling angrily at Dad.
“Well exactly,” said Fiona. “the giblets don’t lie. It’s now or never.”
“Don’t change anything. The wedding will be great. Everything will be fine EXACTLY AS PLANNED. Yum, lovely wedding,” Nat added.
“Nothing’s IS planned though, that’s the problem – not the venue, the food, the party… not even the cake by the sound of it…” Fiona said.
“And Oswald’s no help. All he wants to do is ride his horrible motorbike. I’ve a good mind to tell him it’s me or the bike.”
“I wouldn’t give him that choice,” said Nat.
“Everything’s going wrong,” said Fiona miserably.
And then burst into tears.
Why do weddings make everyone cry all the time? Nat wondered to herself as she got ready for bed that night. They’re supposed to be happy events, but I’m surrounded by people blubbing all the time.
When Nat came downstairs to say goodnight to Dad he was still on his laptop failing to find a place for the Bagley wedding.
“Sorry I dropped you in this, Dad,” said Nat, truthfully.
“It’s OK,” he said. “We just need our luck to change, that’s all.”
Just then the doorbell rang.
“Bit late for callers,” said Dad, sounding puzzled as he got up to answer it.
Tiffannee was on the doorstep.
“The wedding’s off,” she said.
And then burst into tears.
Tiffannee was too upset to explain, she simply walked into the living room and put an American late-night news channel on. “Just watch,” she snivelled.
Dad went off to make her a cup of tea while Tiffannee just blubbed on Nat’s shoulder.
Eventually she heard something and looked up, pointing at the telly. “Look,” she said.
