All She Wants
Page 15
‘Get that down your screech, girl.’
I was ravenous and wolfed the lot in minutes.
Chaos ricocheted around me all morning as everyone else went into meltdown about the clock ticking and how much there was to be done. I was the eye of the storm. An outsider might have said I was a smug bastard, smirking quietly to myself and not exhibiting any emotion. It was like the veil was on already, a cloud of calm had descended. But then again, I had organized the day to within an inch of its nuptial life. I knew what had to happen and when it had to happen and nothing had been left to chance. My Hello Kitty jotter was always close to hand. Even when Mum spilt some courage-bolstering Baileys on it, I didn’t mind. As the pale brown liquid smudged my handwriting she burst out crying.
‘What did it say? WHAT DID IT SAY?!’ she yelped as the words disappeared. But I put a finger to my lips to silence her. I knew every word I’d written in that book by heart. All was fine.
‘It said, “This is the page for Mum to spill her drink on.”’
‘No!’
‘No. It was a reminder for me to hide the bridesmaid’s presents in the boiler room next to the barn.’
‘Oh.’ She seemed almost disappointed.
‘They’re in the holdall under the stairs. Can you take them in your car so the girls don’t see?’
Mum nodded and repeated to herself, ‘Holdall. Stairs. Car. Girls no see.’
‘Boiler room.’
‘Boiler room!’
I saw that her hand was shaking. I was surprised she wasn’t licking the inside of the Baileys glass. Poor Mum, I was beginning to realize that this day was as important for her as it was for me. She was losing a daughter, gaining a son-in-law and attending the only wedding one of her kids was ever likely to have. No wonder she wanted it to go well.
‘Everything’s gonna be fine, Mum. I promise you,’ I said and held her hand.
She nodded and bit her bottom lip. She sighed and then shook her head.
‘I’ll never forget marrying your dad. Coming out of the church we had a long walk to the reception. There we were, walking through town, me in my bridal gown, your dad in his suit, heading for Reece’s Cafe in town.’
I had heard this story several thousand times before. Usually it would irritate me to have sit through it again, but today I lapped it up.
‘Your Dad walked a few yards in front of me and I kept trying to catch him up. But every time I got nearer he’d walk a bit quicker. Eventually he said,’ at this point she gulped, ‘I’m not with you.’
I nodded. I knew this.
‘He was just mortified to be seen out in public with me.’
Up until then, whenever my Mum had told this anecdote, she had always made it seem funny. Many’s the time I’d seen her howling with laughter with her mates from work, sprawled over our couch, a Doris Day movie on the telly, several bottles of wine already drunk, tears pouring down her face. But today it felt tragic. She looked at me.
‘Thank God you’re not marrying someone like your dad.’
I froze. I wanted to nod, but felt that would make me complicit in slagging him off.
‘But . . . you love Dad,’ I said. ‘Don’t you?’
At which she gave an airy laugh, leaned in and kissed me. Then she hurried out of the room and I continued to get myself ready.
After that, everything went like clockwork. The dresses fitted. The hairdresser was punctual. The make-up artist was a genius. The cars were early. The flowers were perky. Our Joey looked really handsome in his page boy’s outfit – a suit basically. Hayls, Debs and Greg’s cousin’s little girl Amelia looked adorable in their turquoise Bo Peep-style gowns. The day was bright. When I finally stepped out of my bedroom to walk the length of the bungalow hallway I saw Mum and Dad standing by the front door. As I neared them I realized Mum had tears in her eyes.
‘I don’t look that bad, do I?’ I joked.
She shook her head, unable to speak. She was proud. Finally. So this is what it took!
‘Jodie,’ gasped Dad, ‘you look like a fucking princess.’
And Mum nodded, backing him up. And then she slapped him when she realized, with delayed reaction, that he’d sworn. Dad lifted up his camera and took a photo. Mum stepped forward and put her hand on my shoulder.
