Nathalia Buttface and The Totally Embarrassing Bridesmaid Disaster

by Nigel Smith

  “I thought it was you,” said another old man, appearing from behind Nat. He looked weather-beaten and tough, like one of the more successful pirates.

  “We meet again, Fingers Bagley,” said Fiona’s grandad, standing up. The two men were nose to nose, with Nat and Darius squashed in between.

  “I was never nicking that safe,” said Fingers. “I was taking it to get it cleaned.”

  “Tell it to the judge,” snarled Grandad Sweetly. “Oh wait, you did, and the judge didn’t believe you either.”

  “I should strangle you with these,” said Fingers Bagley, grabbing the cuffs and lifting them up, taking Nat and Darius with them.

  “Try me any time,” said the old policeman.

  Fingers looked down at the dangling children. “Hello, Darius. Pleased to meet you, little miss,” he said politely. “Welcome to our family.”

  Darius chuckled.

  Oh heck, thought Nat.

  The old bank robber set them down again and went back to his table.

  “Why are we waiting…” sang the hungry Bagleys, bashing the tables with their knives and forks.

  “These lot aren’t as polite as Tiffannee’s guests,” said Nat, running towards the kitchens, Darius dragged behind her, bouncing off the tables. “I hope Penny and her dad have got the food ready,” she said.

  She was relieved to sniff delicious cooking smells from the kitchen. Inside there was almost as much chaos as there was outside. Mr Posnitch, covered in flour, sauces and a sprinkling of secret herbs and spices, was hitting himself on the head with a rolling pin. Penny, also covered in ingredients, was near tears.

  Tears at a wedding, thought Nat. What a surprise.

  “No, no, NO,” Mr Posnitch was shouting, “there are NO currants in proper Sclutch Dumplings. Why did you put currents in the Sclutch Dumplings? You have to start all over again.”

  “No starting again!” said Nat firmly. “Just lots of getting it straight out into the dining room, as fast as possible.”

  “Nathalia, this is all terrible,” moaned Mr Posnitch. “I am a professional, I am used to professional kitchen, but here, no. There is no equipment!”

  Nat looked round. The Country Club kitchen was jammed with every possible utensil she could think of, from pans to lemon squeezers, from blenders and mixers to blow torches and bread makers.

  “I am expected to cook my food without a Gremki steamer, a sutch muddler or even a flump griddle. How is it possible?”

  “It certainly smells yummy,” said Nat, side-stepping the question neatly.

  “You call it yummy, I say is slop,” said Mr Posnitch. “Is fit only for pigs and wild beasts.”

  “That’s perfect,” said Darius cheerfully.

  “Why are you picking Darius’s nose?” said Penny.

  “AAARGH!” shouted Nat, looking at her hand and realising what Darius was doing. “Stop it. Now.”

  Penny gave her dad a big hug. “Dad, it’s all lovely, I promise. It tastes the way Mum would have made it.”

  Nat knew Penny didn’t have a mum any more.

  Mr Posnitch’s eyes sparkled, damply.

  Oh not you too, thought Nat.

  He drew himself up to his full tiny height. “If it is good enough for Mariska Popitova Posnitch, it is good enough for a queen,” said Mr Posnitch, “because that is what she was, a queen.”

  He began taking the black-coloured food out, proudly.

  “Thanks for asking Dad to help,” said Penny. “He hasn’t enjoyed cooking for years, not since Mum…. This has really cheered him up.”

  Nat’s lower lip trembled. “It’s OK, Penny,” she sniffed. “I’m just glad to bring a bit of happiness into people’s lives.”

  “It’s made me so happy too,” sobbed Penny. The girls fell wetly into each other’s arms, tears flowing freely.

  “Darius, is that your finger up my nose?” said Penny.

  “I need a wee,” said Darius.

  “You can’t have one!” said Nat, furiously, all tears forgotten.

  “It’s gonna run down my leg,” he said.

  “I don’t care, just keep your hands where I can see them,” said Nat. Darius crossed and uncrossed his legs.

  Dad appeared in the doorway. “You gotta see this…” he said. The three children rushed out into the dining room. Mr Posnitch was being chucked about over the heads of the Bagleys like a floury volleyball.

