by Nigel Smith
“I can see your future,” said the fortune teller, peering into Dad’s bloodshot eyes.
“I can see their future,” growled Dad, looking at the children, “and it’s a very unpleasant one, full of pain, suffering, early bedtimes, no suppers and no TV apart from historical documentaries.”
Darius and Nat looked at each other. Neither of them had seen Dad this angry before.
Spiro bustled in, bent down and smothered Nat with kisses. “You are a brave little princess, you save the little monster, how can I thank you? Anything you want, you can have ANYTHING.”
Nat didn’t have to think for long.
“Can we borrow your circus?” said Nat.
The week before the weddings was as busy as any Nat could remember. She’d never seen Dad so manic, even when he was super-late delivering his rubbish Christmas cracker jokes.
There was SO MUCH to organise.
Firstly, they had to convince Tiffannee and Hiram that the new olde English country garden marquée picnic wedding was EVEN BETTER than the Country Club.
Dad was a terrible liar, so asked Nat to do it for him, and Nat asked Darius to help her. He was brilliant at lying.
“We’ve been so lucky,” said the tiny evil fibber. “It’s the same wedding tent as used by Her Majesty for last year’s Royal Garden Party.”
“Wow,” said Tiffannee.
“Wow to the MAX,” said Hiram.
“If it looks a bit like a big top, that’s because her Royal Highness used to be a lion-tamer in the Royal Gardens,” said Dad.
Nat kicked him. “Told you I was rubbish,” said Dad, later.
Nat reluctantly agreed to learn how to play ‘the wedding march’ on the school piano, for some reason. Dad said it was part of a very clever and crafty Darius masterplan.
“It’s something about giving you an excuse not to be where you should be so you can get somewhere else,” said Dad, “it’s terribly clever.”
“You don’t understand his masterplan, do you?” said Nat.
“Not all of it, no,” said Dad.
The next thing Nat had to do was find someone daft enough to cook lunch for the Bagley wedding, as Fiona and Oswald couldn’t afford to pay for the Country Club’s catering.
Luckily, Nat knew a chef. Penny’s dad, Mr Posnitch, a tiny little man from somewhere in Eastern Europe Nat couldn’t pronounce, used to run his own restaurant. He also used to be a footballer, but that skill was less useful to Nat right now.
He was thrilled to be asked to cook, especially when Nat told him that Penny was going to be the guest of honour at Oswald’s wedding. Just because they’d heard everyone in town saying how great she was. Nat knew enough about proud dads to know that this terrible porky pie would work.
Nat did get punished for her fib though – Penny asked her twenty times a day to repeat how great people thought she was for at least a week.
Dad was sorting out the catering and the photographer for Tiffannee’s wedding, while Nat was organising the flowers for the bouquets, her one proper official bridesmaid job.
Darius had volunteered to be DJ for the night at both parties. He liked DJing because he could finally make as much racket as he wanted without getting sent to sit outside the Head’s office.
His masterplan involved a clever schedule with routes and times and plots and plans so that they could all go to both weddings, more or less at the same time, without anyone noticing.
“Then when Darius has got everyone warmed up, it’ll be time for ‘King Ivor and the Hunneypots’,” Dad kept reminding them, plucking his rubbish ukulele, “although we’re only a duo now ’cos the drummer and guitarist reminded me they never wanted to see me again after all the boos and spitting and bottling at our last gig.”
There was so much going on Nat decided to write one of her famous lists. This one was titled:
WHAT I NEED TO WORRY ABOUT
1. Being in big family trouble forever for putting Tiffannee’s perfect wedding in a Bagley circus tent in a muddy field.
2. Being chainsawed by Oswald if his wedding goes wrong.
3. Selling my soul to Darius.
4. Being in two places at the same time because it IS IMPOSSIBLE, no matter what Darius says, the little chimpy monster.
5. Dad being in charge of the Tiffannee wedding food.
6. Dad being in charge of the entertainment.
7. Dad being in charge of anything.
8. King Ivor and the Hunnypots – live!
9. Mum finding out.
10. Mum finding out.
11. Mum finding out.
That last one was SO terrifying Nat reckoned it counted as a treble worry.