‘Jodie, look.’ She turned me so I faced the full-length mirror in the hall. ‘You’re beautiful.’
I didn’t really recognize the woman looking back at me. All my life I’d felt like a girl. And yet here I was, a woman. A woman who was about to be centre stage again.
‘She looks like a bloody movie star!’ added Maureen, who’d come round to go in the car with Mum and Dad.
I was just about to agree with them – in my head; I’d never have said it out loud because it would have sounded arrogant – when Mum said, ‘Ellie from number three did her make-up. She covers a multitude of sins.’ Which kind of took the wind out of my sails, obviously.
‘True,’ agreed Maureen. ‘Coz she’s not got the best complexion in the world.’
Jees, my skin’s not that bad!
‘And the way she’s done her blusher, it actually gives the impression she’s got something approaching cheekbones,’ Maureen went on.
OK, so I was a spotty fat heifer with a face like a beachball.
‘And the fullness of the skirt hides her ginormous arse.’
Debs said that, but I knew she was only taking the piss.
‘What did you say?’ asked Hayls, and in the mirror I saw Debs turn to her and mouth the words while Hayls collapsed laughing. Our Joey was just coming out of the bedroom then, holding hands with five-year-old Amelia, the mini-bridesmaid. He smiled and said calmly, ‘He’s a very lucky man.’ Then he smiled sadly and looked like he was going to cry.
‘My thong keeps riding up my arse crack, does yours?’ Hayls asked Debs.
‘It’s like a bloody cheese grater.’ Debs nodded.
‘Mine, too,’ said Mum.
‘And mine,’ added Maureen.
I blocked it all out. I didn’t care. I took a final look in the mirror and smiled. They say a bride never looks as good as she does on her wedding day. And if I never looked this good again it was of no consequence. I had scrubbed up well. I was going to make my Greg proud, and that was all that mattered. I turned to face the front door, which Dad had now opened.
‘That dress looks familiar,’ I heard Maureen say as Debs handed out the bouquets of flowers, fresh from the fridge.
‘It’s a replica of Princess Diana’s,’ said Mum.
I rolled my eyes. ‘Mum it’s not, it’s just got a slightly full skirt, and anyway, she had a twenty-foot train. Jeez.’
Mum widened her eyes to Maureen as if disagreeing with me. And Maureen nodded as if to say, Don’t worry, Sandra. Any fool can see she’s the double of Di.
I had designed the dress myself. It had a full skirt, nipped-in waist, sweetheart neck and leg-of-mutton sleeves. Which, OK, does sound a bit like Lady Di’s. But did Lady Di have a butterfly motif inlaid up the bodice? No. Plus she never had a twirly parasol. Or gypsophila in her hair, which I thought was more of a statement than a predictable veil.
‘Mind you,’ Dad commented under his breath as I made my way to the front door, ‘her dandruff’s shocking.’
‘It’s gypsophila!’ I grunted through gritted teeth as I stood on the front doorstep. It felt like I was standing on the threshold of a new life, and in that moment I saw clearly a fast-forward movie of the rest of my days. The wedding. The honeymoon (a week in Portmeirion). Me and Greg living together in the granny flat at the farmhouse till we got together the cash to buy somewhere nice. Kids. Dogs. Grandkids. Happiness. The film got quicker and quicker, but its running theme was one of pure, unabated joy. Like the pantyliner advert where the girl rollerskates along the beach in the sunshine with a shaggy dog. It ground abruptly to a halt when I felt a dig in the kidneys and Dad going, ‘Come on, love. Don’t wanna be late. Greg’ll think you’ve stood him up.’
I put down my parasol and got in the first red van with Dad. They’d put a mattress in the back and we sort of lolled alongside each other as his workmate Mad Georgie drove us sedately to the church. Although I couldn’t help but keep singing the theme song from Postman Pat to myself as we glided along.