  “Put my dad down, you monsters!” yelled Penny.

  “Please don’t hurt him,” sobbed Penny. “I’m sorry about the sultanas in the dumplings, I didn’t know…”

  She rushed forward to rescue him, but Dad stopped her. He was laughing. “They’re not hurting him,” he said smiling. “They’re saying thank you for the delicious food. They think he’s wonderful!”

  Bounce bounce bounce went Mr Posnitch. “Posnitch, Posnitch,” chanted the Bagleys. “It’s just like when he scored the winning goal in the cup final!” said Penny, sounding super-proud. “Shame it was an own goal, and it was the other team who were thanking him, but still…”

  The meal was a great success.

  Once again, Nat and Dad had avoided upsetting Oswald. Better yet, Nat managed to get some of Mr Posnitch’s delicious food, which was fortunate as she’d (deliberately) missed out on Tiffannee’s doggy stew earlier and was ravenous.

  The only difficulty was trying to eat while being attached to Darius. She had to time it or he’d end up with lunch all over his face. Which he did most days anyway, so actually she wasn’t that bothered. In fact…

  Splat! went yet another spoonful of apple pie and custard, up his nose. Tee hee, thought Nat, this is the best part of the day so far.

  “You gotta get the key to the cuffs,” said custard-nosed Darius, even twitchier than normal, “or I’m gonna burst, and if I burst who’s gonna get splashed? You, that’s who.”

  “Fiona! Where’s Merlin and where’s the key?” yelled Nat.

  “He’s been called away on an emergency,” said Fiona. “There was an explosion at the tomato sauce bottling plant.”

  “Oh, I didn’t realise he was a doctor,” said Nat. “I thought he worked in the dry-cleaner’s?”

  “That’s the emergency,” said Fiona. “Four hundred shirts, ruined by ketchup. He’ll be kept busy all day.”

  “All right, just gimme a hair pin,” said Darius, through gritted teeth, “under the table so no one can see.”

  Fiona found one in her bag and Darius began to fiddle with the lock.

  “I’ve told you,” she said, “no one could open that, not even your granda—”

  The cuff sprang open. Darius rushed off to find a loo.

  It was ages before he came back, but when he did he had a huge smile of relief on his face.

  Nat was very cross. “If you could always get us out of that, why the flip didn’t you?” she said.

  Darius looked over at his Grandad Fingers.

  Nat didn’t understand.

  “Family,” said Darius with a shrug. “Grandad couldn’t do it, so…”

  Of course! Nat got it. His grandad could never break out of the cuffs, and so Darius didn’t want to show him up!

  Every so often, the total and utter chimp that was Darius Bagley did something that made Nat want to hug him. She never did, of course, because he was basically rank, but right then she at least felt the urge.

  Nat looked at her watch. “Dad, time’s nearly up. Let’s do cake here, then get back for Tiffannee’s first dance.”

  As if on cue, Mr Posnitch came over and said to Nat, “Your waiters are bringing the cake out now.”

  Waiters? thought Nat. What waiters?

  Three men in tuxedos and bow ties wheeled in Grammy Bagley’s cake.

  Nat didn’t care what Bad News Nan said – Grammy Bagley could make a wonderful-looking wedding cake.

  Everyone whooped and cheered at the sight.

  There was nothing ‘new-age’ or ‘magic cauldron’ about this bit of the wedding. It was a stone-
cold wedding cake classic – three snow-white tiers, each delicately balanced on pillars of crystallised sugar, and piped with pink and white roses. The cake seemed to hang suspended in the air, magically floating on columns of ice.

  It was perfect.

  It was so perfect that everyone stood and applauded. Grammy Bagley shuffled to her feet. She slurred her words a bit, and Nat guessed that those flasks hadn’t contained tea.

  “You’re a rotten lot,” she said, “there’s hardly a decent one among you. But you’re family. And today our family is a bit bigger, and a whole lot better.”

  Blimey, thought Nat, these Bagleys are full of surprises.

  “I ain’t got no money to give Fiona and Oswald, but I hope they know this cake comes with love.”

  Fiona started sniffing. “It’s beautiful,” she said, “thank you.”

  Oswald stood up. His usually stony face wore an odd expression Nat couldn’t recognise. He cleared his throat. He was going to make a speech!