With a rising sense of alarm she realised her original fear – the fairy princess bridesmaid dress – no longer even made it into her top ten!
Every day after school for the next few days Nat, Dad and Darius went down to the circus, which was slowly being transformed.
Nat had thought it would be impossible, but seemingly nothing was too much trouble for the girl who had saved little Darius Bagley. She was fussed over by arthritic acrobats and Gladys the Fortune Teller, while Dad and the rest of the circus folk scrubbed, cleaned, repaired, painted and generally transformed a manky old big top into a gleaming wedding venue! At the end of the week it was fit for a REAL princess, never mind a pretend fairy one.
“It’s amazing,” said Nat, the night they finished. “I can’t actually believe it.”
And she wasn’t even fibbing.
The top was shining pink and gold, wild roses were entwined with the guy ropes, and above the entrance someone had painted
Nat thought that was a nice touch. Even if it was spelt wrong.
Mum rang every night. Her business deal (or, according to Darius, her secret fight against agents of darkness) was at a tricky stage, she said, so she couldn’t get away.
Darius said actually she was probably still trying to escape from an island doom bunker guarded by robot monkeys, until Nat pinched him several times and told him to stop worrying her as she was starting to believe him.
Mum was now going to fly back on the night of the wedding. “I’ll be there for the first dance,” she told Nat. Nat and Dad decided not to mention that there were now TWO weddings that day because Dad said she might get a bit upset and it could spoil her business concentration. Nat said they should at least tell her that Tiffannee’s wedding was going to be at a circus and Dad said he DEFINITELY would, but nearer the time, so as to cut down on the shouting.
Finally, it was the night before the weddings. Tiffannee came to stay at their house, adding to the double wedding secrecy and stress. Dad, who knew he was rubbish at keeping secrets, came over all dizzy and said he needed an early night.
“And now the weather report says freak storm expected,” he whispered to Nat. “I think the picnic on the lawn might be tricky.”
“Have you made the picnic?” she asked. “Oh flip,” he said. “I knew there was SOMETHING I’d forgotten.”
“Dad!” yelled Nat, then, remembering to keep her voice down, “we have to give them a big posh lunch. You can’t just hand out a dozen pork pies and say tuck in.”
“All the shops are shut now,” said Dad.
“I’m actually leaving home and I’m not even kidding,” said Nat.
Dad dived into the big chest freezer and starting chucking stuff out. Big chunks of solid meat slid across the kitchen floor.
After a few minutes he said: “Right, that’s all of it. What can we make with that?”
“We?!”
“Come on love, this is slightly your fault you know.”
“Yes I know, don’t remind me,” grumbled fairy queen bridesmaid Nat, “lemme get a cookbook.”
It was late when they eventually got to bed, having made great vats of ‘Dad Stew’ until the pantry was bare and Nat and Dad were both exhausted.
It’s impossible, thought Nat, as she turned her light out. THIS WHOLE IDEA IS IMPOSSIBLE.
&
nbsp; But as much as Nat didn’t want to speak too soon, things did seem to have at last fallen into place…
When Nat awoke the next morning, it was to birdsong, and early morning sunlight filtering through her curtains. And Dad in the driveway kicking the van and swearing.
Nat couldn’t quite believe it. But it was true. After all these weeks of planning, and all the madness and upset and mix-ups and confusions, here they were.
D-Day.
The day of the wedding.
The TWO weddings. The double bridesmaid disaster day, as she was calling it.
Nat’s heart was already starting to beat quickly as she rubbed sleep from her eyes and studied her big wall chart. On it was Darius’s running order, and it was timed like a military operation. In fact, she reckoned one small war probably took less planning than two big weddings.
There was also a to-do list for the big day. It was long and terrifying. She had given a copy to Dad a couple of days before, along with strict instructions to memorise it. She guessed he must have at least read it because the first thing written there was:
MAKE SURE THE ATOMIC DUSTBIN WORKS.