‘This must be what it’s like going to your own funeral,’ Dad commented, which I didn’t think was very positive on my wedding day. I overlooked it and tried not to crush my flowers whenever Georgie took a corner.
From then on the day felt like an out-of-body experience, as if it was happening to someone else. It all seems to have faded into a bit of a blur now, and one day I may watch the wedding video to see what actually happened and in which order, though I do remember several things:
1
Catching sight of Greg as I walked down the aisle to ‘Here Comes The Sun’. He looked so handsome as the light from the stained-glass windows hit his blond curls. The smile he gave me then told me we were going to be together for ever.
2
The vicar had a very long hair protruding from his nose that tickled his top lip every time he spoke.
3
Hayls’ specially composed song was brilliant as we signed the register. She introduced it by saying, ‘Even though I’m deaf, I feel music.’ The song went like this:
In a canteen far away, I remember my friend did say
‘He is well fit, he’s a sure hit
I will make him mine some day.’
There were burgers, doughnuts with holes,
There were eighteen sausage rolls.
And my friend said ‘I will make him mine some day.’
It was accompanied by a tape recording of a tin whistle and a Spanish guitar. She told me it was a Spanish guitar, but I don’t know how she knew, or what the difference is between a normal guitar and a Spanish guitar. Except one must come from Spain.
4
Our Joey’s poem, when he read it, was a bit maudlin. It was about losing a friend. A lot of people said it was like something from a funeral. There were lots of references to ‘kissing you goodbye at the bus stop’ and ‘never seeing you again’, which I found a bit over the top, frankly. I was his sister. He would see me all the time, knobhead! It seemed to embarrass and annoy Greg, too, as he kept fidgeting in his seat, staring at the floor and sighing.
5
Amelia, the youngest bridesmaid, had to be taken to the toilet during the address by the vicar. Very loudly from the back of the church we heard her voice coming through an air vent, saying, ‘I can’t poo,’ which made everyone laugh. Apart from Hayls, who could be heard whispering, ‘What are yous all laughing at? What’s going on?’
6
Mum attempting an operatic style descant in ‘I Vow To Thee My Country’.
7
Dad elbowing Mum in the ribs during said descant, telling her to shut it coz she was ‘making a show of herself’.
8
Mum elbowing him back and saying, ‘Shut it, Malcolm. I just want you to know you’ve ruined my life.’ I think she’d had too much Baileys.
9
Greg’s sister sobbing through most of the hymns in a ‘I wish Mum was here to see this only she copped it with cancer a couple of years back’ sort of way.
10
When the vicar said to Greg, ‘You may kiss the bride,’ he grabbed me and gave me a big tongue sandwich with such force that I bent backwards like I was trying to do the crab and the congregation burst into spontaneous applause.
11
What was at first endearing became slightly attention-seeking when Teresa-May continued to cry throughout the service. She was practically caterwauling by the time we left the church and people were giving her ‘God, will you shut up, love?’ looks, myself included. It was bad of me, however, to try and poke her with my parasol as I headed back up the aisle.
12
As we posed for pictures in the grounds of St Hilda’s I twirled my parasol and a seagull crapped on it. The spin made the droppings splatter all over Mum’s pashmina and Maureen’s crocheted coat. Fortunately there were Wet Wipes in the emergency holdall for this eventuality and everything was sorted within minutes.
13
Teresa-May sobbed hysterically through all the pictures and had to be given some Rescue Remedy from the emergency holdall. This seemed to do the trick, but within minutes she was interfering with all the poses the photographer wanted. She kept repeating everything he said in a very bossy way, so if he said, ‘Bride’s family!’ She’d go, ‘BRIDE’S FAMILY! COME ON GUYS! CHOP CHOP!’ Again, deeply irritating. Debs actually wondered whether someone had laced the Rescue Remedy with amphetamines as she seemed to go off on one. She was the same when we were getting into the Post Office vans to go to the reception. Shouting, ‘BRIDE AND GROOM IN CAR ONE, PLEASE!’ Even though she was standing right next us at the time.