  Just then, one of the waiters tripped up, and very nearly fell head-first into the cake.

  “OH MY!” the waiter shouted. “Look what very nearly happened.”

  “WATCH OUT!” shouted the second waiter, grabbing the top tier of the cake as if to move it out of the way, “you’re SO CLUMSY. That was nearly a total disaster.”

  The third waiter started making thrashing movements as he lifted the second tier. “Who put itching powder in my trousers today?” he said. “That’s going to make things really difficult.”

  The guests stared at the three idiots, dismantling the precious cake.

  And Nat realised who the waiters were.

  They were the comedy waiters Dad had booked for Tiffannee’s wedding. And they were starting their rubbish act.

  Noooo, she thought, not here, not now…

  And not the cake.

  The precious cake of Grammy Bagley love.

  There was a low growl coming from the guests, who were looking at the scene with growing anger. Nat moved towards the waiters to warn them, but she was too late.

  The growling noise must have made one of the trio nervous, and when one of the Bagley kids, hyper on sweeties and fizzy pop, shot across the floor in front of him, he tripped for real. The top tier of the cake spun out of his hands, twirled in the air and landed intact, though with a wet splat, on the ground.

  Nothing happened for a second. “That was a close one!” said the clumsy waiter. Then, like a delayed reaction, all the icing cracked and the cake fell to bits on the floor.

  “Oh no, look what I’ve done!” said the waiter. Nat realised he was being deadly serious.

  “It doesn’t matter,” another waiter hissed, “go with it, keep in character, we’re supposed to be clumsy, remember? That’s the act.”

  “Yeah, c’mon Quentin,” said the other comedy waiter, “remember that everyone will forgive us if we make them laugh.”

  Oh dear, thought Nat, that’s what my dad thinks.

  AND IT’S STUPID AND WRONG AND ALWAYS ENDS BADLY.

  What happened next was stupid and wrong and ended very badly too.

  The Bagleys were already furious that Grammy Bagley’s wonderful cake was being chucked about and they were about to get even more furious.

  The head waiter, the one who thought he was the most hilarious, picked up a chunk of broken cake and deliberately slipped over, sending the cake whizzing over his head.

  Where it landed – smack on Oswald Bagley’s face.

  “Run!” yelled Dad, grabbing Darius and Nat and making a dash for it, just before the place erupted.

  “Dad, I could properly murder you and I’m not even joking,” hissed Nat, “this is another total disaster.”

  “Look on the bright side,” said Dad, glancing back from the door to see plates, glasses, tables and comedy waiters being hurled about the room, “at least no one’s going to notice we’ve gone.”

  Outside, the weather had turned as ugly and fierce as the wedding party had inside. Nat, along with Dad, Darius and Bad News Nan (one hand clutching her huge hat firmly to her head, the other just as firmly holding onto a big gloopy piece of cake), fought through tearing winds and lashing rain. They struggled across the car park towards the van.

  And there, leaning against the Atomic Dustbin, lit by bolts of lightning, hair streaming in the wind, standing tall and terrifying in the teeth of the storm, stood a lone figure.

  Dad make a tiny noise in the back of his throat.

  Nat thought it sounded like a prehistoric wombat, running into a peckish, smiling T-Rex. A noise that meant the doomed furry creature had realised that mammals might well be on the winning side one day… but that day was not today.

  “Hello love,” squeaked Dad.

  It was Mum.

  WAY more terrifying than that peckish T-Rex.

  And she wasn’t even smiling.

  They drove through the gathering storm in silence for a while.

  Eventually Mum said: “Let’s make sure I’ve got this correct. I leave you in charge for a few days and you give Tiffannee’s lovely, beautifully planned, super-perfect posh wedding to the massed hordes of Ghenghis Bagley. At the same time, you put our family in an old circus tent and feed them doggy-munched stew. Have I left anything out?”

  “Um,” said Dad, not taking his eyes off the road.

  “Yeah, you’ve left loads out,” said Darius, truthfully. “It’s a lot worse than that. You haven’t even got to us nobbling all the bridesmaids yet, or losing the rings, or kidnapping a Norwegian tourist, or letting the worst circus in the country loose on them.”