Smoke trickled in through her bedroom window. For most people that might have been an alarming start to their morning, but Nat knew it meant the van was actually about to work. Sure enough, a moment later there was a familiar ear-splitting cough and a happy woof from the dog as the Atomic Dustbin rattled to life.
“It’s gonna be a GOOD DAY!” shouted Dad, over the racket.
I wish I could believe it, thought Nat, I really do.
Over a hasty breakfast, Dad ran through the plans for the day, like a military general. Or rather, a hapless idiot pretending to be a military general.
“Remember,” he warned, “at no point must Tiffannee – or your mum, if she gets back in time – know what we’re doing. There might be unpleasant consequences.”
“It’s like black ops,” said Darius, who had stayed over.
“What?” said Nat, munching her toast quickly.
“Secret missions,” said Darius. “Spies, machine guns, grenades.”
“Perfect,” said Nat. “Shall we put those on the checklist then? Confetti, rings, flowers, machine guns, grenades.”
There was a banging at the door.
“It’s the bridesmaids come to get Tiff ready,” said Dad, peeking out of the curtains. “Hide all the secret plans!”
Tiffannee ran down the stairs to greet her fairy princess bridesmaids. She was in a fluffy dressing gown, face slathered in cream, curlers in her hair. When she opened the door they all squealed.
“There’s so much to do!” said Tiffannee shrilly, sounding way beyond stressed.
I see Tiffannee the Bridezilla is back, thought Nat, sourly. Brilliant. This’ll make the day so much easier.
The bride went on. “My hair my nails my make-up my everything my— aaaarrgh!”
The last sound was made while pointing at Annie Chicken, whose face was bright red and covered with spots and flaky skin. She looked like she’d caught a disease from the middle ages like the scrofulous pox or something.
“Oh no, can you still tell?” said horrified Annie, putting her hands up to cover her face. “I put some concealer on.”
“It needs more than concealer,” said Darius as he walked past. “You could try a paper bag.”
Annie burst into tears, and Daisy chased Darius up the stairs, trying to bash him with the heel of a shoe.
“You little monster,” she yelled.
“No, I’m the monster,” said Annie, sobbing.
And it had to be said, she did look a bit monstrous.
“I’m allergic to daffodils,” she wailed. “Everyone knows that, but look what came yesterday.”
She showed Tiffannee a big bouquet. Of daffodils, mostly. Annie Pox-face Chicken slammed them down on a side table, angrily.
“Nathalia was in charge of the bouquets,” she hissed. “She did it on purpose! And it’s worked. She’s got her way – AGAIN. I can’t come to your wedding like this.” And she rushed out of the house in floods of tears.
“Nat, are you really still trying to nobble the bridesmaids?” said Tiffannee. “And if you are, please stop it. It’ll ruin my perfect day.”
“I PROMISE I’m not!” said Nat, totally truthfully. She chose daffodils because they were free – she’d pinched them from next door’s garden!
“I do believe you, truly I do. Just please stop it. Now come on, my last remaining fairy princesses, it’s time to get ready!” said Tiffannee, as she and Daisy and Tilly ran upstairs squealing loudly again.
Nat followed, then ducked into her bedroom as she passed it.
She yanked the horrid fairy princess outfit from the wardrobe and sulkily put it on. She looked at herself in the mirror and felt properly sick.
Then she put her black dress and black jacket over the top to see how it fit. She could just about get them on. She looked lumpy, and she was already too hot, but it was an improvement at least.
By the time Tiffannee’s carriage had arrived, Nat was a fairy princess again, though she left her big black boots on as they were a massive faff to get off, and were pretty much hidden by her long fairy princess dress anyway.
“Ready to go?” shouted Dad from downstairs.
Nat clomped down and waited for the others.
Then she saw Tiffannee.
She looked BEAUTIFUL.
She was wearing an incredible, long, straight white dress, simple and elegant. She had a crown of wildflowers and her hair was tumbling down in ringlets, framing her perfect face.