14
Greg snogged me in the back of the GPO van all the way from the church to the farm for the reception. I thought he was going to try and shag me and I was a bit mortified coz Mad Georgie was copping a look through the rear-view mirror. In the end I slapped Greg off me and told him to wait till later.
Now that I’d had my frock on for several hours it was beginning to weigh me down. I just wasn’t used to carrying that much excess material around with me, I realized as I snaked from table to table through the barn, saying hello to the various revellers in their differing states of intoxication. Our Joey had once told me that when the feuding actresses Bette Davis and Joan Crawford had been filming What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? Crawford had weights sewn into her dress before a scene in which Davis had to drag her across the floor. I was beginning to wonder whether my dressmaker had it in for me and had done something similar.
‘Boss do, Jodes!’ cried a distant cousin, raising a pint of snakebite in my general direction and sloshing some over the table, ‘Food was gorge!’
‘Ah, glad you liked it!’
‘What was the name of that cake?’
‘Rocky road pie. Greg made it.’
‘You’re joking! Is he as good in the bedroom as he is in the kitchen?’
‘Better,’ I said with a wink, then moved on to the next table, where an aunty of Greg’s grabbed my skirt and commented, ‘Well that’s not bri-nylon, is it?’ I shook my head.
‘Third Finger Left Hand’ was booming out from the DJ’s table and the dance floor was heaving. I could see Mum, Maureen and a few other women doing the Wigan Slosh – two steps to the right, clap; two steps to the left, clap; two steps to the right, clap; under the legs and change direction – practically taking over the whole dance floor as more and more aunties and cousins fell in alongside them and joined in. Dad and Greg’s dad were propping up the bar in the corner with a few other uncles and male cousins, mostly red of nose and with their top buttons undone, ties slackened like schoolboys embarrassed to be seen in uniform. Hayls was sitting on Lotan’s lap, snogging the face off him, and Debs was by the DJ’s desk, laughing and joking with Our Joey’s mate Mooey, who was helping him
spin the decks. From the way she was throwing her head back and laughing, and the inane grin on his face, I could see that she fancied him like mad and was following our ‘early stages of flirting rules’: laugh your head off at his jokes and be ever so suggestive with an open mouth. I wasn’t quite sure where Our Joey was; out the back having a ciggie maybe.
Teresa-May was advancing towards me between two nearby tables, waving to get my attention. She’d seen me clock her, so I couldn’t run in the opposite direction – I couldn’t run anywhere, my dress weighed a ton – so I scooped my skirt up in my hands to try and lighten the load and waddled obediently but reluctantly towards her.
‘Jodie, have you seen our Greg?’
I looked around and realized I’d not seen him for five or ten minutes. I was just about to say maybe he’d nipped out for a crafty Cuban cigar with his uncle Derek, who’d been bandying them about like he was the Big I Am, when Teresa-May cut in.
‘Only I think it’s time to hand out the prezzies.’
In a break with tradition, Greg and I had decided to do the presentation of gifts to everyone who’d helped a long while after the dinner, just to be different.
‘Er, OK,’ I replied, though frankly I didn’t see what the hurry was. I think I preferred the sobbing version of TM, not this new-fangled, uber-organized, interfering busybody. But as Greg had said earlier, ‘I think she’s just trying to make up for the fact that me ma’s not here.’
‘Now, I’ve got the flowers out for your mum and that, but what I can’t find are the bridesmaids’ presents.’
‘Oh, they’re in the boiler room, I’ll go and get them.’
‘No, Jodie. I’ll get them.’
‘No, Teresa. I can—’
‘Jodie, it’s your wedding day, I’m only trying to—’
‘NO, TERESA!’ I almost bit her head off. Her bottom lip trembled, so I back-pedalled. ‘I know where they are.’