  “Some of it might have been my fault,” said Nat, bravely, hoping a quick confession might reduce her punishment.

  “Really? Well I’ll come to you later, young lady,” said Mum. Nat put her head in her hands.

  “Looking on the bright side…” began Dad, but he ended with a strangulated: “Nnnnng.” Nat guessed Mum was doing something painful in the front seat.

  “Stop-op op that, love,” said Dad, “let me faaa-finish. Looking on the bright side, we’ve almost got through the day and neither Tiffannee or Oswald know about the mix-up. Nat’s been a perfect bridesmaid twice over oh AND – and this is a biggie – everyone married the right person! I call that winning!”

  Nat could only see the back of Mum’s head. It was shaking, violently.

  She’s actually going to explode, thought Nat, genuinely scared. Dad has finally made Mum’s head explode, oh heck.

  There was a strange strangled noise from mum. Nat was terrified.

  “Ivor Winstanley Cuthbert Bumole,” she said, “you are without doubt the most utterly useless human being I have met in my life, ever.”

  “But he is the funniest,” said Darius, simply. Mum didn’t say anything.

  Nat felt a familiar surge of affection for her chimp-like friend, followed by the familiar urge of revulsion when she saw just how deep up his nostrils he could get his fingers.

  The storm, however, was no laughing matter. Rain was beating down relentlessly now, and by the time they reached the marquée, wind was whipping around the tent ropes and making them whistle and moan scarily.

  As they ran out of the van, Nat noted that the ground was already muddy and waterlogged. Her heavy boots were almost sucked into the mud and her fairy wings were limp and soggy. The others headed for the big top as she ducked into the fortune teller’s tent to check on the cake.

  “Not ready, go away!” yelled Uncle Ernie. “You can’t rush art!”

  “That’s what I told my art teacher,” Nat muttered to herself on the way back to the marquée, “but she just gave me a detention.”

  Inside, the circus folk were taking a bow and the guests were clapping.

  All the guests, that is, who weren’t putting out little fires, clearing up Buster the rescue dog’s poop, comforting the unfunny clowns, finding lost playing cards or trying to untangle the contortionist.

  Nat saw that Tiffannee and Hiram were just s
itting, open-mouthed.

  “I’ll go say hello,” said Mum, “carry on with your plan meanwhile. Apparently, you’ve got everything under control in your own way.”

  “Cake’s not ready,” Nat said to Dad as soon as Mum was out of earshot.

  “We need to get the disco started,” said Dad, handing Darius his music player, “then no one will be able to hear the howling storm outside, or realise there’s no cake yet.”

  Tiffannee ran over and hugged Mum when she saw her.

  “And how is – everything?” asked Mum, pointedly.

  Nat, eavesdropping nearby, cringed as she heard Tiffannee admit it had been “different.” She saw Mum frown.

  “VERY different,” said Chief Bridesmaid Daisy Wetwipe as she walked past sniffily.

  “You’ll find that’s like marriage,” Mum said to Tiffannee, looking at Dad. “It’s very different to what you plan. But…” her voice softened a little – “but it doesn’t mean it’s worse.”

  “I go home now?” said Henrik Henriksonn, popping up at that moment. His hair was singed. You stood too close to the fireeater, thought Nat, silly man.

  “No,” said Mum, firmly, “more pictures, snap away.”

  Just then, Nat spotted her teacher, Miss Hunny, looking pretty but nervous in a long silver dress. Hiram’s best man smiled at her, and offered her a glass of bubbly.

  Miss Hunny being here can only mean one thing, thought Nat.

  King Ivor and the Hunnypots.

  Time seemed to go into slow motion, like in a horror-filled dream. How could she have forgotten – the worst was yet to come.

  Dad – was – tuning – his – ukulele!

  Nooooooo.

  Nat cringed – they were actually going to perform after Darius had ‘warmed up’ the audience.

  Within minutes, techno-genius Darius had set up the sound system and had begun to DJ.

  Nat suddenly remembered what music Darius liked. She ran to Dad and tugged at his sleeve.

  “Are you totally sure about this?” she said. “Only there could be several aunties and uncles about to learn a LOT of new words. And I don’t want to see Nan twerking.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Dad, “you’re a terrible one for worrying.”