“Do I look all right?” said the nervous bride as she stepped lightly down the stairs.
“You look like an angel,” said Nat, and meant it. “Are you sure you’re related to Dad?”
Tiffannee smiled. “Here we go!” she said, as she walked out of the door, her bridesmaids following behind her.
Nat was relieved to see that Uncle Spiro had made the horse and carriage look absolutely gorgeous. The four circus ponies were proudly decked in blue and white ribbons and Nat reckoned the big plumes looked brilliant. She was less sure about the two creaky lady acrobats standing on their backs, but Tiffannee just clapped and laughed.
“Oh, I can see today’s going to be full of surprises!” she squealed, then turning to Nat. “I want to thank you and your dad for making this day so perfect.”
Don’t say that yet, thought Nat, it’s not even 10am.
But she had to admit things did seem to be going well. Even Dad looked nice, in a smart grey and black morning suit and top hat. He’d showered and shaved and looked quite human.
As opposed to Darius, who still looked like a goblin, even though he was now a goblin in a tiny black suit.
Dad and Nat now had to get to Fiona to start her day off, so they’d worked out a clever excuse for not going in the carriage with Tiffannee and the bridesmaids.
“Nat’s got a special bridesmaid surprise for you,” said Dad, “so we need to go on ahead. See you at St Michael’s.”
St Michael’s? thought Nat. I was sure it was St Mary’s… but she quickly forgot as Tiffannee kissed them all goodbye, and everyone waved and squealed excitedly as the carriage horses whinnied and the bride was pulled away. Ten minutes later and the Atomic Dustbin slowed down outside Fiona’s house, just enough for Nat and Darius to leap out and get the bride. Nat had her black Maid of Horror outfit on top again.
“These wings have given me the hump,” she said.
“Stop complaining,” said Darius.
“No, I mean a real hump,” she said.
Fiona came to the door looking like a pretty vampire in a tight black leather and lace outfit. She tottered to the van in high-heeled shiny boots.
“You look fantastic,” she told Nat. “Thank you so much for making my day so perfect.”
I do wish everyone would stop saying that, thought Nat.
They dropped Fiona off at the park where she was meeting Merlin to go over the
finer points of the ceremony, giving them enough time to gun it back to the church for the fairytale wedding.
“It’s going well so far!” said Dad as they pulled up outside the church, which had a crowd of people gathered outside. “You hop out and get playing, I’ll park somewhere. Hmmm, I can’t see anyone I recognise yet.”
Nat, in full fairy princess costume, clomped her way through the crowd. There were a lot of people wearing black, and lots of people were sniffing and dabbing their eyes with hankies.
Why does EVERYONE cry at a wedding? Nat thought, stomping her way up the little stone steps to the balcony where the church organs always were.
I know people DO blub, she thought, but this is ridiculous.
She was so stompy, she completely missed a little sign near the front door with the order of service on. It said:
In memoriam.
In the balcony of the church, there was a very ancient man sat at the organ wearing a big white cloak. He was peering at the music and playing something a bit gloomy.
Flipping heck, people need to lighten up, thought Nat. This IS a wedding, after all.
“I do wish there was more light in here,” said the organist. “Oh, hello little girl,” he smiled in a kindly way. “Are you supposed to be an angel?”
“Nah, fairy,” she said. “Tiffannee’s the angel.”
“I suppose she is now, yes, my dear,” said the man. “So, how are you feeling?”
“Stressed,” said Nat, “really miserable and stressed. But I reckon it’s all my own fault.”
“It’s not your fault,” said the old man firmly. “But of course it’s not unusual to feel like that at these times.” He had such a lovely soothing voice Nat thought she might cry.
“It’s been a horrible time,” she said, sniffily.
“Of course. Have a hanky.”
She took it and blew her nose.
“I mean, I know some people are happy about it.”
“Happy? Are they? Ah, that’s quite unusual.”
“Oh yeah, you should hear them. But that’s ’cos they don’t know about the work that goes into these things. They just want a big party at the end.”
